#late night queue setting = not great

[bearotonin-international]

Nooooo! There's only one Wet Beast Wednesday every week

[twola]

If you're comfy with it: high honor!Arthur comforting an F!reader's shame and insecurities in regards to being badly scarred in some way? I'm talking large patches with burns, scars, whip marks, what have you; enough to make someone jump if they saw her beneath her clothes. Esp bc she feels weak for already being smaller than most of the camp. Ty if you do this!!

Getting back to writing, it was great to bang this one out (teehee). Working on clearing up my request queue, along with a renewed vigor for writing my longfic, Devil’s Backbone.

Painted Ribbons

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Arthur’s new lover refuses to bare herself to him, and he’s dying to know why.

Arthur’s gaze lingers, for longer than is socially appropriate, at the swing of your skirts as you carry the overflowing tub of dirty laundry on your hip toward where the other women have set up for the day.

His thoughts drift to the night prior, where his hands dove up those skirts, eliciting soft mewls from your throat like music to his ears. He might have to pull you away from that damned laundry pile to do it again. His blood pulses through his veins like a livewire at the thought of it.

As if you could hear the conversation he was having with himself in his mind, you look up and make eye contact with him, a small, shy smile gracing your face before your eyes bat back down toward the laundry.

You’re a pretty little thing - short in stature, shy, and quiet - except when he has two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. He has no idea how this started - he had been admiring you from afar, enamored by the way your nose scrunches up when you think, or how your pretty little eyes seem to always be looking down, lined with dark lashes that bat innocently when you look up. But whiskey - whiskey was your downfall, as many a poor girl, a night when you had partaken enough to shed your shyness and approach him, threading your arms around his neck as he eagerly pulled you into his lap. The meeting of your lips - well, that was his downfall. He had hummed into your mouth as he pushed his tongue against your lips and the moan that bubbled up from your chest - he knew he was a goner.

Was that only a week ago? 

Was it only two days ago that he took you out into the woods a short distance from camp and kissed you until you were both breathlessly clinging to each other?

Surely, this all must be some strange dream - last night must have been a strange dream, where you snuck into his tent in the middle of the night and crawled into his cot. He must have been unconscious when you allowed him to draw your skirts up and touch your knees, trail his fingers up your thighs, cup your core in his big warm hands, drown out your sigh with a kiss of his own.

Sliding a leg of your bloomers to the side, fingers working through the thatch of hair and brushing against the seam of your body, wet already, ready for him.

The slide of his index finger into your cunt went straight to his cock. God, what it would feel like to press another part of him inside you, to cleave you, to fully make you his. The thought alone was enough to sustain him as he worked his finger inside you, thrusting into your wetness enough to press his middle finger inside as well. Pleasing you, working you, giving to you, until you shudder beneath him, back arching up, your perfect little cunt clenching around his fingers, and it's everything he is not to come in his pants then and there.

Arthur shakes his head slightly from his seat near the small campfire, blinking back into the present. It surely couldn’t have been a dream. Could it?

But no, because you look up again, catching his eyes, and flush slightly, smiling like you can’t help it. 

Definitely not a dream.

-

To his delight, you’ve snuck into his tent again late at night, clad in a shirt over a simple petticoat skirt, barefoot and giggling softly as you climb into his cot, into his waiting arms. 

After several moments of bodies tessellating and the shedding of a skirt into a heap on the ground next to the cot, Arthur grunts and settles you next to him, hand creeping up your stomach over your shirt.

You shake your head, swatting his hand away as he reaches toward the buttons of your blouse.

“C’mon now, little darlin’, let me-”

He is cut off as your other hand sneaks into his open trousers, wrapping your little fingers around his cock, and pumping it heartily. His protest is forgotten quickly as he thrusts his hips forward nigh uncontrollably. He quickly works his pants down his thighs, kicking them off and climbing further up the cot as you scoot backward upon it, bare-legged and your shirttails hanging between them, hiding your cunt from his view. 

But when you lie down completely, smiling up at him while spreading your legs, he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. He drops the request to strip you down and strokes his shaft as he leans over you. 

“Y’wanna do this now?”

You respond by sitting up on your elbows and chasing his mouth, pressing your lips against his as he smiles into the kiss. He presses his hips forward, running the head of his cock up and down your slit, covering it in your wetness.

“Oh - oh,” You moan, and he shushes you quietly as he presses the first inch of him through the tight ring of muscle at your core, gritting his teeth against his own moan as your tight, wet warmth welcomes him in. 

By the time he’s slid completely within the sheath of your cunt, you’re a gasping, quivering mess beneath him, a silent whine erupting from you as he pulls his hips back to begin thrusting. The cot beneath you creaks as he settles into a rhythm, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he fucks you.

Your hands ball up his shirt, fingernails digging into his back as you turn your head into his neck and moan into his skin, your cunt clutching around him and your little frame shuddering as you come. 

God, it's so good.

Arthur groans, jerking himself from your warmth, stroking his length twice before his hot spend splatters on your inner thigh, causing you to mewl aloud for a moment before you have the wherewithal to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound within his tent.

He collapses to the side of you, breathless, the cot creaking more as he lies on the very edge of it.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that in camp.” You laugh into his ear as he breathes heavily.

Arthur places a hand on his chest as he turns his head toward you, throwing his other arm around your frame and dragging you bodily against him.

“Have any plans for tomorrow night?”

-

He’s spirited you away in the lull of activity right after supper - where Grimshaw and Pearson weren’t going to be missing your labor after you’ve washed dishes, and where Dutch was unlikely to send him out on something without advance notice.

The town just a few miles from camp isn’t much to talk about - but a hotel with clean sheets and blessed walls it did have. He’s paid up at the desk and all but dragged you up the stairs, you yelp in amusement when he pulls you against the door and leans down to capture your lips as he slides the key into the lock, pressing his hips against you for a moment before opening the door. 

You back in, smiling, breathless, and he’s barely latched the door behind him before letting his gunbelt clatter to the hardwood floor, kicking off his boots and shedding his jacket to crumble in heaps on that floor. You giggle lightly as you kick your shoes off as he gets close enough to encircle your waist with his large hands, pulling you into another searing kiss for a long moment before pulling back.

“C’mon, this big ol’ bed ain’t gonna break in itself.”

You smile, moving to untie your skirts, the layers of cotton hitting the floor, and shimmy your bloomers down over your hips, letting them pile with your skirts. You reach toward him, bare from the waist down, and he acquiesces to your grabbing at his clothing, quickly unbuttoning his shirt as he shrugs his suspenders down and pushes his pants to fall to the floor. 

He reaches for your shirt, and you scoot backward, onto the bed, just out of reach.

Arthur frowns, reaching toward you again, and your smile immediately falls, moving further back on the bed. 

As if he were approaching a skittish deer, he sits on the bed next to you and reaches toward your hips, very clearly staying away from your shirt.

“Why won’t you let me look ‘atcha?” Arthur asks, his hands around your hips edging on gentle as compared to lustful.

“Ain’t nothing you wanna see.” You grit out, your hands fisting in your shirttails, unable to make eye contact with him.

“Course I wanna see all of you, you’re the prettiest little thin’ I’ve ever set my eyes on.”

You breathe out heavily as he reaches for the first button. He pauses, not reaching any further. Instead, he leans over and places his lips on your forehead, in an attempt to comfort you.

When he pulls away, you look up at him, let out another shuddering breath, and pull his hands toward your buttons, allowing him to continue. You look at your lap as he unbuttons your shirt, baring your breasts to him, and put up no struggle as he pulls the sleeves of your shirt down your arms, bare to him for the first time.

“Sweetheart, what is it? I ain’t seeing nothin’ that doesn’t make me want you more.” Arthur leans in and cups one of your small breasts in his large hand, thumb grazing your nipple and you shiver in response.

“M’ back.” You whisper, continuing to avoid eye contact with him.

His hand moves up from your breast, up your shoulder, rounding that long curve, and down your back.

You close your eyes and are unable to stop the tears that slide down your cheeks as you feel his fingers pass over the raised ridges of your skin. He pauses, and you can’t hold back the sob that boils up from your throat.

Arthur immediately draws you into his embrace, pulling you to him, settling you in his lap, drawing your head into the curve of his neck.

“M… my daddy,” You sob into his skin, “He was a right asshole… H-he ain’t never forgive me for my momma dyin’ giving birth to m-me.”

He pats the back of your head, his other arm swinging wide across your waist, his bare skin against yours, fully against the stripes of scarring painted across your back.

“Used me as his personal whippin’ p-post. I ran away when I was old enough to.” You clutch at your arms, trying to make himself smaller in his embrace.

“ m’sorry, sweetheart.” Arthur rumbles out, his hand moving down from the back of your head to your upper back, rubbing in circles gently as you shiver in his arms.

“But some scars ain’t gonna change the fact that I think you’re the prettiest girl this side of the Lanaheechee.” He presses his lips against the crown of your head.

“Cause you haven’t seen ‘em yet. Ugly. The last man I was on my back for threw me outta the room after seein’ me.”

“Well, he’s a goddamn fool then.” Arthur snaps back, letting go of you as you pull away, your watery eyes finally making contact with his. You sigh and turn around in the bed.

Arthur frowns. Your back is absolutely covered in scarred-over lashes, pink and raised, from your shoulder blades down the curve of your spine to the dimples above your hips. Your shoulders shudder as you try to stifle a sob.

You feel his breath against your back first, then, his impossibly soft lips kissing down your spine, against the raised and pinkened lash marks that litter your skin. You gasp as he catches you off guard - instead of recoiling, he’s leaning in, instead of pushing you away, he’s pulling you closer.

You shiver, turning immediately toward him and surging against his lips, pulling him downward as you lay back on the mattress.

He slots himself between your hips, pulling back from your lips to look down at you. He brushes a lock of your hair from your forehead. 

“Now I don’t want you hidin’ from me no more. Got it?”

You roll your hips against his, relief and desire palpable between you.

“Got it.”

[octuscle]

Hi Chronivac or Suitcase people! I'm looking for a change in my life like working with my body rather than with my brain, living in the north rather than in the south, being poor but happy rather than wealthy and unhappy, being a player rather than the relationship-guy and so on. I hope for your help

Dude, seriously, if you're going to do it, do it! Why only half the cake? Why not work with your awesome body, live on the beach in the south, be rich and happy and take everything that comes along? Somehow that sounds much better… At least for me… I have another suitcase for you, labeled MVD. Filled with everything you need for a basic jet-set influencer beach vacation. Beachwear from Vilebrequin, sportswear from Balenciaga, a little something for the evening from Prada and co. And a hotel voucher for The Grand Hotel in Punta del Este. Just for the weekend. After that, it's off to Buenos Aires for you and then you'll have to see…

Shit, the brand new iPhone alone, which you're holding in your freshly manicured hands, costs more than you've paid in rent for your miserable apartment in six months. You don't even want to know what the entire contents of this suitcase cost. But how do you get to this Punta del Este now? And where is it anyway? You look at your new cell phone. Your tickets are in the wallet. First to Madrid, and then on to Montevideo. Premium Economy. Sounds great, you've never had that before. Should you put something on straight from your suitcase? Better not. You should take it easy on your clothes. But maybe one of those T-shirts from Balenciaga. A quick look in the mirror… Okay, better not, maybe a little tight around the hips. You're not changing.

When you check in your suitcase, the ground staff lady flirts with you. She asks why you've joined the queue with all the tourists. As an Emerald customer with oneworld, you should have been allowed to use the first class check-in. She asks if she can upgrade you to Business Class as compensation. You don't say no.

You can get used to the lounge. It's better than waiting outside in the aisles. The toilets are also better. And when you look in the mirror, you think that they must be playing tricks with the light. You look younger and more relaxed. And were you wearing that immaculate white shirt just now? Somehow the champagne seems to be going to your head. You almost missed the boarding call.

The lounge was cool, but flying in Business Class is really awesome! There aren't many passengers up here. But somehow you get the impression that everyone is just looking after you. Like a real VIP. You take a selfie of yourself and the purser. Later for Instagram. The Iberia logo well placed. You have to show your appreciation somehow. In Madrid, you send the two pictures out. The second one with the pilot. He says it was an honor to fly you. They're getting a bit carried away… They're making fun of you!

When you go through passport control at the terminal change, you first think you've put the wrong passport in your pocket. Cool picture! But it doesn't look like you. You check it out as best you can in the reflection of a window pane. Yes, the angular features, the piercing blue eyes… It all fits.

It's getting better and better. Instead of your connecting flight being called for boarding, a member of ground staff comes by in the lounge, takes your bag and accompanies you to the gate. You're already in the mood for a glass of champagne. But alcohol is only compatible with your six-pack to a limited extent. Besides, it's already late and you should get some sleep. You have more than enough room. So apply your night cream, put on your sleep pods and put on your sleeping goggles. And when you wake up rested after almost nine hours, you hear the first signs that the breakfast service is about to start. You hear the flight attendants gossiping. One of them says that you looked like Cupid while you were sleeping and that you could shoot him with your arrows. They obviously have no idea that you speak Spanish. You let them believe that you don't understand them.

Actually, you would have liked to have taken a closer look at Montevideo. But you don't have time for that. The season in Punta del Este is as good as over, so if you want to boost your mid-season business, you need a few pictures of the sunset. And you get paid quite well for boosting the mid-season business a little.

It's actually a bit too cold at the end of March for topless shots. But your nipples look even better this way. "End of a hot day, beginning of a hot night at the most beautiful end of the world" you write under the picture. 3K likes in half an hour. You are worth your money!

[dearchloe]

1 december

"I'll send you a copy of that application when I file it, anyway."

"Thanks, Jess." Ivy hung her jacket up behind the door of her office and took down her coat from the peg. The quiet and select surroundings of the chambers in Duke Street could never be called bustling, but today, late on the afternoon of a dreary Sunday when no one wanted to do anything other than curl up in front of the TV, they were the only people left in the building, and she was in as much of a hurry to get home as anyone else.

"No worries. If you wait to get it back from the court, you won't see it until January."

"It would be funny if it wasn't true." She fastened her scarf around her neck and shook hands with the other woman. "Are you heading my way?"

"The Tube station."

"Oh, I'll walk with you."

"Great." Jess finished buttoning her coat, threw one bag over her shoulder, and picked up another. If there was one thing that you couldn't do as a barrister, Ivy reflected, it was travelling light. "Ready?"

"When you are."

The two of them set out, winding their way through the dim corridors of the courthouse and making small talk which had nothing to do with their case until at last they found themselves in the fresh, crisp air of the street outside.

"Do you go over the bridge?" Ivy asked. Jess shook her head.

"I normally go through the High Street. The lights are lovely at the moment, too."

"Sounds like a plan." With a shared nod, the two lawyers turned to the left and followed the road, around the grand sweep of the corner and into the pedestrianised stretch which made up the town centre. Ivy had to admit that Jess was right. The lights, though nothing out of the ordinary, were effective in the gathering gloom of the early winter evenings, and they reflected in beautiful fractals from the rain-soaked paving below. Between the lights above and the lights below, individuals and families, wrapped in their winterwear, hurried one way or another, bound home for the evening or out for a meal, and above the quietly murmuring voices came the unmistakeable sound of Christmas music, piping from one or another of the shops lining the sides of the street.

Ivy only realised she had stopped when Jess paused ahead to look back at her with a questioning expression, and the brunette smiled sheepishly, hurrying to catch up. "Sorry. Just, it looks exactly like a Christmas card."

"It really does." The two linked arms, and continued on their way, steps falling unconsciously into time with the rhythm of I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In. "I tried taking a photo on my way home yesterday, but it doesn't show up very well. Maybe I should try with a proper camera instead of just my phone."

"It couldn't hurt."

They slowed as the road grew busier, and Jess craned her neck over the heads of the crowd to see what was causing it. "Oh, that's cute. It's Santa's Grotto, look."

"Rather him than me," Ivy remarked, gathering her coat more closely around herself. "It's too bloody cold to sit around out here all night."

"Scrooge."

"And proud of it."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Where's your Christmas spirit? Come on, this way."

Ivy, taken by surprise and already in Jess' grip, had no choice but to go with her colleague as they made a beeline across the road towards the grotto. "What are we doing?"

"We're going to get in the Christmas spirit."

The brunette eyed up the scene in front of her and did not like the obvious result. "Oh, come on. This is the kind of thing you have to be drunk to do if you're older than about seven. And I'm not drunk, Jess."

"Well, it'll make a nice change for him." The blonde winked at her, steering her to the end of the line, where Ivy made a rapid survey of her fellow queuers and decided that, excluding the parents, they were the oldest by about two decades. "Come on, live a little."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

At last, they reached the front of the queue, and Jess pushed Ivy forwards, a look of almost sadistic glee on her face. "After you."

Glaring back at the other woman, unaware of quite how stroppy this made her look, Ivy stood somewhat awkwardly beside the red-suited man who sat at the centre of the Grotto, surrounded by his retinue of elves and mumbled "Um, hi." All her erudition, so present in court, seemed to have deserted her, and she had a sudden overwhelming feeling of embarrassment. She was, in fact, tongue-tied.

The man smiled up at her from behind his white beard. Ivy had to admit that he was at least a step above the normal charity-bucket Santa. The beard might even be his own, and he had properly twinkling eyes, and red cheeks — although come to think of it, her own were probably pretty rosy in this biting cold. "Not at all, my dear." Even his voice seemed right. "Come and see Santa."

If her cheeks hadn't been red before, they were now, as she walked slowly across to the old man and perched, slightly awkwardly, on the invitingly extended knee.

"Well now, little girl, have you been good this year?"

A very peculiar feeling passed over her. Ivy felt at once very large and very small, and the old man's face seemed suddenly to be a long way above her. There was an enormous lump in her throat, and when she tried to speak, all that she could do was gulp. The barrister made a couple of attempts to offer the snarky response she'd concocted, and then, giving up, just nodded.

"Excellent!" He beamed down at her, and she squirmed on his knee, feeling suddenly immensely uncomfortable for some reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on. "Then I'm sure you'll get everything you ask for from Father Christmas. As long as you're telling me the truth, that is."

Again, all that Ivy could do was nod, and Jess grinned at her as she got to her feet, suddenly recovering the use of her legs.

"See, that wasn't so bad."

Ivy, still unnerved by the experience, scowled in a way that made her colleague take a step back.

"Shut up."

[imagine-lcorp]

Falling (One Shot)

A/N: Helloooo, my dears! As every year, here it is! A little piece to celebrate the beautiful day of Halloween/Day of the Dead!! Hoping you had a great weekend and that you're enjoying the celebrations, you know I can never miss these holidays. Anyways, pls enjoy this fic and I hope you're good :)

Lena Luthor!Succubus x R//Word Count: 1,233

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

When you started to dream about her, you didn't know you would fall this hard for her.

It started a couple of months ago, when you would come back home, tired and sick of the day that was too much like the day before. And the day before, and the day before. With no other want but to forget the day and try to find some solace in the empire of dreams. It was the tedious and lonely routine that left you defenseless against her.

If days are joyless, let the night fill your desires. She had whispered into your ear as you had drifted away.

You remember her in your dreams too clearly. The color of her eyes as they looked at you, so inviting, the sound of her voice, so tempting, the soft touch on you and the pleasure she offered, so needed. She was all you could ever want and she knew what you wanted, as she had made herself in her image and likeness. Green eyes, raven hair, fair skin. A lovely vision indeed, impossible to resist. Besides, you knew she wasn't real so, what was the harm in that?

As time with her passed, it didn't matter that after waking up you would feel tired, that seemed to be your only setting nowadays, or that you would start to fall asleep in places where you shouldn't. At work, during lunch, in the labs, on your way home. At every chance you got just to see her one more time.

It was strange sometimes to see her in the flesh, walking around the office, checking on the labs, meeting with employees in the cafeteria. You had to remind yourself she was not her and her wasn't she. One was real, the other a dream.

Until she wasn't.

It's time to go home, (Y/N).

The whisper in your ear made you jump back from your seat and away from the computer you were working on. You had been jolted awake from her dream by her voice, her real voice, and she had looked at you with concern and worry as you looked around to remind yourself where you were.

"Are you alright?"

"Uh, yes, yes. Sorry, Miss Luthor." You had responded with a hammering heart.

After all the dreaming, the last thing you thought could actually happen was having to interact with your boss.

"May I ask why are you here so late? Everyone else in the lab is gone."

"Sorry, I got caught up in work. We have an important project in our hands." You tried to look apologetic. It hadn't been your intention to stay so late in the office.

"Well, I appreciate your passion for this project but it's almost ten." She had smiled at you. "It's time to go home, (Y/N)."

She repeated and you were jolted awake once more.

The dreams that night were like nothing you had experienced before. There in the shadows, in the safety of your bed, they had been so vivid and passionate, and the affection of them so tender you could have died just right there. Her hands on your chest, her lips on your neck, her legs entangled with yours, blissfully unaware of the world and as the nights passed, the days seemed to blur into the illusion too.

You would see her in the distance before you crossed the street, at the end of the market queue, you would see her disappearing behind doors moments before you had to go through them. She was haunting you now, filling spaces everywhere you went.

Your friends started to worry as did your coworkers. You would drift away mid sentence, spacing into the distance, opening your mouth as if to speak. You would sometimes shiver and tremble, as if an invisible hand caressed your spine. As time passed you would also whisper and murmur, unintelligible words known only to you. It was the dreams invading your waking hours.

"I called you here because I'm concerned." She was sitting behind her desk and looking at you intently.

"Concerned about what, Miss Luthor?" You shifted in your seat.

"Your coworkers have noted that you are distracted, so to speak." She left her seat and rounded her desk, leaning against it as she placed herself in front of you.

"Distracted? How so?" You swallowed hard as you looked at her. You had never been this close to her before.

"You're missing meetings, you don't deliver your reports in time, you stay longer at the labs but it seems you don't get much done." She placed her hands on her sides, grabbing the edge of her desk. "Is everything alright?"

"Y-yeah." You cleared your throat and tried to focus on anything else. Your mind was drifting away into more pleasant places but you had to concentrate. "I've been having a bit of trouble sleeping, that's all."

"Insomnia?"

"More like bad dreams." You looked away.

"Have I been a bad dream to you, (Y/N)?" You felt her fingers on your chin pulling you to look at her once more.

Green eyes, raven hair, fair skin, soft touch. A lovely vision, difficult to resist. Was it real? Was it a dream?

"N-no." You gulped.

"Then we should go home."

Her hands found yours, pulling you up from your chair. She guided you towards the door, never taking her eyes off of you. In them you could see it all. The affection, the desire, the love. She spoke then in hushed tones, whispering words of love one could only ever heard in dreams. It was comforting, it was madness.

At the edge of it all, she pulled away from you, freeing your hands and walking a few steps away from you.

"Wouldn't you want to stay with me forever?" She asked as she opened her arms to you.

She was offering a final embrace and you...you only had to offer yourself in return. And isn't that what love is?

So you threw yourself into her arms.

It felt like you were being carried away into the night, with the wings of love on your back against the roaring wind. Like a raindrop flying among the city lights in fractals of color, until you hit the ground.

Caution lines were put in place that same night as paramedics took care of your broken body. The next morning, police officers started the investigation, asking all relevant people what could have happened.

When the CEO of the company was interrogated as to why an employee seemed to have jumped from her office's balcony, she couldn't come up with any logical explanation. She recalled seeing you from time to time after working hours, still in the office. Maybe it was the burnout that had finally driven you out of your senses. In any case, she couldn't know, she barely knew you.

Police turned around with no more questions to ask. The cause of your death, now clear as it could be. They turned around, ready to deliver their findings to their superiors. And as they did, the couldn't catch the little smile that appeared on her face. A smile so complacent it would have raised some flags.

She walked then to the balcony, crossing her hands over the rail and looked down with the smile still on her face.

No one had ever fallen this hard for her.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi there, Steph! I have a little question about the way that you handle the (queued) reblogs of your previous posts. Obviously you usually reblog posts the next day but what about older posts from years back? Are they also still following some kind of rotation or queue or do you just go through your own post history ever now and then, looking for stuff that looks thematically/interesting?

Whatever your system is, it is working great for me! I found a lot of great fics and meta-posts from your older posts as well and I probably wouldn't have found those just by browsing on your blog. I am just curious to maybe get a little glimpse behind the scenes!

Thanks for all your great compilation work over here!

Hi Nonny!

So my NEW posts always get a "next day reblog" and a queued "final" reblog (usually with "queue" in the tag name), which usually posts a month or two later depending upon how long my queue is, so that the content is seen at least three times guaranteed.

Lately though, because I haven't been getting a lot of asks, I have been just... going through my offline file of my blog (a 384 page Text Edit document) by just doing keyword searches of whatever comes to my mind and then tag them as "filler content". I used to never do this, as many come to my blog because it's visibly updated daily. But lately I just haven't had the spoons or mental capacity to answer long asks and instead I just pick whatever comes to my brain. Mostly my "classic posts" (ie. posts that I received a LOT of feedback for in the past or posts that are STILL making the rounds years later and I happen to see it cross a mutual's dash so then I reblog) or if I see a topic is popular, I'll find my old meta masterposts about said topic and try to get new eyes on them, since I didn't realize until this year that not everyone knows I used to be more known for my meta writing. Many people like the rabbit holes they can end up in reading my meta. Sometimes I'll go on my art blogs (@stephratte and @stephdrawsjohnlock) and find some old art I'd like people to see. It really does just depend upon my mood in the moment.

I try to fill up my time-slots in my queue hourly between 8am and 4pm DAILY, so that my blog is ALWAYS active and a place people can come and be entertained. I like having a very active blog. In turn, though, that comes with the cost of me spending EVERY NIGHT going through my blog daily, FILING EVERY SINGLE POST on the aforementioned Text Edit Document, and then setting up the queue accordingly. And if I don't answer a new ask, I just randomly type whatever I'm in the mood to re-read on my own blog and search for filler content. It's a lot of work but I think it's worth it since I get a few comments that mention that they are happy that I am so active around here.

That said, I'm SOOOOO happy to hear that my older posts intermingled with my new ones are doing it for you. Like, you have NO idea how pleased I am to hear this, because the immense guilt I feel for NOT having new content has been eating at me for months. I just... DON'T have the energy these days to ensure new stuff all the time AND work on making new fic lists for each Sunday. I have a nearly-ten-year backlog of blog here, I should really take advantage of that.

Thank you so much for giving me that validation I feel I needed for it, and I'm happy you enjoy your time here! This is SUCH a kind comment, and filled me with sprinkles and sunshine. 💜🖤

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

An (incredibly long) "I want"-style song dedicated to the most unruly of trios: John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison.

The setting is the late 50's – it's deliberately a bit of a mish-mash :-)

Lyrics below the cut!

John: Green

Paul: Blue

George: Purple

P&G: Pink

J&P: Red

JP&G: Neutral

Liverpool gave up on me the first day of preschool

Teachers called me unruly cause I don't suffer fools

And my aunt who says she can't believe I’d throw it all away

Quarrybank, that school for cranks suspended me the other day

All those lads who quit this band to learn a proper trade

Think that I don't understand the facts of getting paid

But you both see,

It's them not me, it's us and this here prophecy

Do you see us five years on – well

Maybe three, that's sort of long

As they're writhing for our songs

And “Your group's on now, John "

Earning some preposterous wage

Free of this less-town-more-cage

As we enter center-stage

In our gold disk age

And the birds will have to queue

For a single peck at you

Then, emboldened by the view

Watch them molt on cue

And all we need is not to quit,

They'll call us Great Britain's

Newest stars, brand new guitars, guaranteed not to split

Picture us: the favourite band

With a record deal in hand

Going deaf from screaming fans

As per my new masterplan

Where we going, fellas? Where we going?

Where we going, fellas? Where we going?

(To the topper-most of popper-most of popper, to the topper)

To the toppermost of the poppermost!

I hear music in my head

Wherever I go

It's like it's bursting out my soul

It's something I cannot control

Meanwhile I can't drop this tune

Every night When I get home

I watch dad roll his eyes

"Heard of this thing called a comb? "

I sigh as he implies

That mum would be

So unhappy and so disappointed in me

However inopportune

There's a decade dawning soon

Shooting for the moon

And John may seem unreasonable

But his dream is feasible

Sometimes yes, guess he's a gull

I'll appease him though

And then I see how for we're come

Joined, we're greater than our sum

See, the rhythm's in the strum

Of the guitars and then some

Playing my part in your vision, I'll

Grab a pen, so much to discover

Let's produce another

Lennon-McCartney original

See the day John and me met

And Yes George, I didn't forget!

We become a matching set

Writing tete-a-tete

Where we going, Johnny? Where we going?

Where we going, Johnny? Where we going?

(To the topper-most of popper-most of popper, to the toppermost)

And where do I fit in?

And when do I come in?

Is there a spot for me at the

To the toppermost of the poppermost!

I'm the youngest, there's no day when they let me forget

But the part Paul will not say: I'm their safest bet

See the fact is they don’t practice systematically like me

I know my chord charts, strings, fretboard, parts of my soul, sorted by key.

Still the world is their playground

And I am watching from the fence

I can't yet jump with confidence

But mum taught me about patience

I still feel Julia's arms around me every time I play

What would my mum say? (She tells me)

Anything I set my mind to  (She taught me everything)

The heights I'll climb to (She wanted everything)

My time soon

Anything to prove I'm worth it (Wouldn’t approve)

Move the earth, they'll learn…

I had to learn to be the only one believing in me

And ever since she's gone, I can hardly stand it (Mum says I can stand it)

No one understanding (Don’t quite understand it)

The thing she saw in me

And dad, he just wants me to be practical

She’d call me her rebel without applause and tell me

Just keep making noise, always play in your own key

I will wait patiently

He may believe in me but not my choice

They will have no choice but to love me

Where we going fellas? Where we going?

To the toppermost of the poppermost!

Insert band name here.

Liverpool has no idea what’s coming

Liverpool will never be the same

They’ll put up posters of us

Like on this truck

John, that’s a bus!

Put your glasses on, Jesus!

And dad will be non-plussed when

Walking down the street he’ll see John (John), Paul, George (George) of the…

Johnny and the Moondogs… What! Definitely not. The Shoes!

The Quarrymen… Nononononono, JaPaGe3!

Liverpool has no idea what’s coming

Liverpool will never be the same

When they all see us one as three the blasphemous song trinity.

Everybody’s bitching

Where’s that old ambition

That got you essay prizes and into the institute?

I’m not a delinquent

I’ve just been rethinking

No one realizes I’m still just as resolute

Just keep making noise

Always play in your own key

They will have no choice

But to love me

Anything I set my mind to

The heights I’ll climb to

My time soon

Anything to prove I’m worth it

Move the earth

They’ll learn from me.

Where we going, fellas? Where we going?

Where we going, Johnny?

Where we going, fellas? Where we going?

(To the topper-most of popper-most of popper, to the topper)

And where do I fit in and when do I come in?

Toppermost of the poppermost.

[mitamicah]

Gig report: Käärijä at Böle Arena and Club 05.04.24

It has now been five days since my first Käärijä gig in Finland and my first stadium gig with him as well. In short it was an amazing experience and one of those concerts I probably will keep with me forever. However, there were both great and less great parts of the whole thing.

TLDR; I loved the shows especially because we were able to see Jere live out his Rammstein fanboy dreams and that we got Paidaton Riehuja during the spontaneous DJ booth set which made me cry. However, I was more than once annoyed about security and their lack of communication to the fans.

Disclaimer: this report is written from my point of view. Keep in mind that this is just the opinion of one kääryle and some of these experiences are very much subjective to my unique situation.

My trip to Helsinki was far from ideal. The flight I was meant to take on Friday May 3 2024 was cancelled and so I have to wander around in Copenhagen Airport for eight hours before flying to Stockholm then Helsinki and landing around dinner time instead of the originally plan 9.20 in the morning. For this reason I had to cancel the tattoo appointment I just made and mentally cancel my plans to explore the inner city of Helsinki. Luckily I wasn’t alone since another fan had been scheduled to take the same flight so we hung out together. Our luck didn’t improve however so we caught the Joker Out travelling curse in Helsinki when our bags were missing for half an hour to an hour. Because of this we were only arriving to Pasila station around 8-9 o’clock in the evening.

I blame me having been up very early (2 am), the annoyance of all we’ve gone through and my autism making me like clear cut rules that people actually following for my feelings about the next part. The thing is that we were a group of four going to Böle just to see the venue after eating some Korean/Japanese food to be met by a big group of campers outside the venue. This confused me since the venue had informed on more than one occasion that queuing before 8 am Saturday was prohibited. From what I gather from Elmi (ehaapasalo on ig) that talked to some of the campers the security personnel had given into the campers to be allowed to camp at the venue although NOT at the main entrance. Yet they (the venue) had not make an official statement about this making it so half or more of the fans would not have known about this chance of plans. I was way too tired and it was way too late for me mentally to change my plans so I went to my hotel where I slept horribly given I worried about the queue the entire night.

Next morning I woke up as I’d planned at 5.30 (would’ve been more than enough time had the queue started at 8 am) to be informed through IG group message that there were already 60+ numbers given in the unofficial queue. Already slightly sleep deprived I went to the queue a little past 7 am with a big, lurking cloud (figuratively) over my head. I got number 99.

At 8 am the second big change of plans where announced: Instead of starting giving out official numbers at 11 the security would now ask people to line up so the numbers could be given at 8 am. This change didn’t bother me as much as the previous one but it was still not a great feeling I was left with since this was not clearly communicated before now. We got our numbers (mine was 95) and pretty much 85-90% if not more went home to sleep and/or eat. That meant me that had looked forward to hang out and meet people in the queue felt I was getting even more punished for following the rules.

Because of this and my foolish hope of getting Käärijä to notice my sign asking for a tattoo, when a fan told me there were still tickets to the day show I ended up buying one for myself. (and so I ended up with yet another number being 38). More people slowly starting to arrive after that, and with the company the anxiety and sour taste in my mouth subsided slightly.

The dayshow would start at 3 pm, so we had been asked to be back at 1. The line however only started to form because we (the fans) got impatient at 1.30. Other than that the personnel did alright when double checking our numbers and I’d say getting inside seemed to go smooth and easy so cookie points for that at least.

The day event would be the first (and so far only) time I’ve gotten barricade (however I wouldn’t have it for long since I allowed two squeaks fourth of my height to stand in front of me – it was an all-ages show after all). I was standing next to @duekko a bit to the right of the stage yet still somewhat close to the middle and we had a lovely time waiting (and enjoying the concert) together I’d say.

The show itself was amazing- I loved seeing Jere fulfill all his Rammstein fanboy dreams with amazing outfits, outfit changes, pyro, smoke and silly gags. I especially enjoyed hearing People’s Champion (laughed my ass off seeing häärijä in the mushroom hat) live for the first time and the Tequila interlude and having the dancers around for Huhhahhei, Kot Kot (although in chicken costumes) and of course Cha Cha Cha was a treat.

The one thing that might have slightly made the experience less enjoyable for me was definitely my own fault. The barricade seemed miles away from the stage (to make space for pyro) and it was so dark that you could not see anything from the stage (I believe). That meant that no matter how much I tried it was definitely not going to work out with having Jere notice my sign. I did try both here and at the evening event yet I felt much more in the way and self conscious about it than I had hoped. So that slightly coloured my experience since I personally like to be as little aware of myself when I’m at a concert as possible. It also seemed that Jere were a bit nervous (understandably so) inbetween songs having to keep to a schedule yet as soon as the songs started he was back in performance mode and seemed to have a great time so that was lovely to see.

After the day show I got about an hour of queuing with people again which was lovely yet far from enough to speak to everybody I wanted to. A third little annoyance with the security arrived when we were lining up for the evening and then got the message to go inside 15 min before but just stay inside awkwardly in our queue until the doors opened for real. That truly was a strange experience and I have no idea what the security was thinking. Of course somebody in front started running as soon as we was allowed to move so to not getting stampeded everybody had to move. This whole chaos ended with me getting a way better spot than I’d imagined (third row a bit to the right yet still closer to the middle than in the day show). In some ways I think this spot was better than the day show at least in terms of the angle I was looking at the stage from.

The support band from the evening show was decent yet I am not sure they’d be added to my spotify playlist anytime soon. The evening show felt a lot like the day show just turned up to eleven with Erika joining for Rouska (as expected yet still very much appreciated) and songs like Rock Rock (the original version) and Menestynyt Yksilö being added to the setlist. Before Urheilujätkä (that was also being played at the day show) we held a little memorial for Hanna which made me teary eyed. We also got Cha Cha Cha twice this time which gave me big flash backs to the Europe tour which is only a good thing. (but yeah again my sign quest was a dud).

After the concert I was able to meet Aarni which was really cool (I went into big golden retriever puppy mode so by the off chance you are reading this Aarni, I am sorry for being so in your face x’D). I got a picture with him and gave him three stickers so he could give some to Jere and Häärijä (later in the evening I met him again and he confirmed that the boy had indeed gotten the stickers). My sidequest did cost me a setlist however but that is okay because Anniina (@formulalakana) got it instead which I am more than happy about (you may have seen it going around since it is the one with the Bojan picture at the bottom).

Joining the afterparty the first I did was finally buying that green hoodie I’d wanted since the Stockholm gig and then I went to buy water since I hadn’t really drunk anything since that morning. Sonny was the DJ of the evening and he played Käärijä songs – new, old, known and unknown – all evening. It was great hearing studio versions of People’s Champion and Ihan Sama yet also just hearing Morgan and Kovis being played on speakers at a club healed my soul.

I ended up joining the dancers just at the right time because 3-4 songs later Käärijä and crew joined the DJ booth to play a very spontaneous extra set for us. This was by far my favourite part of the evening because unlike the stadium shows the vibe was way more personal and intimate and heat of the moment. We bullied Jere into performing Kovis, we got the demo version of Cha Cha Cha, we got Ihan Sama and Punainen Marli. Heck, we even got to hear the new collab between him and Joost called Traffik! Everything seemed to go too well when suddenly a person behind me fainted and we immediately called for the show to stop. While it took a bit for the people on stage and security around to notice we were able to help the person (I really hope they are okay). I will give a few cookies to the security there as well – they seemed to react pretty quickly and professionally in this situation (they’d also actually been taking us seriously during the concert when asking for water unlike at Joker Out at Kulttuuritalo day 2 where we had to almost have people fainting before we were allowed water).

The DJ set ended in the most magical way because Jere decided to end with Paidaton Riehuja. Now I am a transmasculine person who like many transmasc kääryleet probably have a very strong connection to this song. Because of that I had been daydreaming about one day being lucky enough to be at a käärijä show where this song would play (preferably after my top surgery) so I could confidently and comfortably throw my shirt off and join Jere being shirtless and just feel the relief of not caring about my looks together with the wind on my chest. I had never imagined this would actually happen and definitely not here at Böle not even half a year into my hrt journey and pre op. Because of the rarity of the moment however I without thinking struggled my way through four layers of shirts to by the half way point of the song stand in only my sports bra howling with the little bit of the voice I had left. When the song was finished it hit me what I’d just done (for context: this is the first and only time I’ve willfully stripped down shirtless in public after coming out and the first time as long as I can remember I’ve been this unclothed and felt completely safe about it). I cried. And that is a first. I have never cried at a concert like that- always after the fact. So this is the one moment that make it so I think I will remember Böle forever. (I also cried at least two more times after exiting the dancefloor). Before exiting the danceflor however somebody next to me found a flower pin that they thought was mine (it wasn't) that I ended up taking with me home - so if anybody lost a flower that day (you can see it in the picture below) and what it back feel free to let me know :'D xD.

I stayed till the end of the evening chatting with new and old friends and dancing with strangers. I at one point saw Jesse yet was not fast enough to get over to meet him. I didn’t managed to meet everybody else yet heard about others having amazing moments with the guys which made me very happy for them (even if I myself also felt a bit sad that it hadn’t been me but you cannot get everything).

In the end I’d say Käärijä was a good first gig for the venue yet there are things they can definitely approve such as their ability to communicate and stick to what they have put out there as the official rules to make it the fairest for everybody involved.

As always I thank all of you for the amazing stickers, bracelets and other gifts I got this evening!!! (I got 23 bracelets which has definitely broken the last record which was held by Joker Out in Helsinki day 2). It was amazing meeting you all, taking pictures with you, getting excited with you, dancing and laughing with you and just overall sharing this amazing time together.

For the ones that are curious I did manage to get my tattoo appointment rescheduled for Sunday (that will probably be its own post) and because of that I also had time to add in a spontaneous tattoo to celebrate the milestone that is me being comfortable enough to take off my shirt first time in public. The rest of the trip in Helsinki was spend going on a Käärijä related solo tourist tour that you may-may not have seen me post about already.

Thank you for reading this gig report and I hope to see some of you again in July.  

[aonungslvr]

Kiri x sibling reader who struggles with being an outsider and feels alone?

an extra finger to hold

pairing ; sister! kiri te suli kìreysì’ite x gn!sibling! reader

taggings ; 🪽🍄🐚🫧

notes ; my first request! tysm for this, and i’m so sorry it’s short! this was written in some of my classes and i don’t have much free time lately! i am expecting a break from the workload soon though so i’ll be more consistent then!

summary ; kiri has noticed her younger sibling distancing themself from everything and finally steps up.

1.4k words

you were the third sully child, older then lo’ak and tuk yet younger then neteyam and kiri. of course, this made you the middle child. on top of that, you had inherited your fathers extra finger, eyebrows, and low set queue.

your brother, lo’ak, and sister, kiri, had also received these traits. however, they had gained their mothers higher queue. neteyam and tuk also had your fathers queue. this left you with the most human traits among your siblings.

being the olo’keytans child did not save you from the relentless teasing from other navi children. pureblood navi children. when you were younger the bullying was more commonly said to your face in harsh remarks.

“look! they have an extra finger!”

“that’s so weird…they’re a demon!”

the words were said with laughter, but that didn’t help you. now that you’ve grown slightly older, nearing fifteen, the navi teens hid their torment. words were spoken between shushed whispers and behind hands.

“have you seen them up close? they have hair above their eyes…”

“they kinda look like a prolemuris, right?”

whenever you’d look their way they would avert their eyes and carrying on with whatever they were doing, as if nothing had happened.

you stopped attending your healing lessons after the navi girls there had been snickering at you, much to kiris dismay.

once the warriors and hunters in training caught wind of your strange features, they too made fun of them behind your back. eventually you left training as well, which your father did not agree with but was unable to ever find you and force your bow into your hand.

you spent most of your days strolling through pandoras endless forest. the great mother was the only one who had seized to make fun of you. eywa had chosen your father. he was a blessing. that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

you weren’t only left out of your clan but your family too. neteyam was the eldest, he is the most responsible and mature. kiri has such a wonderful connection to eywa. lo’ak is the trouble maker. tuktirey is the baby of the family. so what were you? the most human like navi on pandora? that’s the life you were given if you were to return to home, so you remained in the forest. alone.

despite being alone for most of the day, you still had to go home when night fell. everyone was always so occupied, nobody had the time for you.

your father is olo’keytan, he is planning attacks on the humans. your mother is tsakarem, she must care for tuk. your brothers are going at each others heads, lo’ak wreaking havoc and neteyam fixing it. kiri…what does kiri do?

you were stuck in the loop of your normal life. wake up, maybe eat breakfast, then leave home before anyone had time to ask questions.

you were currently avoiding bow training with your father and brothers, so you cruised through pandoras forest. the flora and fauna never upset you, no matter how many times you had seen it.

you’ve always been jealous of kiris connection to the moon you lived on. she was a blessing from eywa. your father and sister had been blessed, why weren’t you?

not a day goes by where you don’t think about what it would be to be normal. to shave your eyebrows and cut off your pinkies. of course you’d thought about it before, you had messily cut the hair above your eyes when you were younger, and binded your pinky and ring finger together.

other times, you would go out in the clan with your face covered, not revealing your hands and get treated normal for once. you had gotten genuine greetings that day. the sarcastic “i see you”s weren’t the same, you had only received those because you had been with your family, the leaders. when you’re alone you go ignored.

you had tried your best to stay away from where the warriors would be training but there were some stragglers every here and there. you moved on quickly so they couldn’t see who you were. you stopped in your tracks while passing some teenager na’vi behind a tree as you heard your name being spoken.

“(y/n)? well thank eywa they aren’t here today either. i don’t know why their allowed to train. probably giving our secrets to the humans.”

the second boy laughed and added onto what his friend had said, “bro! their probably some sort of spy! do we even know if they’re actually half navi? what if they’re some dreamwalker the humans sent to watch over us..”

“right! that’s what i’ve been saying! let’s be honest, if they weren’t the olo’keytans child, they’d be exciled.”

the boys laughed with each other and you made your exit before you could be seen. it wasn’t the first time you had been made fun of but something about this was different. you weren’t sad. you didn’t feel the need to break out into tears. you had expected all of this, how could you truly be upset?

you entered back into the forest with a solid expression. no tears, no frowns, just there. and as you sat on the grass, for once you didn’t wish to be normal. you didn’t wish to be respected. you wished to be gone.

“i am fine sa’nu. i am just going to head to bed, i’m tired and not hungry.”

your father chuckled at this, “tired from what? not training?”

“your grandmother tells me you have been skipping out on healing, what are you doing with this time (y/n)?” your mother added on.

your siblings weren’t focused on the conversation, they were talking amongst themselves. except kiri. kiri was listening.

“it is no big deal, i am staying busy throughout the day. now if you don’t mind, i’m going to sleep.”

if you were being honest, you wanted them to stop you. you wanted them to be worried and make you stay with them.

just before your mother was about to protest, tuk had ran to her crying.

“sa’nu lo’ak hit me!! look right here! look he hit me!”

your parents attention left you. jake scolded his sons and neytiri comforted her daughter. what about you? you raced off into your separate room, tears threatening to spill. this is how it always is. you finally have the slightest bit of attention and then your siblings rips it away. nobody is ever-

“(y/n)?”

it was kiri. she had entered your room just as you stormed off as tears fell. you quickly wiped away what you could without looking like you were just crying.

“kiri what are you doing here? tuk is crying you should go help her.”

“my sibling is crying. i’m staying with you.” she pushed herself onto your hammock where you laid.

“i’m not crying, truly.”

“i may not be the smartest but i am certainly not foolish. especially when it comes to my families well-being.”

you sniffled and looked away from her. how were you supposed to face her? everyone in your family had so many things going on, things they needed to handle, but here you are. crying over nothing.

kiri gripped your face and faced it back towards herself, “what troubles you?”

you paused for a moment and just stared into her eyes. you didn’t want to tell anyone, you weren’t going to. something about staring into your sisters eyes awakened something. she cared. you have someone who cares.

you broke out into gentle sobs as you told her everything, “kiri my life is awful. it’s horrible. everyone sees me as a demon, i am just like the humans. i’m not even true na’vi. i don’t belong here. i have too many fingers and toes, hair where it doesn’t belong, my queue is too low, nothing i do is right. there is no place for me in this family, i have no purpose here.”

your sister didn’t flinch. she held your face and moved on to hugging you as you continued. you fell into your big sisters embrace and continued crying and ranting. she brushed your braids out of your face and kissed your forehead. as you cried and held onto her it became clearer in your mind, you had kiri.

you had wondered what kiri’s role was in your family. an olo’keytan, a tsakarem, a responsible brother, a trouble maker brother, a baby daughter. that left you and kiri. you had believed you and kiri were both left out, sepreate from the family. but it wasn’t you, and kiri. it was you and kiri. you didn’t have an all loving clan, and you didn’t have the perfect family, but you had your sister. and right here, right now, she was all you needed.

[capricornlevi]

fine lines & sunflowers - bokuto koutarou x reader

summary: you really should have known better than to make a bet with kenma -- now, you have to face your worst fear: getting a tattoo. To make matters worse, the artist - bokuto, your friends inform you - is apparently renowned for being unforgiving and harsh to newcomers. you need to see for yourself if he lives up to that reputation. timeskip bokuto!tattoo artist AU x reader.

cw: explicit sexual content, reader has a phobia of needles (not discussed in detail, but mentions of the phobia in the context of getting a tattoo), alcohol consumption (all sex is sober & consensual)

NSFW, 18+ - MDNI - MINORS and AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 8.2k

a/n: this is a birthday gift for my wonderful friend sofia @brainrot329 who is the world's most dedicated bokuto simp & also the most incredibly kind person i know ! happy birthday sofia !

___

The first thing you notice about the Black Jackal Tattoo Shop is how the neon sign above the entrance is so bright that it hurts your eyes. 

It’s late in the evening, the sun having set fully just over an hour ago, and the pavement is bathed in a bright purple glow that outshines any of the streetlights. It’s distracting, so much so that you wonder how their neighbours haven’t complained about it – but glancing at the bustling bars and liquor stores nearby, you can’t imagine they much mind. 

The second thing you notice is just how busy the place is. Even at this hour, every single one of the tables is occupied and there’s a line of people at the far end of the shop clearly awaiting their own turn. This was the last slot they had available and so you knew they were in high demand, but this goes beyond your expectations.

It’s just fifteen minutes before your appointment and so you hope that the queue will have thinned out by the time you head in. Obviously, you don’t mind waiting for a short while, but you don’t want to be here all night – more time spent queueing means more time to overthink. 

More time to start panicking. 

More time for you to chicken out or bolt away from the shop as though your life depended on it.

Even now, your legs threaten to buckle underneath you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, every shaky breath takes a great deal of effort. You’re terrified at what awaits you. 

But a bet’s a bet, and you lost it. You need to get this tattoo in order to face your friends with your head held high. 

And so it’s with a great deal of relief that the third thing you notice about Black Jackal is its obvious cleanliness. You swear you can see the floors sparkle from your vantage point on the other side of the street. The walls seem freshly painted - a nice dark blue colour, covered with golden-framed pictures of various intricate tattoo designs - and the artists are all sanitising the tables thoroughly when switching clients. 

Of course, you can’t tell all that much about a place from outside their door, but they certainly present themselves very professionally – nausea-inducing neon lights aside. 

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Reluctantly, you fish it out and check the notification despite knowing exactly what it will say.

Kenma: No backing out!

Kenma: But good luck <3

You wince and swear under your breath. Your long-time friend can be profoundly annoying at times like this, but you still type up a quick response to sate his curiosity – he’s probably waiting at his apartment with Kuroo and the others to see if you’ll actually follow through.

You: I’m waiting outside, I’ll text proof when it’s done

Three dots appear followed by a near-instantaneous response.

Kenma: Yay! Just don’t piss off Bokuto lol 

You sigh as you slip your phone back into your pocket and head to the nearby chain café to kill some time. 

In hindsight - perfect, glorious hindsight - you probably should have known better than to bet a professional streamer that you could beat him at Mortal Kombat. But in your defence, you’ve been playing the game since childhood and have won almost every single time - your win-to-loss ratio is somewhere in the region of ten to one - and it was far from Kenma’s favourite game, he rarely streamed it, so you figured you stood somewhat of a chance. 

And then one night, after far too many homemade cocktails served by Kuroo and Kenma in their shared apartment, you issued a challenge to the latter: the long-awaited Mortal Kombat tournament, best two out of three, and the rest of your friends would act as judges to ensure all rules were being followed.

If Kenma lost, he had to shave his head live on stream. His worst nightmare.

You, on the other hand, have always had a very vocal fear of needles and so you both quickly came to the same conclusion; if you lost (and you figured it unlikely), you committed to facing your own nightmares by getting a tattoo. 

To the shock of only you, Kenma won easily.

You sat in horrified silence for about a half-hour, only speaking up to accept the consolation shots of straight liquor that your friends diligently provided. 

You were just about to knock back yet another tequila when Kenma softened the blow just a little.

“You can pick the design, y’know,” he pointed out with a smile that only betrayed a hint of smugness. “I won’t make you get anything embarrassing.”

You scoffed, setting the empty shot glass down on their battered old coffee table. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Heard that Black Jackal place across town is decent,” Alisa piped up. She’d been in your corner for most of the bet, so you took her opinion to heart.

The next day, once the worst of the hangover had passed, you messaged the shop on Instagram.

“ Hey!” you’d begun, wondering if they could sense your nerves through the screen. “ Just wondering if you have any upcoming slots for a small fine line?”

You already had an idea in mind for the design, having spent the morning browsing online with Anisa; firstly, it had to be the tiniest tattoo physically possible. Secondly, in an area that didn’t hurt that much – you picked your forearm, where the websites rated it on the low-medium scale for pain (though you had your doubts). 

You also had a fondness for sunflowers (as evidenced by the heavy-handed decor in your bedroom), so you spent hours perusing the “small sunflower tattoo” tab on Pinterest. 

You had narrowed it down to three or four possibilities which you promptly screenshotted and forwarded along with your message to Black Jackal, receiving a reply a short while later. You partially wished they’d just ghost you so you could put it off a bit longer, but unfortunately, they were very enthusiastic to help. 

“ Absolutely! We have a slot with Bokuto at 8.30 on Friday?”

Begrudgingly, you agreed.

You informed your friends of your plans the next day, announcing it over dinner with everyone in attendance as proof of your dedication.

Once you read the reply aloud, Kuroo inhaled sharply.

“ Bokuto ?” he asked, incredulous. His tone of voice concerned you deeply.

“Yes?” you answered slowly, scanning the room to see everyone’s expressions. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

Kuroo winced. “Nothing.”

Obviously, you weren’t too convinced. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Your friend started to worry his lower lip between his teeth. “It’s just …he’s … renowned for having, uh, very high standards, basically. Kinda has a scary reputation.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned, mind already conjuring up an image of this apparently terrifying Bokuto. 

“I think I heard something like that … he takes the craft very seriously,” Lev piped up, sympathy written all over his face. “He’ll call you out if you’re too nervous or shaky.”

“And if you faint …” Kuroo trailed off uncomfortably and your blood ran cold in your veins. “My sister got her ankle tattoo there and nearly ran out in tears.” 

You had scowled then, rolling your eyes to act as though you didn’t care, but your heart started to race at a thousand miles an hour. 

“Just behave like you know what you’re doing and you’ll be fine,” Kenma interjected, at least trying to be helpful. “You’ve nothing to worry about. You’ll be in and out in like twenty minutes.”

You nodded half-heartedly, lifting your fork to your mouth and grimacing at the sudden cardboard-like texture your meal had taken on.

Half an hour. How bad could it be?

Now, standing at your original spot on the pavement with a warm latte cupped in your shivering hands, you start to think you weren’t half as scared then as you should have been. 

A tattoo. A tattoo. On your body, forever , and they do it with needles. 

And to top it all off, your tattoo artist is apparently a cranky perfectionist who scoffs and jeers at newbies. Wonderful.

You check the time and see you’ve about five minutes to go before you’re due inside. You knock back a large swig of your coffee, surmising that the extra shot of espresso will be of help rather than hurt.

Once the cup is empty and you feel your legs are stable enough to carry you, you cross the street. 

Approaching the entrance step by step, you feel the neon light wash over you as you reach for the handle. The mahogany door is surprisingly light - or maybe your adrenaline has given you superhuman strength - and before you’re even aware of what’s happening, you’ve closed it behind you and floated across the tiled floor to reach the front desk.

The receptionist seems to be finishing up a call and so you idle by the desk, trying to force something resembling a poker face.  

As she starts to take notes while speaking on the phone, you can’t help but notice the incredible sleeve of black-and-white designs all up her right arm – you’ve seen them before on Black Jackal ’s online portfolio. If memory serves, Bokuto was tagged as having done most of the work.

After about thirty more seconds she politely hangs up the phone, fixes the claw clip holding back her dark hair, and scribbles something on a piece of paper before looking up at you with a bright smile. Her enthusiasm seems so genuine that, for a moment, it takes the edge off your fear.

“Hi, I have a slot at 8.30?” you say, clearing your throat. “With Bokuto?”

Recognition dawns on her face. She says your name as a question – you nod, confirming.

“I was the one talking to you on Instagram!” she beams, gesturing for you to take the consent forms, “Bo took a look at the pictures you sent on and has a couple of stencils ready for you if you want to take a look while you’re waiting?”

You force a smile and nod again, accepting the additional papers she hands you. She asks if you need to hang up your jacket; you shrug it off, the cold air making the bare skin on your forearms prickle with goosebumps. 

As if it’s necessary, she follows up by gently asking; “is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” comes your choked reply. 

She leans in to take your jacket, giving your shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze as she does so. 

“You’ll be fine, I promise! If the discomfort was that bad, I wouldn’t have gotten all these,” she holds out her arm for you to get a closer look at the gorgeous patterns. “The hardest part is getting in the chair, and you’ve pretty much done that already!”

Her smile reaches her eyes and you feel immensely grateful to have her in your corner if you do faint on Bokuto’s table. 

“Thank you,” you reply sincerely, heading over to one of the benches at the end of the room to start perusing the forms. 

It’s all fairly standard for a disclaimer. None of the potential complications listed on the sheet gives you any cause for concern since you’ve stocked up on all the products you’ll need for aftercare.

Plus, it’s not the after part that scares you. It’s the during part, with the buzzing and the needles and the judgmental glances you’ll get if you let out a yelp - 

“Hey! How’re you doing?” a resoundingly cheery voice calls out above you. “You nearly done with the waivers?”

The unexpected greeting shocks you so much that you nearly drop the clipboard. You look up to see a very tall, very broad man grinning down at you expectantly, tattoos covering his arms except the parts obscured by his white t-shirt and black gloves, a shock of silver hair held back with a metal hairband to keep it from falling into his eyes as he works. Something on his mouth catches against the light, glistening – a silver ring on the right-hand side of his lower lip, shifting as his smile widens. 

He seems … different than you expected. More animated, more enthusiastic. 

“I’m Bokuto - Bo, if you prefer - and I don’t know if Kiyoko mentioned it, but I did up a few stencils … ah, you have them there, great!”

You sit there, blinking up at him and then flickering your gaze over to the door as if mapping out your exit strategy in case this interaction turns sour. 

Maybe the mean part comes later. Maybe it only starts when you’re up on the table. 

“Anything you want me to go through with you first?” he asks when you don’t reply, a thick brow arched in anticipation of your answer. 

“Uh, nothing on here,” you reply, cool as you can manage, holding out the consent form for him to take back to Kiyoko. You hadn’t had a chance to look at his designs yet, but you don’t think you really need to; the one at the top of the pile matches your mental image perfectly. “And I think I’ll go for, uh, this one … here . If that’s okay.”

You hold out your chosen design and he takes it, somehow still smiling despite your demeanour being flighty at best.

Frosty and rude, at worst.

“Great! My favourite too. I know we’re not supposed to say that - client is always right, ‘course - but I was hoping you’d pick that one! Wanna get started?”

He gestures to one of the middle tables before snapping off the gloves.

“These are just the ones I use to clean up,” he answers your unspoken question once you’ve gotten up from your seat and glanced at his tattooed hands. “I’ll sanitise fully before we start.”

You weren’t looking at the gloves. You were looking at the intricate art covering what seem to be strong and giant hands, but you see no point in telling him that.

You slowly approach the table as Bokuto goes to deliver your forms. 

Turns out, what you saw from the street didn’t even do the place justice; the area is surgically clean, not a speck of dirt of to be seen, and the plush surface of the table looks as close to comfortable as you could have hoped for. The ceiling is covered with grey tile and the overhead lighting complements it, bright enough for the artists to have visibility but not glaring to the point it gives you a headache like the street lighting did. 

The framed pictures on the wall are even more beautiful up close. 

The art by Bokuto’s station especially . 

You hop up and sit at the edge of the table, hands clutching the side of the cushion for dear life as if falling off could kill you. 

The artist at the table to your right glances over, his face impassive even through the black medical mask that he’s wearing. When you turn your head, the artist to the other side does the same, casting you a look that’s entirely neutral except for his dark brows which seem to be permanently furrowed.

Their behaviour is closer to what you expected Bokuto’s to be like; not quite rude, not quite mean, but so professional and deadpan that you can’t help but feel your inevitable breakdown would inconvenience them greatly.

“So, you decided on the placement?”

Somehow Bokuto’s voice startles you again, having been too fixated on his coworkers’ reactions, but you hide your surprise better this time. You don’t jump, just lift your head and look at him; true to his word, he’s putting the final touches on the sanitisation process before starting any other preparation. 

“Hm?”

He grins, not too bothered at having to repeat himself once more. “Have you picked where it’s gonna go? Because I might have to make some changes depending on your decision.”

“Oh, the inside of my forearm” you blurt out, holding it out to show him.

Your brusque and sudden response means it’s his turn to look up in surprise, but there’s no judgment on his face when he does so. Instead, it softens, golden eyes taking on a hint of sympathy. 

“You nervous?” he asks, more quietly this time.

“ No, not really, ” but your answer comes far too quickly, your face heating as the words leave you. The vice-like grip that you have on the table only further disproves your answer.

He chuckles knowingly as he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves. “You wouldn’t be the first, y’know.”

“I’m not that nervous,” you object futilely. “Really.”

Bokuto takes his seat and pulls it closer to you; partly because he seems to think eye contact will help (it does) and partly to shield you from any eavesdroppers at the tables next to you (he does so successfully).

“Seriously,” he says, quieter again. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. If it’s too much, we stop. If you need a break, we stop. If you have any questions, I am more than happy to answer. Anything at all, no matter what. That sound okay?”

You nod instinctively but find yourself meaning it. He has a surprisingly calming presence, intimidating reputation aside. 

Maybe Kuroo isn’t a great judge of character.

“I’ll walk you through it, ‘kay? Just so you know what to expect,” he starts, and another nod from you shows you’re ready to hear the rest. “Firstly, since you want it here,” he leans over and points to your inner forearm, “we’ll need to have you lying on your back with your arm held out – we could do it sitting up, but this is more comfortable for us both since it’ll minimise any shaking.”

The table is quite comfortable. You’re with him so far.

“Then,” Bokuto continues, business-like but still kind in his delivery, “we’ll sanitise your arm and make sure the skin’s ready to be tattooed - it’s only a small area, so it shouldn’t take too long - and then we pop the stencil on. If you’re happy with it, I’ll get the last of the equipment ready and you just hold still for a while – it’ll be over before you know it. Sound good?”

The way he spells it out is a lot less intimidating than some of the resources you’ve read. He’s not being condescending, either, which is a huge plus – you know what you’re getting into, you’re not a child who needs to be consoled, but you’d just prefer for someone to speak to you like a human and just lay it out so you can mentally prepare.

Which Bokuto just did. Perfectly.

So in lieu of an answer, you lay down in the position he described, and try, for the first time, to return a smile.

He seems delighted as he pushes his chair back out to double-check the supplies.  “Alright! Let’s get this started!”

Staring up at the ceiling, you try to count the tiles to keep your mind occupied. Bokuto’s hands are gentle as he cleans the skin and applies the stencil but your arm still tenses under his touch.

He notices. “All okay?”

“Yep,” you murmur, starting your counting again. 

One tile, two, three -

“This look okay to you?” he inquires, and you pull your eyes away from the ceiling to check the design.

To his credit, it’s perfect. A bit bigger than you expected, but you can see now that changing the size would mean losing out on some of the detailing. 

It’s better than any of the ones you’d seen on Pinterest and you tell him as much. He laughs heartily, with such sincerity and energy that it’s almost contagious.

You rest your head back down and start focusing on counting the next set of tiles. 

No panicking. Not now. You’re nearly there.

Four tiles, five, six, seven -

Bokuto makes a few small adjustments. Your breath quickens. 

It’s so close to being over. Just grin and bear it. 

Eight tiles, nine - 

The needle starts to whirr.

It hits you all at once: a gut-wrenching burst of panic so strong it feels as though it could stop your heart from beating, and you bolt upright before the needle makes contact with your skin, already shaking like a leaf.

Everything’s too much now. The lights, the sounds of buzzing needles, even the low mumbling of the people conversing at the tables next to you – it all mixes into a terrifying cacophony that overloads your senses.

But contrary to what Kuroo and the others had told you, Bokuto doesn’t scold you. He doesn’t laugh, either. He doesn’t even look disappointed. He’s pulled back a little - just enough to give you some breathing space - but other than that, he’s the same. A soft smile, kind eyes, and it gives the impression that he has all the time in the world to help you. 

As nice as it is, it somehow adds to your humiliation. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, still trembling. You cover your face with your hands. “I’m sorry . I just … need a moment.”

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, genuinely puzzled. He sets the needle down in its place. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

What does he mean? He just saw your reaction, how is he so unbothered by it?

“Well, mostly sorry for … for that, ” you answer with a humourless laugh, finally moving your hands away from your face. “For freaking out, for losing it just there … god, I nearly jumped off the damn table .”

He huffs out a short laugh. “And? You wouldn’t be the first, that’s for sure – not the first today, even.”

You rub your eyes forlornly. “I just - it got very real all of a sudden. Too real. I’m sorry.”

He waves off your apology kindly but firmly. 

“No more sorry, alright?” 

Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you find it in yourself to agree quietly. No more apologising. That much you can do. 

“And just so you know,” he continues. “I’m not in the business of tattooing people against their will. If you’ve changed your mind, that is absolutely and completely fine – can’t stress enough how fine it would be. We can even try another day, I can get this stencil off you-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, your mind clearing just enough for you to object. All things considered, you actually really, really liked the look of the stencil on your skin. You want this tattoo. You want to be able to go back to your friends with your head held high. You want to do this for yourself. “I want to do it today.”

“Okay,” he notes in agreement, meeting your gaze. “Then how are we gonna make this work?”

It’s quiet for a moment as you consider your next step. You wonder if Bokuto knows just how much this eye contact is helping to keep you from dying of embarrassment. 

You start to explain your fear in a way that hopefully sounds more articulate than the vague screaming that’s going on in your head. 

“I don’t know if this makes sense, but it’s not the pain that bothers me so much as the needle. All my life, it was never the shot itself that freaked me out, just the sight of the needle coming towards me.”

“I get it. Pain isn’t the issue, really, but looking at this ,” he gestures to the tattoo gun, “isn’t helping you get your mind off things?”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, how about you tilt your head the other way? Akaashi’s about to clock out so you won’t be looking at his mean face for too long,” - at that, the man next to you stops cleaning the table and scowls - “and if you want, I’ll just keep talking so you’re not just staring at the wall for half an hour and you’re not focusing on the sound of the needle. If I need you to check anything - linework, shading - I’ll ask, and try and keep the needle out of the way for you. Whatcha think?”

Maybe it’s just the surge of intense emotion starting to subside, but the offer could just bring you to tears. There’s no pressure, no judgment. Just support and encouragement. 

You can do it. You know you can do it. 

“Sounds doable,” you answer after a slow, steadying breath. You lay down and tilt your head, seeing the tables next to you now clear. “Let’s do it.”

And this time, you don’t so much as flinch. 

The tattooing itself doesn’t really hurt at all. It’s not the most comfortable sensation in the world, but it’s not painful by any measure, likely helped by the fact that you don’t catch sight of the needle for most of it. 

Bokuto talks to you, and you find yourself chatting back with increasing casualness. The topics vary; work, family, how Akaashi used to be equally frightened of needles even though he vehemently denies it. It helps keep your thoughts clear. 

You ask him the tattoo questions that you weren’t able to find the answers for on Google, knowing his reply will be honest. 

He tells you a few college stories. One or two of them sound eerily familiar, but you don’t question it.

He asks you about your friends and about the bet that led you here. You give him the condensed version, explaining that the result was actually a lot closer than your friends had said and that if you had gone for best three out of five, you might’ve just won it. 

You ask about his lip ring, if it hurt to get it done. He says it didn’t. 

Your anxiety ebbs and flows throughout, but you don’t let it surface. Every time you feel panic surge through your chest you just ask Bokuto another question, letting his deep voice carry you away from the fear. 

Just as you’re about to chime in with another question about his first tattoo, he interrupts first. 

“ And … all … done.”

It feels as though only two or three minutes have passed, so thick shock envelops you as you ask incredulously, “ done ?” 

“Done,” he confirms, setting the needle down and starting on the aftercare. “If you’re happy with it, that is?”

You glance at your arm and can’t hold back a gasp at what you see. It’s as though Bokuto reached into your mind and recreated your idea perfectly.

You spend a few minutes admiring it as he cleans up, chatting excitedly as the thrill is yet to wear off, and you feel a strange disappointment knowing it's time to part ways.

Still, you don’t let it show, thanking him and tipping generously when it's time to settle up, saying your goodbyes to Kiyoko too before collecting your jacket.

Once you’re out the door, you snap a picture of your outstretched arm with the perfect tattoo in centre frame and send it into the groupchat, riding the high of your achievement. 

You: Told ya <3

Seconds pass before the replies start to flood in. 

Kenma: Holy shit you actually did it, I’m impressed

Lev: And she delivers! 👏

Alisa: ^^^^^ shut UP we knew she’d follow through 

Alisa: it looks amazing ahhhhh!!!!!

Kuroo: who’s “we” in this scenario

Alisa: shouldn’t u be saving this energy for twitter fights tetsuuuu 

___

To commemorate you successfully facing your fears, the gang all make plans to go for drinks the next day. In fact, Kenma’s so impressed that you followed through on the bet that he agrees to pick up the tab – Kuroo is delighted with you as a result. 

The table is reserved for the entire night and Alisa, Lev, and Yaku are driving separately there so you’re able to travel in one cab. Kuroo and Kenma spend the entire journey inspecting your tattoo, fully visible with the short-sleeved dress you chose for the evening since the protective wrap has been removed.

“Holy shit, it’s real, ” Kenma mutters, peering closer at the sunflower design.  

You laugh a little, taken aback at the continually disbelieving attitude he has towards it. “Yeah? Lots of people have tattoos - Lev has one. Alisa has four. ” 

“Yeah, but,” Kenma answers with a shake of his head. “It was your worst fear. I would have never shaved my head, y’know? Over some little bet, are you kidding?”

“Oh, you would have,” you grin, glancing over at Kuroo’s knowing expression. “We might have needed to be a bit persuasive, though . ”

Out of respect and perhaps just a bit of fear, he’s the first to leave the taxi once it’s parked and he makes a beeline to the counter to get your first drink.

The bar is busy but not too crowded, typical for this early in the night in this part of town – close enough to Black Jackal, come to think of it, and you could probably see the purple neon lighting if you peered out one of the windows. 

You let yourself enjoy the buzzing atmosphere as Alisa and Yaku take you out back to go dancing. The hours trickle by without you noticing. 

Once you’re teetering at the edge of being out of breath, you decide it’s best to get another drink. The others all join you, with Kenma going first to make sure the tab’s still open. 

The queue by the bar counter has thinned a bit since most people have made their way to the open floor to dance and chat. It’s relatively peaceful, so you tell yourself that’s the reason why you’re able to pick out the familiar head of silver hair with such alarming quickness. 

There are about six or seven people standing between you, most of whom seem to be other artists from the tattoo shop, but Bokuto’s the only one you zone in on. 

It makes sense that you’d bump into him in this place. Obviously, he’d come here after finishing work since it’s so close by. You’re not sure how you didn’t expect it.

You’re also not sure why you feel a sudden and peculiar sensation brewing in your chest, radiating out in waves, intensifying every time you think you’ve caught his eye.

You grab Alisa’s arm, pulling her to the side to inform her of the sudden development. 

“Bokuto’s here,” you whisper into her ear, sounding almost startled for some unknown reason. Your own tone of voice takes you by surprise. 

“What?” she calls out as she leans in closer, unable to hear you over the music. “ Whatcha say? ”

“Bokuto’s here, but I need a moment before I go say hi, ” you whisper louder this time, almost at regular volume. You can only hope that nobody but Alisa understands the implications of what you’re saying. 

But naturally, Kuroo picks up on your conversation with relative ease.

“Bokuto?” he asks far too loudly, glancing around in an entirely unsubtle way. “Where? Did you know he was coming?”

Heat floods your face and neck. “ Yes, Bokuto,” your scowl deepens, “and no, I didn’t know he was coming, you utter-”

Kuroo raises his hands in defence, a mischievous smirk etched on his face. “Hey, just asking! Maybe you took a shine to each other, how was I supposed to know?”

That hits a nerve for reasons you don’t quite understand. You keep your face as impassive as possible to avoid detection – you don’t really want to explore these feelings in such a public setting since you don’t even know what they are. Residual nerves, maybe?

“Why would you think that, Tetsu? You’re the one who expected I’d faint on the table.”

Kuroo has an immediate answer to your question. 

“I kinda figured you’d get along, to be honest,” he admits with more than a little smugness. “So wouldn’t be too surprised if you had invited him.”

You baulk at his suggestion. “No, you didn’t! You said he’d be a dick!”

He laughs heartily, throwing his head back as he does so, and you start to piece things together. 

“Do you - do you know him?”

“Yep!” Kuroo chirps. “Played volleyball with him in college.”

Your eye twitches. If you hadn’t been friends with Kuroo since your schooldays, you’d probably hurl your drink at him out of sheer frustration. 

Even as it stands, the jury’s still out on the drink-throwing. 

Hearing Kuroo’s howls of laughter, the others have now made their way into the conversation. 

Wonderful. You’re starting to worry the loud music won’t be enough to obscure the conversation from the parties concerned. 

“I was messing with you!” Kuroo clarifies, though it’s not really necessary at this point. “Bokuto’s a good guy. You probably could’ve spontaneously combusted with fear and he would’ve been the one to apologise for stressing you out.”

“You what?” Alisa gasps. She was out of the loop up until this very moment; her indignation on your behalf is quite satisfying. 

“I thought you all knew!” Kuroo replies after knocking back half of his beer, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. As if his tongue needed to get any looser.

You scoff. “I didn’t! Nobody ever knows when you’re messing with them!”

“And how did Kenma and Lev know what you were talking about?” Alisa asks, throwing an accusatory look at her brother.

Kenma shrugs, answering on Lev’s behalf too. “There are a few artists down there with a reputation for being harsh, and I assumed from Tetsu’s reaction it was Bokuto … but I actually was thinking of someone else, I guess. A friend of a friend with a bad case of resting-bitch-face? A - Akaashi something?”

You glance at the surly-looking man standing next to Bokuto and it all finally falls into place.

“So I acted like a complete freak for no reason?” you ask despairingly. 

With a grimace, you remember your monosyllabic answers to Bokuto’s initial questions, how you acted like a deer in headlights at every step of the process, how it took intensive intervention on his part to even get you back in the chair. 

Your friends jump to your defence. 

“You weren’t a freak- ”

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad-”

“Tetsu, you can be the actual worst- ”

It seems as though the rest of the group were about to settle into scolding Kuroo when you catch sight of Bokuto approaching, grinning as usual, lip ring glinting in the low lighting. 

It takes a second for you to actually comprehend he’s heading towards you and not Kuroo. 

Mercifully, the rest of your friends seem to realise it as soon as you do; they start to collect their drinks and get out of your way, Kuroo stopping for just a moment to greet his old friend - you still can’t believe you hadn’t figured it out earlier - before whispering something in his ear that makes Bokuto’s gaze flicker over to you. 

Oh, if he’s told something embarrassing, you’ll actually kill him. Before you can react to whatever Kuroo’s said, he turns and gives you a quick wink before joining the rest of the group on the dancefloor.

“Hey!” 

Bokuto’s greeting is cheery and bright, which should be encouraging were it not for the fact that it seems to be his default setting. 

His hair is loose now, the metal hairband clearly only for work purposes, and the silver strands that frame his face seem so impossibly soft you have to fight back the urge to run your hand through it.

Here. 

At a bar, in front of everyone.

Oh, so that’s what that feeling is.

“Hey!” you try to return his enthusiasm, ignoring the twisting in your gut from the looming realisation that you have a crush on the man you were terrified of not twenty-four hours ago. 

And he knows you were terrified of him, too. Probably still thinks you are. 

“So, Kuro was just telling me you know each other?” Bokuto beams. “Shoulda let me know! Could’ve told you a few embarrassing stories about him from college … and I probably did, come to think of it, but didn’t give any names yesterday. More than happy to now, though?”

A frazzled laugh slips out in spite of everything. “Yeah, we’ve been friends since we were little kids.” You pause for just a moment, considering his words. “But I’ll definitely take you up on that offer if it’s still open.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. Do you have about six hours spare to hear them all?” he hesitates for a split-second, looking more nervous than you think you’ve seen him. It passes soon, however, when he gets the words out; “... maybe over a drink?”

Oh . 

Okay. 

So it’s not just you who feels like this.  

Relief hits you first. Then a little gleeful sensation that you haven’t felt in a long while, followed by a burst of anxiety – but you’re not going to overthink this part, you assure yourself. There’s no point. It’ll just get you as worked up as it did yesterday, and then you’ll be filled with something worse than fear or embarrassment: regret . 

Besides, Bokuto seems just as he did during the session yesterday. There’s no impatience, no ‘ oh god I have to calm down this random person who’s gotten themselves stressed out for no reason’, no sign that he’s feeling anything other than enthusiasm at getting to have this conversation.

And so you happily add two more drinks to Kenma’s tab. 

“By the way … Kuro never actually told me that he knew you ,” you explain finally, once Bokuto’s finished one of his college stories. You’re not drunk, barely even tipsy, but the glass of wine has definitely made it easier for you to flirt back. “If I’d known, I probably would’ve tried to put on a braver face yesterday.”

“Are you kidding? You took it like a champ.”

You roll your eyes without any malice. “ No , I didn’t.”

“You did!” he insists. 

“I didn’t. ”

“Yes, you did.”

You scoff. “Well, if I did, it’s thanks to you .”

His eyes glint as they scan your face. “Whatcha mean?”

“You kept me sane. Couldn’t have done it if it weren’t for you, honestly.”

You lift a hand and rest it against his tattooed forearm, surprised at the taut muscles that flex under your touch. 

Brave. You can be brave for the second day in a row.

“You up for another?”

___

After you buy two more drinks, things move so quickly that neither of you even gets to finish them.

You’re not sure who made the first move - it might have been him, with the way his eyes sought out your lips at every possible opportunity; or it might have been you, with the way your hand didn’t budge from its place resting against his arm - but all that’s important is that one of you did make it.

Or maybe both of you did.

But it doesn’t matter, because now you’re outside the bar with your back pressed up against the cool stone wall, making out like a couple of desperate teenagers.

Despite the cold air surrounding you, everything feels hot; Bokuto’s lips crushing against yours, his tongue tracing against your kiss-swollen mouth, his hands on your waist as they pull you closer. 

Your skin almost burns under his touch. You get lost in it. 

It’s only when he pulls away, expression torn as though it pains him to do it, that you manage to collect your thoughts into some coherent order. 

You’ve long moved past the tipsy sensation you felt earlier, but your head spins for a different reason as you brace yourself against his strong shoulders, feeling light-headed in the best way possible. 

“Wanna-” he begins, pausing as if worried you’ll say no. You’re already nodding before he even finishes the sentence, and he laughs before leaning in to kiss you again.

“Where do you live?” you ask, pulling back a millimetre or two, and he answers. “My place is closer,” you explain then, tugging him away towards the street to flag down a taxi. 

In the cab, you check your phone as Bokuto rests a hand on your thigh, hoping to fire off a quick text to Alisa to let her know where you’ve gone.

Instead, you see that Kuroo, obviously having felt a little guilty from earlier, has sent you a couple of messages expressing his remorse. 

Kuroo: You okay?

Kuroo: Sorry for messing with you. Bo’s a good guy. he won’t give you a tough time about anything

Kuroo: I think you’ll really like him

You grin. He has no idea. 

You: All fine, and all is forgiven 

You: Your peer pressure paid off for once

You: Just don’t do it again or I’m pretty sure Alisa will kill you :)

With that, you slip your phone back into your pocket and rest your hand over Bokuto’s.

The very moment you pass the threshold of your apartment, his mouth is on you once again; the cool metal of his lip ring contrasts with the heat of the kiss, sending pulses of desire through your core. Your flick against it with your tongue and his eyes darken delightedly, pupils blown out with desire matching your own. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to reach the bedroom, shedding clothes down the hallway as you do so - a shirt tossed here, a pair of shoes thrown there - and soon you’re collapsing onto your bed in a messy tangle of limbs and bitten-off moans.

After a few moments, lifts his head up and grins, eyes travelling around your room. Your head rests against the pillow as you try to follow his gaze to see what exactly he’s looking at.

“Makes sense,” he mumbles fondly. “The design for your tattoo.”

Glancing at your sunflower-covered bedspread, the pressed petals framed on the wall, and the various other splashes of sunny yellow decorating your room, you accept his point with an airy laugh.

However, you’re not willing to dwell on it for too much longer – there are more pressing things at hand. Finally, you lift a trembling hand and tangle it in his hair, finding that it’s somehow softer than you even imagined.

You move your lips to this throat to kiss and suck and bite, and without you having to ask, he tips his head back to allow you more room, whispering your name in a heated and desperately low voice. He hisses as your pecks against his skin turn a little firmer, knowing there’d be a mark left were it not for the tattoos trailing up his neck. Now that he’s not wearing anything, you see the design trails down the broad expanse of his chest, over his firm pecs, further down until - 

He pulls you up into his lap and you let out a startled yelp that quickly turns into an almost pitiful mewl of pleasure. You rock back and forth against one of his impossibly thick thighs, marvelling at the solid muscle of his body as he takes your hips in his hands and guides your movements. 

You spend the next few minutes like this, grinding helplessly against him as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, with him just watching you with an expression that can only be described as awe-struck. He pays no attention to bulge in his own underwear, even though it’s so hard it looks almost painful – he is fixated on you, on your reactions, on the movements that draw desperate little breaths from you and the ones that make your back arch further. 

“Feel good?” he asks, almost dazed, hands running slowly up and down your thighs as you fuck yourself against him. 

“Mmhmm,” you answer – redundantly, given the other sounds that flow from your lips, “need more, though, p-please.”

He doesn’t need any further instruction, flipping you to lie flat on your back and going to spread your thighs which part easily for him.

Turns out he’s more than talented with his tongue as well. 

After what seems like hours of him taking you apart - of you gasping when the lip ring grazes against your sensitive flesh, of you begging for his fingers which he angles just right, of him voicing his own approval at your moans and taste and the way your thighs tighten around his face - he finally sits back on his haunches and gives you a look that you instantly recognise.

Eagerly, you roll onto your side and fetch a condom from the box in the nightstand. When you hand it to him, he finally, finally, slips out of his underwear - you can’t help how your eyes widen at the sight - then only just about manages to put on the condom before you hook your legs around his lower back and pull him on top of you. 

Although he lets out a chuckle at your enthusiasm, he angles you so carefully, and you realise with a soft ache in your chest that he’s trying his best to avoid touching the still-raw skin near your tattoo.

“It’s fine,” you whisper breathily. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He replies by raising your arm so it’s resting by your head on the pillow. “Still, if you need to take a break or stop, just say, ‘kay?”

You agree without hesitation. 

Then, he brings his hips down until they’re flush against your own, his cock slowly and tantalisingly pushing through your folds to allow the anticipation to build (and for you to adjust to his size). But after how long he’s spent preparing you, he’s met with absolutely no resistance – on the contrary, you find yourself mumbling incoherent, slurred words that sound an awful lot like begging. 

“Can - can you-”

He kisses your jawline, the sensation of the ring making you shiver once again. “Can I what, hm?”

“Can you please-” a short, shallow thrust has you gasping mid-sentence, “ please fuck me?”

You almost cry out when he starts to thrust in earnest, slowly at first and then quicker and quicker once he fully surrenders to his own desperation. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with breathy moans and gasps start to echo around you, along with the tell-tale banging of your headboard against the wall. 

His thrusts grow hard, almost punishing, but the way he cups your face tenderly in his hands shows that his intentions are not to overwhelm but to give you what you need; you hadn’t realised it, but your hips had started to cant up to meet his every stroke. 

He praises you, too. Tells you how good you feel, how well you’re taking him, how he could do this forever. Every word out of his mouth makes you grip him tighter, your nails undoubtedly leaving marks against his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come for him again. He doesn’t stop or slow down his movement; he lets you whimper and cry out against his muscled chest as you come down from your high, holding you close as his thrusts turn sloppy and erratic. 

He curses through gritted teeth as he comes, letting out a low moan that sends aftershocks through you. He thrusts deep and stays there; his face in that moment, so blissful and fucked-out, is one of the most gorgeous things you think you’ve ever seen. 

You stay like that for a while, boneless and utterly content, before he goes to remove the condom and wash up as you catch your breath.

When he returns, there’s no awkwardness. No overthinking. You ask for him to stay the night, and he does. He sleeps soundly in your bed with his arms wrapped around you.

It’s a strange sort of comfort you don’t often find with people, let alone someone you barely know. But he makes it easy to get to know him, and you’re all too delighted to learn more.

He stays for a while the next morning. He cooks breakfast, you make the coffee.

Things are much more straightforward from that point on.

___

You get your second tattoo exactly a year later. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t still a little nervous at the prospect of a needle so close to you, but it pales in comparison to the anxiety of your first one. This time, you find yourself looking forward to it more than you do worry. 

“Ready for round two?” Bokuto asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead before starting to get the station set up. The shop is closed, the manager having let you stay late for the occasion, and the peace and quiet only add to your newfound level-headedness. 

Just you and Bokuto. You can do this. 

You nod without hesitation, lying back on the table as though you’re a seasoned veteran. “No freaking out this time.”

He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance but the affectionate laughter cuts through it. “Still think I’m scary, huh?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore.”

“Well, guess I can live with that.” 

When the needle starts to whirr, it doesn’t make you jump. There’s no feeling of panic or dread.

This tattoo is over quickly, like the last one, but it’s far more meaningful – you like sunflowers, sure, but you like this one better. You didn’t need to over-analyse the design since you can see exactly what it looks like on someone else.

Bokuto has an identical one freshly tattooed on his ring finger. 

[inkluvs]

IVES IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!

could I possibly get smth abt steve celebrating your birthday w you please rahhh maybe he does smth cute for it, I’ll leave that up to you teehee

have a lovely day bae <3

many moons ago

a/n: ok i wrote this really quickly so i'm not exactly sure how i feel about this? queueing it before i can overthink but happy (belated when this posts) birthday bae i love uuu <3 tw: food ; steve is a morning person ; one line that mentions sleep deprivation ? (0.3k)

steve harrington x fem! reader

 masterlist // taglist

Sunlight pours in from the sliver between the blinds and the windowsill, just enough to have you blinking rapidly as you try to turn around in search of your boyfriend. He isn’t there. You run through the reasons in your mind: He might have work, picked up a weekend shift, and forgotten to tell you. He might’ve gotten started on breakfast, which would explain the smell that’s starting to waft into the room. Or maybe there’s an occasion you’d forgotten. 

It’s your birthday, is what you’re forgetting. Ridiculously late nights that pour into early mornings dismembered your sense of time altogether. For all you know, it could very well still be new years. 

You drift in and out of sleep for the next hour and a half, only stirring awake when the door hinges creak as it swings open. Steve’s soft like this, you think, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, apron tied ‘round his waist and neck as he walks in with two plates. 

You smile into your pillow as he sets down the food on your nightstand, the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric reaching your ears as he unties the apron. Your bedsheets rustle as you turn to face him, your arms reaching out to pull him close.

“Mornin’ pretty,” He murmurs, words pressed tight against your neck.

“Morning,” you hum. “What’s the occasion?”

Steve’s never been that great of a storyteller, constantly getting distracted by little details and branching off when you give him input, but that didn’t always stop him.

“Many many moons ago,” he starts smoothing his thumb over the slope of your cheek, “on this exact morning,” he pauses, “you were born in the morning right?” You nod and his voice drops to a dramatic whisper, “You were born.” He dots a kiss against your hairline and your cheeks split in a grin.

“That’s what it was.” You realize, eyeing your breakfast with fervor.

He hums, “Happy birthday honey.”

[elderwisp]

Hey! Have u changed the style or something? Your last tesselate posts look kind of different from others :3 Anyway…

I adore your storytelling, writing, and characters. Tessalate was the first story I started reading here, and I always look forward to new posts from you!

A quick question: when you are preparing a story post, what is the most interesting and exciting for you in the process? (text, posing, etc.)

Hope it’s not confusing. I wish u a good day/night/evening :)

AH hi hello! :D I did change up the editing style! I've been trying to take a bit more time when it comes to editing as well as attempting to blend how i typically edit for story posts and the colorful/dramatic lighting for regular edits!

that really makes me happy to hear! i'm always in a bit of shock whenever people take time out of their day to read my story like WOAH! thank you!

hmmm lately composing the shots in game has been the most exciting for me because there's a lot of experimentation with setting up a shot. I try to challenge myself with that and how to be able to convey an emotion in a picture is huge for me! certain angles can make a character feel empowered/disempowered, or how lighting/coloring can set a tone, and i find it fascinating! I think creating poses in blender is a mixture of love/hate for me, hate because i'm not very quick but love because i get to see the little quirks in each character's expression. like the ever so slight lip curl or brow twitch, i feel as if it brings everyone to life. lastly, i love writing the dialogue, i've been trying to break down each conversation where there's a natural flow between each person that tells a story but also allowing each character to have a personality. there's this scene i just finished putting in the queue and it took me a few days to get it right, but i think it's my favorite bc you can see how each person is in a way being held back by themselves and in the end is their downfall. omg run on BUT yeah!

thank you for this ask! i love being able to talk about processes and such! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ i hope you're having a great day/night!

[nicistrying]

Weds 6th June

Got back from Salou late Tuesday night. Actually had a lovely time but I definitely felt myself retreating into childhood habits and ways of thinking after spending a couple of days with my mams. My stepmam is a nightmare to travel with, and she speaks to my mam like shit when she's stressed. It pisses me off and I was very ready to come home after she was so snappy and bossy all the way back. Like she wants to be at the front of the queue to get on the plane, as if she'll get anywhere quicker 😂 I just kept my sunglasses on so she couldn't see me rolling my eyes all the time lol. But we did have a great time for the most part, and the main reason we went was to celebrate my sister's 30th and to be there for her engagement, which was really sweet and I'm thankful I got to be there. It was a beautiful night for it 😍

Spent yesterday unpacking, cleaning, visited Nanna Mary and got fresh nails for "summer" (it was 27°C in Salou, it's 13°C here back home and I am really feeling it 😭). I think these are so cute and funky. My next set will be trial wedding nails, and the one after that will be the real deal!

Went back to work today, thankfully just for 2 days then I have the weekend to prepare myself to work a full week 🤣 Maggie and I got our cardio in tonight in the garden

Now for leftover Chinese food for dinner and watch Bridgerton in my pjs for the rest of the night 👌

[sheliesshattered]

We had a fabulous time visiting Batuu yesterday! Our outfits were comfortable and functional and well suited to what turned out to be a relatively cold and cloudy day in southern California. Disney cast members definitely seemed to interact with us more because we made the effort to dress up, and we got some lovely compliments from other guests, too. We were even gifted some BSO credit coins by random strangers who liked our outfits!

It was Jack's first visit to Batuu, and while I did get to spend a little bit of time there with my mom in October, this was my first opportunity to really explore the entire area, browse through the shops, and sample all the food and drinks available. It was at least as cool as my first impression of it back in October, and Jack was impressed and delighted by all of it. We spent a good portion of the day just admiring all the details and world-building and excellent sets.

Jack has requested no photos, but I did manage to snag this pic of him blocking the camera like a victim of the paparazzi, lol.

But look at those pleats! Both Jack and I are so pleased with how they turned out. Several of the Resistance jackets on display in the Rise of the Resistance queue had similar pleat details, and it was fun to look at them up close.

Over this last weekend and all the way up to late Monday night, I was able to add a few last details to our outfits. I finally adjusted the chain length of my dangley earrings and glued the leather cording wraps to the back of my kyber crystal necklace so that it wouldn't slip out. While I had the glue out, I figured I'd take a stab at making some spat-type things to cover the lacings of my tall Doc Marten boots. I was completely winging it from start to finish, but I'm really happy with how they turned out!

The spats are made from some left over suede I've had in my stash for literally more than 20 years now -- it's been used for an Aragorn vest for Jack, a couple of bags for me, and the inner layers of the big wedge shaped piece on my Oswin belt. And I still have some left over! Maybe I'll make myself a belt pouch to match these spats at some point in the future.

The narrow end of each spat tucks under the laces closest to the toe of my boot, and theoretically secures to itself with a hook and eye, though I found the hook didn't really hold from that angle, and really wasn't necessary anyway. The straps then velcro around the back of my leg, at the lowest point of the bend of my ankle, and right at the top of the boot, so that the strap sits just above the top edge of the boot in the back, which helps keep it from slipping down.

To make these I really just draped scrap suede on my boot while wearing it, started cutting it to the shape I thought might make sense, then copied that over for a second spat. I measured how much I would need for the straps and how much of an overlap I wanted for the velcro, then cut out all those pieces and glued them together using E6000 -- which works wonderful for adhering velcro to suede and suede to suede, but is a bit more iffy with the metal hooks and eyes (one eye popped off when I was taking off the spat at the end of the night, but since it wasn't staying hooked anyway, I'm not fussed).

Despite being such a quick off-the-cuff project, the spats worked out great, and added that last little bit to my outfit by covering the laces of my boots. They're visible in the third photo, the full-length shot in front of the door (and in the video below), and I think they add an understated bit of texture difference in all the black-on-black there, in addition to obscuring the modern look of the boots a bit.

Besides those detail bits for me, I also made a pair of little pockets for Jack's jacket, to hold 'code cylinders'. It's a tiny detail that really makes the jacket look that much more Star Wars-y, and the cylinders themselves are empty and their tops unscrew, so the space can actually be functional, too. (Currently they're filled with gum!)

And at Jack's request, I threw together a quick insert for the zipper section on his collar that used to hold the hood before we removed it. The hood was making the collar too puffy, but without it the collar didn't have enough body to stand up on its own.

I took some measurements, then cut a piece of cotton duck canvas (that I had originally bought to cover the zippers on my Moment vest, before I changed gears and made the Batuu vest instead) to the right length and about three times the height of the interior of the hood section. I did a simple zigzag tri-fold on the height, ironed it flat, and marked some guide lines perpendicular to the length. Then it was just a simple process of quilting the three layers together by machine sewing in short vertical rows ~1cm apart.

The quilting gave the canvas even more stiffness, and after that point it absolutely did not want to fold or droop along the short vertical axis. I slipped it into the former hood pocket (after snipping one corner to fit around the snap I hadn't accounted for), zipped it closed, and gave the whole collar area a quick pressing. It's removable if we ever need to, completely washable, and keeps the collar standing upright without looking too stiff. Jack was very happy with the result.

With our outfits finally done, we headed into the park around mid-morning, with a plan to stay late. I wasn't quite sure what to expect with Batuu Bounding at Disneyland (which is notoriously a bit more hit-and-miss than Batuu East, in Florida), but we got through security without incident and through the rest of the park without anyone commenting on our outfits. We saw someone else wearing the same leather-look leggings as me, and a guy wearing similar jacket and pants to Jack (but without the pleating), which made us feel like we didn't look too weird, by general Disneyland standards.

Once we were in Batuu, though, our bounding definitely got noticed more. A couple of fellow guests complemented our outfits (including the kind strangers who gave us the coins!), and cast members seemed way more interested in interacting with us in-character. I got to bring up a bit about the history I'd made up for Samæni Ray -- which led to one cast member later referring to me and Jack as "my friends from Denon!" All of the prep and character design made it a lot easier to think on my feet in those little improv interactions.

One cast member in particular kept finding us throughout the day, just suddenly appearing out of nowhere it felt like, and kept trying to sell us a speederbike that totally wasn't a broken down lemon.

Later in the day, he kind of sold us out to Kylo Ren and a pair of stormtroopers (but like, in a fun way, lol) which led to an intense interaction with Kylo Ren right up in both my face and Jack's. Kylo Ren is tall, and the voice and the mask and the body language was all perfect up close. There was a bit of nervous laughter on our part, but we kept our cool and convinced Ren that that since we'd only just arrived on Batuu from Denon, we couldn't possibly know anything about any Resistance activity in Black Spire Outpost.

We were way too in the moment to get any photos, but because we were dressed up and Kylo Ren was so much up in our faces, we did draw a bit of a crowd, so for all I know other people may have taken pictures or videos of the event, lol. My family has a saying about 'look hard' rather than take photos, and it was definitely that for us.

Overall the whole day was wonderful, and we ended up spending nearly 12 hours in Batuu without leaving once. I got to pilot the Falcon multiple times (though I can't really say I've gotten any better at it, lol), and got to try out gunner and engineer, too. We managed to ride Rise of the Resistance both during the day and again after dark, explore every part of Black Spire Outpost in detail, learn to play Sabacc with a cast member, have drinks at Oga's, and eat a bunch of really tasty, really well-presented food.

All together it was an excellent, excellent birthday. And we're already talking about when we might want to go back again.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

tomorrow is moving day <3

tonight I'm spending the last night in this place - right now I'm charging my laptop and my phone so that hopefully I don't have to worry about doing those things tomorrow and adding to my existing hiatus queues on both blogs just to give my anxious fingers something to do. and then tomorrow - it's moving day for me and Leo!

I'm actually so happy because Leo is the first cat I've had who is not anxious in a crate. he actually loves his crate. so that is one less thing I have to worry about tomorrow

I think it will take me about a week to get my room fully set up, and when I do, I will post pictures of it - just to be like THANK FUCK IT'S DONE and just to celebrate this whole process being over

at this rate, I think I will be fully back to writing around mid-August or late August. I will let you guys know an official hiatus end date when my room is finished.

anyway <3 I love you all and I hope that you're all having a great day with whatever you're doing wherever you are

[2braincellslz]

can we get a list of the queue and the requests 🤭

YES, OFCOURSE!

This is in no particular order and the names arnt set in stone <3

Also, not all of these are requested.

Some of the ones from my last list have been scrapped. If you were looking forward to one and it isnt listed here, send in a Request or DM me and I'll do it :]

Carry a Kit, Now:

Steve Harrington x Fem!reader: after a major fight with the Demagorgan, YN and Steve fix up eachother wounds. Fluff, soft, comfort.

Your In Love With Who?:

Eddie Brock x Venom (cope). Eddie is trying to explain to Annie his complicated relationship with Venom to witch, Annie dose not understand but supports. The only problem is Venom keeps interrupting Eddie. Fluff(?), comedy.

Better Late Then Never:

Billy hargrove x male!reader. YN is on vacation in Cali (he wanted to bring Billy but Neil wouldn't let him) and he was still on vacation on Billy's birthday. Once YN gets back they share a very soft moment togather. Fluff; it's just really cute.

Maybe Just Handshake:

Jschlatt & fem!reader. Schlatt and YN hang out all the time. They run in to eachother at Wilburs New Years party. Wilbur practically dragged Schlatt here and then left him. Yn also wasnt having a great time. They get up to some trouble and just shake hands on new years countdown.

HANDS OFF, SHITLIPS:

Max x YN and Billy x fem!YN. (MAX AND BILLY FIGHT OVER YN. GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE GUTTER) Max and Billy fall for the same girl and fight over her.

Date Night:

Cc!Punz x Cc! Foolish x Masc!yn. Yall go out for a nightly drive, go to a comedy show, and then lose Foolish.

Sh, Sleep...:

Dad!schlatt & kid!masc!reader. Yn is having a hard time sleeping. He asks his dad, schlatt, if he can stay the night with him. Schlatt, being the good dad he his, comforts his son.

Where Love Is:

Jason Vorhees x Masc!reader. Jason has been suffering in silence recently. He worrys that you are with him out of pity or something. You help him feel better.

Love Like Ink:

Eddie Munson x Male!reader. Yn and eddie really want to get matching tattoos. They finally decided to combine their two favorite bands and tattoo eachother.

Listen To Me:

Bucky Barns x male!YN. Yn lost his voice on one of the missions with the avengers in a rather traumatic experience. He ans his Boyfriend, Bucky, work togather to help eachother move forward until one night when Bucky wake up from a nightmare.

My Eyes, Not His:

Billy Hargrove x Fem!reader. Neil is in jail. Thank God. And now YN and Billy are working togather to heal Billy's trauma.

Skipping to Avoid Him:

Billy hargrove x Fem!reader. Billy has been picking on YN for quite some time but one day YN dosnt show up to school. Billy takes it apon himself to find out why.

Because I Promised:

Cc!Schlatt & teen!masc!reader. Schlatt joined the DSMP because he made a promise to his best friend, Wilbur. Yn joined the DSMP because he made a promise to his best friend Tommy.

No More Demons:

Steve Harrington x fem!reader. Yn and Steve have always been the parents of the friend group, more or less against their own will. Now, that everything has settled down they have to deal with the consequences of taking on all that stress.

Skip To My Loue:

Eddie Munson x GN!southern!Reader. Eddie admits to his partner that he really doesn't know how to dance. Well, good thing his partner dose.

All is Fair in Love and Politics:

Wilbur soot & Jschlatt. Wilbur comes back to Manburg, throwing his pride out the window, the beg Schlatt to let Tommy back in to Manburg. Schlatt takes pitty on his old friend .