Contrary to popular beliefs about Oikawa’s self-centered personality, he’s not the type to really take care of himself. He’s got naturally pretty hair and pretty skin and pretty face - he says he’s blessed by the Oikawa genes, everyone believes it to be true.
But, again, he’s not the type to take time out for himself. He’ll cut his fingernails really short to handle the ball better and subconsciously bites what’s left out of anxiety. His hands are normally dry and rough, sometimes scraped if he landed wrongly on the ground from going after a ball; it’s a sad sight when you look at the bony structures of his wrists and his slender fingers that would, without a doubt, make his hands look beautiful if it weren’t for his lack of care towards them.
The thing is that he doesn’t care what happens to his hands or his knees or his legs or his ankles - he’s focused on one goal and that’s to improve himself. He thinks he just needs his pretty face to get by so that his other imperfections are overlooked - and he manages to get by too, except with one person.
That one person that carries moisturizers and lotions in his bag, along with polysporin and bandages and tylenol and protein bars (and maybe milk bread, if he’s got the time to get some). He watches Oikawa flirt with danger, serve after serve, set after set, spike after spike. All until he feels it right in his bones that Oikawa’s about to hit his limit and he drags him out of the court, anxious but relieved.
And in the silence of the locker room, Oikawa sits there in a blissful peace, letting Iwaizumi take his hands in his own and attempting to moisturize them, rubbing polysporin on the scrapes and cuts, whispering little warnings about overworking and not taking care of his body enough with furrowed brows. Oikawa lets his fingers wander around Iwaizumi’s jaw until his lips are kissing Oikawa’s hands - one by one, each finger, his palms, his knuckles.
“Do they feel better?”
“Mhm, much better.”
Oikawa doesn’t really take care of himself, but he’s glad there’s someone out there that’s willing to take up the challenge. One day, he thinks, he’ll learn to love himself just as much as Iwaizumi loves him.
ive been meaning to redraw this for quite awhile… one of my first drawings I posted, and still one of my most popular. Its been a massive change since then, obviously… wonder if it was for better or worse… new style doesnt like gif rendering tho OTZ so jagged
I low-key feel like I’m breaking up with RED rn and moving onto Better Things™ aka reputation and I’m excited but also kinda nervous and sad because now what if I don’t love RED as much after listening to rep? My heart is breaking I need to spend time listeneing to RED before rep comes out to fully appreciate it one last time
I’m sorry but I’ve seen two (2) posts about transformers being struck by lightning and I think you’re all missing out on something here????
Do y’all know how DRAMATIC transformers are? Like? Holy shit can y’all just calm down? Or, no, for SURE, you can brood in the rain dramatically for dramatic effect.That’s fine !!!!! That’s fine too!!!
I am placing fifty dollars on the table that Optimus and Megatron have been struck by lightning trying to look Dark and Edgy™ in the rain five times ALONE.
Don’t even get me started on the Drama queens Starscream and knockout. There is no(read: n o t. a. s i n g l e. o n e.) iteration of Starscream that wouldn’t look out on a cliff in the rain striking a melancholic but hopeful pose and then immediately got blasted.
How many bots came in after a good thunderstorm, soaking wet and yet SMOKING and singed as FUCK because ??? You guessed it??? They were HIT BY LIGHTNIBG????
Bet you there’s LIGHTNING STRIKE PROTOCOL. THATS HOW LIKELY THESE GIANT METAL ASSHOLES ARE TO GET STRUCK BY LIGHTNING.
Oh god don’t even get me started on people just trying to have a good time. Rain feels nice sometimes and it can get in all those tricky corners except huh I feel kinda…. staticky right now and
GOODBYE MOTHERFUCKER LIGHTNING HERE TO KICK YOUR PANSY METAL ASS
Ratchet is one of those people I do not care what you tell me. He has definitely just tried to fucking… enjoy earth for once and got struck and couldn’t turn his sirens off for 3 days
soooooo I’m taking a break from my heist novel because the plot-tweaking process for that was getting frustrating and demoralising and I wanted to give myself something to do for a while that was not designing a complex con
so I thought
how about I write a short, fun, decidedly unserious gay romance novel!
kissing! disguises! lies! emotions! a whole lot of sex!
that will be just the kind of relaxing break I need!
it is now a week later and I have outlined every scene except for one, for which the description just reads [INSERT THE FUCKING CON HERE] because I have somehow managed to plot myself into a corner of my ABSURD ROMANCE NOVEL where A CON IS NECESSARY FOR PLOT REASONS because I am a deeply ridiculous human being and should not be allowed near a keyboard.
(A/N) Ahoy, me hearties! lol Today we embark on a new adventure that it isn’t NCT related! Say whhhaaaaaaaa??? That’s right, here’s the first of my many Pentagon fics, a cute fluffy smut with our favorite gangly-limbed and tall maknae: Wooseok! Hope you enjoy!
“We can’t go out.”
“But I want to.”
“It’s too cold.”
“But it’s just so pretty out, Wooseok,” you whined, wiggling in his arms childishly while you laid in your bed. He didn’t let you budge an inch, content to just snuggle with you for the rest of the day.
His eyes were closed, he was relaxed as he replied, “Classes were cancelled, why don’t we just stay in…and stay warm?”
You huffed, turning in his hold until you faced him, nose to nose, “You’re such a big baby you know that?”
i should have left you the moment i saw you smile.
or, that’s what i tell myself. i tell myself that your smile wasn’t the sweetest thing i’ve ever seen, but the opposite. it was the thing that ruined my life. the thing that took my happiness, pulled it from its core, and never gave it back. the thing that destroyed my heart in every way.
am i being too dramatic? sorry.
in all honesty, i did this to myself. i let you in, showed you where my happiness hid, told you what scared me, allowed your lips to wander my skin and show me love that you never really felt for me. maybe you were in love with the idea of me; the idea of loving someone so imperfect. maybe you love trying to fix people, but i was too far gone, wasn’t i? so you decided it wasn’t worth it - scratch that, i wasn’t worth it.
you were so unexpected, but i thought you were so right. i thought we were supposed to have that one love story where you come into the sad part of my life just to show me what real happiness was like. to show me what it felt like to really smile about something, to show me how it felt to brush my lips against someone else’s. to feel my heart speed up at the sound of someone else’s laugh.
i hope i put on a good enough show for you.
but the thing is, it wasn’t a show for me. i refrained from allowing myself to love you because life had been cruel to me before, and i wondered, how was life going to dig its talons into my skin this time? except after a few months, i gave myself to you. i gently slid my heart into your hands, begged you to keep it safe, and trusted you with my last breath. you looked at me with your ocean eyes, a smile on your face, and you promised.
that’s the most fucked up thing. you promised you would keep it safely tucked away, next to your own heart. somehow, you managed to keep yours safe while simultaneously shattering mine. what you gave back to me at the end of the day was something that resembled a puzzle piece. it was missing its parts to become whole, and you told me you lost them. and you were sorry.
you weren’t really sorry, were you? instead, you kept my pieces hidden with you, somewhere i was never really allowed. and now you have me completely blocked out, except you’re still carrying those pieces of me with you, everywhere you go.
what i’m trying to say, is that i’m not sorry we ended, i’m sorry that you had to destroy me in the process. and i wish i could take myself back from you.