#just captioned stock

[swankyangles]

EDIT: Hey I made a sticker of this you guys

you should buy some... I marked the pack down to $3!

[solitaireships]

My challenge is always that I want to post more about my f/os but I never know what

[boag]

I would literally kill a man for a ticket to this like I might cry rn thinking abt the very real possibility that I won’t be able to go

[rafesangelita]

⊹₊⟡⋆♡ “have you ever tried this one?” in which kook!sweetheart!reader convinces rafe to take her to go see one of her favorite artists, and as a ‘thank you’ she and rafe have to do whatever position sabrina demo’s for her song “juno..”

warnings: fluff, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink (?)

a/n: so sad because i didn’t get to see sabrina on tour, and she has had me in the meanest chokehold lately :( click this link to see what position i’m referring to <3

when the dates dropped for sabrina’s ‘short n’ sweet’ tour, rafe wasted no time in buying you two tickets. of course, you didn’t know this and begged him for weeks until he finally told you yes, your flight and hotel room already booked for a nice little weekend getaway. rafe helped you make your concert outfit, both of you spending hours on the whole ensemble. the end result was absolutely stunning and rafe couldn’t stop taking pictures of you.

he posted one on the night of the concert, captioning it ‘my little popstar princess <3’ and you two were off to the stadium. while you knew wearing sparkly white platform boots wouldn’t be the best choice to walk in, you stuck it through, and as soon as the lights dimmed and the music started, any kind of discomfort you felt had melted away as you were far too distracted singing along to every song that boomed through the venue.

babydoll lingerie top with pink fluffy trim, dedazzled stockings, glittery makeup, your hair freshly done, rafe swore you never looked prettier. even though he was against wearing anything that sparkled, he decided to wear a plain pink t-shirt to match with you in his own little way. he kept his arms wrapped around your waist as you two sung, having learned the lyrics to every song since you insisted on being in charge of the aux cord whenever you two were in his truck.

eventually, you two were swaying softly, rafe’s chin resting in the curve of your neck as you stroked the skin of his arm. “thank you for bringing me here.” you smiled up at him, connecting your lips as the intro to ‘juno’ started playing. rafe hummed, leaning down so you could hear him. “you know i had to bring you, baby.. what do you say you thank me another way when we get back to our room?” your cheeks heated as you laughed softly.

“yeah, i’d like that,” you pecked his cheek, “how about we do the position she does for the song?” rafe smiled, both of you fixing your attention on the stage. you waited with anticipation, your heart beating in your ears when she bent over and touched her toes. rafe cheered, making you laugh as he couldn’t wait to get you back to the hotel. luckily for him, there was only a few more songs left before the show ended and the two of you rushed out of there.

it wasn’t long after you two walked through the door that rafe had your boots thrown in a forgotten corner, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he took you roughly from behind. you struggled to keep your hands placed on your perfectly pedicured toes, your knees threatening to give out from under you while rafe thrusted into you at an unforgiving pace. “holy fuck, you’re taking it so fuckin’ good, gorgeous, ‘might just let you get off your tippy toes and put you on your back instead.”

you cried out, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as his pelvis smacked against the back of your ass. “can’t, rafe!” you shrieked, nearly doubling over before your boyfriend reached down and grabbed your arms, holding you by your wrists as you hung helplessly from his grip. he was fucking you stupid, and your lack of thoughts was proof of it. you couldn’t think, the feeling of rafe’s cock stroking that soft gummy spot inside of you made you whimper pathetically.

finally, you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your knees meeting the carpeted floor. rafe picked you up, cursing under his breath as he encouraged you to get back in position. “promise i’ll have you in bed soon, pretty, you could hold out for me, yeah?” you shuddered, looking at him from behind your shoulder with that fucked-out gaze he loved so much. you had tears in your eyes, your body glitter still sparkling under the soft lighting.

giving him a little nod, you reached down once again, holding onto your ankles for dear life as rafe circled an arm under your hips, holding you up as his fingers started working on your clit. “oh!” you were in hysterics, your blood rushing to your head as he landed a harsh smack to your backside. “come on, baby, ‘wanna feel this pussy squeeze around me.” you moaned at his words, your orgasm just in arm’s reach as rafe’s thrusts grew uncalculated. “rafe?” you could barely speak, the band in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“talk to me.” he groaned, teetering the edge of pure euphoria. “make me juno?” you giggled for a split second, the insinuation only turning rafe on even more. “fuck, yeah? ‘want me to fill you up, give you a baby?” you let out a distorted “mhmm!’, the two of you gasping when your highs took you both to cloud nine. rafe pulled you back up, your chest rising and falling while your legs shook with your orgasm. pressing wet kisses to your neck, rafe did exactly as he said, his hips stuttering as hot, thick ropes of cum painted your velvety walls.

you two stayed like this, pressed against one another until your breathing slowed, the aftershocks subsiding before rafe laid you both down in bed. “we should have a ‘short n’ sweet’ themed baby shower.. we could serve espressos.” rafe laughed, draping an arm over your tummy. “we’ll see.” he hummed. your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed him in, his cologne still heavy on his skin. “you know what we should try when we get back home?” rafe traced shapes into your side, mumbling a ‘what’s that?’

“pink fuzzy handcuffs.”

[befemininenow]

I'm disappointed right now. Things are awfully quiet everywhere as I write this post. It's not just on trans/LGBTQ+ spaces that are affected. It's science, art, young people, entertainment, POC, women, and everyone else who will be affected by this aggressive win. America is currently the laughing stock of the world as we speak and now we have to face 4 tough years of the orange cheeto.

Not all hope is lost, however. For instance, New York just passed a state amendment that will protect abortion rights while Sarah McBride has been elected as the first trans person as a member of Congress. Not to mention, states like California have governors and politicians vowed to protect the rights of minorities, including trans people. Things are going to be tough, but I'm hoping this new reality will wake us up to challenge this upcoming new administration without any mercy.

Oh, and P.S. For those sissies and trans girls who have voiced and voted for this fascist gov't as a joke, I'm even more disappointed in you. It's hard to believe there are people in these feminization caption circles that supported this ugly administration and think they are the exception to the purge. Remember all those sissy blogs that were purged and terminated in the late 2010s? He may have not done it, but it happened during Rump's term. Considering Project 2025 is aiming to eliminate and purge everything and everyone deemed "un-Christian", don't be surprised if the blue boys knock at your door one day and arrest you for being a sissy who supported Rump, but doesn't fit the mold for being a "man". And no, no forced feminization will occur. They will wipe you out of this world for being too "effeminate". I seriously wish what I said was a slippery slope, but a bunch of it has become reality. And for that, I don't pity you. Smh, truly a Leopards Ate My Face moment.

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Six

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: drug usage/mentions as usual, alcohol, mor/feyre/reader being fashion icons, reader & az being 'just friends', drunk girl bonding, reader being a sentimentalist and loving her friends

Word Count: 5.4k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a cramp in your stomach from laughing so hard— a pain made worse by the fact that Mor’s roughly concocted mimosas fueled the hilarity of every comment. She and Feyre were in stitches beside you, their snickers echoing off the walls as you all made your way down the stairs. It had taken a while, but you were finally ready to head out for the last day of Summit. The boys had been waiting with increasing impatience.

As you rounded the corner into the kitchen, Cassian looked up with a start, his hand paused mid-air, spoon halfway to his mouth. He choked as he took in the sight before him, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“What the hell do those say?” Cassian coughed, pressing his hand over his mouth as he swallowed hard. He stood up from his seat, and you bit back a laugh.

You three had been adamant about making your last day truly memorable. Somehow that had turned into throwing out any pretenses of looking cute or trendy. Instead, you three wanted something more sophisticated, outfits that showed your maturity. You’d each chosen special shirts for one another. 

Yours was a white tee with bold, unapologetic text: “I made your dad a bottom.” Mor’s shirt was a masterpiece of absurdity. She’d cut it into a sleeveless, oversized fit that hung off her frame with casual abandon. The front featured a stock photo of a muscular, awkwardly posed werewolf figure with the caption “Human by chance, alpha by choice” scrawled underneath in an ill-advised font. Feyre’s was also a true work of art. She'd played pretend offend for all of three seconds when she'd first seen it, giggling about how true it was. Her shirt boasted a crudely drawn frog holding a paintbrush, paired with the words “Dyslexic with tig bits.”

You exchanged grins with your best friends. 

"Aren't you gonna tell us how good we look?" Mor asked, placing a hand on her hip. She gave him a look of impatience, as if the time running by without her compliment was getting on her nerves. 

"I-" Cassian ran a hand across his mouth, tracing his mustache with extra care once he noticed her budding scowl. "Rhys! Az!"

The two boys emerged almost instantly, their mouths falling open in amusement as their eyes scanned the shirts. Rhys was the first to react, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he let out a low whistle.

“Pretty privilege lets you guys get away with way too many things,” he mused, his attention fixed entirely on Feyre as he approached her. He gently took her hand, guiding her into a dainty twirl to showcase her outfit.

Your gaze shifted to Az, who leaned casually against the wall, amusement dancing in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. Mimicking his pose, you crossed your arms defensively. He shook his head, pushing off the wall and strolling towards you.

“Well, don’t cover up the art like that,” he said, glancing at your crossed arms. “I was enjoying it.”

You blushed, letting out a snort as you dropped your arms, gesturing dramatically to the shirt. Az’s eyes glimmered as he reached forward, his fingers lightly brushing the edges of the fabric. “Why this one?”

“Mor chose it for me,” you replied, your breath catching slightly. Azriel nodded in approval.

“Fitting.”

Cassian, now fully recovered, let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I’m feeling left out. You all look—” he paused for dramatic effect, “—exceptionally unique.”

“Good answer,” Mor said with a satisfied nod. She wrapped an arm around you, pulling you along with her as she walked towards the kitchen. “And isn’t the idea of dommy Y/N so hot?”

You groaned, your face flushing red as she giggled beside you. For the tenth time that morning, you begged her to stop using such a strange title. Her laughter only grew louder.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The merch line was long, but you didn’t mind waiting; the day was cooler, the sun less blistering than it had been, and the thought of having a physical memento from the weekend was comforting. Az had volunteered to keep you company while the others leisurely watched a smaller set on the schedule. There was an ease to this moment, the kind that settled in when time stretched out.

Azriel turned his head to look at you. His eyes scanned your figure and a second later he was shaking his head, looking away as a laugh left his lips. Your heart skipped a beat. Az’s laugh was something you coveted, a sound you’d become addicted to over time.

You waited until his eyes reached yours again to raise your eyebrow. "What?"

"That fuckin' shirt," Az replied. "I just can't get over it."

You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder as the line moved forward. "Don't judge. It's been a chick and dick magnet."

It was true. You'd gotten more compliments on your shirt than you'd ever received in your entire life— at least, drunk you seemed to think so. God, you needed to wear this outfit more often.

Azriel shook his head again, offering up his hands in surrender. "No judgment here," he said. He scanned you again, eyes glowing with a sense of contemplation. He pulled his cap off his head and placed it on yours. You tracked his movements with your eyes, watching as he took a step backwards and admired you as if he'd just created a masterpiece.

"Perfect."

It was an effort not to beam at the word alone, at how it seemed to anchor itself in your chest, resonating with a deeper meaning you were too embarrassed to fully acknowledge. You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth that rolled through your body, surely collecting on your reddening cheeks. You placed your hands on your hips. 

"I look good?"

Azriel let out a small hiccup, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh yeah," he said, reclaiming his spot next to you in a few, easy strides. "You look like every dude in Rhys's frat."

Your smile fell. You attempted to give him a glare, to scowl, but Azriel's proud grin pulled a laugh from deep in your chest. "You said it looked good."

Az's smile curved, deepening into the crevasses of his cheeks. "And I meant it, you look great. Stunning."

There it was, that feeling again— that giddiness that left you fumbling for words. Something warm and silly spread throughout your chest. For a moment, you struggled to respond, fumbling through your mind to put together a coherent sentence. It was proving hard, so incredibly hard, when Az was looking at you the way he was.

"I didn't know frat boys were your type."

Azriel shrugged. "I didn't either. Guess we're both learning new things."

You playfully smacked him with your hand and reached up to remove his cap from your head. He shook his head, taking it back to adjust the band with nimble fingers. You watched him, noting the slight tremble as he refitted it to your head.

“You keep this,” Azriel said, securing it on you again. “It looks better on you anyway.”

You swallowed, fingertips brushing the brim. “Careful, Az. It might sound like you’re flirting with me or something.”

Azriel stared at you for a moment. His gaze was steady, searching. Do friends look at friends this way? Was it wrong to crave his gaze so deeply?

"What can I say," Az finally replied. The line moved forward. "I guess I just can't resist the pull of a frat guy."

Azriel brushed his palmalong the small of your back to guide you forward. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he removed his hand.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You weren't sure how much time had passed since Az left to go put all of the merch in the car. His instructions to you had been clear: stay in the same area so he could find you when he came back in. When he'd left, there was still around an hour until you'd meet back up with Mor, Feyre, Cass and Rhys. 

But Azriel's instructions left your mind the minute he was out of view. You'd reached that perfect point of being slightly crossed—mostly drunk, but not dangerously so— and everything felt vibrant. Alive. It made no sense to stand still or sit in a patch of grass and wait for Az to return like a sad codependent dog and its owner. No, that wouldn't do.

So you wandered, finding yourself by the food trucks, a new fruity drink in your hand. Non-alcoholic and entirely too expensive for its small size, but money didn't seem real to you. There was a large smile on your face as you weaved through the small crowds. You'd made around six new friends, random people you began talking to in line, those equally as drunk who voiced their love for your outfit. 

You barely registered when you bumped into a girl, the drink in your hand sloshing a bit. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A soft voice exclaimed. You brought your attention to her face, taking in her long brown hair as she wiped a drop from her shirt. You were about to apologize then too, but then her eyes met yours. Something sparked in them. They widened, the brown glowing almost, and she beamed. 

“I know you!”

You stilled. “You do?” There was something familiar about her but you couldn’t quite place it. The smile especially. Something warm and friendly. 

“Yes!” she nodded eagerly. She grabbed the arm of a person next to her, pulling them into the conversation. Deep blue eyes and sandy brown hair. 

“Babe," the girl said, "This is the girl from yesterday!"

A look of realization formed on her partner's face. She turned to you again. "I was just telling them earlier about you. I took your picture yesterday."

They nodded, a small chuckle leaving their lips as they took a sip of their shared drink. "She was," they said, "The pretty girl with the boyfriend who had a sick wing tattoo.”

You blinked. Maybe you were feeling a bit slow today, a bit lethargic, or maybe you were a bit too gone to carry such a fast conversation. You let their words sink in, allowing your face to blossom into a smile. You recognized her face now, remembering the sweet approach she'd had to you and Az. The picture you now cherished so deeply. Your cheeks warmed. 

 “Oh, uh. He's not my boyfriend.”

The girl stilled. A sense of surprise flickered across her face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “just friends.”

She exchanged a look with her partner, a silent conversation passing between them, and then turned back to you with an intrigued expression, eyes slightly narrowed, lips still curved at the edges. 

"Really?" She repeated, as if her question would pull a different answer, one that may have satisfied her more. 

You gave a sheepish smile, shrugging your shoulders. You suddenly felt entirely too vulnerable, embarrassed in a way you hadn't felt since you were a child in kindergarten. She exchanged another look with her partner. 

“Does he know that?” They said. 

You shifted awkwardly, the heat rising in your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, it's kinda weird, though. I don't know...” You trailed off, feeling the words slipping away from you. It was hard to articulate when your mind was so pleasantly hazy. You hesitated, then added with a chuckle, “It’s a long story.”

They both nodded. The girl looked at her partner before turning back to you. She grinned and shrugged, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Well, if you have the time, so do we.”

You furrowed your brows. She leaned in closer, like a best friend about to share a secret, and whispered conspiratorially, “I love a good storytime.”

And so, you found yourself sitting on a patch of grass, with Victoria and Jamie, as you learned their names to be, a band playing distantly on the stage nearby. The entire history spilled from your lips like uncontrollable bile, as if you were drafting a biography and starting it from the moment you met Feyre—because that’s when it truly all started. Almost four years ago, you realized.

You talked about freshman year, about your introductory philosophy class, your friendship with Az that blossomed into this deep, heavy crush. You told them about that almost-kiss, the one that lingered in your memory like a bittersweet stain, and even about your relationship with Eris. 

Victoria's drink was empty by the time you’d finished and the sun had dipped ever-so-slightly in the sky, now painting the festival in golden hues. 

 “Wow,” Victoria said, exchanging a meaningful look with Jamie before turning back to you.

You felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I talked too much, didn't I?"  

“Not at all! That was incredibly entertaining. Felt like the plot to some kind of romcom,” she said, laughing lightly. Jamie nodded in agreement. You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“So… what’s holding you back?” Victoria asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied your face. You opened your mouth to respond, but she quickly interjected, “And do not say it’s because you’re not sure he feels the same. You’re wearing his hat.”

You offered a sheepish smile, bringing your fingers up to trace the brim of Azriel’s cap, still securely placed on your head. You’d almost forgotten he’d put it there. It made sense now, why your face didn’t feel as burnt as usual. It also felt silly to admit that it was a worry of yours--- that maybe Az didn't see anything romantic with you the way he once did, that maybe these small moments were doused in a platonic love, like that from Cass and Rhys, and you had deluded yourself into thinking too deeply about them. 

You shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. “It’s more complicated than that,” you mumbled, but your words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Jamie leaned forward, their gaze sharp and inquisitive. You resisted the urge to draw back at the eye contact, at how their blue eyes seemed to be reading you. They casted a glance at Victoria.

“Is it because of your ex-boyfriend?"

"What?" You frowned, letting your shoulders sag as the words ran through you. "What do you mean?"

They shrugged, sharing another glance with Victoria.

"You mentioned him a lot. And you said they all had a past. Maybe it’s some kind of guilt?”

Your eyes widened as you considered the possibility, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. You hadn’t consciously connected the two, the strange anxiety and guilt that had bubbled throughout the week. But now that it had been mentioned, acknowledged by someone other than yourself, the thought lingered, a seed of doubt taking root.

Maybe they were right; maybe you’d been letting guilt hold you back from pursuing what you truly wanted. That extended to things far beyond the way you felt for Az. The truth was, you did feel guilty. You'd lost time with your friends when you and Eris dated. It was part of the reason why you felt even worse for not wanting to move with Mor— because you didn't want to disappoint her another time, to make her feel like you were choosing something else over her.

And there was Azriel. Azriel, Azriel, Azriel. Where was he anyways? You should go find him. Surely it's been too long. Were you spending too much time with him? Should you be at Mor's hip instead?  Your thoughts started swirling faster, more compounded and harder to process. 

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” you admitted, your voice quiet. "Maybe that's it."

Why was it so easy to be more honest to complete strangers than to yourself? Such a strange thing, you thought, as Victoria watched you carefully. Her eyes softened with understanding. There was a moment of silence before Jamie smiled encouragingly, gently placing a hand on her thigh. 

“I think Vi has something to show you.”

"Oh, right! I do." She beamed, eyes lighting up with excitement. She pulled out her phone and a few seconds later, she was holding it out to you, a photo on the screen. "This was why I was so glad to run into you."

The photo was taken the day before, during the set where Victoria had taken that picture of you and Azriel. This one was from behind, capturing Azriel’s arm resting naturally around your waist as you both watched the band. The sight stirred something deep within you. You felt a smile tug at your lips as you remembered how that moment had felt—comfortable, right, as if the world outside had fallen away, leaving just the two of you.

When you met her eyes again, Victoria grinned, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Watch the live,” she said, offering you her phone to hold in your own hands.

You listened, gently taking it and pressing down on the photo. It showed you looking away from Az, a soft smile on your face, and then, right after, Az looking down at you with an expression just as soft, one that you felt deeply in your chest. You let it replay a couple of times.

No wonder Victoria had assumed you and Az were together, had complimented you like a couple, told her partner about you both. If you were an outsider watching this moment, you’d think you were a couple too—so natural, so connected. What could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.

Victoria’s voice pulled you back. “It was fate that I ran into you again. The picture was so cute I was tempted to post it somewhere in hopes it got to you.”

Her words made you smile and you glanced at Jamie. The way they looked at her, with such tenderness and affection, was like something out of a fairy tale. It made your heart ache, longing for something similar. Azriel's laugh echoed faintly in your head. 

Jamie caught your gaze and nodded toward the phone in Victoria’s hand. “Friends don’t look at friends that way,” they said, their grin slightly teasing but gentle all the same. “Just so you know.”

Victoria sighed wistfully, leaning into Jamie as they wrapped an arm around her. "You know what I think?" You raised a brow, inviting her to continue. Her face softened as she met your gaze. "You should tell him how you feel."

You sighed, looking down at the ground. Admitting you felt something for Azriel could change the dynamic between you. And not only that, but the dynamic between you and everyone else. You liked where everything was at now. You didn’t want to ruin it.

“It’s just not that simple.”

“No one said it would be,” She said gently. She looked up at Jamie, her eyes shining a bit brighter than seconds before. “But sometimes, the best things aren’t.”

You had given Az similar advice the day before—urging him to chase his dreams and not confine himself to limitations. The irony of those very words being directed back at you now, especially about him, made you want to laugh. It felt oddly fitting and full-circle. Maybe you could write a paper about it. 

Jamie tangled their fingers in Victoria’s hair. They nodded in agreement, giving you a look that said: Listen to her. She's right. 

Victoria seemed to catch your hesitation and she called your attention with a gentle murmur of your name. "I'm serious," she said. "The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now."

You smiled to yourself, picking at the grass around you and feeling the blades between your fingers. You looked at them again, amused at how your day had led you to this insightful couple and some much-needed time to spill your guts.

"You guys are so wise," you said with a small chuckle. "Y'know that?"

"It's these fucking spiked lemonades," she replied, lifting up her empty can. "They give me a fifth sense."

Jamie chuckled next to her. They patted her head gently. "Sixth."

"Huh?" She said, turning her head to look at them. 

"Sixth sense, babe," they said. "You already have five senses."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel had found you five minutes into your second conversation with Victoria and Jamie, his eyes wide and cheeks slightly red. He'd been looking for you for almost fifteen minutes, his countless calls having been sent to voicemail because your phone had been silenced. You'd apologized profusely, but Az had laughed it off, saying he was grateful that you had a shirt he could see from miles away and a hat he knew like the back of his hand. He greeted Jamie and Victoria, recognizing the latter almost immediately, and then jokingly thanked them for watching you while he was gone, making a joke that you were a wandering toddler with an affinity for shiny things.

Victoria shot you a knowing look as you both walked away.

You had a few more minutes before you were scheduled to meet the rest of the group, so you took the opportunity to enjoy the scene. You and Azriel wandered through the vibrant area of the festival where booths from local artists and craftspeople lined the grassy areas. The atmosphere was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of music from nearby stages. With everything around you vying for your attention, your mind stayed tethered to the conversation with Jamie and Victoria.

You stopped when you spotted a photobooth nestled between two tables, a vintage looking thing advertising two strips of 5 photos for 12 bucks. A steep price, but something in you was drawn to it nonetheless.

You looked at Azriel with a grin. “Does the photographer feel like being photographed?

Az raised an eyebrow. “I feel like no matter what I say, you'll somehow convince me to do it anyways.”

You smiled wider, biting your lip to keep it from spreading too much. “You know me so well.”

The space was intimate, practically needing you both to sit atop of one another. You gently took his hat off, placing it in your lap as Azriel’s arm slipped comfortably around your shoulders, drawing you even closer. The gesture was casual, something he'd done countless times before, but it sent your pulse racing all the same.

Azriel’s smile was warm as he looked into the camera and you found yourself acutely aware of his presence, noting the smallest of details despite the camera's low quality. The curls on his head, the sharpness of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled as he grinned. The smile on your face as the booth snapped its first picture was a result of staring at Az's reflection; your second smile came from the sound of his laugher, soft and genuine, filling the tiny space.

You reached out and gently cupped his cheek for one of the next poses, your fingers brushing against his skin. His expression softened. And then his fingers were grazing your hair, slowly tangling themselves by winding a strand around his finger.

As the fourth picture snapped, you noticed how he was looking at you—not at the camera, but at you. His gaze was steady and unwavering, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt in every fiber of your being. You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes with soft breath. 

Jamie’s voice echoed in your head, a distant but persistent echo. Friends don’t look at friends that way.

The space between you seemed to contract. You took a deep breath, feeling a familiar buzz of longing resurface. And suddenly, you were eighteen again, millimeters away from Az on that Halloween night. His eyes drifted to your lips.

Victoria’'s voice whispered next: The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now.

Azriel leaned in, his eyes drifting shut as he brought his hand up to cradle your hair. Your breath hitched and you moved to close the distance, a sudden need filling your body. Azriel, your mind seemed to whisper, repeatedly like a prayer, Azriel Azriel, Azriel—

A sudden, blinding FLASH snapped you to reality. You both pulled back slightly, eyes wide, as the booth’s camera whirred to capture the memory you’d just almost shared. Azriel blinked, clearing his throat, and you scrambled to pull back the curtain, stepping into the blinding sunshine. 

You fumbled with your shirt, trying to smooth it down as though you'd been caught in some misstep. The words, I made your dad a bottom, mocked you boldly. Avoiding Azriel’s gaze, you stared at the ground as he handed you the strip of photos. Your hand brushed his briefly, lingering long enough to feel the warmth of his touch as you took the pictures.

You glanced at the photos, then looked up to find Azriel already staring at you. You opened your mouth to say something, but a familiar voice yelling your names cut you off. Mor and Cassian came sprinting towards you with wide smiles. You shoved the photo strip into your bag. 

You smiled, making an effort to focus on the story Cass was animatedly telling as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side. But your eyes kept drifting back to Azriel, who seemed just as lost in thought as you. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You were a sentimentalist at your core. 

For as long as you could remember, you collected memories. You stored them away like treasures, delicate and fragile, saving them for rainy days when you'd wrap yourself in nostalgia like a warm blanket. You wanted everything to have meaning, for things to make sense in a world that often didn’t. Perhaps that’s what led you to study philosophy—a major that let you think too deeply about everything, that encouraged you to seek understanding to a point where nothing made sense.

The Stoics believed that the practice of virtue was enough to achieve eudaimonia, a well-lived life. As you stood in the grassy expanse, watching the lights dance across the night sky and feeling the music pulse through your veins, you thought that maybe this was what they meant. Maybe this was a well-lived life—being surrounded by the simple joy of being alive.

The sun had long set and the sky above was a blanket of deep indigo. You'd all chosen to enjoy the headliner and final performance from a distance, preferring the open space behind the throng rather than being swallowed by the crush of bodies near the stage. From your vantage point you watched the massive crowd sway in unison, a sea of bobbing heads and glowing sticks. Every now and then flashing neon lights would meet your eyes, causing you to squint at their power. 

You could see it all—the band on the huge screens, the ocean of people, and the world alive around you. Your arms were intertwined with Mor and Feyre's as you danced together, singing the songs at the top of your lungs. Mor pulled you both closer and you felt her laugh more than you heard it, a rumble through her body as she beamed into the endless night.

Feyre laughed, and you watched as her gaze fell elsewhere. She squeezed you both before bouncing towards Rhys, hair flying wild and free. He caught her easily, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony and you grinned at the way they fit so effortlessly together. You stored the image of their smiles away in your mind.

Mor pulled you towards her, bringing your cheeks between her palms. Her eyes were glowing with a mixture of happiness and the alcohol in her system as she grinned.  "I'm so glad you're here!"

The words ran through you, warming every corner of your body as you smiled back to her. Distantly, you could feel the tickle of tears behind your eyes--- the urge to cry from a strange mixture of love, happiness, and guilt. You let your mind focus on that love as your smile grew wider. 

"Me too," you responded loudly. "I love you."

Mor's eyes lit up even more as she squealed, pulling you into a quick hug as she repeated the words back to you, over and over. When you pulled away, you found Cassian next to you, his strong arms wrapping around both of you, drawing you into his orbit. He twirled you and you laughed, moving with him until your world was a dizzy blur of colors and lights. And when Cass moved to pull Mor, you paused for a moment, looking around the crowd. You weren't quite sure what you were searching for. But your heart seemed to be seeking it, some craving.

 A few steps away were Rhys and Feyre, their faces lit up with excitement as they sang animatedly to Azriel. You turned your attention to him, observing his genuine smile and the way he moved to the music. Despite the proximity of your bodies on the same patch of grass, in this fleeting instant, he seemed distant, absorbed in his own enjoyment--- and you watched it with a sense of admiration. Your gaze lingered on his lips.

The craving you once had—whatever it was you had been searching for—faded as he laughed. 

You gently pulled away from Mor and Cassian, stepping aside to watch your friends dance. The scene was too perfect to let slip away unrecorded, so you pulled out your phone and captured a bit of it. The quality would suck in the darkness, the figures mostly shadow with laser lights painting them in brief flashes of color, but you didn’t care. 

A bittersweet ache ran through you. You'd never have this moment again. And if you parted ways after graduation, you'd miss out on many more moments like this. When you looked back up, Az was approaching you. There was a smile on his face that matched the warmth in you, a sense of peace that paired perfectly with that tingling excitement that Az often made you feel.

He extended his hand towards you. "It's time to take your own advice.”

You looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. He didn't need to explain his words further. You knew exactly what he was referring to. Almost instantly, your mind traveled to the countless times you had urged him to embrace the moment, attempted to pull him out of his head. 

You let out a determined breath and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as you pulled him back towards the group. Mor and Feyre had blended into a new group, singing along and laughing with their new friends. Meanwhile, Cassian and Rhys were dancing in a playful, almost mocking manner, with Cassian humorously mimicking the way Rhys and Feyre had been dancing closely.

You tugged Azriel into the midst of it all, letting him guide you into a light twirl. The music wrapped around you, the lights casting an ethereal glow over the jubilant crowd. The world narrowed into this experience--- to you and Az surrounded by your friends, to Mor singing the lyrics to a giggling Feyre. 

The Stoics believed in many things. They believed in the value of virtue and the pursuit of wisdom, in accepting the things we cannot change, and most importantly, they believed in the power of the present moment. It is the only thing we have control over.

Your wandering thoughts from earlier were all true. You'd never be this young again. You'd never attend this same festival, never be this drunk, never dance like this in this exact constellation of friends and music. You'd miss out on many memories, many moments just as joyous. 

You’d never have this exact moment again.

But right now, it was all yours.

And that was all that mattered.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

For your viewing pleasure, here is the view Victoria had of Reader and Az:

drawn by the best and most talented ever @micahssketchbook

authors note: i wonder who that sweet sexy drunk best friend was named after.... @daycourtofficial any ideas?

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

[getosbigballsack]

Just imagine sending your rebellious boyfriend Gojo semi nudes and nudes for the first time. You two have been dating since the second year in high school, and yes, you've both done some questionable things beside having sex that is, but the one thing that you've never part in was sending nude photos.

Gojo Satoru is your boyfriend, so of course you expect a few innocent nude pictures of him fresh out of the shower with a towel around his hip and his very prominent bulge. Or a photo of him grabbing his hard cock over his sweatpants titled "I miss you, tell father in law I'm coming over."

But today is the first time you decided that you wanted to send him a cute innocent photo. You see he was out with his best friends Geto and Shoko for the weekend, promising to come pick you up later just so you could spend the weekend at his home.

So you decided to be cheeky, yes as Gojo Satoru shy and nerdy girlfriend decided to take off your top, stand in photo of your mirror and snap a photo of yourself standing cutely in your white lacy floral bra, white skirt and stocking with a garter around your thigh. One down three more to go.

Next you removed your skirt, still standing in front of the mirror, you snapped another photo of your self showing the matching panties to your bra. You took your bra off for this next photo, using your hands to hide your nipples before posing and snapping a third photo.

The fourth and final photo is the one that he'll lose his mind over. You remove your hand from your chest and turn slightly to give him a nice angle view of your butt. You then bent over, lolled out your tongue, and snapped another photo. Then you sent all four to him with the caption. "Open them when you're not around your friend."

You went to sleep after that, only to wake up, maybe about an hour later to see Gojo sitting on your bed shirtless, cock hard and a message from your parents that reads, "Thought you said Satoru wont be hear until five. Well, i guess he's eager to see you. We'll be back around midnight." Which leaves enough time for Gojo to do what he wants until your parents got home.

[thepersonperson]

Gojo kind of sucks at being Megumi's dad but he’s definitely his dad. (An analysis of Gojo and Megumi's messy relationship.)

Notes before we start.

1) Read the light novels. They are the equivalent of Bleach's CFYOW for JJK. There is a fan translation (Book 1 & Book 2), but I will be citing the official translation from my own copies.

2) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

3) Raws are from Mangareader(.)to.

4) Written as of JJK 263.

5) Read the light novels.

(Click pictures for captions/citations.)

Preface

This was written with the assumption you've also read these other analyses:

The Tragedy of Gojo Satoru (aka how to read Gojo)

Gojo's Relationship to Toji

Please give them a quick glance at least.

And Remember Umineko: Without love it cannot be seen.

Gojo Satoru—World’s Most Okayish Dad

There's heavy debate on whether Gojo is a good dad or a bad dad or even if he is a dad at all to Megumi. I will argue the case for Gojo being an ok dad. Not great or terrible. Just ok.

The best way to do this I think is to start off with Megumi's biological father, Fushiguro Toji.

Gojo and Toji Parallels

Toji is objectively the worse father, but Gojo and him have a lot in common when it comes to handling emotions after your wife dies. Gege draws attention to the fact that Gojo is essentially Toji. Both in looks and function.

What fascinates me about this comparison is not only does it visually scream at you “HEY GOJO IS MEGUMI’S SEMI-DEADBEAT DAD”, it also solidifies that Gojo has never gotten over Toji. And perhaps even idolizes him to an unhealthy degree. He’s dressed up as the Ultimate Killing Thing. Toji can kill the unkillable—The Strongest. If he’s more like Toji, he can kill Sukuna.

In addition to foreshadowing the outcome of the Gojo vs Sukuna fight, this also drew attention to the fact these two had been completely dehumanized by Jujutsu Society, albeit in polar opposite directions. Both of them suffered extreme objectification by their clans and the people around them, leading to a general disconnect from others. Their strength is worshiped, feared, and used until it kills them. The difference between them is that Gojo was deified while Toji was demonized. 

Since these comparisons appear to be deliberate, I want to examine what makes their relationship when it comes to Megumi and coping with Jujutsu Society.

Breaking the Cycle

When it comes to generational abuse, trauma, and toxic beliefs, a single generation is typically not enough to break the cycle. Often victims can recognize what went wrong but fail to address the crux of the problem and carry a softened version of that toxicity onto the next generation. I think the differences between the Zenin Clan, Toji, Gojo, and Megumi when it comes to misogyny demonstrate this idea very well. 

The Zenin Clan operates on misogyny. Women are treated as servants and breeding stock by the men who enforce this hierarchy for their benefit. (Naoya is the youngest of many older siblings because Naobito didn’t stop making his wife have children until his Cursed Technique (CT) was inherited.) Violence towards women is acceptable and encouraged. When Toji broke free of his clan, he also left behind this violence towards women. As a victim of their cruelty, he recognized that inflicting it was wrong.

That being said, I truly believe the main reason Toji didn’t massacre the Zenins was him benefiting from their misogyny as a man. Even if just a little. Naobito offered him an indirect place in the clan through selling Megumi and Naoya respected his strength. As a girl, Maki was not afforded anything and therefore had nothing to lose. The only way forward for her was to burn everything to the ground.

And despite seeing first hand how poorly the Zenins treated women, the idea that they exist to serve men is a mentality Toji still held onto. He bummed money and childcare off women and was content to laze around while Tsumiki most likely handled housework at a young age. 

Toji was canonically a decent husband to his wife. He also canonically fell back to his unstable behavior and abandoned his children to gamble after she died. And though I acknowledge this as a tragedy, this too is another instance of misogyny. His wife was his sole source of his emotional wellbeing, a common burden thrust onto women in relationships with men. They’re expected to not only do physical labor in the relationship, but the emotional labor too, essentially becoming a personal maid and therapist. I’m not surprised he wound up this way, he wasn’t really taught how to care for himself.

Compare this to Gojo who is even less of a misogynist than Toji. He doesn’t expect women to do anything for him. His recruiting is equal opportunity when it comes to strength and he has not once disparaged his female students on the basis of their gender. He can even recognize that the Zenin Clan is a bad place for women. His issues are far more subtle—Gojo seems to deprioritize the women in his life, even if unconsciously. Gege has stated that Gojo can never fully be honest with a woman which would explain why he emotionally shut out Shoko after Geto left. It’s not like Gojo is open with men either, but when it comes to admiration, he always thinks of male characters first and foremost.

(It's also kind of telling that his other female student, Kiara isn't anywhere here either. Maki's face being blocked out is probably a coincidence, but it sure visually says something.)

I don’t consider Gojo’s failure to be a good teacher to Maki a part of this. He just sucks as a teacher for everyone. So much so that Gojo had to beg Nanami to mentor Yuji and bullied Miguel into training Yuta. Someone who can’t even use Cursed Energy (CE) is far beyond his capabilities. (Note how Nanami thought Gojo was coming to him for Megumi. This guy can’t even teach his alleged successor properly.)

The main problem is how he treats Utahime. Gojo just straight up makes sexist comments towards her when he bullies her. He doesn’t do this to any other female character so I assume this is done to get under her skin instead of a deeply held belief. Since Gojo is otherwise not sexist, I think this may be a case of not being told this is outright discriminatory. For example, when Gojo is racist towards Miguel, he gets called out, immediately apologizes, and stops talking. Utahime doesn’t do that. She just tells him to respect her on the grounds she’s his elder—the very thing that Gojo is rebelling against.

Still there’s no excuse for this. Unmarried women over 25 in Japan face a lot of stigma as it is, Gojo antagonizing her over that is a terrible thing to do. (Unless this is a case of T4T banter where Gojo’s sexist comments are Trans Inclusive Radical Misogyny.)

I’m not sure where this puts Tsumiki in Gojo’s life. Gege has admitted to fumbling her character in the story. One of the biggest complaints of fans is that it doesn’t feel like Megumi cared that intensely for her because their relationship was hardly shown, so I’m inclined to give some leeway to Gojo here.

Gojo does care about non-sorcerer lives and will go out of his way to ensure their well-being despite otherwise treating them indifferently. When it came to Geto’s family he also took care of the ones that defected because they were important to someone he loves. I have no doubt he made sure Tsumiki’s basic needs were met. There could be a whole unique dynamic he has with Tsumiki that may or may not be expanded upon in the anime or light novels. 

But as it stands, he most certainly deprioritized her in his life. To what extent? And was it for being a girl or being weak? Who knows. She’s not in the afterlife airport scene and Gojo doesn’t think about her in death. This could be for a number of reasons. 1) He has no idea she’s dead. 2) He really did just limit things to his high school years. 3) He didn’t care about her at all. My point is I don’t know and he definitely screwed up here.

In all these cases, it seems that Gojo’s problem lies less with misogyny and more with his relationship to strength. Gojo has correctly identified that strict hierarchies are a problem. As an adult he does not tell others to put up with him because of his seniority, strength, or gender. People are free to insult him, smack him, and order him around without fear of consequence. But just like how Toji still sees women as a means to serve him without being violent, Gojo sees his strength as something that separates him from other people without abusing it.

On a fundamental level Gojo stopped seeing himself as a human because of the objectification he experienced as a living weapon. Other people to him are both precious and unreachable. His internal beliefs have him convinced this immense difference in strength means no one weaker than him can ever fully understand him. And once again, just like Toji, this is all related to unprocessed trauma.

When Geto abandoned Gojo, one of his reasons was their difference in strength. Geto straight up tells Gojo this to his face. They no longer can be friends because he’s The Strongest. Geto no longer understands him because he’s The Strongest. Gojo took that to heart it seems. If his best friend won’t be with him because he’s too strong, no one can truly be with him unless they’re as strong as him. 

I want to be clear. What broke their relationship wasn’t their difference in strength—it was exploitation at the hands of the higher ups. They kept those two separate and overworked until one of them snapped. Both of them failed to identify their work culture as the crux of their problems. Geto blamed non-sorcerers while Gojo blamed himself and only Jujutsu Society. And in the same way Toji tried to rely on women to fix his problems, Gojo went all in on strength. This is how Gojo can be correct in seeing the higher ups and tradition as a massive problem, while still overworking himself and putting his students in dangerous situations.

But despite all these flaws, Gojo did right by Megumi when raising him. Megumi is a Zenin by blood—misogyny should be present in every single drop, and yet it is not. Megumi is so divorced from sex-based hierarchies that he barely sees gender. When Todo asks a rather sleazy question about what women he likes, his answer is gender neutral and on the basis of them being a good person. He prioritizes the women in his life, respecting Maki as a role model and taking action in service to his sister’s wellbeing. His protectiveness of Tsumiki isn’t chivalrous either, Megumi extends the same prioritization to Yuji since they both meet his definition of a good person.

Megumi has internalized Gojo’s disinterest in hierarchy so much that he has no interest in power either. When he’s made the head of the Zenin Clan, he immediately wants to give the title to Maki. A girl being more competent than Megumi is not something that bothers him in the slightest. Naoya could never. All that money and influence mean nothing to him. People and animals are all that matter to him. This violent cycle of misogyny ends with him.

Gojo also did good by ensuring both Megumi and Maki were never exposed to the feud between the Zenin and Gojo Clans. Megumi is only made aware of it in passing as encouragement for his growth. Since Maki massacred the rest of the Zenins, that generational beef is officially over too. Two violent cycles ended in part because Gojo rejected the strict hierarchies perpetuating the problem.

The only cycle Gojo didn’t break was the over reliance on strength and child labor. He did lay the groundwork to escape it I think. None of his students believe strength means they need to be isolated. They cooperate in combat and appear to be close friends that enjoy themselves when they can. Since the higher ups are all dead and Japan is in disarray, there’s a good chance they can do something truly revolutionary with this if they survive Sukuna.

Gojo sucks at parenting, but it is still parenting.

Demonstrating how Gojo has benefited Megumi doesn’t make him a father. After all, neither Megumi or Tsumiki take his last name and Megumi refers to him as Sensei. There’s also the underlying coercion in their arrangement, Gojo’s aid came at the cost of Megumi becoming a sorcerer.

I put the memories of their meeting side by side for comparison. Gojo's is probably more accurate since it's presented with more details and clarity. But little Megumi seeing Gojo as a strange and annoying aberration says a lot about their relationship.

So, I turn to the undisputed Mother of the Year, Geto, for comparison.

Gege has stated that Geto was a father to Mimiko and Nanako. He outwardly shows affection towards them as family and spends much more time with them However, Geto runs a cult whose aim is genocide and everyone in his cult is a family member. Geto’s daughters do not take his last name and call him Master. They participate in cult activities and murder operations as they were raised to be prejudiced. There’s also the underlying manipulation in how he recruited them at their most vulnerable. If Geto can be called dad despite all this, then Gojo should be too.

Geto is the better parent by far, I won’t dispute that. He pursued motherhood as a means to cope with his mental illness immediately at age 17. As a cult leader he had plenty of time to be a father since he didn’t have a real job. He set his own hours while being financed by donors, allowing him to be more active in his children’s life. Gojo was not nearly as proactive, he picked up Megumi after he started the first grade.

In Japan, children may enter the first grade in April after turning 6, therefore it can be assumed that Megumi is 6 here and the year is 2009 in April or later. Megumi is in short sleeves and the weather looks warm, so the furthest out the date could be is early September. Gojo was born on December 22, 1989 while Megumi was born on December 7, 2002, giving them a 13 year age gap that puts Gojo at age 19. Since Toji was killed in August of 2007 this means there were 1.75–2 years between his final request and Gojo acting on it. It is unknown how long Tsumiki’s mother was absent.

I do not fault Gojo for this since he could’ve never predicted their mother abandoning them. After Geto died and Nanami was in mourning, the higher ups pushed all that extra work onto him. It’s likely that Gojo had no time to pursue this until he forced the issue near the sale date. These work obligations no doubt strained his relationship with Megumi and Tsumiki as their caretaker.

Some think that this absence is proof Gojo is not a father. I think this absence is proof that he is.

An emotionally distant father who works all day, barely has time for you, and is a pain to deal with. Yes he may pay all the bills and give you a place to live, but you still kind of hate him for being an ass. Sound familiar? You probably know someone with this exact dad if he’s not yours. He even has a clear bias for the son he wants to grow up to be just like him! (I'm so sorry Tsumiki.) 

But that’s not what truly makes him a dad. Gojo couples his affection with cruelty. The way in which Gojo torments Megumi specifically is unique to him and no other student. With all his other students he is consistently, overly friendly. With Megumi? He bullies him in the way only a parent can.

If you aren’t a parent to a child, perhaps you own a pet that you consider your child. I have yet to meet a pet owner that doesn’t mess with their baby to get a reaction out of them.

And since Gege storyboarded Jujutsu Strolls, this video clip is in a state of probably canon.

I can’t think of anything more dad than deliberately embarrassing your child to mess with their love life.

Fathers like these tend to have children that want to destroy them in some capacity. It can serve as a strong motivation for their growth. Protag with crappy dad they might hate while also seeking validation from them? What popular Shounen doesn’t have this? We’ve got Baki the Grappler, Full Metal Alchemist, Bleach, Hunter x Hunter, etc. (Hey look 2 of those are works Gege is heavily inspired by.)

As stated in CFYOW, JJK Thorny Road at Dawn, Chapter 5: At the End of a Sidewalk, Megumi is motivated the most when he imagines destroying Gojo.

In summary, Gojo fits the typical emotionally distant dad bill. A little bit misogynistic, a little bit racist, and trying to live out his failed dreams through his child who he bullies due to unprocessed trauma. (And holy fudge the amount of anime dads that have a kid specifically to surpass them.)

Megumi considers Gojo family even if he won’t outright state it.

Given how Megumi treats Gojo, it may be difficult to believe that he sees his sensei as anything other than a nuisance. But that's kind of how Megumi treats everyone, including his sister. How Megumi is with Tsumiki specifically can give us insight into his behaviors when he's around family vs non-family. Using her as a reference, it can be inferred how he categorizes Gojo.

Tsumiki (and Yuji) vs Gojo

We know that Megumi values his sister greatly because he prioritizes her well-being above most other people. But this motivation is never directly spoken to another character. Megumi keeps his feelings on the matter so close to his chest that Nobara and Yuji are shocked to learn he even has a sister. I don’t think seeing them together would indicate their closeness either. Outwardly Megumi often treats Tsumiki coldly, refusing her affection and even picking fights with her.

And despite his internal dialogue being less harsh towards her, it can still be quite biting. While he recalls her on the verge of passing out, Megumi refers to Tsumiki as his バカ姉貴 (Baka Aneki) or Stupid Sister. Believe it or not, this is actually affection. Sukuna uses similar phrasing for his mother and this Twitter user explains why that's actually a kindness.

Thankfully, Tsumiki and Yuji can see through Megumi’s stand-offishness for what it is. They’re good people who are willing to look past his flaws so Megumi treats them the same way. In this regard, these two act as a blueprint for reading Megumi. For the people he values most he’ll treat them harshly and barely mention them. His expression of love is unspoken devotion and downplayed admiration.

But without that context, Megumi constantly smacking Yuji and the following passages from CFYOW, JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust, Chapter 1: Kyujitsu Kaisen would make you think that he hated him.

All of this is why I believe Megumi's taciturn behavior towards Gojo is his strange way of showing he cares and perhaps as family.

I want to draw attention to the extras where Megumi responds to the question: What is Gojo Satoru to you?

The VIZ translation has Megumi answer: "Well, I guess I owe him my life. I guess…”

The original Japanese is: "一���恩人です......一応"

This is an extremely inaccurate translation as this Tumblr user will explain:

一応 (ichiou) is “for the time being”. 恩人 (onjin) is “benefactor” or “patron”, generally someone that care for his well-being or who he’s indebted to. So it’s “for the time being, he’s my benefactor”.

If we translate back the VIZ version to Japanese, it will be 命の恩人 (inochi no onjin) meaning someone who has saved your life, which is usually used in the context of a literal life-and-death situation. For example when Gojo saved Yuuji from his execution.

Megumi calling Gojo his benefactor greatly downplays all that has been done for him. And his expression is very similar to when he speaks of or around Tsumiki. I think it’s safe to assume Gojo means more to Megumi than he's letting on.

Though Megumi claims he's protecting Tsumiki because she's a good person, I believe there's an additional reason. He owes her a great debt. When their parents abandoned them, she was the one who looked after him first. When Gojo wasn't around to directly care for them, Tsumiki took charge. Megumi's devotion to her is an expression of gratitude for all her efforts.

When Megumi says Gojo is his "benefactor for now", it sounds rather callous. I believe this can be interpreted as something much more benign. In the same way Megumi is returning the favor to Tsumiki, this could be him hinting he plans to one day repay Gojo for his aid.

Gojo is the first person Megumi goes to for help.

Megumi prioritizes Tsumiki and Yuji in part because they need protecting. He sees himself as their guardian and expends a lot of effort ensuring their safety. No such thing occurs for Gojo because he’s The Strongest and the caretaking adult in their relationship. Megumi prioritizes Gojo in a completely different way—he’s the first person he goes to for help with difficult things.

I think this is significant because Megumi otherwise does not seek direct help from others. Sure he'll train with and borrow things from people, but there's a distinct lack of vulnerability he's willing to show.

When Megumi is near death, Gojo’s memory and lessons are his crutch. He does this in his rematch with the Finger Bearer, its aftermath, and before he summons Mahoraga against Haruta. The only other people who have consistently been on Megumi’s mind near death are Tsumiki and Yuji.

And who else grew on the brink of death? Gojo. These two even make the same kind of faces as they flip out during brutal fights. Megumi rarely smiles and its a bit concerning he seems at his happiest when he's in the throes of battle like his sensei.

This could just be a Zenin thing since Maki, Mai, Noabita, Naoya, and Toji will broadly smile when they are obliterating the enemy. But I find it fascinating that Yuji and Yuta did not develop this habit at all despite being personally trained by Gojo. It's possible that Gojo's influence made this aspect of Megumi worse.

What I like the most about Megumi seeking Gojo's aid is how eager his benefactor is to give him whatever he wants when he asks. Gojo is not stingy with his money at all. Megumi’s physical needs are so fully met that he inadvertently shows how spoiled he is when interacting with Yuji and Nobara.

Not only does Megumi recognize higher end fashion, he has strong opinions on it. He also sees Yuji and Nobara react poorly to the price point so he offers to pay a little more. But as you can see, he is so disconnected from average people's money situations that he thinks ~$800 to be put towards a ~$2,500 shirt isn't a big deal.

This indicates that Gojo dotes on Megumi more than other students. Megumi seems to be in such a special category that other characters pick up on it. In other words, Gojo really is acting more like a parent spoiling his favorite child than a teacher here.

Sukuna recognizes how much Megumi values Gojo.

Megumi resisted Sukuna as a vessel by lowering his CE output before the bath. If this affected Sukuna’s ability to obtain his true form post-bath, I do not know. Kenjaku and Yorozu make the claim he could change it, but Sukuna acknowledges full control over Megumi’s body requires Tsumiki being killed first. Sukuna also says that Megumi’s face is better for fighting other sorcerers. He reverts to his true form in his fight with Kashimo, conducting only 2 battles with Megumi’s face on purpose. …If Sukuna is to be taken at his word. 

If Megumi’s resistance prevented the change, that means his soul wasn’t completely broken until Gojo was dead. If Sukuna intentionally manifested his true form after Gojo’s death, that means the two were close enough to be used as a strategy in the same vein as Yorozu/Tsumiki. Either reading suggests a close bond on par with his sister.

Why this dynamic sucks for them both.

The tragedy here is that Gojo and Megumi likely never communicated these feelings to each other. If Megumi can’t even tell his sister he cares directly, there’s no way it’s happening for Gojo. And given how Gojo keeps everyone at arms length because of his own personal hang ups, I doubt he’d ever express it either.

Gojo can’t call Megumi his son, that would be a weakness. Megumi won’t call Gojo his father, he learned how to keep his distance from the best.

Gojo’s avoidant attachment style seems to have reinforced it in Megumi. He was already pretty distant with Tsumiki as a young child, but it appears to have worsened with age. He regrets it himself in basically the same way Gojo regrets failing Geto after he’s gone. Megumi learned from the best you know. Her revival after a coma lasting 1 year and 7 months isn’t enough for him to stop doing this either—he continues to play it cool, just like Gojo.

Gojo on some level is aware he has screwed up royally with Megumi. There’s good reason Nanami thought Gojo was coming to him for help with Megumi first. He does try to make up for this in his own little Gojo way. He gets him friends his age, he tries to have him do normal kid activities, he gives him attention when asked.

But Gojo will never be open about why because he clearly doesn’t know how to address his own hang ups or grief in a healthy manner. And unfortunately Megumi has inherited his bad habits like sons tend to do. He internalizes his trauma, seeks no emotional support, and shows no signs of distress until it breaks him.

As an aside, Gojo is posturing here when he pretends nothing is wrong with Sukuna. …But like I’ve said, he’s not the best dad in the world, so him getting lost in the fight and forgetting about Megumi isn’t out of character. It’s just another trait of his that makes him even more like Toji.

(And since Megumi's name means Blessing, this also doubles as them forgetting about their blessing.)

Gojo didn't want any of this baggage for Megumi. He didn't just want Megumi to be strong—he wanted Megumi to be better than himself. During that training session after the baseball game, Gojo tells Megumi not to sacrifice himself so that others may succeed since sorcerers die alone. He recalls this conversation when he dies, making Megumi the first person he thinks about in death.

As shown by JJK 261, Gojo could not follow his own advice when it came to self-sacrificing. He sacrificed his life and body so that his students could survive. This is a part of that cycle Gojo couldn't break himself, but trusts the future generation to do so. He laid the groundwork for it knowing he'd likely never live to see it fulfilled.

And still, Megumi is even more traumatized than Geto. His only saving grace is Yuji’s refusal to give up on him. Gojo tried to be a dad to him and he failed. Megumi is paying the price for that dearly. Their relationship had problems that were never going to be addressed until the very nature of Jujutsu Sorcerer work changed. Gojo didn’t have the time to process his own grief let alone raise 2 children properly because of overwork. Their messy father-son dynamic isn’t uncommon or unexpected. Like I said, you probably know someone with this type of dad if he isn’t yours.

In Conclusion...

Gojo is an ok dad and Megumi is definitely his son. Whether or not they use those labels for each other is ultimately irrelevant. Geto's words to Kuroi Misato, the maid who looked after Riko when no one else would, put it succinctly:

[topguncortez]

Happy grad!!!

Could you please write an angst writing with reader hurting swayman using the prompt "Why would you say that? " ?

Thank you!

Only Love Can Hurt Like This - J. Swayman

hockey masterlist || g's graduation celly

warnings: angst, issues with body image, online bullying, cursing, miscommunication, hockey inaccuracies

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: what was meant to be a cute video taken by the Bruins social media team, turned into a never ending cycle of rude online comments and threats. What's worse, is your fiancé's in the first round of the playoffs and he can read you like the back of his hand

Life with Jeremy Swayman was how one would think it would be. He was as charismatic and sassy as he was on the ice and in interviews. He cared for those he loved, he did everything in his power to keep a smile on your face. He was the type of boyfriend who would buy you “just because” flowers and cook your favorite meal when there was even the slightest hint of a frown on your face. He was the type of boyfriend who knew when your period was going to start, and would make sure to be stocked up on your favorite snacks and any supplies that you would need. He was the type of boyfriend who did his best to shield you away from the hate and the trolls that came along with being with a hockey player. 

Jeremy had seen first hand how hard some people could be on the internet. He did his best to ignore the comments and the tweets, but sometimes, drowning in your own despair after losing a game was much needed therapy. 

It was actually your idea to keep your relationship private. Jeremy was the type of person who loved out loud. He loved showing off the people he loved, wanted to boast about their accomplishments to anyone and everyone who would listen. He didn’t necessarily like being the center of attention. . . but he also reveled in it. But you were the complete opposite. You never were one to post about everything single thing you did on social media. You didn’t like to be the center of attention or have everyone’s eyes on you. For the first couple months of dating, you managed to fly under the radar, which was an accomplishment in itself, but one instagram story posted by your golden retriever of a boyfriend had boosted you from “internet ghost” to “who's the girl with Jeremy Swayman.” 

The speculation firestorm had started and it ultimately led to some tech-savvy fans finding your instagram and screenshotting all of your personal photos to post on their fan accounts. At first you found it kind of sweet, the captions on the fan accounts calling you beautiful and a queen, and “Mrs. Sway” (even though at that moment in time you had only been dating for three months). But then it all started to get weird, some people finding out your birth place, your parents names, where you went to high school, where you went to college. Then the hate accounts started to rise. The vile, awful comments about you and your appearance, how you are only with Jeremy because he’s Jeremy Swayman, and one fan went as far as commenting what apartment building you lived in. 

You had never felt so violated and at a loss what to do in your life. You loved Jeremy with all your heart. You loved everything about him. It nearly broke you in two to sit down with him, tears streaming down your face as you told him about what had been going on. You thought that he would break up with you, right there in then. If you couldn’t handle being in the spotlight, then you couldn’t be the one for him. You had been replaying in your mind how you would handle it when those five words would leave his lips. Except, the opposite happened. 

Jeremy wrapped you up in the tightest, most bone crushing hug he could muster, and cried as he tucked his face into your neck. He had no idea that his one silly instagram story of you singing karaoke at the bar would turn into a mess of this caliber. He felt horrible that his “fans” were saying awful things about you and had threatened your safety. A sick feeling arose in his stomach at thought of something happening to you because of his job. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jeremy sniffled, pulling away from you, “I never wanted this to happen, I just didn’t. . . please don’t leave me. I-I’ll say something or make a post- you can move in with me! I have a state of the art security so you don’t have-” 

“Wait,” You cut off his rambling, grabbing his hands, “Leave you?” 

“Yeah,” Jeremy said defeated, “That’s what you’re doing here right? I mean, I totally get it. You have every right to feel protected and safe and not have to-” You grabbed his face with both hands, and cut his rambling off with a searing kiss. Jeremy immediately reacted, his hands going to your hips, as you kissed him. 

You pulled back breathlessly, looking into those brown eyes that you loved so much, “Jeremy Ryan Swayman, I am not leaving you. Never in a million years would I think of leaving you. . . unless you-” And now it was Jeremy’s turn to cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“Never,” Jeremy whispered against your lips, “Never ever. You’re stuck with me.” 

And for the past three years, that’s exactly where you have been. Stuck with Jeremy Swayman. You watched him grow as a goaltender and a player, which had to be one of your favorite things. He had gained so much confidence in the past three seasons with the Bruins. 

Since that day you broke down to him about the fans, the two of you had done everything you possibly can to keep your relationship off of social media. You deleted all your old social media, and made new private accounts. You and Jeremy moved into a new apartment together (he couldn’t stand the thought of someone finding out where he lived and putting you at risk, again.) Most fans had thought that you and Jeremy broke up, since your lack of presence on his social media, but the eagle eyed ones still spotted you at home games, sitting a couple rows up from the goalie net. Every so often a video of you at a game, down at the glass with Ully’s or Jeremy’s family would come up on your social media. But for the most part, the fans had completely forgotten you existed. 

That was, until the playoffs had rolled around. 

You were beyond excited for Jeremy and the Bruins to make another play-off run, after last season's heartbreak. You could remember the tear stained face of your lovable boyfriend as he walked out of the locker room and collapsed into your embrace. Brad and David did their best to console Jeremy, but he was in the state of mind to not listen to them. He was the goalie afterall, his one job was to block the other team from scoring and he failed. 

This year though, Jeremy and the Bruins were ready to make a run for the Cup. They wanted to go all the way, and were going to do all they could to get that Cup back in Boston. Though, Jeremy was excited for playoff hockey, he was also excited to see you in your WAG jacket. You opted out of getting one last year, not really feeling like you fit in amongst the rest of the wives and girlfriends of the players. You hated comparing yourself to them, but you couldn’t help it. You weren’t tall and skinny and blonde and a model like most of them. Hell, you were a third grade teacher, making not nearly a quarter of what Jeremy makes. You felt out of place amongst the WAGs. But this year was different, you had somewhat found your place, and you had the Ullmark family to thank for that. 

“Do you know what they look like?” Jeremy asked as he scrubbed the dishes after dinner. 

“No idea,” You shook your head, “Katrina and Rebecca handled all the design and stuff. I just had to go in and get measured.” 

“Your first WAG jacket,” Jeremy said with a dreamlike sigh, and looked over at you, that boyish grin on your face, “We should frame it after we win the cup,” You rolled your eyes, “No seriously! We can hang it next to my UMaine jersey. It’s poetic.” 

“Just another thing in this house with your name on it.” 

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat, pointing his finger at you, “It’s your name too.” 

A blush coated your cheeks as you looked at the diamond ring he had proposed to you with about three months ago. It was the most beautiful diamond that you had ever seen, a gift given to Jeremy from his grandma. The two of you had been waiting to tell more people about the engagement, but also wanted to wait until the season was over. If things could go Jeremy’s way, you’d be neck deep in the middle of wedding planning about now. 

“Soon,” You corrected, putting the last dish away. 

Jeremy dried his hands on a dish towel, before throwing it on his shoulder. He grabbed your hips, pulling you to him, “Soon enough,” He placed a kiss on your lips, “I bet you’ll look so hot in your WAG jacket. You already drive me crazy when you wear my jersey. Now you get your own custom made jacket with my name on it? I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you.” 

You shook your head, patting his chest, “You’ll have to try, big boy.” 

Jeremy let out a groan as you walked out of his embrace. You put an extra swing in your hips as you walked to the bedroom, knowing he was watching your ass the entire way until you turned down the hall. 

— — —

It felt weird driving to TD Garden without Jeremy by your side. You had never been here without him, and felt a bit like a fish out of water as you parked in his designated spot, which was right next to Moa. You felt a wave of comfort roll over you as she smiled at you, getting out of her car to greet you. 

“You’re here!” She smiled. 

“I am,” You wiped your sweaty hands on your jeans, “Is this okay? Does my hair look okay? What about my makeup? I never put any on except for important events.” 

“You look great,” Moa said, and you could tell she was genuine. You had spent a whole forty-five minutes staring at your closet and another forty-five trying on different outfits. All Katrina and Rebecca had said was to dress your best for the photo shoot, and you weren’t entirely sure what that meant. Luckily, being a teacher, you had an arsenal of clothing for business casual. But you weren’t sure if your definition of business casual met their definition of business casual. 

“I’m nervous,” You mumbled, picking at your hands. 

Moa grabbed your hands, “I know. But there’s nothing to worry about! It’s just the girls!” 

“Yeah. . .” You sighed, as Moa threw her arm around you and walked towards the locker room where the rest of the wives and girlfriends were. 

The jackets were better than you could ever imagine. The brown leather looked simple and chic, with the logo on the front and the players’ last name on the back. You couldn’t help but feel a bit teary eyed as you ran your fingers over the stitching of your fiance’s last name. He was right, maybe you should frame it when the playoffs are over. 

Donned in your Bruins leather jacket, you and the other wives/girlfriends made your way to the plaza in front of TD Garden. The girls so naturally clumped together to take pictures, as you stood somewhat awkwardly in the midst of them. It wasn’t until Katrina pulled you to stand next to her, and wrapped her arm around your shoulders that the tension in your body eased. An easy smile arose on your face as you posed with the girls in different locations. 

“Moa and Y/N, can we get a video of you two doing the Ully-Sway hug?” One of the social media interns asked. You eagerly nodded your head, getting pulled by Moa. It was easily one of your favorite traditions in Bruins hockey, watching your bubbly, happy fiance hug his best friend after a winning game. There was something about watching two grown men, donned in goalie pads, throw themselves at one another and spin around in circles that brought a warm and fuzzy feeling to your belly and a bright smile on your face. 

You didn’t even think twice as you recreated your fiance’s famous hug with Moa. Laughter filled the air as you hugged her tight and spun in a circle. You didn’t even think twice when you got the tag on tiktok, watching the video in comparison to Ully and Sway’s over and over. You didn’t even think twice when you sent the link to the tiktok to Jeremy asking “who did it better?” You didn’t even think twice as the Bruin’s comment section was filled with fans tagging you and asking if you were back and how they knew that they saw you at games. 

You didn’t even really think about the video being on social media, until the hate comments started rolling in. 

The video hadn’t been up for more than 24 hours when the trolls and the “fans” started spewing their hateful words that you had tried so hard to fight off for the past three years. You tried your best to not pay attention to the comments as the video spread across tiktok and onto instagram and twitter. But the innocent video of two friends recreating their husbands iconic hug, turned into fans posting pictures and videos of you leaving TD Garden with Jeremy, or out on a run by yourself, or even some of the photos the WAGs had tagged you in. The pictures didn’t necessarily bother you, as much as the comments did. 

“She’s still with him!” 

“Duh, gotta play the part to get the cash.” 

“Dying for one of the WAGs to give her a makeover.” 

“How well do you think she sucked d for the jacket????” 

“I thought we got rid of her” 

“It’s nice to see a midsized wag” 

“Since when did puck bunnies become wags” 

“Living every puck bunnies dream” 

“I miss his old gf, she was prettier” 

“She's probably for the team” 

“He will realize soon when she leaves him if he doesn't get the cup” 

“And how many more does he have in other cities?” 

You were sitting at your vanity, fighting with your inner thoughts when you should’ve been getting ready for the first game in the playoff series. It was a big night for Jeremy, and all you wanted to do was get dressed in your outfit that you and Moa had gone shopping for and wear that beautiful brown leather jacket with your future last name on it. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t bring yourself to take your hair out of the curlers you had begrudgingly put in your hair, or start your makeup routine, or even get dressed as you sat in one of Jeremy’s dress shirts and panties. Jeremy was singing loudly along to his pre-pre game playlist in the bathroom, not paying any mind to the war that was going on in your head. 

The comments had gotten worse since some of the wives posted pictures of everyone in their jackets. Some fans had found your new instagram account, tagging you in the comments. You felt horrible that their nastiness was being left on other people’s posts. It made you feel as though they were growing to resent you, as no one had reached out and invited you to sit in the box, until Moa did this morning. It took all your strength to not break down and cry, knowing that you had been left out of planning of something, when you finally felt like you had made it “in” to the group. 

The comments were also taking a toll on yourself image. You took longer than necessary staring at your naked body in the mirror, analyzing every stretch mark, scar, and blemish on your skin. You pulled and pinched at your belly, your hip dips, your chin, and your thighs. All the places you had been insecure about the most, the fans seemed to figure out and make comments on. It was truly amazing how the comments could drive so deep into your heart. 

“Baby!” Jeremy’s cheerful voice sounded out as he came out of the bathroom, dress pants on his perfectly chiseled body. You clenched your jaw, fighting back the anger. Normally, you’d be drooling over the sight of his perfect abs on display, his pants low on his hips, but right now it made you angry. Sure, he followed the meal plan that his trainers gave him, but he’d also have his cheat days. But you’d never know looking at him. You’d never know that this man could pack away a dozen donuts like it was nothing. But you felt like you'd pop the button in your jeans if you even ate one. 

“Babe?” Jeremy asked, catching your attention, “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you dressed?” 

You blinked, looking down at your makeup brushes laid out in front of you, “I got distracted.” 

Jeremy wasn’t buying it for a second. He knew you like the back of his hand, and could sense something was off from a mile away. He walked over to you, kneeling down in front of you and grabbing your hands, “Honey, look at me.” 

You glanced at him, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. You had been trying everything that you could to hold back from breaking down. Tonight and this playoff season was too important to Jermey and the team that you couldn’t be breaking down in tears over some stupid people on the internet. But the way Jeremy was looking at you, searching your eyes for any idea of what was bothering you, the flood gates broke. 

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. 

“Oh honey,” Jeremy cooed, pulling you into his strong arms. Your body shook as you cried, his hand on the back of your head, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and running a comforting hand over your hair. Hearing you cry made his heart break, and tears well up in your own eyes. He tried so hard to make sure that you never had a reason to cry like this, and he felt like he had failed you. When your sobs had been reduced to sniffles, Jeremy pulled you back gently, his hands cupping your face and brushing away the stray tears. 

“Please,” Jeremy pleaded, “Tell me what’s wrong? And don’t lie to me. I know something’s been bothering you for a few days now. Please tell me, so I can fix it.” 

You shook your head, a sad smile on your face, “You can’t fix this.” 

“Well, I can try.” 

You let out a shuddering breath as you grabbed your phone, opening up your camera roll and showing him the screenshots of a series of comments from several different posts. Jeremy’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at them. You watched as he went from confused to angry to sad. He looked up at you, his brown eyes wet with tears. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

You shrugged, wiping your nose, “Cause you’re busy and it’s the playoffs and I shouldn’t be bothering you with this-” 

“Bothering me with this stuff? Why would you say that? You’re not bothering me with anything,” Jeremy shifted closer to you, “You are my life, Y/N. You are my everything. For better or for worse. In good times and bad. I might not be able to fix all this, but I will do everything I possibly can to make it better.” 

The tears fell even harder as you looked at him. He looked torn to pieces that you had kept this from him, and it made you feel horrible. You thought you were protecting him by not bringing this up, but it had made you feel even worse going through all this alone. 

“I just feel. . . I feel like I have fucked everything up,” You admitted, “They’re leaving comments on the girls’ posts, and on the Bruins’ page. I mean, it makes sense that the girls didn’t want to invite me to the box tonight.” 

“What?” Jeremy’s eyebrows rose in confusion. 

“They didn’t invite me to the box,” You said, your voice sounding small. 

“No, baby, no,” Jeremy shook his head, running hand down his face, “I. . .” He sighed, “I let it slip at practice that I proposed.” 

“Jer!” 

“I’m sorry!” Jeremy exclaimed, “I know, I know you wanted to wait until after the playoffs to say something, but. . . you sent that video and Ully said something about “our girls look good” and I said “you mean our wives,” He shook his head, “Ully told Moa and Moa told Katrina and Katrina wanted to surprise you with a small engagement type party in the box.” 

“It was supposed to be a surprise?” 

Jeremy nodded, “It was supposed to be a surprise. I didn’t know that all this other stuff was going on, but I promise! I promise. . . they weren’t leaving you out, baby.” 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Tears welled up in your eyes again, and this time Jeremy was confused, “That’s the nicest thing anyone has done for me.” 

Jeremy felt his heart flutter in his chest, as he wiped a tear away from your cheek, “I’m sorry I let it slip and didn’t tell you about the surprise,” He grabbed both of your hands in his, “And I am so sorry about the things they are saying, but none of it is true. It is the farthest thing from true. You are my everything. You are the reason I wake up in the morning, the reason I smile, the reason I get out on the ice every day. You are the reason for everything. And nothing is going to change that.” 

“You don’t care that I don’t look-” 

“I’m not even going to let you finish that sentence cause that’s just ridiculous,” He shook his head, “I want you. I will always want you. Even when we’re 80 years old, and I’ve taken one too many pucks to the head and can’t wipe my own ass, I will want you, as long as you will have me.” 

“I’ll want you too,” You said, a tearful smile on your face, “And you’ve taken one too many pucks to the head now,” He chuckled, bringing your knuckles up to his lips. 

“I’ll keep taking pucks to the head if it means that it makes you smile.” 

“As long as you have all your teeth.” 

“No promises.” You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him away. Jeremy stood up, and gently tilted your head up so he could place a kiss on your forehead, “Fuck what they say cause nothing matters. The hate they spew is because they’re jealous and miserable in their own lives. What matters is you and me. As long as we are happy, they can just fuck right off.” 

You smiled up at him, “I’ll always be happy with you.”

tagging: @roosterdobson cause you're the reason I'm obsessed with a man who catches rubber pucks for a living

[wreckedandpolemic]

bunny ears and devil horns - matty healy

(mdni) in which your halloween costume gets your boyfriend so riled up that he needs to remind you who you belong to. part of the white and gold universe and promptober75 2024. 2717 words.

You fix the devil horns on the top of your head, watching your reflection to centre them. The girl in the mirror smirks back at you, lips painted a shade of red that matches your lingerie. It’s scarcely more than scraps of lace, accentuating your figure with straps that criss-cross over your body. A garter holds up your sheer stockings, feet tucked into red-bottom stilettos.

Squeezing into the red vinyl minidress that completes your “costume” is more of a task than you’d expected, but the effect is perfect. You text Matty a picture of your outfit and what’s underneath, captioned happy halloween, daddy ;) do you like the dress better on or off? Matty’s response is immediate, flashing up his contact before you’ve even put your phone down. You let it ring for a moment, make him sweat a little before you pick up with an innocent little, “Hello?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, princess. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

You giggle. “You know, this is why I call you an old man. You’re an old man with a weak heart, Matthew, and I’m going to inherit all your money when you die.”

“Behave yourself,” Matty teases. “You look gorgeous, princess. Have fun, be safe, don’t talk to any boys.” His grin is audible, and you groan.

“But what if they’re gonna give me free drinks?” you pout, half-jokingly wheedling.

“Especially not then,” Matty answers. “Should just let me drive up there instead. I can buy you much better booze than some grease-faced twenty-year-old boy, and I’m definitely better company.”

You laugh at how serious he sounds, his jealousy creeping in at the edges of his tone. “Oh, you wanna be the only man I’m using for his money, right? But it’s so fun, and they make it so easy.”

Matty practically growls, a low, frustrated noise filling your ear. “Will you behave? Such a slut, aren’t you, princess? Been too long since I’ve made you mine, huh?”

“You know I’m yours. Makes it more fun, letting them buy me drinks and think I’m gonna let them get anywhere before I tell them I have a real man waiting for me at home.”

He laughs, low and rich and sweet. “Music to my ears, princess. Have fun tonight, yeah? Call me when you’re home.”

“You sure? It’s gonna be past your bedtime.” Matty only scoffs, adding a soft I love you that makes you pout and long for him. “I love you too.”

You drink and dance your way through the evening, barely paying for anything and always slipping teasingly out of your suitors’ grasp. And it’s fun, it is, your head spinning joyfully as your friends pull you into the circle, but you miss Matty achingly, painfully conscious of the distance between you, how long it’ll be before you get to see him, have him, again.

Sure, it’s a little codependent, but you’ve never been so in love. A year ago, this would’ve been your ideal night, drunk and dancing and flirting to your heart’s content; now, though, all you want is to curl up in bed with your boyfriend and a vintage red. A little melancholy, you duck out early, barely making it to midnight and hoping you’ll still catch Matty once you’re home.

There’s an extra car in your driveway, but it’s too dark to make out the model or reg number, so you shrug and fumble with your keys to let yourself in. Coming face-to-face with Matty helping himself to coffee in your kitchen shocks you almost into sobriety, your knees practically buckling as you throw yourself into his arms. You press hungry, needy kisses over his face in a way that’s definitely indecent for your shared living space. “Hi, princess,” Matty grins.

“What are you doing here?” you laugh disbelievingly.

“Wanted to be waitin’ at home for you,” he smirks. “Make sure you remember what your real man feels like.”

You tilt your head knowingly. “You’re jealous,” you giggle. “Saw how hot I looked tonight and got mad that a bunch of silly boys were the only ones enjoying it, right?”

“Just wanna make sure everyone knows who you belong to, yeah?” You smirk, taking his hand and pulling him along to your bedroom. Matty slams you against the door as soon as it’s closed, kissing and licking and biting at your neck with abandon.

“Don’t I look pretty, Daddy?” you sigh, tilting your head to give him better access. “I want you to tell me how pretty I am, tell me everything you want to do to me,” you breathe, threading a hand into Matty’s curls and lifting his head. His eyes are black with lust when they meet yours, his lips swollen and spit-slick.

Groaning, he drops his hands to grab your ass, his gaze weighted and heavy. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, princess. So pretty for me, and only for me, yeah?” You nod feverishly. “Had to get off as soon as you hung up the phone, angel. God, this fucking dress. Couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous you’d look dancing, about bringing you home and getting on my knees, gettin’ you undressed and fucking you in just your belt and stockings.”

You moan, grinding against the bulge in his trousers; heat floods your body and drips into your panties, hunger gnawing between your thighs. “The shoes, too?” you tease, hooking one leg around him to press a stiletto heel against the back of his thigh.

“Shit, if you want,” Matty answers, lifting you off your feet and laying you on the bed. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, half to himself. “D’you mind if I take a picture, princess? I just— y’so pretty, so perfect.”

Eagerly, you nod. “You’re so sweet, so good to me. Make me so happy,” you beam. “Y’gotta fuck me like a whore, though, okay? Maybe I was a bad girl tonight, drinking and flirting with boys to make them think they had a chance,” you say, a teasing pout playing on your lips. You toss your head wildly, posing provocatively for Matty’s camera.

“Such a dirty little girl,” he smirks. “You wanna get punished? Get that pathetic excuse for a dress off for me, okay, princess?” He’s still standing at the foot of your bed, camera poised, when you reach up at him.

“Can’t take it off on my own,” you say, biting your lip and rolling over. “S’too tight. I’m stuck,” you add, deliberately playing up the porn dialogue and arching your back. You moan happily when he straddles the backs of your thighs, his fingers warm as they find your zipper and tug gently.

Torturously slow, Matty unzips you, like you’re a gift wrapped up all for him. A stuttering gasp leaves his lips as he pulls the dress off you, grabbing your ass and kneading like he can’t resist. He spanks you harshly, and you arch greedily up into his touch. “This fucking ass drives me crazy, princess. You want me to fuck you there later?”

Your cunt throbs with need. “Please,” you moan into the sheets. “S’all yours, Daddy. Do whatever you want with me. But make me hurt first, okay? You gotta teach your little slut a lesson,” you add, smirking over your shoulder at him as his eyes go black with lust.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he scoffs, smacking the inside of your thigh. Sweet pleasure-pain arcs under your skin, hot and dizzying. “You want everyone to know who you belong to, hm? Gonna make you scream loud enough for the entire city to hear,” he smirks. Without even waiting for the instruction, you shift into your favourite position for him; face down, ass up and ready for whatever he wants to give. You knead a lace-clad breast in one hand, pinching and rolling your nipple through the thin fabric. “Jesus, y’fucking soaked through, princess,” Matty mutters, pulling your panties to the side and spitting on your dripping cunt.

You moan helplessly against your pillow, writhing greedily as you feel his spit dripping down your skin. “Daddy, please,” you beg. “M’so needy, so wet for you, I can’t wait any longer.” You gasp, entire body jolting as Matty leans down, licks a broad stripe over your cunt, kisses your clit.

“You can’t wait?” Matty says, mocking tone sending the need hammering in your veins into a fever pitch. “Greedy girl wants to get filled up and punished?” You moan out an affirmative, feeling his weight shift as he leans over to your bedside drawer and pulls out a toy. You hear him uncap a bottle of lube and slick up the toy, cunt clenching when he presses it gently against your hole. “You ready?”

“Please, Daddy. Please stop teasing. I can’t— fuckkk,” you cry, the suddenness of Matty slamming the toy into you sending liquid heat spiralling through your body. “Shit, yes,” you moan, breaking into a keening wail when he switches the toy on, the rabbit sending pulses of pleasure so intense at your clit that it nearly hurts.

“There you go, darling. All ready now, huh?” Without waiting for an answer, Matty brings his hand down to smack your ass hard. Every slap jolts the vibrator against your swollen clit, garbled whines falling pathetically from your lips. Your ass is flaming red and stinging as Matty brings his hand down again, pleasure coiling tight at the base of your spine. “Look so gorgeous all bruised up for me, princess. You’re matchin’ that pretty lace.” Your hips shift, at once desperately chasing pleasure and retreating from overstimulation.

Arching your back, you grind down against the vibrator, already melting into a slick puddle of need. “Daddy,” you whine, without even knowing what you’re pleading for. Pleasure winds itself tight through your body, your muscles tense and your head spinning.

Matty strokes the curve of your ass gently, smacks you hard, and you gasp, a high whine falling from your lips as the vibrator presses insistently against your clit. “Oh, sweet girl,” he sighs. “You gonna cum?” he coos, one hand sliding around to your front and gently cradling you. You nod helplessly, garbled whines falling from your lips. “Oh, baby. Go on, princess. Cum for me. You look so pretty when you cum, darling.”

One more hard slap to your inner thigh has you screaming, pitching headfirst into pure ecstasy. “Ohmygod, Daddy, yes!” you cry, face buried in the pillow as tears brim in your eyes. Pleasure clenches vice-tight around your organs, bordering on pain in your cunt where the vibrator still hammers against your sensitive nerves. Arousal drips down your legs, incoherent moans falling from your lips and heat licking in your belly.

Your cunt clenches as Matty pulls the toy free and you whine. “God, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your swollen clit. “You ready for Daddy to take what he needs, princess?”

You giggle breathlessly. “What do you need, Daddy?”

“Need to fuck this slutty little pussy, darling. Need to hear those pretty noises you make, fill you up, make sure you remember whose girl you are, alright?” Matty says, almost a moan.

“Please,” you breathe out, and the word’s barely left your lips before he’s inside you, your soaked cunt taking him greedily. Desire pulses heady between your legs, your back arching as you try desperately to fuck yourself back on him.

Matty’s nails dig into your hips, pain flaring where his body meets the sore flesh of your ass. “God, you feel so good, princess. Missed this sweet cunt so bad. Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t remember your own name, beautiful,” he promises, slamming his hips hard against yours.

Whimpering softly, your eyes slip shut as Matty’s fingers trail slickly over your wet clit. “Wish we could just fucking stay like this forever,” you groan, dazed and swimming in pleasure with Matty buried to the hilt inside you. You can feel him nearly trembling with the effort of holding still. “Give it to me, Daddy,” you plead. “I need it. Need it so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

“Such a little cockslut, princess. Want Daddy to fuck you dumb, right?” You nod frantically, whining out affirmatives as he traces his thumb over your hip. “S’it okay if I turn you over, darling? Wanna kiss my sweet girl while I make her stupid for me.”

Even though you agree, a whine slips out of you when he pulls out, just for a second, to flip you over. He smiles softly down at you, adoring, brushes a stray piece of hair off your face. Pouting, you arch up towards Matty until he gives you what you want; a slow, deep kiss as he fills you exactly the same way. Ecstasy floods your body, Matty’s hips slamming hard against yours as he drips moans into your mouth. “That’s my good little girl,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “Just gotta lay back and take it, okay, princess? Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.”

“So good to me,” you groan, locking your legs around his waist and pressing your heel into his back. Matty’s pained little moan falls straight to your cunt, pulses in your ears, slick, sweet noises filling the room. “Mmh, Daddy,” you whine, high and needy as he fucks into you.

Matty groans into your neck, sucks a bruise into soft skin. “My sweet girl,” he sighs, covering his mouth with yours. “Always so good for me, even when you’re a little slut,” he teases, circling your clit as you thrash under him.

Wild, erratic pleasure spills under your skin, your body precariously close to its end. “M’your little slut,” you moan, threading a hand through Matty’s curls and pulling him in for a kiss. “M’so close, Daddy, please!”

Smiling against your lips, Matty pinches your clit softly. “D’you deserve it, princess?” he asks, low and slightly dangerous. You bite your lip. “Nah, I didn’t think so either. Luckily for you, I’m feelin’ generous, angel. I’ll let you cum…” You bate your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “If you beg for it,” he adds with a smirk.

“Please, Daddy,” you gasp. “Please let me cum, I need it. Need you, want you all the time, please,” you practically scream, dissolving into incoherent, wanton pleas as Matty fucks into you over and over.

Your pulse hammers between your thighs, cunt clenching desperately around him. “Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy. Soak my cock, yeah?”

He tweaks your nipple, kisses your pulse point, slams hard into you, and you break. Your body collapses in on itself, pleasure crumbling your muscles one by one as you moan out the only word you know; Daddy. Pure ecstasy wipes your mind clean, melts into a hot puddle between your legs, Matty’s body warm and grounding against yours.

You smile blithely up at him, scrunching your face when he pulls out. “Wanna paint these pretty tits, angel. You gonna let me?” Eagerly, you nod, arching your back to press your tits up towards him. Your eyes fall to his cock, slick with your arousal and drooling precum as he strokes himself. The column of Matty’s neck stretches beautifully as he throws his head back in pleasure, moaning sweetly. He chokes out your name as he comes, cum splashing across your tits.

“You wanna get one more picture?” you grin, and Matty nods with wide eyes, fumbling for his phone and breathing hard as he photographs you. You start to draw patterns in the mess across your chest, sucking your fingers into your mouth and cleaning his cum off them.

“Such a little cumslut, princess. Love how filthy you are,” Matty murmurs, leaning down to kiss you and moaning quietly at his own taste. There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his demeanour, then, and you catch the moment with both hands.

Smirking a little, you reach up to tug on his hair. “I saw that, Daddy. It’s okay, you got what you needed, can just be my good boy now. I’ll take care of you,” you promise, rolling on top of him and pressing your bodies together. The sticky mess of him smears between your chests, and you kiss him softly. “I’ll let you have whatever you want, Daddy. Just gotta say please.”

[sissikellicaptions]

A Week Like No Other Pt 1

This was real, you couldn't believe it. You'd wanted for so long to have a diapered getaway. Where a dominate mommy or daddy would take you on a trip. And here you were, in a diaper and dress, some tall stockings and heels, with no phone, wallet, and no control. And you loved it.

The man who you only actually knew as Daddy had been talking to you for awhile, and when you mentioned your wants, you first thought you scared him off. Until after about a week of silence, he presented you with the opportunity you'd dreamed of, a 1 week all you can take vacation. He would pick you up, and take care of everything, you just needed to agree to do what he says, and agree to bring nothing. Of course you leapt at the opportunity, and when his care pulled into the drive, he got out a smiled at first seeing you, but also looked, disappointed?

Apparently when he said nothing, he meant NOTHING, not even the literal clothes off your back. He walked to you, pulled you back inside your house, and stripped you. You had lie on the floor for a bit before he came in with a new outfit, and a diaper, which made your heart flutter. He padded you up, pulled the dress over your head, and attached the rest of the outfit before walking you to his car, opening the passenger side door, and helped you in. You pushed the seat backwards, face red with embarrassment hoping no one saw you in the mid day sun.

Daddy got in the car, and smiled looking at you. You smiled back and he said that he would be taking pictures, for the two of you to look back on the trip. You didn't speak, conflicted between fear of exposure, but also getting slightly turned on by that same thing. Sensing your confliction, Daddy told you that for now he'd ensure your face didn't show, only that pretty sissy body of yours. You covered your face as Daddy counted down, and the phone snapping the first of what would be many photos of the most intense week of your life

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

Photo is not mine, credit goes to original owner. Contact me if you would like credit for it, and if you would like me to remove it from the page.

Trying to make a more long form photo story caption....thing. As always feedback is welcome and encouraged!

Story is a work of fiction. All events, people, and places involve potential problematic behaviors and depict scenes for fantasy purposes only.

[missredherring]

Trying Something New

Lucien Flores x Fat F!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 2k

Position: Crying Out

Contents: established relationship. sexting. m!masturbation. so much kissing. cunnilingus. unprotected piv.

Summary: “Back in town tonight. Sex? Pls?”

A/N: It's here! My offering for @prolix-yuy's Bangathon '24!! I took the easy route with the plot, but idk. I have so much admiration for LJ and how she wove story and smut together in her own Bangathon. How'd she do it? Raw talent (and magic?).

I saw the position the wheel of destiny gave me and thought, "How would that work with a bigger body?" With modifications, of course!

Not beta read. All mistakes are mine.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

“Back in town tonight. Sex? Pls?”

The mug just touches your mouth when you read Lucien’s text, the steam settling on your upper lip. You wipe it away as you think it over, taking stock of how you’re feeling. His request definitely piques your interest. 

“Make sure to bring that cologne I like. The pillows don't smell like you anymore when I fuck myself into them.”

“Thank fuck. You’re so good to me, baby.”

That's all the permission he needs. The texts start coming in before you even get to work.

“Your clit is my favorite fidget toy.”

“Hands down.”

“Your pants. Haha.”

It’s early, so no one’s around to hear you snort. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

His reply is quick. “Got lots of time on my hands rn. Wish they were on you instead.”

Another one comes in during a meeting that could’ve been an email: “I've been dreaming about the way you feel when you thrust back into me.”

Maybe Lucien has a sixth sense for when you need a mood-boost, because the next one comes in right in the middle of a coworker asking such an inane question that it makes you worried for their mental well-being: “I’ve been dreaming about the sounds you let out when I fuck you so good, you forget to keep quiet. I need to hear them again.”

He sends you a voice memo at lunch.

Under the louder moans and panting you can pick up slick squelches, and picture each stroke of his cock that makes them. Maybe he's using spit, or lube, or even his own precum to ease the friction and make it sound just so enticing. 

It's only a minute and a half long, and ends abruptly when someone pounds on the door to tell Lucien that the ride to the airport is waiting for him. The way he curses and sighs, giving his cock one last stroke before stopping the recording, has your toes curling. You know how those curses feel when he spits them on your skin. 

Your ear is sore from how hard you press your phone into it to catch every moan. Then you remember the earphones in your bag and allow yourself to listen to it just one more time. 

The ache between your legs is simmering away nicely, and when you step into the bathroom to touch yourself a little, to tend to that ache before it boils over, you aren't surprised to see the damp spot on your underwear. It's shiny and gives away exactly where you've been rubbing against the seam of your pants for a little friction.

At least the horrible fluorescent lighting highlights the contrast of wet and dry fabric as you take a picture and send it to him with the caption: “Thinking of you.”

You force yourself to focus on work for the rest of the day, even as the wetness between your thighs keeps Lucien in the back of your mind, waiting.

When the last few minutes in your shift are ticking away you open the text thread.

“Fuck you.” 

“Promise.”

“The way you wiggle your hips to rub your clit on me just right to get yourself off. Fuck.”

“Just landed. Omw. Can't wait to see you.”

“Stretch before I get there. I want to try something new.”

Uh oh.

The scrape of a key in the lock announces his arrival as you spread out on the floor of your apartment. He comes in and drops his duffel bag at the door and you watch him look around from your place on the floor where you're stretching like he told you to.

Lucien lights up when he finds you in his scan of the room, his shoulders dropping while he shuffles his way over to you. You only have a moment to take in the way his face relaxes before he’s on his knees, draping himself over you and pushing you down on the floor with the dead weight of his body. 

The sigh he pushes out of your lungs is heavy, trapped between the hard floor and him, but as you both rearrange various body parts to get more comfortable you feel the fog of the workday lifting from you. 

The floor is cold on your back, but it’s nice after a hot day, and it helps combat Lucien’s body heat that’s starting to seep into you. 

He hums when you start to stroke through his hair. It’s a little oily, but still soft as you tangle your fingers through it.

The smell of cigarette smoke wafts up from where he’s nuzzling into your ribs, but that’s preferable to the stale airplane air that tends to cling to him after flights. 

“Thanks for all the dirty texts today. They made a shitty day better.”

He lifts his head a little to see over your chest and puts those brown eyes to work. You're sure he's getting a fantastic view of your double chins with the way you have to crane your neck to look at him, but his eyes stay on yours, his expression earnest.

”Good,” he says, “I thought I was annoying you since you didn't respond much.”

“I was busy; I'm sorry.”

The mood is relaxed but all it takes is a twitch of his mouth and a flick of his eyes down your body to change it. 

“Not too busy to send me pics of your wet panties though, huh?” He shifts to one side and runs his hands up your legs and over your stomach, playing with the hem of your pants. “I wanna see them. See if they’re still wet.” 

You roll your eyes. “I changed when I got home.”

Deft fingers pull your pants down and away, and you bask in the feeling of satisfaction at his delighted gasp when he finds out that you hadn’t replaced said wet underwear when you changed. Why would you when Lucien was on his way over?

He wastes no time: spreading you apart and lapping at you like he’s gone all day without anything to wet his tongue. Soon you’re shuddering your way through an orgasm and pulling him up for a kiss, unable to go any longer without his mouth on yours, even with your slick smeared across it.

Has he registered the move? With the way he’s sucking, your tongue and clit could be interchangeable. He doesn’t look surprised to see your face when he pulls back with a pop. 

“Remember when I said I wanted to try something new? It’s a position, no kinks. Do you still want to do it?” 

“If it involves your dick inside of me, then yes.”

The crow’s feet dig in deeper around his eyes when he grins. While you take off your remaining piece of clothing he wrestles with his until you’re both naked and you can’t look away from his bobbing dick as he crawls to you on his knees. A drop of precum falls from the tip and your tongue twitches with the need to catch it and taste him.

In front of you again, he shifts to sit on his ass and spreads his legs wide open. His big hands are all over you, gripping your wide hips and urging them forward until you’re notched together, shuddering at the heat burning between your legs. 

Lucien can’t be near you without kissing you, so he tells you his idea between peppering kisses along your plumps cheeks and the slope of your jaw. 

“I was thinking about when I fucked you with your toy last time, and you,” a nip here instead on your chin, “kept it inside when you went to clean up in the bathroom.” Another sucking kiss to your lips. “Do you remember how you rocked on the edge of the bed, just a little, before you got up?”

“No… I was more concerned with getting the least amount of cum on the sheets as possible.” 

“Mmm,” he rubs down your leg and wiggles a hand under one knee, slowly lifting it to drape over the arm still anchored to your hip. “Lean back on your hands and lift your other leg.” 

You end up supporting your weight on your hands behind you with your knees clinging to his biceps. Once your legs are secure over his arms he moves his hands up your torso, to rest just under your breasts. 

It might work; you can see where his mind connected the dots. The way your hips are angled is good, with his dick rubbing on your clit. It would be a nice grind when he’s inside you, but there’s an issue his search hasn’t factored in: your stomach. You’re almost folded in half with gravity doing you no favors in this vertical position.with your legs up  this high, your thighs are pushing your stomach up into your torso and chest. It’s a little hard to breathe, let alone move freely, and your hands are already feeling the stress of supporting your weight on the floor. 

“This isn't going to work this way.” You say, breaking the bad news quickly. Lucien frowns, all the excitement draining from him. It’s a little saddening, the way you free yourself from his hold so easily.

With a firm tug, you get him on his feet, using his hanging head to your advantage. 

“Look at me, baby. Kiss me,” you tell him.

He does, but it’s only a light press of his lips as disappointment sets in. It tips into ridiculousness when his mouth trembles a little from the force of his frown and you laugh in his face. 

“C’mon. I know you’re a better actor than that. We just have to make some adjustments.”

With his hand still in yours, you lead him to the bedroom and push him down onto the mattress, directing him to sit up near the headboard. 

The wedge pillow is fished from the closet and you chuck it to Lucien, clambering onto the bed with a bounce in your step, and everything else really. You’re excited now, and quickly get back into position. The pillow gives you more support under your hips so you don’t feel like you’re going to immediately fall backwards if you lose your grip on his shoulders, and the mattress is always more comfortable than the floor. 

When you hook your legs back over his arms you keep them lower by his elbows instead of his biceps, and the wider angle doesn’t push your thighs up straight into the rest of your body. Lifting and moving your stomach out of the way eases the pressure even more and you’re able to think about other things instead of the ability to take in a lung-full of air.

Satisfied, you look up to find Lucien watching you, the ruddy head of his cock peaking out from the clench of his fist as he touches himself. The edge of your confidence is sharpened on the lust written all over his face and you preen, rolling your shoulders and arching your back a little. The way his eyes track the movement of your breasts makes you smile.

“See something you like, handsome?” 

“Whenever I’m looking at you.”

A helpful dollop of lube makes the slide of his cock pushing in at this new angle good. 

He was right. The pleasure is building, and you realize what he was talking about now that it’s happening long enough for you to really feel it. The head brushes along your g-spot with every rock of his hips and you let your head drop back with a groan. Your hips join his in the rhythm he’s established and the meeting of bodies in the middle make you both moan, his hands gripping into the soft skin of your middle reflexively.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp out, “that’s so good, Luci.”

A low rumbling noise comes from him and he looks proud, pleased with himself. This is new. He doesn’t speed up or slam into you, seeking his own pleasure like he usually does, dragging you along for the ride. Instead he watches how your expression shifts, learns what your body likes, and applies it all with enthusiasm. 

Maybe you’re both trying something new tonight.

[rongrii]

How do I caption this. I

Saw this funny stock photo while looking for references and it’s just gold

Like how this one came out :] oh, and also I will try to finish part of your guys requests in my inbox, I didn’t have motivation to do em, so sorry 🙏🙏🙏😔

[yeyinde]

hoooooo boy. m!mc anon here - your response was extremely interesting and i am a little obsessed with your brain (i’d like to study it, you truly come up with the most delicious ideas)

but i also have to say that out of all of tf 141, that idea for soap was actually so delicious that i had to physically put my phone down for a while. respectfully, that is the hottest thing i’ve probably ever read. even more feral soap?? forcefem?? phew. amen.

thank you for giving me more material to zone out to in the middle of the day (praying hands emoji)

ahhh thanks!!! i started to drag on more about m!Reader and Johnny, but. this happened lmao. so here is some nasty Johnny picking up m!Reader in a bar.

forced!fem. switch Johnny. m!reader is described as being very masculine presenting. but in the flavour of Will Graham's whole aesthetic

All things considered, it's a little clichè.

Older man (—ish, you amend mentally, remembering the birth year on his driver's license when you chanced a peek over his forearm as he rifled through his wallet: 1982—millenial) hits on a younger man in a crowded sports bar. Opens the conversation with haven't seen you around here before, and let's the defined chisel in his jawline do the heavy lifting in place of a personality. Adds a wink to that line, too.

Thighs pressed tight against each other on the stool. Arms brushing. Speaks purposefully when it gets rowdy so he has to lean in close, stubbled jaw grazing your cheek as he mock whispers his lacklustre response to a question you didn't ask. Buys you beer. The expensive kind, too. Laughs when you ask what he's drinking and orders something that makes him seem like he's more of a man than you are.

For a brief period between intermissions—when it gets quieter and he conveniently sneaks off to the washroom—you debate picking up the heavy innuendos he's trying to put down. It could be worse, you think, staring at the only other potential lay you've been entertaining over the last two weeks.

You could be getting mediocre sex from a guy who keeps sending you unasked for pictures of his cock and hole. One you keep dodging by adding an appropriately enthused wow, all this and it's only 10am on a Tuesday to every "yep, that's a dick" image he sends in place of a real conversation.

The sarcasm gifting you yet another unasked for picture of his hand around his cock. Sure is, baby. But—

"be better if ye were 'ere wit' me."

You startle, phone cracking off the edge of the counter. "Shit—"

The person over your shoulder peels away for a moment. "Ah, sorry. Ack—is yer phone alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," you breathe, tapping on the screen. It flicks on. You're graced with another picture of his ballsack. The caption—

"need yer cock s'fuckin' bad—"

You cut him a sharp glance over your shoulder. It's rude. You're a little annoyed at having your travesty of a sex life aired out for every obnoxious wannabe cowboy to overhear, but the irritation is stemmed by the fill of liquid hazel—and flecks of blue, you think; a pretty blue ring around oxidizing copper.

Larimar. Marbled with umber. Framed around glossy white streaked with small rivers of red. Tinged slightly yellow—undoubtedly from the pack of cigarettes you find stuffed into the breast pocket of his red, gingham button down when you tear your eyes away from him. The look too intense. Too much.

Taking stock of everything else about him is just as flustering. The gingham draped loosely over him. Wrinkled sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Collar opened until the last few buttons around his navel. He's wearing a black shirt beneath that glues to his skin, pulling taut around his sternum and collarbones. A gold chain with a thick, heavy cross sits in the valley between, swinging when he rocks back on his heels.

Thick thighs stuffed into jeans that stretch to fit. The bottoms tucked half-heartedly into a pir of black, leather boots.

The shirt shifts when he moves, pulling tight around his broad shoulders as he lifts the last swig of a beer bottle to his lips. Beneath the coarse, black hair that dusts over the pale, peachy skin of his forearms, the back of his hands, his knuckles (Jesus Christ), his muscles flex. Bunching tight under veined flesh.

It makes sense to follow the trail to those sucking lips, but you catch a flash of pale pink, the sweep of a blood-red tongue through the hazy brown of the translucent rim of the bottle and feel your heart lurch in your chest.

You try to swallow but your throat is dry.

He makes a noise as he drinks. A sucking slurp, the plop of his lips unglueing from of the mouth of the bottle. A quiet, groaning ahh whispered under his breath.

It pulls your eyes up, forcing you to fill in the rest of this puzzle, and you know, even before the same dense cropping of hair that covers his arms (hands, fingers) starts to show at the black hem of his Henley that you made a mistake. A grievous one. He's handsome.

Defined jaw. Implish lips. An angular nose. Thick, full brows. The same pale, peachy skin sloping up his neck, chin, cheeks, and forehead before disappear into dark brown, almost black, hair. An untrimmed mohawk. A scar on the side of his head, cutting clean along his temple and stretching back to his ear. The hair around it is sparse. Shaved. The gorge of his scar a dark pink inside. Healed, but—

Raw.

A little like the rest of him. Rougish, in a way. Fractured.

His hair is matted down on top. Toussed along the unblemished, overgrown side, but flat on his crown.

The mystery, however, is solved when he flicks a ballcap onto the table beside you with a crooked quirk of his mouth. All teeth. White, sharp.

The man slips into the stool your date was occupying with a sniff, the smooth ridge of his nose bunching up. Displeasure drapes itself over his expression, a little rumple in his brow. "Screamin' Jesus. Dunno wha's thicker. His cologne or his come-ons."

The barb is unexpected. You try to hide your snort behind a grimace, rubbing the tip of your nose with a rough finger. He catches it, though. The pinch in his brow smoothing out as he grins wide, vicious.

Your heart lunches. Stutters uncomfortably in your chest. "You watchin' me or something?"

He turns in the seat, knee bumping into your thigh. Crowding you easily as he folds over the tabletop, elbow dropping to the table with a muted thud. His cheek slides into his palm, head tilting as he considers your words. The implication.

And then he grins wider. "Or somethin'."

Cocky. You scoff, but it just makes him look more amused.

"Tha' yer type?"

"Hmm?"

He motions to the nearly untouched glass of whiskey in front of him. Then to your phone.

"All talk," he enunciates each word, letting his accent pull taut around the syllables. "An' no action."

"No action? You don't think buying me beer and sending dick pics, begging for a fuck, is no action?"

"Aye—" he reaches for the beer he placed down beside his cap, and takes a generous swallow as you pretend the shift in his throat isn't making you a little light headed. He peels away with a grunt. "Ah do."

"Yeah?" You scoff, bringing the nozzle to your mouth to quench the ache in your throat. The soft preen coiling in your chest. Stupid words like, so what about it, pretty boy? wanna take me home. "What would you do instead?"

"I'd split yer pussy open on my cock in the loo. Let everyone in this bar hear ye moanin' fer me—"

You choke, barely have time to put the bottle down before you're haccking into your fist. He has the decency to pat your back as you wheeze.

"Ain't got a pussy," is what you settle for after a beat, voice hoarse. Wrecked. The way he shudders at the sound is unmistakable. Your neck feels hot. Itchy.

"Oh, sure ye do," he leans in close, warm breath fanning over your cheek. "A nice, tight little pussy fer me to fuck—"

"I'm a man." You feel a little stupid saying it. As if any part of you could be mistaken for slight. For soft. Feminine. You work with your hands. Grew up in the backcountry. Fishing before you could talk. Chewing tobacco before you hit puberty. Your old man made sure to pound that notion into your head before you even know what it meant to be a child. "I don't know what kinda games you're playing, but—"

"ahm no' playin' games," he shrugs, leaning back. It gives the idea of space. Distance. But his hand finds its way your denim-clad thigh, nails skimming the inside seam of your jeans wear the material is softer, worn down from friction. Too high to be appropriate.

You should move. Snap at him to take it off. Growl the words out if you have to do.

(Punch him, maybe. But he looks like the sort who would like that too much, you think. Rough. Dirty. Not afraid to fight back with his teeth if he needs to.

come on, baby, hit me harder—)

Your knee jerks. His grip tightens. "I got a cock. Not a pussy."

He makes a face at that. His full bottom lip juts out, angling to the side in confusion. "Ah ken? Ahm plannin' on ridin' that cock tonight, aye. The one yer little date is so desperate fer—"

"Jesus—" you wheeze, cock thickening in your jeans. Men aren't—

They're not usually so forward with you. It's nudging innuendos. Beer. A whispered wanna get outta here when the bar is about close and no one else is around to see it. You know what you look like. And it's not—

Soft.

"Easy," he taunts, grinning. "Don't choke so soon. 'aven't even go' ma cock out—"

You're not entertaining this. Absolutely not. He's—

Well. You're not sure what he is, but he's not normal. Not right. And you're not that desperate.

(maybe)

But the words die in your throat when his bright eyes glance down at your empty bottle, a frown forming over his pretty, pink lips like you not having anything to drink right away was somehow the most inconvenient thing to him.

"Get ye a drink?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. Then: "thanks."

It's softer. Gritty. The word scrapes over your throat in a way that almost hurts.

You blame it on the beer you drank before. Sloshing around your empty stomach and making you feel wildly off-kilter. Tipsy, maybe. Too drunk. Vulnerable to kindness (however threadbare it might be) when you usually get lewd pictures and beer you didn't ask for.

He flags the bartender down with a flick of his wrist. Keeps his eyes listed toward you as he leans over the counter, whispering something in his ear that you can't hear. Unease knots in your stomach. Cold fingers linking together, pressing frigid knuckles to your soft lining.

You look away when he drops back into his seat, hand finding its way back to your thigh. Gripping tight. Possessive. It curls around you. His warmth, his touch. The smell of him—sweet wheat, lemongrass; something earthy, like the damp, wet scent of mid-autumn; maple leaves stuck to the pavement after a late night rain shower—and you breathe slowly through your nose, both eager for the smell and sick of it. Sweet maple. Tart pumpkin. Your fingers twitch. You fold them into fists, glancing down at the spread of his hand on you.

His knuckles are red. Blotchy. Raw. The skin on his middle finger is cut across the wrinkled folds of his joint. The knick is deep. Almost a circle if not for the way it tears on the side, streaking outward. The outer edges of the crater are white. The inside pink before it turns to a deep red in the middle. Clotting already.

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. Unhinging your jaw takes more effort than you can expend, and you pant, a little, when your mouth finally pries apart. The words thicken on your tongue.

What happened—

The bartender comes back, his shadow falling over the counter. You jerk your head up, blinking at him as he places something down in front of you.

Something pink.

You swallow again. "Uh, what's this?"

"Sex on the Beach," the man answers, waving the bartender off. "Pretty drink fer pretty little thing."

"You wanna get punched? Because this is how you get your teeth knocked out—"

"Oh, baby," he purrs, accent rolling over the words in a way that goes straight to your cock. "If that's what yer intae, ah don't mind gettin' a little bloody fer ye. Might make suckin' yer pretty little cock easier."

Little. Your throat aches. Your mouth is dry. The beer is gone, cleaned empty bottles cleaned up by the bartender. Trying to swallow only makes the sting in your throat more prominent and does little to relieve the burn.

In front of you, the pink drink sits mockingly. Beads of condensation drip down the glass.

It's not even the stupid implication of a man drinking a cocktail that keeps you from reaching for it, but the fact that he ordered it for you with that in mind. Pretty drink fer a pretty—

Your throat clicks. Flesh glueing together when you swallow. Peeling away painful when you breathe.

Fuck it, you think. It doesn't mean anything. Not to you. Not at all.

When you reach for it, his head jerks over to you. Staring, unabashedly, as you bring it your lips and take a sip.

He groans. The hand on your thigh tightens. "Good girl."

It heats you up. Buzzes in the back of your head. You should get out of here. Leave. Go home and sink your head into your pillow, squeeze your eyes shut until all these terrifying feelings are snuffed out. Smothered. Tucked back into a box you didn't realise you had—

"Wanna come home wit' me? Let me fuck yer pretty pussy until I cum?"

The swell of anticipation in your chest makes you flinch. "I told you—"

"Ye want it, don't ye?" His hand moves higher up your leg, bleeding warmth through the denim. "Want me to make fuck ye. Make ye cum around ma cock. Bet ye have th' sweetest little cunt—"

"Fuck—" you shiver. His word wrap around your hindbrain, a soft touch that makes you feel hot. Itchy. Your heart pounds. You wonder if he can hear it. "I don't—"

"Gonnae let me taste it. Sit tha' pretty arse on ma face, aren't ye? Ride me until ye cum."

"I can't—" you force the words out of your throat, feeling the scrape against the soft tissue inside until it hurts. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but—"

"ahm tryin' tae take a pretty girl home—" girl. Girl. You shudder, feeling sick. Nauseous. "'ave her spread her pretty legs fer me..." he leans in, lips brushing your warm cheeks. "Let me ride that pretty cock until she cums—"

"Stop it—"

His hand finds your cock, thick in your jeans. Pressing tight against the zipper. "Gonnae fuck me so good, aren't ye? Not gonnae let ye cum unless it's inside me—"

"You're—ah, fuck—" his hand rubs over your bulge, eyes hooded, heavy, as you twitch. A wet spot grows, dark and unmistakable against the cool blue denim. "A—anyone ever tell you that you're kind of a freak?"

"an' yer a messy girl—" another pulse. The patch grows. It shouldn't turn you on. This sort of talk—it's not something you've ever been interested in before. Ever tried. Outside of porn—big, barrel chested men crushing another in their arms, growling about how they're gonna knock them up—it never surfaced. Never reared. "Gonnae let me clean ye up?"

You should say no.

It's on the tip of your tongue. No, leave me alone. Get the fuck off of me. Say that shit to me every again, and I'll—

His hand slides up, fingers curling over your clothed cock in a way that knocks the thoughts from your head, leaving nothing behind but an empty space. An ache. An itch. Something that needs to be filled.

Your phone chimes. Another text. You don't have to look down to know what it is, but his hand slides over, fingers dropping to the sleek, black surface. He pulls it to him with the pads of his index and middle finger. You should stop him. Grab it back. Leave—

"Need yer thick cock inside o'me," he narrates, mouth ticking up in a terrifying smirk. All teeth. A dogtoothed grin. "Now, there's a thought."

He dips his chin, tongue poking out from between his lips as he types something back in response. You can't see what it is from this angle, but the pinch in his brow, the glimmer in his eyes—you're sure this guy, potential candidate; looming mediocre lay, will have you blocked in five minutes. When he glances back, a tendril of something darkly satisfied brimming in the amber of his eyes, you amend it to right now.

You huff. "Shouldn't take things that don't belong to you."

The man stares at you for a moment, the corners of his eyes creasing in that same soot-stained amusement he had when he ruined your chances with the too-pink tip of his tongue hanging out. Satisfied dog. It's unnerving.

You think it scares you.

Or—

It should.

Whatever he finds as he fossicks through the fragments of your shattering composure, it seems to make him purr. His pupils expand. His nostrils flare. He leans in again, and you taste ash on your tongue. "M'ready tae leave."

It's not a question. The with you rings out like a gunshot in the back of your head.

You should say no. It's been on the tip of your tongue this whole time. No. No. Leave me alone. Go away—

But each time you try to pry apart your clenched jaws to say it, the look in his eyes make you think dogs and their bones.

You swallow this rancid thing in the back of your throat down. Make a jerking movement with your shoulder—a shrug, maybe. The twitch of your aching cock gives you away.

"C'mon, wannae fuck tha' little pussy o'yers," he rasps, words a tangled growl in the thick of his throat. Accent eliding. Slurring together. "Or ah'll have tae drag ye back tae the bathroom. Fuck ye in the shall. Make yer pussy cum on ma cock—"

You shiver. It's disgust. It's anger. It's—

His hand peels away from your thigh, reaches for your phone. He leans toward, and shoves it into the back of his pocket.

"what ahm I gonnae do tae ye?"

You know what he asking for. Feel the heat smoulder inside of your veins, burning up your neck. Be a man, you think. Be a man. Tell him to fuck off. Punch him. There's nothing soft about you. Nothing delicate. He's crazy. You're not—

His stare is paralyzing. You feel dread thicken in your stomach.

(dread, you think; your cock jerks. The front of your jeans are damp. The sticky drag of them on your groin calls you a liar.)

"Ahm no' askin' again, hen."

Your jaw unlocks easy this time. Opening with a quivering sigh that makes him groan low under his voice, eyes fixed on you. Drilling holes into your head. Needling his warped desire into your mind.

"You're gonna," your voice shakes. Heat sears your skin. It feels you're going to melt. "You're gonna fuck my—my pussy—"

The noise he makes is sinful. Liquid. Rich. A groan that breaks into a thrilling moan. Your stomach knots. Churns. You'd be sick if you had more to drink.

"C'mon—" he jerks his head toward the door, eyes blazing. "Gonnae ye exactly what ye need."

You go. Stand when he does, chin dropping to your chest in humiliation when your cock jerks at the idea. Sliding your jacket off your shoulders, holding it in your trembling fists as it covers your pelvis. The unmistakable need there for everyone to see.

Fuck yer pussy so good, he growls, ripping his wallet open and shoving a fistful of neat, straight notes on the counter. "Ain't gonnae need anythin' else when ahm done wit' ye. Gonnae be beggin' fer my cock inside ye—"

You should run. And when he steps back, motioning for you to move first, it feels like he's giving you the perfect opportunity to escape. To flee. You want to. You should.

But you don't. Something holds you back. Makes your teeth sink into your tongue. Jaw hinging shut. Snuffing out the words rotting in the back of your throat with a swallow.

You follow him quietly as he paws at you, rutting his cock against your thigh, whispering in your ear about all the terrible things he's doing to do. A better, more sensible man would've run, something holds you back.

The same thing that makes you ignore the reason why you haven't asked about his bloodied knuckles or wondered where your date is.

You know the answer already, don't you?

"Ahm gonnae fuck ye so good, hen. Won't be thinkin' about anyone else when ahm done wit' ye—"

It's what you've been looking for since the beginning.

[felassan]

Thoughts on the DA:TV Companion Concept Art:

General

I love that we saw these and I think the art is beautiful!! it's so cool seeing different versions of a character, different ideas for a character, and how things translated from concept arts into the character models in the game. I can't waaait to look through the rest of The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, with a fine-toothed comb!!

each character has iconic color palettes and iconic shapes and stuff :)

I feel like there is a lot to examine in these pictures, even with the spoilery text redacted!! 🔍🔍

I'm so extremely curious about what the redacted text says. 👁️

It looks like the geometric patterns drawn behind the characters are slightly different each time?

In the ones where multiple different outfits are shown for the character, do you suppose that these are only discarded concept ideas, or are some similar to some of the alternate outfits for the companions that we can find or upgrade for them in the game?

in some of the pages, there appears to be additional parts of the page blanked out/redacted rather than just the paragraph of text. I wonder if there are small text captions or even additional small drawings in those spaces that also needed to be redacted for spoiler reasons 👁️

In some of the sections below I just described what part of the art I was referring to, in others I popped in images because I was finding it hard to describe what I meant ^^

Also, the associated tweet mentions the BioWare Gear Store-exclusive variant of the artbook. The link in it just takes you to the general Gear Store website landing page at the moment. At the moment, the BioWare Gear Store variant of the artbook is out of stock (it went out of stock really quickly after release). However, CM Violet mentioned in the Discord that "We are planning on another printing [of the Gear Store variant of the art book], but no date yet! I'm sure we'll announce it when we have more news!" [source: the official BioWare Discord]

Bellara

Bellara's page is the only one I think with no name. did her name have to be redacted too bc of a spoilery reason?

I LOVE Bellara's pages. she's just so 🥺 (clenching my fist). some aspects of the design of Bellara's clothes remind me of butterflies or butterfly wings.

Left: the angle of this one reminds me of her party icon art. Center: this one shows a different design concept for her vallaslin. in this one she also has different earrings. in the full version of this drawing, it looks like she is holding some kind of tool in her hand (makes sense considering her Tinker ability), while in her other hand it's a piece of cloth, reminding me of the way mechanics are sometimes drawn holding rags during their work. her posture in the full version of this drawing is like 'You can fit sooo many triangles inside this bad boy [the giant elf head artifact/sculpture]'. hhh. Right: can anyone make out what the text above her bag says? ^^ btw, this bag design is so cute. edit: thankyou to @squidaped-oyt who mentioned in the replies of this post that this looks like it says "Foldable map"! more on that here.

HELLO??, this ancient elven sculpture/artifact thing is extremely 👀. the scale of it compared to Bellara is massive. there are beams of light coming from its eyes and the triangle set in its forehead. the triangular parts are a now-familiar aspect of ancient elven magic-tech and artifacts. the nose bridge reminds me of the design of elven nose bridges circa Dragon Age II - only he has a pointed part on his in addition. the bald head we're all familiar with from ancient elven statues, in-world murals/wall paintings etc. is it just me, or are the teeth also pointy? I wonder what this thing is.. was it just decorative (a head of a giant statue)? (this kind of thing in this Veil Jumper/Arlathan Forest concept art comes to mind). was it an art piece representative of a particular Evanuris or one of their chosen? or did it have some kind of actual function - maybe it was part of a giant protective automaton kinda thing? what this head really reminds me of is Codex Entry: Vir Dirthara: Signs of Victory -

The pages of this book—memory?—describe a monument made in a single afternoon by a thousand-thousand toiling servants swarming over a lump of fallen stone as large as a collapsed mountain. By the end of the day, the stern figure of Elgar'nan stares down into a valley, carved out from the foothills of the rock. The slaves have disappeared. Light radiates from the eidolon's narrowed eyes and its open, snarling mouth. "Hail Elgar'nan, first among the gods! Mark his victory eternal!"

Could this be [part of] one of those sorts of monuments/eidolons? It sure looks like it's snarling through its open mouth. And it has narrowed eyes and light is radiating from them.

The other things it reminds me of are: 1. the ancient elven sentinels (the magic-bot kind, not the Abelas and crew in Temple of Mythal kind), two. like maybe it's a giant one of these. 2. these big ancient elven hands and the Dead Hand landmark (see Trivia section) in DA:I, which is found in the Dales and contains an elven shrine and is not far from Ghilan'nain’s Grove.

Horace Medford wrote of that landmark,

"The great stone hand was something of a mystery. One assumes it is a piece broken off from a larger whole. If so, judging by the size of that one hand, I imagine the entire sculpture to be... well, large enough to require the use of obscenities to describe it. Thus I have only one question: where is the rest of the statue? It is difficult to imagine how something so large could go missing."

like maybe the head from Bellara's concept is the giant head to a similar kind of pair of giant hands (of either type).

(^ post which discusses these both here)

Left: the way this bracelet thing is worn gives it the impression of a watch, which is cool and fits her machinist/inventor kinda vibe/aesthetic :) Center: the cloth, a bit dirty from active use (what a thoughtful touch), tucked into her belt :) Right: I love the eyepiece/monocle look!! It's giving Artificer, it's giving gadgets. does anyone else think Bellara and Dagna would get on super well? 💜

These are all super interesting and I love that they were thinking about the different parts of Bellara's kit and belongings like this. in the top row, it looks like the book on the left is the closed version of the book on the right. Bellara's book full of research notes :D what I wouldn't give to browse through it!! I love how she's filled it with different bookmarks, it gives you an insight into her mind and the way it works. on the front is one of those ancient elven golden faces (like on Solas' armor's knees in Trespasser, on the Sentinels in the Temple of Mythal, on the ancient elven Deluxe edition of DA:TV armors, etc). inside, it looks like she has pressed a flower, which is so lovely. on the right-hand page, I'm really curious about the drawings there. what is it of? a map, a diagram? it reminds me a bit of the map of Arlathan Forest in the Veil Jumper issue of Dragon Age: The Missing (and it would make sense for her to have a map, Arlathan Forest is changeable lately). and if you squint, maybe that's an 'X marks the spot'? also extremely curious is the drawing on the left-hand side of the page:

Who is this depicting? the figure's headshape/headpiece/mask reminds me a lot of the Evanuris headshapes. and the general vibe of the drawing reminds me of the ancient elven Evanuris mosaics (example). Sylaise-y? but maybe it's not an Evanuris and it's more like a figure from Bellara's past? the way the flower is pressed on this page makes it look tender, like memory. or if it was an Evanuris, it makes it look like an offering or token. perhaps Bellara's vallaslin correspond to Sylaise or whichever member it is. there was a time before the gods came back the way they did in DA:TV.

It's also really cool to get a look at the fold-out material thing. do you think she usually carries this rolled up at her belt or in her bag? it looks like somewhere where she stores various kinds of ancient elven triangle fragments, or maybe it's even some kind of strange map. A map of a bunch of different reality-fragmented Veil Bubbles or something would look really strange no doubt, not like a normal map.. edit: more on that here.

Davrin

It's neat to see different hairstyle versions of Davrin! the shape of the blue sword reminds me just a lil of Starfang, which is really nice. and we saw Davrin with a griffon-wing shield like there is in these concepts in the character reveal trailer.

Comparisons of the various vallaslin designs he has in his concept arts to the final one in the game. (in some of the concepts, his vallaslin look a bit bluer, which reminds me of his tarot-style art from the party selection screen). though, in the right-most version, it looks more kind of like a circlet, a Samara Mass Effect-type situation instead :)

This on his heel is totally a spur. makes sense, for a Warden that may one day be a griffon-rider like the Grey Wardens of old :') (at least in the sense of visual language, like "spur - riding - horse - griffon").

We see Davrin equipped with an additional dagger/shortsword like this in the warrior gameplay video, albeit not this specific one, if you go by the handles.

He maybe has some stubble here. ^^

In this version of Davrin, it looks like he has a staff. (though, he still has a sword here too). Is it a polearm kinda deal, or was there a time during development when Davrin was a mage? perhaps the elf in this concept art is a version of Davrin? that elf is wielding a staff to fight, and there are some similar aspects in the outfit designs, like the considerable collar.

interestingly, his staff here reminded me of the staff held by the elven figure on the front of the DA Vinyl art. 🤔

^ Looking at that staff-Davrin concept more generally, it's interesting that this version has more overtly Grey Wardenny-parts to his armor compared to his final look, like the griffon symbol on the chestplate and shoulder.

This Davrin holds out his arm, like a falconer. in Dalish culture, the hawk is a sacred animal of the Huntress Andruil.

And this Davrin straight up is a falconer. how cool!! due to image resolution I'm not sure if the darker parts on the raptor are parts of its plumage or accoutrements, but in falconry, the birds sometimes do wear these types of accoutrements. Falconer Davrin Concept reminds me of that one DA:I Dorian concept art where Dorian had a monkey haha. :D the attention to detail in Falconer Davrin is neat too, you can see that on the hawk-perch arm he has a thick extra cover on his arm, due to the sharpness of raptor talons and grip. I really love Falconer Davrin's griffon shoulderplate, and when looking at the more geometric diamond design of his vallaslin here, what struck me was its resemblance to the diamond geometric pattern behind him.

Harding

Harding is the only one on the concept art among the named characters there who is listed as her surname rather than her given name haha. she's just Harding just like Hawke is Hawke, that's just the way it is.

The flower and leaf pattern in the top left is cute, I wonder if it was inspiration for the flower and leaf stitching Harding has on the collar of her casual clothes in the game. In the concept art it looks like the kind of design that you might have on the leatherwork on the front cover of a beautiful leatherbound journal or something. :) In the central picture she's holding and appreciating a blue flower, which is so cute ♡ and which ties to what was said about her loving plants, raising plants, and nature. she has what looks like the Inquisition hairy eyeball symbol on her belt pouch as well as on her knee pads. (;;) the version of her to the left of that shows her with her hair down, in a more pony-tail like sort of style. on that version of her, you can see flower and leaf floral patterns curling up the bottom of her cape. (very pretty).

To the right of the central image, there's a big diagonal blank rectangle of content which has been removed, presumably due to spoiler reasons. Was this also text? It seems like a weird angle to have placed text at. Maybe it's a drawing of an object of some kind being hidden? A different version of her bow perhaps? (this is the case in a few of the companion concept arts btw.)

The tailored coat and pinstripe pants version of her is so cool. :D look at the tails on the back of her coat in that image. dapper. Harding formal wear? :D

of course, the two most !! images from Harding's one are these ones. copying over my thoughts from that post,

Presumably this is to do with Harding’s new magical stoney earthy powers. (In the second image, along with the bow, it looks like half her face, part of her neck and her arm itself is also stone/crystal). The glass-like shiny parts reminds me of quartz or something. :)

I do wonder if (if they are still things in the game) perhaps those two images or the stoney parts of them could also potentially have done with being redacted for spoiler reasons? how I wish the Harding image was higher resolution so we could take a closer look at stone-Harding..! somewhere off in the distance, Varric "haha, you'd be Harding in Hightown" Tethras is like "haha, Harding, you're hard/hardening" hhhh. 💀

In the image with her hood up, the blue veins on the bow remind me of blue lyrium veins. I also wonder, is she holding the stone/crystal bow with her stone/crystal arm, or is the bow simply growing from the arm? does the hard surface of her body when it's like this repel or take less damage owing to its hardness? is this something she might be able to do in gameplay later on as her story (and powers) progress?

it stands to reason that if you can turn other people/things to stone, as she did to some ghouls in the release date reveal trailer, you might also be able to extend this power to yourself. presumably this ability is tied to the Titans, the dwarves as their children, the Stone, maybe a restored (in Harding's case) connection to that, the way dwarves used to be. it also reminds me of how golems are created using live dwarves. Caridin said "It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier." 👀

Btw, speaking of Harding's magical powers, I wonder if Harding dreams at night now..?

Lucanis

it looks like there's a spot on Lucanis' page other than the text at the top that is blanked out/redacted. I wonder what it contained.

part of the geometric designs behind him reminds me of his eyes motif.

some of the alternate outfits for him look really like, majestic. in the one with the manbun, he has big poufy shoulder pieces and huge sleeves.

I wonder if any concept art of clean-shaven Lucanis exists anywhere? ^^ I'm really curious about what he looks like clean-shaven, or without a beard as he was in The Wigmaker Job.

I'm losing my mind at all the different concept ideas for Lucanis' hair, especially the one with the curled forelock and LUCANIS MANBUN omg. but I like his feathery mullet that he has in the game the best. :D

The design and coloring of his sword is just so COOL. The oil-like iridescence, purple-black, is like corvid feathers.

What a lovely sketch, lovely pencilwork. ◕‿◕ his eyebrow is slightly raised and you can see here again that his nose is slightly 'crooked' (perhaps he's broken it in the past?). I love this sort of feature sm in every character that has it.

In this one his eyes are doing the glowing purple thing again. again he is not defeating the possessed/dead/abomination/-somethingelserelatedorsimilar-is-going-on with him allegations. this one has a hood in an Assassin's Creed sorta style and the general vibe is like a ninja. the shoulder pieces look feathery, and the cloak/coat looks like feathered wings or tailfeathers. this piece feels the most "The Demon of Vyrantium" in vibe hh 👁️ And are you guys seeing this?? Here it looks like has claws like Wolverine hh!! :D though he could simply also be holding multiple knives in between his fingers (of the sort you can see at his belt in another concept, I've put that one just below here to show them), or have a bladed gauntlet, etc.

This person coming at you in the night, no wonder the evil Venatori magisters are scared of him :)

Coffee, no doubt :) cool mug shape.

Bird design again on this leg-piece.

Left: a take on the now-iconic Antivan Crow bird-masks. really cool design. here it's giving Batman, it's giving masquerade ball. I really hope we see him wearing a Crow bird mask of this sort at some point during the game!! 🧎🕯️🧎 it's a big missed opportunity if not imo hh. Right: Lighthouse casual-wear, or something very close to it. his vibe in this art is also similar to his vibe in the Lighthouse group shot.

Veilguard symbol on his chest? some of the alternate outfits include a more Veilguardy purple to them, and this one reminds me of how the Veilguard symbol looks for Rook here for example.

Lastly, in this main one, his general shape is sooo triangular. :D and his face/expression here really captures this description of him from Tevinter Nights:

Lucanis stared ahead, focused and intense. He was the kind of man you couldn’t look away from—until he looked at you.

In this one I also get the sense of dark circles under his eyes, which is a trait that in fiction reminds me of coffee-drinkers. ^^

Emmrich

Both staffs in Emmrich's concept art are different to the one we see him with here, but the bigger one on the concept art is close to it.

In this concept it looks like Emmrich has a scar on his chin.

Left: without his jacket on, he looks so svelte. the gold parts on his boots/knees remind me of the gold headpieces fixed to walking dead in the Necropolis. they are also hexagonal in shape, which I've become convinced is part of Nevarra's visual design language (and therefore part of Nevarran architecture, fashion/culture etc. :D he has so many bracelets and rings. Center: he looks so happy here and in the one next to it! these versions of Emmrich seem to lean more to the purple side of his color palette. these ones have a sorta futuristic vibe. you can see some of the tools of his trade at his belt, and it's a different version of his staff. here the skull floats at the top of the staff and burns with green fire, rather than being fixed to the pole of the staff. Right: Emmrich with big hair! quiff-like, and it looks like a large part of it is white rather than gray.

in this alternate outfit he's wearing a work apron with tools of his trade on the front. he's holding a glass flask that is filled with green liquid and billowing green smoke. I wonder if Emmrich is skilled at alchemy? do you think he has a lab, or that his room in the Lighthouse might be filled with stuff like alembics?

Looking again at Emmrich's outfit in these arts - from the back, the back of his coat reminds me of depictions in art and tv/film of the blood eagle?? (if you are sensitive or squeamish to gore and things of that nature, please don't google that!). the lines on the back of his shoulders remind me of musculature. The repeating pieces down the center of the bottom part of his coat reminds me of a spine. and the back of his gold belt-piece from behind straight up looks like a pelvis. the skeleton and body imagery here is an amazing art direction/symbolism for him!! what a bigbrain idea. is that sort of detailing why the design of the front of his coat looks like someone's chest has been opened on an operating table?

also, the long coat reminds me of labcoats. :)

I wonder if the bracelets and things are a Nevarran cultural thing/common fashion in Nevarra, or more of just an Emmrich thing? ^^

lastly his expression in the one on the right is so gentle and kind.

Neve

There are two spots on Neve's page other than the text at the top that are blanked out/redacted. I wonder what they contained.

I love that they tried out differing concept/designs for the look of Neve's leg, and what looks like a stand for it as well. they're all really neat and you can see serpentine aspects in all of them. a person could also have more than one.

this image contains another great reference for Neve's wand-cane thing. here the orb in the middle looks like a big pearl, like from inside a mollusk. the ring around it is definitely evoking the body of a snake coiling.

The concept art contains a blond version of Neve. because of her ice powers, it reminds me a bit of Emma Frost (Marvel). look at that Neve's heeled boot, and the size of her hat!!

I prefer the Neve they decided to go with in the end. ♡♡ ^^

Taash

oh my goooood. breathing in and out rapidly into a paper bag. oh my godd. she looks sooo cool!! I'm posting the whole thing again here just bc omggg.

Most versions of Taash have the green crystal horn. her concept arts show versions with different skin colors. her eyes in some of them look green. I love all her different-version Lord of Fortune / Rivaini gold pieces. in the top-left hand version of her, her bigger shoulder-piece is really cool (the right-hand side one); it could at once be a piece of spiky dragon bone or a piece of a big spiky sea-shell (both ideas work perfectly for her character and background). I've said this before when talking about Taash's design, but I love the parrot-break design of one of her weapons. it's very piratey. in this page, we can see several different versions of the parrot-beak weapon. also, I love all her different facial expressions.

in the right-most Taash concept, the dragon tooth-like pointy bits on her gauntlets look like they're made out of gold, not tooth. her big piratey boots are so cool and they even have a gold coin on them! you can see the spike braided into the end of her ponytail, and in that drawing the dragonscale-looking parts of her iconic armor look even more scaley, owing to the way they graduate from a full covering of scales to a partial covering to not present (in a way that reminds of how on some fantasy arts of things like dragons, there can be softer/less protected areas of their hide with no or less scales, like towards their undersides):

The bottom-left most illustration looks like it might be her iconic armor, only seen from the back, which is good to have a reference of. the design of her sword scabbard is cool, it's like the segmented flat of a dragon or sea-serpent's tail. in that image it also looks like the eye of her parrot-weapon is matched by an eye on the scabbard. something about the designs of her sword and scabbard remind me of weapons like daos. from behind, it also looks like her gauntlets might have thicker armor on one-side, better protection for the upper side of her forearms. the fingers of her gauntlets also look taloned, in a way that reminds me of Fenris.

Okay now let's talk about the concept in the center at the top! this version has longer horns and more spikes in her ponytail, in fact the ponytail here looks like a dragon tail as a result. it reminds me of Flemeth's dragony hair from Dragon Age II onwards. this version also looks like she may have blue-ish facial tattoos, or it could be vitaar. it also looks like she may have a second, smaller set of horns. in this version, the red ropes are cyan-blue instead, and she not only has the spikes/teeth on her gauntlets, but also on her boots (knee 'pad' and the heel, like spurs). in this version, her swords are dragon wing-shaped, which is pretty metal. I can't tell if the triangular piece that hangs down in the center is from the front piece of her clothing or the back piece, but it gives the impression of a dragon tail.

Lastly, the concept in the center at the bottom: here her boots remind me a lot of Dragon Age II Isabela, who is of course, also a piratey type of character from Rivain. the giant axe here is cool, the shape of its blade also evokes the shape of a dragon wing and it looks like the handle might be made of bone. the way she's carrying the axe here reminds me a bit of how Iron Bull carries his weapon in this art piece. the teal and gold color scheme of this piece reminds me of the gold and blue/green of some Ancient Egyptian things, and round her neck it looks like she is wearing a torc.

[spoonfulofjesus]

[ID: A meme showing a woman holding a puppy overlayed with a stock image of an offset cane. The caption reads "I've only had my cane for a day and a half but if anything happened to it I'd kill everyone and then myself" /End ID]

Actually I think I'd just fall over before I could do any damage