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vixstarria · 5 months

Text

A night at the inn (part 1)

A night of relaxation at the inn. Inspired by a cursed screenshot of Astarion looking loopy, drunk and high.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, tbc in part 2

Comfort, fluff, humour, banter, goes from very silly to very horny

Bits that are definitely not canon that were written solely for my (and hopefully your) amusement.

TW: It’s all very much in jest, but maybe give this one a skip if you’re struggling with any kind of substance addiction.

Approximately 2,000 words

“Don't be ridiculous, these silly druidic herbs have absolutely no effect on me, vampires have a natural immunity. Pass me the pipe again, I’ll prove it,” Astarion giggled uncontrollably.

“Just hold on to it, friend, I don’t think anyone else will benefit from it,” replied Halsin.

You, Astarion, Halsin, Karlach and Shadowheart were gathered in one of the inn’s rooms.

Gale and Wyll were off doing whatever people who didn’t like having fun did. Possibly playing chess or reciting poetry to each other. And Lae’zel had had one look at your gathering before chk’ing, saying that someone competent needed to keep a cool head, and stalking off.

You and Astarion were sitting crosswise on one of the beds, you nestled between his legs, your back against his chest. Shadowheart lounged on the opposite bed, with Karlach and Halsin settling on the floor between the beds.

A scattering of glasses and opened bottles surrounded you, and a light haze hung in the air. Tadpoles, vampire lords, demons and gods could all wait until tomorrow. Tonight, for all you cared, all was well in your world.

Earlier, Halsin had laid out an assortment of herbs, most of which you couldn’t name, and busied himself with mixing them in varying proportions and stuffing them into several smoking implements. Karlach had declined, saying there was no point and that she would stick to grog. You and Shadowheart partook in Halsin's ‘herbalist mastery' together with the druid. And now, to everyone's disbelief and amusement, so did Astarion.

“What in the hells is in this?!” Astarion tittered, leaning back against the wall, his eyes shut and an idiotic smile on his face. You couldn’t look at him, lest it set off yet another chain reaction of giggling.

“Part of it is moonflower, which mostly serves as an amplifier,” Halsin answered, cautiously.

“And? What else?” You wondered whether whatever it was might help Astarion with his nightmares. The scent of the herb was vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Wait! I want to guess.” Shadowheart leaned over to whisper to Halsin. He shook his head at her suggestions. Once he whispered back to her with the correct answer she collapsed on the bed with a guffaw. “Oh gods... So it is official.”

“Halsin...” Astarion croaked. “Halsin, I will stab you... What did you give me?!”

“I had a hunch, but it was intended as a joke – I didn’t really think it would do anything.” Halsin almost sounded apologetic.

“Well, spill the beans, what is he smoking that’s so damned funny?! Vampire dust? Cow dung? Some kind of goblin foot fungus?” Karlach was also growing impatient.

Halsin shook his head, laughing.

“It’s catnip,” Shadowheart managed, still doubled over. “He’s losing his mind on catnip!”

Once Astarion regained his ability to speak coherently, you couldn’t get him to shut up.

Astarion hardly ever took lead in group conversations. He tended to stay on the outskirts of discussions, albeit always ready with a quip or observation. You wondered if his newfound loquaciousness was a glimpse of what he might have been like some 200 years ago.

It helped that Karlach was bombarding him with questions about vampirism, which he was ordinarily reserved about.

“So what happens if you consume normal food? Can you drink?” she asked.

“Well... Kind of..? Although I think the tadpole has had some additional influence. I can drink liquids without becoming ill, as long as it’s not too much. They tend to taste vile or like nothing at all, or not have any effect on me. Coffee smells amazing but tastes like dirt, for example. But potions work, somehow,” he rambled. “Solids are a complete disaster though”. He refused to elaborate.

“And the wine?” she persisted.

“Red wine is palatable,” he said, swirling some in a glass that he held in his hand. “But if you want better than ‘palatable’ you really need something of good quality.”

“You’re just a snob,” you interjected.

“That may be so, but this is about having something called standards, darling, I’ll teach you about them someday”, he said with a kiss to your temple, as you elbowed him. “But there are ways of going around poor wine.”

Astarion took your hand in his, pressing his lips against it.

“May I?”

Once he had your approval, he carefully punctured the tip of your ring finger with a fang. You idly mused about how completely unfazed you had become by having your skin pierced, as he dripped some of your blood into his wine.

“Now stir.” He licked the drops of wine from your finger once you were done, and had a sip from his glass. “Like adding honey to tea... Now it’s delectable.”

“Freaks,” said Karlach, lovingly.

The conversation moved to him debating wines from various regions with Shadowheart, a subject they were both perhaps unsurprisingly well-versed in.

“How kind of Lady Shar to leave you such detailed knowledge of something that truly matters, when wiping out so many other memories,” he observed.

Eventually, the topic changed to Karlach’s years in the Hells, and what it had been like to set just about everything she touched ablaze until Dammon’s recent assistance.

“Could you do me a favour and hold my hand in yours for a moment?” said Astarion, leaning towards and holding out a hand to Karlach.

“I haven’t done this in so long this still makes me nervous, you know,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. “Sorry if I lose my cool and burn you.”

“I’m sure I’ve had worse,” he replied humourlessly. “...That should do it,” he said after a short while. “Gods, you really do run like a furnace.” You wondered where this was going.

“Now could everyone look away? I’m about to do something disgustingly sentimental.”

Immediately, four pairs of eyes including your own were locked on him.

“Voyeuristic pricks...” he sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He ran the back of his fingers delicately down your cheek before cupping it in his hand. It was warm, almost hot, as you nuzzled into it.

“Well isn’t that cute,” Shadowheart remarked into her glass of wine.

Astarion wasn’t always cold to the touch, not exactly. He became warmer after drinking blood. His body was heated by sunshine on sunny days, just like anything else. And after spending some time under blankets with you he felt almost cozy to snuggle against. But he’s never radiated heat the way the hand against your cheek did now.

“It doesn’t feel like you,” you mustered, looking into his eyes. He gave you a wistful smile.

“...If there is any other bodypart you’d like me to warm up for Tav’s benefit, do fuck off before you even ask,” said Karlach, breaking the brief silence that had descended onto the room, and the tender moment was gone, overtaken by yet another uproar of laughter.

Things quieted down as the evening wore on.

“I wonder what Lae’zel is doing,” said Shadowheart, who had been silently gazing off into space and occasionally blowing smoke rings for the past while. “Probably something infuriating.”

“You should go tell her how utterly unimpressed you are with her,” goaded Astarion.

“I should... I will,” she said, suddenly getting up, determination writ on her face, exiting the room with a surprisingly steady step.

Karlach sighed.

“I better go look after her and make sure they don’t need to be taken apart. ...Or that no one else does, if they don’t.” She followed Shadowheart.

“Nature calls,” said Halsin, also getting up. “And I don’t think anyone’s fed Scratch and the owlbear cub.”

It was just you and Astarion, who had been grazing your neck with his fangs with increasing impatience.

“Do it,” you said as soon as the door shut behind Halsin. Instantly, you felt an icy chill in your neck and released a small moan as he bit down, drawing your blood, his hands roaming your body.

“I’ve been thinking of nothing else for hours,” he breathed hoarsely, once he had his fill. Having a miniscule amount of your blood in his wine and then being unable to sate himself more thoroughly would have been the ultimate tease for him. He really did not think that through, per usual.

You could have offered him your wrist at some point, your companions had witnessed that on numerous occasions. But you knew you both wanted something more intimate. And private.

You sank onto the bed with Astarion on top of you, as he continued to lick at the puncture wounds, to get them to stop bleeding.

“Think Halsin’s coming back?” you murmured.

“Of course he is. Haven’t you seen how he’s been looking at us?” He wedged his hips between your legs as he continued to suck and lick at your neck, more slowly now.

"Oh, has he been looking at us in some particular way?” you feigned ignorance. Astarion raised his head briefly to shoot you a look that said ‘oh please’.

“Do you want him..?” He rolled his hips deliciously into yours as he asked that.

“Stop teasing,” you whispered. You knew he wasn’t going to let you do anything with the erection you felt pressed against you.

“Never. Do you want him?” He gave you a mischievous look.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sorry darling, I’ll try to do a better job at explaining.” He raised himself back up, his face hovering just above yours. “Do you want to feel his hot, hard cock pumping in and out of you, while I watch?” He studied your reaction closely. “Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you..?”

“Astarion-” It wasn’t easy to make you blush, but somehow he always found a way when he wanted to.

“Shh love, I already know everything you’re going to say.” Astarion raised his voice in pitch (resulting in something that definitely DID NOT sound anything like you) and returned to your neck, planting a kiss further down with each sentence: “’I love you, Astarion. I only want you, Astarion. I don’t think you’re ready for this, Astarion. You’re going to regret this, Astarion.’”

“How about, ‘you’re intoxicated, Astarion’?”

“Barely,” he scoffed. “It’s worn off.” He tugged at your blouse’s lacing with his teeth.

“Or maybe it’s ‘no, I don’t want that, Astarion’,” you lied.

He chuckled at those words and came back up to whisper in your ear.

“My love... You’re forgetting I can hear your heartbeat. I can smell your arousal. Every time your breath hitches and your heart speeds up – I know. Any time blood suddenly rushes somewhere in your body – I know...”

“That is an entirely unfair advantage,” you protested.

“Yes, having a lover that anticipates your every need and reads you like a book is so, so tragically unfair, your poor, poor thing...”

“And also it’s not what you said, it’s how you said it!” you continued.

“Porridge,” Astarion whispered in his most seductive voice, grinding against you. “The philosophy and theory of divination, volume four. A bulging coin purse. Gale’s purple pajamas. ...Nope, nothing.” Astarion smirked, and continued in a more normal voice, stilling. “Now let’s try... You dripping wet and begging us both for mercy before the night is over.” He grinned wryly as you let out an involuntary whimper. “I thought so...”

“You’ve told me yourself, you don’t want to share me with anyone,” you persisted.

“It’s your heart I can’t bear to share. And he’s a wood elf,” Astarion said dismissively. “He may as well be a walking penis, who would get emotionally involved with that?”

“You did not just call our honourable companion, the esteemed archdruid of the Emerald Grove a walking penis!” you hissed, choking on laughter, covering his mouth with your hand.

“A giant phallus on legs,” Astarion mumbled stubbornly against your palm, licking it.

You heard footsteps approaching the door.

“Do you really want this?” you whispered, angling Astarion’s face to make him look you in the eyes, and releasing his mouth. “Be serious for a second.”

“I want this,” he said, holding your gaze. “I really want this. As long as you do too.”

The door opened, and you both turned your heads to regard the tall, broad figure that paused in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe.

“Is it company or privacy you desire?”

~~~~~

Part 2

More of my chaos gremlins

AO3

#astarion #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion x reader #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #karlach #halsin #shadowheart #astarion smut #halsin smut

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bettsfic · 2 years

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writing cheats

i know i’ve probably written about these all individually but i’m putting them together in one post. these are writing tricks that are extremely cheap and dirty; when you use them it feels like cheating and honestly by posting them i’m probably exposing all the easy moves in my own work, but more than a writer i am a teacher, so here you go, some writing cheats that have never steered me wrong.

quick character creation

what’s really annoying is when you have two characters sitting at a restaurant or something and the server has to come by. to what degree do you describe the server so that it’s clear they’re just a background character but that they’re not just a faceless form, so that the world has texture without taking up too much space on the page? rule of three, babeyyy: two normal things and a weird one.

she had pale skin and blue eyes but her hair was dyed black like a 2010 emo kid.

he was tall and broad, and he wore a sweatshirt with an embroidered teddy bear on it.

the woman stood there comparing the prices of toilet paper. she had a short angled bob and carried a keychain the length of a trout.

why does it work? it gives the reader something to hang onto, a brief observation that shows the world exists around your narrator. it also works when introducing main characters, but there’s so much action going on that you can’t take time to write a rich long paragraph about them. all you need is a little hook.

quick setting creation

i used to TOIL over descriptive paragraphs. for years i was like, description is my weakness, i must become better at developing imagery. i believed this because a famous writer once projected a paragraph i had written onto a screen and asked my cohort, “count how many images are crafted in this paragraph.” there were none. none! my friends were sitting there like, “we are TRYING” but they couldn’t find any.

i would say that after years of studying imagery development at the sentence level, i am, perhaps, competent at it, but what was more helpful was for me to shrug and tell myself, “i’m just not a writer who does that.”

anyway. my cheat is thus:

there’s not much you can assume about your audience. the audience is not a homogenous whole. but your ideal audience is something you can guess at, and that means you can play around with their existing knowledge and expectations.

if you say your characters are in a tacky shit-on-the-walls restaurant, if your ideal reader is an american who went to restaurants during the maximalist era of franchise design, they will conjure their nearest memory of one of those places. and for those readers who aren’t familiar with it, they’ll use other context clues to conjure that space. the point is, you don’t have to list every single stupid license plate nailed to the wall. you can leave it as one detail of one sentence and let your reader extrapolate from there.

if i say the dentist’s office looked like a gutted 90s taco bell, maybe no ideal audience would have ever seen a place like that, but a lot of people can mentally conjure a dentist’s office and a 90s taco bell and overlay them together to create a weird and fun image.

you can go even simpler than that: a bathroom the size of an airplane lavatory. a tiny studio apartment with a hotplate instead of a stove. a mansion with a winding stairwell. the point is that you want to define the size of the space and its general vibes.

in some ways detailed description can be overrated, because your reader conjures images even in absence of them on the page. and for those readers who can’t mentally conjure images, it doesn’t matter anyway; they take you at your word. the trick is to figure out what details are unexpected, relevant to understanding the story and its characters, and those are the things that you add in.

one other note: after working with hundreds of writers on drafting, for *most* of us it’s difficult to develop images and establish setting in a first draft. it’s nearly always something to be saved for a second or later draft. i think it’s because while we’re writing we tend to put character and action first.

nail the landing

there’s a joke i heard once from a writer i really admire: “you know it’s literary fiction if the story ends with a character looking at a body of water.”

and god it’s so painfully sad and true how easy it is to nail the landing of a given story by ending on a totally irrelevant piece of imagery. the final beat of a story followed by your character looking up at the sky and seeing a flock of birds in the shape of a V flying past. or maybe they’re sitting in their car and they count the rings of a nearby church bell. or maybe they watch an elderly couple walk down the sidewalk hand-in-hand. i don’t know!! when in doubt shove an observation, an image, whatever, something neutral at the end and it’ll sound profound.

(this cheat is the only one that can really bite you in the ass because if the image is too irrelevant you risk tonal incongruity. for use only in the most desperate of times.)

sentence fragments

when writers ask me how to punch up their writing or start developing their own style, my go-to advice is to give up the idea of a complete sentence. fuck noun-verb-object. if you have a series of character actions, knock off the sentence subjects like in script action. if the clause at the end of your sentence is particularly meaningful, don’t separate it with a comma but a period and make it its own thing. if your character is going through something particularly stressful or heinous, that bitch is not thinking in complete thoughts so you don’t have to convey them that way. make punctuation bend to your will!!

rhetorical moves

this one opened a lot of doors for me stylistically. remember that famous writer who called me out on my lack of imagery? i always thought his prose was beautiful, that he’s one of the best living prose writers, etc. once i learned more about rhetoric though, i realized he just employed it a lot.

usually when we talk about beautiful sentences it means a sentence that uses rhetorical devices. the greeks were like, you know what, when we give speeches there are certain ways to phrase things that make the audience go nuts. let’s identify what those things are and give them names so we can use them intentionally and convince people of our opinions.

i love shakespeare, i really do, but one of the big reasons he’s still a household name today and his plays are still performed is because every sentence of every goddamn play utilizes a rhetorical device. the audience is hard-wired to vibrate at the sound and cadence of his writing, like finding the spot on a dog that makes their foot thump. for five hundred years, william shakespeare has been scritching that spot for us.

i have no idea why, cognitively, rhetorical devices are so effective. i’m no rhetorician. all i know is that well-deployed anaphora makes a reader want to throw their panties on stage. my intro to rhetorical devices was the wonderful book the elements of eloquence by mark forsyth, a surprisingly fun read! hopefully that will open some doors for you the way it did for me.

the downside to this is that once you know rhetorical devices, it’s like learning how the sausage is made. on one hand, as a writer, you’ll have a lot stronger grasp of style, but as a reader good prose loses some of its magic.

pacing it out

many writers, myself included, rely on the tried and true “he bit the inside of his cheek” or other some such random action to help pace out dialogue. one time my thesis advisor sat me down and said “you’ve got to take all of those out.”

“all of them?” i said.

“all of them,” she said.

i thought, but that will weaken the text! it didn’t. once i cut what i came to call cheek-biter sentences i never went back. and now when i edit for other people i’m like, look i know where you’re coming from but just cut all these out and see how the scene stands. if it doesn’t feel right you can put some back in. a lot of times when you’re drafting you put those in the way some people say “um.” they’re just sentences you jot while you’re thinking of what the other character says, so from a writing perspective it seems like you’re pacing, but readers don’t read it that way. they just want to get to the next line of dialogue.

but sometimes you really do need to pace out a scene and i think there are other ways to do that that don’t rely on banal physical movements, such as:

interiority: a sentence or paragraph of relevant cognition, bonus points if you weave in background context. good interiority defines the voice of your writing.

observations: i know i just said description is overrated but idk sometimes you just need a character to note the back and forth clacking of one of those desk ball toy things.

character texture: maybe your character notes something about the person they’re talking to. a wilted pocket square. a mole that looks like it needs looked at by a dermatologist. a scar on their forehead. some detail that deepens or complicates our understanding of a character.

narratorial consciousness and access

this one is less a cheat and more a problematic opinion i have that doesn’t win me any popularity in writing circles.

i believe that if you’re writing in first person or close third or any narration which is dedicated to the mind of one character, you are only ever obligated to convey the experience of that character’s consciousness. and nothing else.

by that i mean, if your point of view character is unobservant? then they’re not going to even notice the flight attendant is missing one of their canine teeth. if your pov character is focused and obsessive, they’re going to think lavish, detailed paragraphs about that which they’re obsessed with and have no acknowledgement of the rest of the world. if your pov character has no understanding of time, does your story even need to be linear?

defining the scope of a narrator’s cognition early on can give you parameters in which to work. even if you don’t consciously do this, you still do it. if you write in third person limited present tense without really thinking about it, that’s your scope. i’m just pointing out you can choose to do it differently. you get to define your narrator.

whenever we talk about narration we also talk about information access and the order of information being revealed/conveyed. writing must always be in order; even if you’re writing multiple concurring things, it still has to be rendered on the page in order one after the next, because the human mind can’t read two sentences over top of one another.

if we’re restricted to the mind of a character, that means we’re also restricted by their knowledge and experiences, and this can be used to your benefit. i don’t want to take too much space for this but i do talk more about the relationship between narration and reality here.

in short, you the writer get to choose

what the reader knows,

in what order they know it, and

its relationship to the presumed real events of the story, which develops the (un)reliability of your narrator

okay going to cut this off now before i go on more rants about narrative scope. i hope you found this helpful and go on to put some of these nasty lifehacks in your own writing!!

#writing advice

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sturnsbaebackup · 6 months

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Can you do something where the reader is dating Chris and goes on tour with them & at the first show she gets scared and stays backstage for most of it until the fans beg her to come on stage?

STAR OF THE SHOW - CHRIS STURNIOLO

summary: chris begs you to go on tour with him and you comply, but you get a bit of stage fright so he gets the crowd to help you overcome it.

warnings: none! just pure fluff

—

“please come tour with us, y/n! it’ll be so fun! just think about how it’ll be you, your boyfriend, and two of your best friends traveling the states going on tour together!” he pled as he gave you puppy dog eyes. you had bit your lip in an attempt to find the right words to say.

“yeah y/n! you should come with us!” nick stated from the kitchen.

you sighed, “i guess i’ll go? but the people are there for you guys, not me. i doubt they’ll want to see me,” you shrugged.

“well they’re not real fans if they aren’t excited to see you. you’ve been a major part of not only our lives but also our videos, y/n,” chris said as he pulled you closer to him. you smiled up at him, a small blush grew on your cheeks.

this was a couple weeks ago, long before you realized that maybe you were right; no one’s here to see you. they’re here for the triplets.

you currently stand on the outskirts of the stage watching from the shadows as the boys introduce themselves. the crowd is roaring with cheers and you can’t help but smile a little as you see a flood of happy expressions fill the room. chris keeps looking at you from onstage, smiling a little or even waving at you. he keeps trying to tell you to come onstage before the games begin, but you just keep shaking your head no.

“why not? cmon babe!” he mouths to you.

“no chris, it’s okay,” you mouth back, gesturing with your hands for him to pay attention to the crowd. he rolls his eyes at your stubbornness and quickly taps nicks shoulder. he whispers something quickly to the blonde haired boy. you watch as nicks eyes dart to you, and he immediately nods to chris. you feel a lump in your throat begin as you see chris running towards you.

“what the hell chris?! why aren’t you on stage?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

you groan, “chris the fans aren’t here to see me. there’s no reason for me to be on stage while you guys compete in challenges. i’ll just be a distraction. they don’t want to see me, they paid to see you guys, chris. not me.”

“are you joking? you’re seriously joking right?” he asks, his voice almost sounding like he’s annoyed with you. you just nod, afraid that he may be angry with you. he chuckles to himself and kisses the top of your head before running back on stage.

“okay guys, before we start any of the games i have a question. you all know our dear friend and my girlfriend y/n, right?” he asks and your eyes widen. the crowd roars into cheers and ‘yes!’s.

“okay good. and how would you all feel if she came on stage right now?” he teases the crowd, laughing as they all burst into cheers once again.

“can you guys tell her to come on stage? she’s being a bit shy,” chris asks and nick and matt nod in agreement.

“oh my god,” you say to yourself as you shyly walk on stage. the crowd cheers once again, making a big smile form on your face. “hi guys,” you chuckle lightly into the microphone chris hands you.

“hi y/n!” “y/n we love you!” “y/n leave chris for me, please!” you hear people chant and you quickly feel less nervous. once the boys finish talking to the crowd, you step out of the way and go closer towards the back of the stage as the games begin. chris makes his way over to you and takes you under his arm as you both observe the jenga game that’s going on. chris’ partner makes a good move and you give her a high five. “yes! oh my god you’re so good at this!” you say to her and she smiles widely at you.

“oh my gosh thank you so much y/n! you know, you’re even prettier in person,” she smiles softly and you feel your heart swell. you never realized how much the fans actually love and appreciate you.

—

after seeing the fans reaction to your presence at the previous show, at the next show you feel comfortable enough to come out to observe the meet and greet. you stand closer to the exiting area, not expecting anyone to even notice you.

“y/n, can i get a photo with you?” a girl asks you and you immediately light up with a smile.

“oh my gosh of course you can!” you exclaim, getting close enough to her that you can get into frame of the selfie. as she walks off you notice chris looking at you with a huge smile. he taps his brothers to tell them about how fans are asking you for pictures, and they both turn to face you with big grins.

maybe coming on tour wasn’t so awful after all.

—

this was so rushed i’m so sorry

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year

Text

everyone's a ferrari fan

fc: eileen gu

charles leclerc x professional skier - social media au

warnings: swearing

liked by redbullracing, lauraharrier and 672,976 others

ynofficial: completed sponsor duties and broke three hearts in the process 💔💔💔 i apologise to those affected

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fan1: danny? scotty? WHO IS THE THIRD????

chloestroll: me

scottyjames31: don't throw off the trail i want to see where this goes

fan2: the full circle has been complete

fan3: chloe🤝yn🤝scotty🤝danny

fan4: my multiverse of madness

danielricciardo: traitor

scottyjames31: she most certainly is

ynofficial: 🕵️

liked by lance_stroll, jginorton and 621,972 others

ynofficial: scottyjames31, danielricciardo this you??

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danielricciardo: well...you caught me there

scottyjames31: oops

fan5: babe who was the third person you were on about?????

fan6: honestly i'm here for the mclaren slander

liked by ynofficial

landonorris: erm excuse me??

ynofficial: you're excused

charles_leclerc: but who do you actually support?

danielricciardo: i actually would like to know this 👀

chloestroll: me too 👀

pierregasly: me three 👀

liked by charles_leclerc, shaunwhite and 72,859 others

scottyjames31: holy fuck us snow siblings had a great weekend

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fan8: what did you do for her to lowkey look that annoyed?

danielricciardo: wdym that’s her normal face

ynofficial: 🖕🏻

scottyjames31: i told her to imagine a certain someone naked

chloestroll: i apologise ynofficial

scottyjames31: she told me she didn’t have to imagine it

danielricciardo: 😧😧

chloestroll: never mind then

fan9: WHO WHAT WHEN JAYYDHW

fan10: IS THIS CONFIRMATION

ynofficial: guess so

ynofficial: BUT CONGRATULATIONS SNOW BRO!!!

scottyjames31: CONGRATS SNOW SISTER!!!

charles_leclerc: you guys killed it!

liked by ynofficial and scottyjames31

liked by danielricciardo, ynofficial and 87,815 others

scottyjames31: i see you, ynofficial, and i embrace it. you do not intimidate me.

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danielricciardo: probably my favourite delivery that i've ever done

ynofficial: but what about the goat?

danielricciardo: ok i take it back

fan11: GUYS WHAT GOAT

chloestroll: trust me, you don't want to know

fan12: ok but the snow siblings' sense of humour>>>

scottyjames31: it's genetic.

ynofficial: and i'm the funniest

danielricciardo: i agree with ynofficial

scottyjames31: you'll find the divorce papers in the mail shortly

ynofficial: NO YOU CAN'T TAKE MY BROTHER IN LAW FROM ME

lance_stroll: um

ynofficial: not you honey 💚

fan: i'm confused at this family dynamic

liked by ynofficial, pierregasly and 528,916 others

charles_leclerc: late dump from austria ⛷️⛷️

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fan13: late dump?? austria?? you mean where y/n and scotty just competed??

fan14: holy shit i think he does

pierregasly: what do you have a personal photographer now?

charles_leclerc: stop stirring the pot mate 😂😂

fan15: pierre like this comment if charles is hiding something

liked by pierregasly

fan15: you should all know that he liked my comment

tiktok posted by scottyjames31...

comments:

danielricciardo: you forgot to tag ynofficial technically she now has her own source of information...

fan15: DANIEL WHAT

scottyjames31: that's supposed to be a secret 🤫🤫

liked by fan16, pierregasly and 2,285 others

f1tea: charles leclerc spotted this weekend with mystery girl! identity is unknown - feel free to comment any ideas

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fan17: PIERRE??? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???

fan18: keeping tabs on his bestie

pierregasly: keeping tabs on my bestie indeed

fan19: she kind of looks familiar like i think i ran into her on the grid a few races ago

fan20: am i the only one who thinks that could be scotty and danny's friend?

fan21: BABE 'SCOTTY AND DANNY'S FRIEND' IS MISS Y/N L/N GIVE HER SOME RESPECT

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 761,961 others

ynofficial: everyone's a ferrari fan

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fan22: this choice of pictures is unusual like i can't explain it

fan23: babe all this information coming from different sources rn is giving me whiplash are you or are you not dating charles leclerc?????

scottyjames31: see that's just not true

ynofficial: even if they say they're not, they are ferrari fans

scottyjames31: please don't my loyalty is already being pulled in two ways

fan24: not y/n posting both charles and carlos to try and throw us off her scent

fan25: okay there's no way she's not dating charles - scotty's tiktok and then the pap photos??????

liked by pierregasly, chloestroll and 971,925 others

ynofficial: why do people keep asking if i'm dating charles leclerc?

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scottyjames31: sheesh idk i'm scratching my chin trying to come up with something here

danielricciardo: BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE

pierregasly: fun yacht trip?

charles_leclerc: who even is charles leclerc?

fan26: nah you're playing now that's cruel

fan27: THE BACK THE BOAT THE HAND KJBSCVE

liked by ynofficial, scottyjames31 and 751,962 others

charles_leclerc: it's me guys. she broke my heart the day she spent with red bull 💔💔 but we're healing and moving on from that bump in the road. side note: my do i love this woman

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pierregasly: ynofficial give me back my boyfriend

ynofficial: but you already have him on weekends!!!!!!

landonorris: i'm sorry i must have missed something here

danielricciardo: keep up

redbullracing: we lost another trouper to the tifosi 😭

fan28: please they're so fucking hot idk who to look at

fan29: fr i'm torn

fan30: mother and father 🧎🧎

fan31: i'm worried, scotty's being quiet

scottyjames31: i hope you can fight, leclerk

charles_leclerc: i'm under strict instructions not to fall for your bait, lames

danielricciardo: everyone needs to know that the post y/n put on where me and scotty were sat on a porch wearing cowboy gear, y/n had just told us she'd been dating charles for 7 months, and that was 3 months ago

ynofficial: scotty's a little salty rn

scottyjames31: *protective

scottyjames31: actually you deserve each other, you're both unnecessarily dramatic

ynofficial: chloestroll

chloestroll: please scottyjames31 you need to look in the mirror

liked by chloestroll, scottyjames31 and 981,185 others

ynofficial: BUT I LOVE THAT MAN LIKE NOBODY CAN

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scottyjames31: you don't understand my ears were bleeding from how many times you played don't delete the kisses by wolf alice before you met this gorgeous thang

fan31: what does she listen to now?

scottyjames31: taylor swift mostly

fan32: nobody understand me i'm breaking down rn

fan33: y/n in her fan era

fan34: these are quite possibly the most SCRUMDILLYICIOUS pictures of this man that i have EVER seen and i love it so much

pierregasly: charles has entered his wag era

charles_leclerc: and i'm never gonna leave 💪

charles_leclerc: it's a lifestyle, brian

danielricciardo: OH THEY GROW UP SO FAST

fan35: i've lost track of this group of people now

fan36: lance stroll🤝chloe stroll🤝scotty james🤝y/n l/n🤝charles leclerc🤝daniel ricciardo🤝scotty james

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 social media au #charles leclerc social media au

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sosuigeneris · 2 months

Text

Socialite series: mentality

Here is a list of tips I keep pinned on my notes app.

You have to be competent in order for people to be jealous of you. No one is going to be jealous of a lazy bum. Making people jealous isn’t the purpose of your life but it does indicate whether you’re successful or not. The better you are, the more haters you will have. Develop a strong sense of self esteem and get rid of your mediocrity.

If you weren’t invited, not informed or given a late invite - do not go.

Nothing more embarrassing than showing up to an event where you weren’t invited. Now, if you were given a “pity invitation” don’t be rude in declining it. Be polite, cordial and respectfully turn it down.

Learn to be assertive without being aggressive and triggered. Keep a strong hold on your facial expressions and tongue. Raising your voice, rolling your voice, throwing insults only reflects badly on you. Learn to stay calm, cordial, facially inexpressive and poised during uncomfortable situations. You will be seen as someone with an upper hand because you’re clearly not falling for stupid shit and it’s very obviously beneath you.

Every group has the most influential leader. Figure that person out. See who people seek the most validation from, who makes the group decisions, who starts the gossiping - you found em. If you still can’t tell, there’s one more way - the most influential person is the richest or the prettiest in that circle. It’s normally one or the other. Even among rich circles, one person will stand out and people will lick her butthole if they could. I can give a solid example for this. A billionaire got married to his girlfriend, and she’s a part of my private business organisation. The rest of the members in our cohort are rude, indifferent, cliquey and snarky. However, when she enters the room, there is an instant reaction towards her - they all want to be friends with her, they’re nice to her, etc etc. She’s a lovely, sweet and pretty girl (thank God) but it just proves that even among the rich - the person with the most desired value (rich or pretty) stands out. The point being is this - if the most influential person tries you, nip that disrespect in the bud. Do not take shit from this person because the rest of the clique will follow suit. And keep the assertive point in mind.

Be open to different thoughts. But hold your ground and exude confidence. It’s okay if you don’t have an opinion on something. But if you do - don’t feel insecure in expressing it. I have a friend who’s really insecure. She often expresses her mind in a “questioning” way. for instance: a waiter was rude to her. She told us that story. But she seemed so hesitant: “I guess… he was rude??? I thinkkkkk he was rudeeee?” ‘I guess’ ‘I just’ ‘I think’ are what I call insecure statements. They make you look insecure and weak. A lot of insecure people tend to end their sentences in a questioning tone (pitch goes up instead of down). When you end your sentence with your pitch going down, you come across as confident.

When you are a beautiful, smart, well rounded woman, people crave for your validation. People want to be associated with you because it reflects well on them. Do not give your time or energy to bloodsuckers.

Be polite, NOT friendly. Don’t overextend friendship. You’re not their mommy. You don’t have to look out for people.

Pretty privilege exists. Being skinny and pretty 100% changes the way people look at you. They will treat you with respect and kindness.

#i’m just a girl #this is what makes us girls #female manipulator #divine feminine #just girly thoughts #this is a girlblog #female hysteria #it girl #hyper feminine #girlblogging #Socialite series #Socialite #Hypergamy #leveling up #that girl #soft life #level up journey #high value woman

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doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou · 2 months

Text

Protecting French Fry

Oiled Paintings (1)

> melissa schemmenti x fem!reader

> requested? maybe?

> content/warnings: mentions of violence

> a/n: this got me staring at the wall for 4 hours 😭 i rlly don't know if this can compete with the first part

Contrary to popular belief that French people were extremely rude; Mr. Morton thinks that the lone French in their school have been nothing but nice and cheerful. Unfortunately, Mrs. Microft and most of the 7th to 8th grade teachers did not share the same sentiment. Thus, leaving them to tolerate the rude welcome and treatment of the senior teacher towards you, and that went on for the whole five years you’ve been in Abbott.

“Good morning, Mrs. Microft!” You greeted the senior teacher with a smile. And although she paid no attention to your presence and your greeting, you maintained your composure and left your lunch inside the fridge, then went on with your day.

Yet, when you came back to the lounge for lunch, you found no remnants of your lunch; even the container was gone. Deciding to let this slide, like the other mistreatment you got from the senior teacher, you sighed and took your purse to eat lunch at the coffee shop near the school.

“Damn, Y/N. That is wild; I didn’t think white racism would be prominent here; guess I was wrong.” Ava gave you a pat on the back while sipping her coffee. “This coffee is also wild! Y’all gotta try this new coffee maker I got for the school!”

Barbara and Melissa gave Ava a look before giving you sympathetic glances. This made you roll your eyes at Ava. “Stop looking at me like that; that was about three years ago.”

“If y’all ever want to plot revenge, I got her address somewhere in my office. I ain’t helping you look though,” said Ava, leaving all of you to think for reasons you haven’t reported her to HR yet.

“I’m just glad she left; with no one to torment me now, maybe the other teachers will also treat me like a colleague.” You straightened your posture and gave a clap. The smile on your face was so contagious, it took Melissa turning her back to you and looking at Barb to hide her smile.

“Doubt that.” Mr. Morton always knew when to rain on your parade. His comment made Melissa’s face turn serious.

“And why’s that, huh? Y’know any more teachers that’ll torment French fry here?” Melissa tilted her head towards you while still looking at Mr. Morton. While the protectiveness was appreciated, you couldn’t help but blush at the nickname that the redheaded teacher gave you. Ever since knowing that you were French, the Italian made it her daily routine to criticize your lunch, whether it was homemade or a takeout from the local French restaurant.

Sitting down on the nearest chair, Mr. Morton nodded and opened his lesson plan. “That girl, new hire, Charity Microft.”

The hand supporting your face fell on the table with a bang, making Melissa and Barbara look at you incredulously. With your eyes as wide as saucers, you gave Mr. Morton a horrified look. “What do you mean, Charity Microft? As in, Charity Microft the girl I talked to you about? Or Charity Microft the successor of Mrs. Microft the she-devil?”

“Both.” Letting out a cry, you hid your face from your ‘friends’ if you could call them that and huffed.

Janine, the ever-caring human that she is, caressed your back for a solid second before she saw Melissa giving her a glare, making her pull her hand away from you and whisper something to Jacob. Whatever Janine said, it made Jacob choke in fear when he glanced in Melissa’s direction.

As Barbara was about to say something to Melissa, the bell rang, making the kindergarten teacher sigh and give Melissa a look that said. ‘We’ll talk later’.

Nodding her head, Melissa stood up and pulled your arm. "C'mon, French fry, let’s get you to your classroom. We’ll talk later.”

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

Your ‘talk’ didn’t happen. In fact, Melissa left before you and Barb could even catch her. She only saw Ava before leaving with a grin.

“What do you mean she left flexing her arm?”

Sighing, Ava dropped her foot from the table and leaned forward. “Look, I ain’t snitching why she left that way or why she went here before leaving.”

Huffing, you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. “And why is that, Ava?”

“She’ll beat my ass,” Ava said before shooing both of you out of her office.

Pursing her lips, Barbara turned to you and gave you a pat on the shoulder. “Now, I need to leave. My Gerald and I have a schedule at that French place you told us about. But after that, I’ll try to get a hold of Melissa, and then I’ll call you to tell you what I gathered.” Then she left, leaving you to contemplate whether to call Melissa on your own or wait until tomorrow. You decided on the latter.

Groaning, you stomped towards your Harley-Davidson Pan America 1250. Your mother harbored great disdain for your choice of vehicle, and your father was extremely happy when you told him you bought a bike rather than a car. He even went all out to message you every detail about riding motorcycles in America and how it differed from riding a motorcycle in France.

As you drove our normal route, you thought you saw Melissa’s car parked on the street a block away from you, but you shook your head and thought there was no way she lived that close to you. Parking your vehicle in front of your house, you jumped repeatedly, a tradition you caught on to because of your father back in France. Your father told you that jumping just outside your home left the awful things that latched onto you that day outside.

Stepping inside your house, you were greeted by your cat purring around your leg and nipping your toes to get your attention. Laughing, you gave your cat a pat on the head. “Okay, okay. Mommy’s going to give you treats once she gets out of these uncomfortable clothes.”

But you didn’t get to change your work clothes. A knock souned through your house walls before you could walk into your room. "Oh, come on!” You stomped towards the door and pulled it open. “What do you want?”

“Hey hon,” said a redheaded woman holding a baseball bat covered in shards of glass and red paint. What you hoped was red paint.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter x reader #lisa ann walter

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sundrop-writes · 2 months

Text

Pathetic

Sub!Spencer Reid x Switch!GN!Reader x Dom!Elle Greenaway

Summary:

Spencer needs to be punished, and as always, you and Elle are very creative with it. One of these days, he might learn to behave - but you hope that day is not anytime soon.

Dom!Elle Greenaway x Switch!Gender Neutral Reader x Sub!Spencer Reid. Established Dom/Sub Relationship. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 2,600

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is just straight up smut/pwp; this is a threesome/poly relationship - the characters have been in this kind of relationship for a while and they're all very comfortable with their roles; there is no mention of safewords, but it is implied that the characters are all comfortable with each other and safety nets exist in the background; Elle is dominant, Spencer is very submissive, and the reader is a switch - being dominant with Spencer and submissive towards Elle; the reader's genitals are not described in any way and the reader is gender neutral; mentions of Spencer having a humiliation kink; hair pulling (towards Spencer); mentions of Spencer being 'punished'; penetrative sex/unprotected piv sex - Spencer fucks Elle's pussy (without a condom, oops); mentions of Spencer wearing a cockring; orgasm denial/orgasm restriction (towards Spencer); light bondage - Spencer's arms being handcuffed behind his back; mentions of Spencer being spanked (does not take place during the fic); some nipple play (Spencer receiving); the reader calls Elle 'm'am' (Spencer calls her 'Miss'); at one point; Spencer is called 'pathetic' and 'a little bitch'; (so I guess degradation kink too?); the reader gives Spencer a handjob; some cumplay/cum eating; snowballing (in a kiss between the reader and Spencer; mentions of chastity belts/genital cages (not used during the fic); there is somewhat of a rivalry going on between Spencer and the reader?; the reader is kind of a brat, competing with Spencer for Elle's attention; and I believe that's it.

A/N: This could be viewed as a sequel to The Perfect Brat, or it could be viewed as taking place in the same universe as that fic - the reader character in this fic is Gender Neutral and does not have their gender described where as the reader character in that fic is female, so I wouldn't say specifically that it is a sequel - but it could be. Anyway - this is mostly inspired by my love of Spencer's slutty waist. I hope you guys enjoy it!

...

“God, he’s so pathetic.”

The words came out of Elle’s mouth as an airy chuckle, truly punctuating her thoughts on the situation. The man between her thighs was nothing but laughable - in the most pussy-wetting way.

Naturally, Spencer let out a chest rattling moan at her comment, finding nothing but pleasure in the humiliation that she doled out. Even if he refused to admit it - it was his nature. He thrived off of being mocked and praised; punished and rewarded.

You let out a chuckle of your own, running your fingers through his hair, a jolt going down your spine when you tugged sharply on those pretty brown locks and he let out a pretty gasp.

Elle watched on with inquisitive eyes and swallowed up a low moan inside of her chest - controlled, composed, as she always was.

She made a clear effort not to lose her precious composure in front of Spencer. She never needed him to think that he provided her with any kind of elite pleasure. That he could give her something that she couldn’t get from someone else. Especially not from you. He was just another tool in her belt. One that needed to be polished by her before he could be properly used.

(He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut, but he probably never would.)

Even now, when he was balls-deep inside of her, her face remained smooth and neutral - not giving away a single flicker of the pleasure she might be feeling. Because it was all a big game, and she had to win. She was entirely demure as she stared up at him from her position, laying on her back in the middle of the bed. Technically, she was the lowest in the room, but always the one in the highest seat of control. Always the one with the most power in the room, no matter what.

And unlike Spencer, you weren’t going to mess with the status quo of that power.

“I think it’s almost… cute?” You remarked, knowing you sounded utterly condescending as you let out another giggle. (Especially if Spencer’s pleasurable gasp was anything to go by.) “At least he’s trying.”

Spencer let out a choked whine, clearly humiliated and turned on by the way the two of you spoke - talking around him as though he wasn’t even there. As though he wasn’t important enough to even acknowledge.

Spencer was currently stuck between the two of you, in a way that felt unfair yet perfectly and pleasurably melted his brain.

With his cock speared deep inside of Elle’s warm, commanding pussy, while you stood behind him - a lingering presence that trapped him there, he knew that he had nowhere to go. Which he loved and hated at the same time. You were somehow still completely clothed - the fabric of your outfit feeling rougher against his completely naked body as his skin became overstimulated and sweaty, but he couldn’t escape you, not for a moment, while you crowded more and more into his personal space.

“Please,” Spencer whimpered out.

Beneath him, Elle was clad in one of her signature bright red bras - overwhelming his field of vision with the sight of her perfect cleavage and her beautiful hair splayed out across the bed. And somehow, even as dewey sweat gathered on her skin, her makeup stayed perfectly in place, unsmudged and turning her into a goddess-like vision that only made him dissolve more into that pathetic puddle that you both mocked him for being.

With your hands on Spencer’s hips - you kept shoving him forward harshly, forcing him to fuck into the unforgiving heat of Elle’s cunt while his cock panged with twinges of pain and pleasure, stuck pulsing through the aching restriction of a cockring. His arms were bound behind his back with Elle’s cuffs, his hands brushing against your front - but he wasn’t allowed to touch you, no. If he was caught copping a feel, then he knew that he punishment would be even more severe. His ass was already red and sore with the spanking that you had given him earlier.

“Oh god, please.” He whined out again, not even sure what he was begging for - for this to stop, or for it to continue without the cockring so that he could finally cum.

You were getting a great deal of joy out of this, a wicked grin forming on your lips that Elle loved to see.

You loved using Spencer’s body like a puppet; having him acting like a ragdoll to your whims while you kept your hands tight on his hips, digging your nails into his flesh in a way that you knew would leave satisfying bruises there the next day. You loved nothing more than driving him forward, forcing him to fuck into Elle like he was nothing more than a toy - a human dildo to be used for her pleasure.

With both of you standing at the end of the bed, Elle’s ass right on the edge of it, her legs spread wide to accommodate both of you; you were standing right up behind Spencer, not letting him go anywhere, not letting him move an inch to escape the overwhelming tight pleasure of her cunt. The feeling edged him so fiercely, that perfect vice gripping around his cock, with the cockring making him unable to cum. You gripped him tight and forced him to fuck forward into her, despite his whining protests and begging to have the cockring off so that he could cum.

This was a punishment, after all. The punishment being - fucking her for longer than he could take it with no release. Feeling her hot, wet pussy around him and not being able to cum.

“He’s not trying.” Elle argued in reply to your comment, sarcastic venom in her voice. “That’s why he’s so pathetic.”

She reached up and tweaked one of his nipples hard, delivering a bit of pain to put emphasis on her words, and Spencer let out another whine. (Only further proving her point with how utterly pathetic he sounded.)

“Please,” He said, begging once again. “Fuck, please, I promise I’ll be good, I-”

“Shut up.” Elle barked at him. “Go harder.” She said, glancing around his body to look at you.

She didn’t give this order for her own benefit. She wouldn’t enjoy the sex with any more heightened pleasure if his cock was fucking into her harder. She said this because if you forced his hips into her harder, then he would have to feel it more. It would be more punishing for him.

“Yes, M’am.” You easily agreed, biting back a gleefully evil grin.

You shoved his hips forward harder, in faster increments, pulling him back quickly and shoving him forward again. The results were beautiful - his thighs quaked and he let out a pained sound as he limply fell to the movements, like a ragdoll. Letting himself be fucking into Elle, rather than willingly fucking her himself.

His cock was so painfully hard that this left little needles pricking up and down his shaft; sharp shocks of pleasure and pain flowing through him as the wetness coated him warmly and became tangled in his pubes - the most beautiful, mind-numbing torture he could have ever conceptualized. He needed a break - he wanted it to stop, but at the same time, he knew that he would cry and beg for more if his cock was pulled out of that warmth, a place his body knew as a home now. A place that he couldn’t leave.

This was where he belonged.

Stuck between two perfect people, ruling over him, taunting him.

“Please!” He gasped out again. “Please!”

You pushed Spencer forward again, hard, and his legs began to quake as Elle’s pussy squeezed him.

“I can’t!” He shouted, his voice throaty and hollow, half choked in spit. “Fuck, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.” You said, shoving him forward again, loving the sound of his hips smacking against Elle’s inner thighs. “You’re just being a little bitch about it.”

You leaned in, putting your body flush against his, trapping his arms tighter against his back. You used the motion of your own hips in tandem now, using your body weight to shove him back and forth - causing increasingly wet, sloppy sounds from between him and Elle as she became more turned on by his desperate, humiliated state.

Elle let out a laugh. “It’s like we trained him for nothing.”

“Maybe you trained him to bitch out.” You sighed. “That’s not my fault.”

Elle glared at you - but before she could reply, you shoved Spencer forward again particularly hard, using him like a human dildo inside of her to shut her up. She swallowed down the gasp in her throat, though, biting her lip. She was trying her hardest not to let you know that you had gotten to her in any meaningful way.

Spencer let out a throaty whine.

“Please, let me cum.” He begged, his voice wavering and pathetic. “Please! I’ll do anything, just let me cum!”

You grinned at Elle over his shoulder, pausing your movements and stilling Spencer’s hips for a moment. He let out a sob - even this was torturous pain, reminding him how his orgasm was like a sickness in his stomach. It was a pure, swollen ache in his balls - right there, but unable to come to fruition. He needed to cum so badly.

“What do you think, E?” You asked, using your playful nickname for her. “Should we let this pathetic little boy finally cum?”

You were feeling slightly bad for Spencer, so you reached around his body - thinking of something that might sway her. You rubbed your thumb over her clit, putting your powers of persuasion to the test.

“I kinda wanna get him out of the way so I can have my turn.” You added on, pressing down on her clit harder.

For the first time that night, Elle let out an uncontrolled, deep moan.

“Fuck.” She sighed.

You quickly let up the touch, knowing that teasing her would be more powerful.

“I know what you’re doing.” She told you, throwing you a nasty, knowing smile. It was a warning. “Pull him out.”

You were filled with a terrible excitement. Either she would punish you for trying to scam her, or she would give you exactly what you wanted. She was a lot more lenient with you than she was with Spencer.

You backed off and put your hands on Spencer’s hips, easing him out of Elle’s pussy.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Miss, thank you-” Spencer repeated the words like a sacred mantra under his breath, and Elle quickly cut him off.

“Shut up.” She barked at him again. “You won’t be thanking me in a minute.”

This shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did.

Spencer’s cock popped out of Elle’s cunt with a filthy sound, and he only made it back far enough to graze the swollen bright red head against her entrance before she sat up on her elbows and moved to grab the cockring around the base. You watched with your gaze around his shoulder in interest, your hands drifting around his waist to hold him gently from behind. You thought that she would take it off and maybe finish him with her hand to get him out of the way as you had suggested.

But instead, she took off the cockring (which caused a wounded sound to emanate from his chest) and left his bright red, sore looking cock dangling between his thighs as a few thick strands of precum leaked from the head, dripping freely onto the bed between her thighs.

“You feel bad for him.” Elle told you, a dark look in her eyes. “So get to work.”

You wanted to laugh. That certainly wouldn’t be a punishment for you.

With your arm already slung around his waist from behind, you reached down and grabbed his sensitive, achingly hard cock - at the touch, he nearly bucked out of your grip. He cried out in perfect agony and his whole body shook.

Perhaps the punishment would be trying to hold him still.

Elle giggled at this and you used your free hand to dig your fingers into his hip, giving his cock a firm squeeze in an attempt to make him still.

“Stay still.” You ground out, and he quickly complied.

You pumped your hand up and down his cock, the precum and Elle’s wetness being more than enough lube. You did have to enjoy how perfect he felt in your hand - his cock was a thing of beauty, so long and thin and so red when he was overstimulated like this.

Your hand was fast and tight, determined to make him cum as quickly and efficiently as possible. And it took less than thirty seconds of greedy pumping to make it happen. Spencer beginning to wail like a maniac, his jaw dropped open wide and his eyes squeezed shut, his thighs shaking.

All the while, Elle’s eyes were flickering between the sight of your hand as a blur on Spencer’s red cock and Spencer’s orgasmic face, a devilish grin growing on her. Spencer was cumming hard, his cock spurting out generous, thick ropes of cum that landed on the bed, on Elle’s strong inner thighs, and along her bare cunt and her pelvis, where she was perfectly positioned underneath him with her legs open.

You pumped Spencer right through it, even reaching down to fondle his balls - milking him fully of a very large load that was a signature of just how long it had been since Elle had last let him cum. That thick cum seemingly going everywhere - and when he was shaking and about ready to collapse, you finally took your hand off his cock.

“Alright, you two.” Elle announced. “Now get down on your knees and clean up your fucking mess.”

Of course. That was the catch. That was your punishment. You had to share with Spencer.

You wanted to complain about it, but you decided better of it. You didn’t need a vibrating plug in your ass for the better part of tomorrow because you decided to talk back.

Spencer, still panting and dizzy, was quick to fall to his knees in front of Elle and start lapping at her pussy. He had to balance himself well with his hands still cuffed behind his back, but as usual, he was an overeager puppy. He shoved his tongue deep inside of her to taste her, rather than intentionally trying to clean up his mess. You let out a growl of annoyance and knelt down yourself, trying to shoulder him out of the way, poking your head in tightly beside his between her legs.

“Share, asshole.” You growled, moving to grab his hair to pull him out of the way.

“If you two don’t behave, then there’s gonna be some cages tomorrow. No keys for a week.” Elle warned in a dark voice, clicking her tongue in disappointment.

“You better not fuck this up for me.” Spencer whispered to you, seemingly trying to talk too quietly for Elle to hear.

“Hey-” Elle tried again, warning.

You then decided to do something very much in the name of sharing and behaving. (You needed to act boldly, quickly - before Spencer got you both in trouble.)

You licked a long stripe up Elle’s thigh, gathering up a healthy amount of Spencer’s cum onto your tongue before you grabbed him by the back of his hair. You yanked hard, pulling him to your mouth, shoving your tongue right into his mouth for her to see - mixing the essence of her that was already on his tongue with his cum. You purposefully made the kiss sloppy, pure tongues and very little contact of lips, like porn made for straight men. You even moaned loudly, putting on a show just for her benefit.

Spencer easily fell for it - moaning loudly when you pulled harder on his hair, and easily following your lead as his submissive instincts kicked in.

“That’s much better.” Elle sighed in delight.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a standalone oneshot. This fic is not intended to be continued, so please do not ask for a second part or a continuation. If you like this dynamic and you would like to see it repeated in a different fic (maybe with different kinks/different circumstances), you can definitely let me know by sending me an ask - but for now, if you're going to comment on this fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #elle greenaway #elle greenaway x reader #elle greenaway smut #sub!spencer reid

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 5 months

Text

a storm and a kiss

part three of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

awkward silences, fluff, wanda meddling again, still cringey, snowed in trope kinda, mentions of alcohol

wc: 2.1k | part one | part two | part four

“Wow, this town still goes all out for Christmas, huh?” Natasha spoke, attempting to cut through the uncomfortable quiet between you as you walked.

The layer of snow along the ground and the greyish-white clouds above you only added to the winter feel of the town. The lights strung along each and every building were on most of the time, biting through the dark of winter in Ohio and various festive decorations stood on every street corner. The oversized tree in the town square was your favourite, the one in the heart of the town, surrounded by the goings on of the month-long fair that was always busy.

She used to love it here, how the community always came together at this time of year. Everybody was always included and she felt as much a part of it as anybody. It makes you both wonder back on those years before, when the magic of the season lost its touch on the woman when the warmth that sparked within her turned to something cool and dismissive.

“You’d know that if you came back here, rather than having your family schlep to New York instead.”

“I guess so,” she sighed.

“They always talk about you - how you don’t decorate your apartment, how you don’t make Yelena that hot chocolate you always used to bring us all.”

“I get too busy for all this Christmas stuff,” she shrugged, internalising the frown her lips desperately wished to fall into. “I don’t have time for the ‘Christmas cheer’ anymore, I guess.”

“You used to,” you returned, sparing a look at the side of the face. She peered downwards at her feet, her eyebrows knitted into the thoughtful expression they always had done when you knew she was in quiet contemplation. “Natasha Romanoff was never ‘too busy’ for it all.”

“People change,” she mumbled. You saw the clenching of her jaw poke through her skin and you knew there was more to it. Still, whether you sympathised with the redhead’s clearly deep-rooted dislike for this time of year, her dismissal of the conversation left you with a stinging in your belly that even the chill of the air couldn’t compete with. An explanation is all you want, she owes you that much at least.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “They do.”

Even when you reached her car you were still hoping somebody would take over for you. It’s a certainty that Melina and Wanda - and perhaps various other interfering ‘allies’ - had something to do with this. After all, sending two people to a remote cabin over thirty minutes away is a perfectly reasonable ask. Tasking two people, who have a physically observable discontent between them, with fetching unnecessary Christmas tree ornaments is not strange at all.

You’d tried to get out of it, of course, but with Melina’s irresistible way of charming you into doing just about anything, you found yourself caving into her demands rather quickly. ‘It’ll only be a couple of hours’ you repeated in your head over and over.

–

The car journey couldn’t have been much more awkward if you’d tried. It was clear that both of you had words on the tip of your tongues that you fought away by drowning them out with the radio’s music. You wanted to ask her ‘why?’. You wanted to give her a piece of your mind yet, also, tell her how much you think about her. Positive and negative. You wanted to be honest to somebody about the way she plagues your mind at night with ponderings both wholesome and unsavoury, hot and cold, loving and loathsome.

She wanted to say sorry. She wanted to tell you her love for you was still there - it always had been. But times change, things change, and things that once brought her joy had melted away and taken a part of her with them. She wanted to explain why.

So, it was merely two people with words aching to be set free, sitting in a silence that felt less dangerous. You climbed out of the car as soon as the hum of the engine slowed.

The house brought back memories of all those times before; the wooden roof clothed in snow, a frosted cobweb weaved against the window in the centre of the old front door. The crack in the porch decking, just to the left of the doorstep, was still there and you both smiled to yourselves at the sight. You remember the time that Kate tried to keep up with Carol, carrying the same amount of logs into the house for the fire. She smirked with hubris and you all laughed when she stumbled, dropping it all with a snap beneath their weight. You all decided to use the gaudy gnome Alexei had bought, much to Melina’s distaste, to hide it for as long as possible. It worked until it didn’t, and you all still feign oblivious to the damage.

“Alright, I’ll look down here, you look upstairs?” Natasha asked once you’d walked in.

“Sounds like a plan.”

You made your way upstairs, eyeing the dent in the papered wall where Wanda had playfully pushed you one tipsy evening. She’d been teasing you about the way you’d apparently been ogling Natasha and she only retaliated to the shove you’d given her, chuckling when you almost fell down the staircase.

There were still photos hung in frames along the walls when you reached the top, memories of your group of friends cemented into shots. Smiling faces framed with wood, the glass shielding them gathering dust. You wiped one clean with your sleeve just to be met with Natasha’s smile, her arm draped over your shoulder whilst you grinned all the same. The rosy hue to the apples of her cheeks only served as a reminder of what made her so easy to love.

The drawers you searched through turned up nothing, and the cupboards were just as unsuccessful. Apart from the trips down memory lane, you found nothing, and you only sighed as you descended the stairs once more. It was becoming more clear why you were sent on this excursion - the decorations didn’t exist. You suppose you should have figured it out sooner.

“Anything?”

“No,” you shook your head. “We should probably get on the road - it’s already getting dark.”

“The snow’s pretty bad, I think we’re gonna have to wait it out.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna call Wanda to let her know I’ll be late back.”

You stepped out into the kitchen and grumbled at the obvious smile in her mischievously toned voice when she picked up.

“I hate you,” you groaned.

“How’s it going? You found the ornaments?”

“Wanda,” you sighed. “We all know they don’t exist. You and Melina must despise me, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she returned, clearly holding back a laugh at your annoyance.

“This isn’t gonna change anything, Wands. My life isn’t some fairytale you can turn into some true love thing.”

“Nobody said anything about ‘true love’,” she answered. “Apart from you.”

“Oh my God-”

“No, you’ve said it now. It’s been spoken into the universe. I can still see it between you, y’know? It’s a bit much if you ask me,” she teased.

“Well, I didn’t ask you,” you mumbled.

“You’re not denying anything, though,” Wanda spoke, her tone softening just as it does when she wants you to know she’s being earnest. “You know I’ve always been on your side with all of this - I am always on your side. So you have to trust me when I tell you that you need to trust your heart with this.”

“I loved her, Wanda. I did. But, things change. It’s a lot to make sense of.”

“Then take your time - I’ll be here. But I can see it in both of you. Sure, things change - people change - but maybe, sometimes, that’s the best thing that can happen.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yes. You will,” she returned. “And we’ll talk about it later. One more thing, there’s a storm coming tonight so I think you might have to stay there,” Wanda hurried out, clearly hoping to hang up before you could say anything else.

“Oh my God, Wanda.”

“Sorry,” she laughed - clearly not meaning it - before ending the call as quickly as possible.

Natasha was sitting on the sofa when you walked back out, holding up a bottle of vodka she’d found with a smile and gesturing to the space beside her for you to take a seat.

“My mom texted me,” she spoke. “We’re gonna have to wait the storm out here tonight. We should be able to head out first thing in the morning.”

“I’m gonna need a drink then.”

–

You didn’t speak much at first but the uncomfortable silences between you had become such a regular thing that it hardly felt unusual. Natasha had found two shot glasses and filled them rather liberally as the evening drew in, you winced less and less at the sting of liquor in your throat. It seemed the alcohol wore away that tall wall of glass between the pair of you because, as time passed, scatters of conversation turned into recalls of childhood memories. And then you felt comfortable asking her what your mind had begged you to.

“Why’d you leave, Nat?”

“I had to,” she shrugged, taking a sip that emptied her glass. “I got into college, moved to New York.”

“You know what I mean, Natalia,” you breathed. You were leaning close enough to her to see the twitch at the corner of her lips at the use of the name only you are allowed to use. “Why’d you leave me?”

“I didn’t mean for it to all happen like that,” she sighed. “Things changed. The way I wanted things to go didn’t seem possible anymore so I left it all behind.”

“You left me behind, too.”

“I didn’t mean to, sweetheart,” she spoke the pet name for the first time in years and it tasted just as sweet on her tongue, you felt it wash over you like the stroke of a tender hand. “Anyway, I’m here now and we’re having a good night. Reminds me of old times.”

“We had fun, didn’t we?” you smiled, letting your shoulder rest against hers as though the space between you had never been there.

“We did.” Her grin was contagious, it always has been. She let her hand rest on your leg as though it was the most normal thing in the world and you accepted it because you agreed. “Do you remember that time, just like tonight, when we just sat and talked for hours? The others were all asleep-”

“We could hear Yelena’s snoring from down here,” you laughed and Natasha chuckled at the memory, you felt the laugh move her body from where you leaned against her.

“And it was like we were the only people who existed.”

Neither of you mentioned the way you desperately wanted to kiss the other that night - nor the other nights you’d felt the same. But, right now, as though making up for missed opportunities, she cupped her hand around your cheek and swiped a musing thumb against your bottom lip. The skin left your lips tingling and wanting more, you felt a shiver run through your spine as her face drew nearer.

The gap between you vanished with a slow touch of her lips to yours, the bitter taste of vodka lingering on the tongue that pushed past your teeth. It was all you’d wanted since you were young and, at first, it left you dizzied with nothing else on your mind apart from the woman who held your waist.

But, as the saying goes, good things must come to an end. When the haze of Natasha Romanoff’s mouth dancing with yours had settled, you thought back to the unresolved issue you held with her. You still don’t know why she left you, you still don’t know why all of your calls wouldn’t even ring out on her mobile. You don’t know if this is just a drunken thing she’d forget about by morning.

You pulled away as though her kiss had left you burnt and her flushed cheeks stared back at you.

“I can’t do this right now,” you stumbled out. “I still don’t understand what’s happened between us but I can’t just move past it all so quickly.”

“I’m-”

“No, it’s fine,” you sighed, pushing a hand through your hair in an attempt to unravel your mind just the slightest inch. “I’m gonna sleep upstairs. I’ll see you in the morning.”

If you’d found the drive to the cabin uncomfortable, the car ride back home was incomparable.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #au: home for christmas

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dontwantnoneunlessyougotmunson · 1 year

Note

I have a request for ya! Just thought of this (sorry for the long entry 🫣)

what if Reader has been harboring a MAJOR crush on Eddie forever, and maybe they're friends, maybe not, maybe just acquaintances, I'll leave that up to you, but the Reader is this stereotypical shy, quiet, nerd girl who loves fantasy novels and (though no one would guess it just by looking at her) heavy metal and D&D and she's always been way too scared to tell Eddie how she feels (and she also knows he has a crush on Chrissy Cunningham and how could she ever compete with the Queen of Hawkins High? The Perfect Girl?). But then one day a group of bullies (maybe Carver and his Goons, maybe somebody else, again, I'll leave that up to you) somehow get a hold of her diary and read out the entry where she talks about how much she's in love with Eddie, out loud in the cafeteria during Lunch! Eddie's there, Chrissy's there, Reader is there, everyone, all of their friends are there, and of course the Reader is MORTIFIED and takes off running and hides somewhere else before anyone can say anything.

How it ends I will leave up to you 🙌 (but preferably fluffy 👀)

Vulnerability (Eddie X GN Reader)

Ehehe I’ve been writing this all morning and I love this request so much! *The diary entries are in bold italics. Also this was typed on mobile, so sorry for any typos!!

The entire table erupted into cheers as they won the battle and finished the campaign. You smiled, glancing over your book and grinned even wider as they congratulated each other. You were tucked away in the corner, engrossed in the plot of your latest novel. You’d only pretended to read in the past half hour because you had been trying to pay attention to what was going on at the table.

You and Gareth had been friends since childhood and went everywhere together. You often watched the Hellfire campaigns, but had been trying to finish up your book since it was due back soon.

“So, what did you think of my campaign?”

Your heart jolted in your chest and you pretended to find a place to stop in the story before looking up to see Eddie hovering over you. Eyes widening, you tried to laugh normally, but it just came out strangled. He patted your back, concerned, while you begged whatever higher power was listening to just take you away. Tears leaked from your eyes and you glanced to him to see he was waiting expectantly.

“It was really good, Eddie.”

He flushed and rocked on his heels.

“Your storytelling was so creative and I had no idea that side character was going to have such a big role!”

He flourished under your praise and sat beside you, rambling eagerly about his strategy and how he was inspired for the campaign.

~~~

In short, I absolutely have a crush on Eddie Munson.

You groaned and flopped your head down on the table. The library was especially quiet before school and was often the place you divulged your most private thoughts to your diary. The five-minute warning bell rang and you scooped up all your things and dashed off to class, not realizing the diary had slipped out of your grip.

The day passed in a blur. Tests were coming up for all your classes and you could barely keep all the information straight in your head. You huffed as you sat down at the lunch table and pulled your book out. Gareth sat next to you and opened his mouth to say something, but you waved a hand dismissively.

“Just a few minutes, Gare. Almost done.”

The last few pages flew by before you closed the book with a thud.

“Good?” He asked.

“Amazinggggg,” you sang back.

Your table descened into a mess of conversation that stopped abruptly the moment Jason Carver walked up to you. Encountering Jason was never a good thing, especially up close.

He smiled at you, sending shivers down your spine. He waved a familiar small blue book at you. “I think this is yours.”

Your eyes grew as you turned to dig in your bag, confirming what you already knew. You turned back to him, face heating with embarrassment. “Give it back, Jason.”

His grin turned more antagonistic as you stood up and reached for your diary. He held it above your hands, opening it to the most recent entry.

“Ahem, everybody? Can I have your attention?”

You bristled as everyone turned your way, hands balling into fists at your side. Of course nobody could miss what stupid Jason Carver had to say.

Gareth stood and held out a hand for your book. “Hey, man. Just give it back to her.”

Jason pointed a finger into his chest, moving him back. “Hang on a minute, nerd. Gotta read something real quick.”

You darted around the table and surged toward Jason, groaning as you slammed against two of his goons that had stepped into your path. It was too late. Tears pooled in your eyes as he started to read, exposing your heart to the world.

He cleared his throat before starting in. You had written snippets of campaigns you would run if you were a DM and he skimmed over them, reading the romantic bits aloud and laughing cruelly as he continued to flip.

“Boring, boring. Yadda yadda. Oh! Here we go. This looks good.”

He slowly turned to Eddie, his grin spreading wider. Eddie glanced to you, confused and your stomach lurched as he started reading. This whole time he’d been working toward this grand finale of embarrassment and damn, it was working.

“Eddie is by far the cutest guy I know. He’s always so nice to me. I don’t have many friends and he has always been so welcoming. Ugh. Skip the gooey stuff. Aha! In short, I absolutely have a crush on Eddie Munson. How sweet, the freak and the lonely loser!”

By this time, you’d practically melted into the floor. You snatched your bag up and turned to Gareth. He saw your face crumple and started to rise, but you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I’ll see you later.”

The words came out in a rasp and you took off before you allowed yourself to breakdown. You burst through the library door, startling the librarian who shot up from her seat.

She tilted her head in concern and motioned for you to come behind the desk. She opened the door to her office, which you sped into, dropping your book on her desk as you went. She guided you to the small couch in her office and quickly brought you a cup of hot chocolate before stepping back out to the media desk and closing the door behind her.

You curled up against the cushions and sobbed, barely able to take sips of your drink. Your afternoon teachers would just have to wait to see you until Monday. Or maybe never if you decided to move out of the country.

~~~

You woke a while later, low voices murmuring outside the door.

“Have you seen her? I know she comes here a decent bit.”

“Mmm. Nope. Haven’t seen her since this morning,” the librarian retorted.

You pulled one of the blinds down to see Eddie standing across the counter. His eyes flicked to yours, drawn by the motion and you gasped, letting the blinds snap shut.

You began gathering your courage to step out. Meanwhile, Eddie’s mouth curled into an amused smirk. He spoke slightly louder, ensuring you could hear him.

“Alright, well if you see her, let her know I got her diary back from that jerk.”

You opened the door and poked your head out, bag slung over your shoulder. You looked to the librarian and nodded at her.

“I’m okay. Thanks for the hot chocolate. I’ll be back for more books next week.”

You offered her a grateful smile, which she promptly returned, patting your shoulder kindly. You stepped around the desk, arms crossed protectively over your chest as you looked into Eddie’s eyes. A gasp slipped out as you noticed his swollen split lip. “Hi,” you mumbled.

“Hello,” his voice lit with a smile. “Walk with me?”

You nodded and turned, brushing past him as he held the door open for you.

“Need a ride?”

“Probably,” you sighed.

It was just late enough in the day that all the buses were gone for the day, student parking lot almost emptied out.

He strolled at an easy pace beside you and you kept your eyes lowered, determined not to acknowledge the cafeteria incident. He paused right outside his van on the passenger side and pulled your blue book out from under his arm, passing it to you before he pulled the door open for you. You searched for a way to say thank you, I’m sorry, and never bring this up again, but instead gaped when you saw the other book he was holding.

“Why are you reading that book? I just turned it in.”

“Well. I thought it could help my campaigns.”

You turned away, embarrassed. He reached for your arm, taking hold of it gently.

“No no I’m not teasing you. I really liked your campaign ideas and thought that if you could write something like that after reading this, then maybe I could too.”

Your heart fluttered and you bit back a smile as you climbed into the van. Eddie shut the door once you were in and circled around to the other side, climbed in and started up the van.

The drive started off quiet until you couldn’t handle it anymore and blurted out, “I’m sorry!”

He chuckled, “What are you sorry for?”

“I just… I know he’s not above embarrassing people, but I feel like his main target was probably you, so I’m sorry. I know you like Chrissy and-“

You were cut off by him laughing and you shrank back into the seat. You trembled with frustration before saying, “Alright. If you’re gonna laugh at me, let me out. Stop the car.”

He rolled to a stop on the side of the road and you reached down for your seatbelt. He caught your hand in his and your breath halted in your throat, eyes tentatively rising to meet his. His bangs had grown a bit longer, landing right above his eyes. Your hand twitched, wanting to brush them aside. He squeezed your hand and your eyes drifted back to his.

“I like Chrissy. As a person. She’s very kind and we knew each other when we were younger. But I haven’t liked anyone else in a long time. No one besides you.”

Your thumb brushed his palm as your brain processed his words.

“Me? You like me?”

“That would be what I said, yes.”

“But why? Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“Why didn’t you?” He grinned as you blushed under his gaze. “I didn’t say anything because you’re Gareth’s best friend. He really cares about you. And about Hellfire. I didn’t want to start anything between us that could get messed up and make things awkward for him.”

You smiled at his consideration for your friend. Your diary poked at your side from where you’d tucked it next to you in the seat.

“Can I read something to you? Jason read a lot but somehow missed the best parts.”

He nodded enthusiastically and his eyes lit up as you opened your diary, stopping when you found the entry you were searching for. You kept holding hands, shivering when his rings brushed over your skin.

“Today was a bad day. I didn’t do so well on a test and the bus was late and it was pouring down rain. When it finally got there, Eddie ran up behind me and held his vest over my head until I got on. It happened so fast, I’m surprised I remember it. But I’ll never forget looking out the window and seeing him standing there in the rain. His fingers were hooked into the collar of his vest and it was slung over his shoulder. God, he looks good in the rain.”

You blushed but continued flipping to the next entry and began again, emboldened.

“Today I realized that my crush on Eddie isn’t just because he’s cute and kind to me. He’s good to everyone. It sucks seeing people mess with him. He’s somehow gotten so amazing at laughing it off and continuing about his day. He defends the kids in Hellfire. He takes care of everyone. I just wish he had someone to take care of him. I wish he knew how special he is.”

You closed the diary, your finger still tucked in. Fingers tenderly slid under your chin and lifted your face. He was waiting for you, his sweet smile already painted across his face. He groaned and blew out a puff of air.

“I wanna kiss you so bad, but could I take you out first? Where do you wanna go?”

You thought for a moment. “Well, I like ice cream.”

“Ice cream it is, then! Cone-gratulations on being the cutest person in Hawkins!”

“Oh, my God, Eddie.”

He snorted and your laughed filled the car as it started down the road again. He turned the volume up, one of his tapes in the player, and hit the dashboard in excitement when he caught you singing along.

“No way, you know this song?”

“I started listening because of you and as it turns out, I like metal music.”

“You are absolutely perfect.”

He pulled your joined hands to his mouth, kissing yours, careful of his injury. He set your hand down gently in your lap and his hand curled around your knee, determined to keep you close.

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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floral-force · 1 year

Note

hey babes!!! I loved that one of Simon and the meet cute, it had me melting 🥹♥️ I was wondering if I could perhaps request a Simon Riley x reader where the reader is part of the 141, but before working with them, she was apart of a special ops group that focused on stuff like infiltration/sabotage, and she’s almost like a black widow sort of character? seduces her targets and takes them out when they’re alone? she’s usually a ray of sunshine with the group, but Laswell presents the mission and everyone’s like “????” and the reader’s like “fine, I guess we’ll do this again” and she’s just COMPLETELY different once she infiltrates??? it gives the whole crew whiplash, but I’m particularly interested in how Simon would react!!! I hope this isn’t too much!!! thanks for always blessing us with your amazing work, and I hope you have an amazing day!!! ♥️

thank you for loving the meet-cute!! this request was fun to fill. I took some artistic liberties and this one really ran away from me...I hope you enjoy this!

(requests are open! search the tags #prompt requests or #prompts and send me an ask!)

Honeypot

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (code name "Honey")

summary: You’re Task Force 141’s newest operator, and everyone knows you as bubbly and sweet, earning you the code name Honey. How will the team react—especially Ghost, your stoic but sultry lieutenant—when a mission requires your espionage expertise?

words: 2.9k

warnings/tags: my blog is 18+ only. innuendo, canon-typical violence (fist fighting, gun mentions), bamf reader, task force 141 being buffoons, protective and jealous simon “ghost” riley, competency and size kinks if you squint, reader has a code name and uses she/her but no other descriptors

read on ao3 | masterlist

“The coup in Luxembourg is out of our usual bounds,” Laswell said, “but a covert agent working under the deposed Grand Duke has requested our aid.”

“They’ve been an ally to us in the past,” Price added, looping his thumbs under his tac vest, “so I expect you lot to execute this mission with as much precision and urgency as you would any other.”

“Country’s smaller than Scotland, innit?” Soap asked. “How the hell are we s’pposed to be discreet?”

“That’s where you come in, Honey,” Laswell crossed her arms and gave you a pointed look. “You remember your mission in Morocco?”

You smirked. “Is the sky blue?”

She gave you a small chuckle. “We need your expertise.”

“Fine.” You gave a dramatic sigh. “I guess we’ll do this again.”

“”M sorry,” Gaz interrupted with a scoff. “Do what, exactly?”

You turned to look at where he sat across the table from you next to an equally confused Soap. Ghost was twisted in his chair to look at where you sat behind him.

You raised an eyebrow, your eyes flicked between Price and Laswell. “They don’t know what I did in the States?”

“No,” Price muttered with a hint of embarrassment. He cleared his throat and shrugged like a tired parent as he said, “I suppose it never came up.”

Gaz gave an exasperated sigh, his impatience getting the better of him. “Well, go on then!” He urged.

“I was a contracted espionage agent for the Department of Defense, and—”

“The Yanks used contracted agents?”

You rolled your eyes at the interruption. “Yes, Soap. Now, as I was saying,” you continued, shooting the Scotsman a playful glare, “I was hired for infiltration ops. Ones that required a certain…je ne sais quoi, a more feminine touch you lads wouldn’t be capable of.”

When they all stared at your smiling face with blank expressions for a few moments—even Ghost’s eyes were narrowed with confusion—you jerked your head forward and waved your hands. “Guys, I seduced the targets.”

The confused silence persisted, and you looked around, giggling at each of the guys’ reactions, looking at Ghost last. His gaze pierced you the most, his brown eyes never leaving yours. Your teasing giggles faded, and you severed the eye contact with a roll of your eyes. You looked at Laswell again and crossed your arms, bored of the topic.

“Now that that’s settled, can we please finish this briefing?” you implored. “I have to make sure I have a dress that’s fitting for a date with a dictator.”

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?”

“For the hundredth time—” you swung a heeled foot on a worn curb with a huff and hiked up the fabric of your dress—“yes, LT, I’ll be fine.” You adjusted the holster on your thigh and smirked at Ghost’s silence. “See something you like?”

There was a pause, and you looked up to see Ghost quickly look away at the street. Guilty.

You knew he felt some sort of way about you; whether it was good or bad was still unclear. One thing was for damn sure: Ghost had his sights set on you. You’d felt his skeletal stare linger on you ever since the briefing a week ago, and he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was at stealing looks when you were at the range or sparring. Anyone else might feel like his prey—trapped by hungry eyes and cornered by a hulking frame—but you were so used to being the predator that you didn’t let it get to you. It was a little…fun.

Sure, he gave you butterflies, but that was because you’d never dealt with seducing men like him—at least, that’s what you told yourself after thinking about him with your hand between your thighs.

For now, you’d innocently tease and poke and prod the masked man with Soap and Gaz’s support. For now, you’d holster your loaded M9 and leave your leg exposed in yellow lamplight as you made sure your clutch had everything you needed. For now, you’d pretend that you weren’t thinking about him trailing his hand up from your ankle to the holster and grabbing the meat of your thigh.

“We’ll be able to hear everything through your earpiece. Soap and I will have eyes on you in the palace, but stay near windows,” Ghost said, interrupting your thoughts. “Gaz’ll be on the roof.”

You swung your leg back down, wobbling. Ghost clutched your forearm, and you gripped his, fingernails scratching the fabric of his sleeve and digging into it for stability. His large hand snaked up to hold your bicep right above your bent elbow, your ears heating up when you met his eyes and saw something akin to lust in them.

His grip lingered even after you were steady on your feet again, only letting go when you gave him a flustered smile. You busied yourself with smoothing out the full skirt of your dress and adjusting the discreet monitor in your right ear.

“All you have to do is get ‘im to the roof. The lads ‘n I will take it from there, as planned.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “If anythin’ goes wrong, jus’ get yourself out alive, Honey.”

“Got it.” You adjusted your necklace, and sheepishly asked, “Is it centered?”

You could smell sweat and sandalwood when Ghost stepped closer, his broad armored chest just inches away from your body. His large, gloved fingers graced over your skin and hands, delicately centering the elegant piece with tactical precision.

Brown eyes looked you up and down. “Looks good, Honey.”

Ghost stepped back and his hands fell, one curling around his radio and the other limp on the rifle slung across his body. You burned underneath your dress.

After testing the comms and getting location reports, you gave Ghost a thumbs up and started walking to the palace down the street, rolling your shoulders back and taking a few deep breaths. You could feel his brown eyes burning a hole through you the entire time, so you made sure to sway your hips a bit more than you usually did while seductively strutting somewhere.

It hadn’t taken her long to reach the third floor and approach the tall paned window with the target, just as she’d been instructed to do in their final briefing. Watching Honey expertly navigate the gala and get the target attached to her side faster than the speed of light stirred something within Ghost. Whether it was admiration for her skill or arousal was unclear. Either way, he’d be lying if he said she didn’t look ravishing in her dress. He tilted his head and greedily peered through the scope one last time before tearing his eyes away and adjusting his position on the grassy hill.

Honey was as lethal as she was sweet, and if her saccharine smile didn’t instantly ensnare her target, her sugary tongue would. Instead of doling out compliments, she accepted them and kicked innuendos back; instead of making cringy puns and flashing finger guns, she bit her lip and tugged the target’s suit jacket. It was entirely different from who she was around the team on base, and Soap had made sure to emphasize that all bloody night. Even Gaz had chimed in a few times, both men trying to get him to comment. Ghost silently refused, skin flushing under his mask.

Now that she was closing in on the target, things had become even more heated. He looked at her through the scope again and listened. Ghost heard her laugh, the sound bubblier than the champagne in the flute she raised to her pretty lips. She took a sip right as Soap said the punchline of a joke, her shoulders rising and falling sporadically with a daintily covered cough.

“Watch it, you twat, you made her choke,” Ghost snapped.

“Sorry, lass, sorry!” Soap crackled over the comms. There was a rustle. “In my final position. Eyes on Honey and the target, LT.”

“Gaz?”

“In my final position, LT, eyes on the extraction point,” Gaz replied, his voice set and sure.

“Captain Price will leave on your command to meet you and Sergeant MacTavish at the rendezvous point, Lieutenant,” Laswell buzzed in his ear. “Gaz, you go with Honey and the target.”

“Affirmative,” Gaz and Ghost responded.

“Affirmative. And, Laswell, you can call me Soap.”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“Aye. Copy that, loud and clear.”

“Shut up, Soap.” Ghost grumbled.

They heard Honey giggle in response to another one of the usurper’s idiotic compliments, and Ghost saw her flirtatiously tap his arm with her knuckles.

“Y’know, if she heard one of us say tha’ in the pub, we’d never hear th’end of it.”

Gaz hummed in agreement with Soap, and he couldn’t help but shake his head and smirk. Honey laughed again and clearly echoed another awful line the target gave her. Ghost could tell the grin splitting her pretty lips wasn’t genuine—her nose didn’t crinkle like it did when he deadpanned the punchline to a stupid joke or when Soap had called Price “Pa” a few weeks ago.

There was snickering over the comms. Ghost boldly asked, “Honey, take a drink if you meant for us t’hear that shite attempt at flirting.”

Soap cackled when the rim of the champagne flute touched her lips and her throat bobbed with a long sip.

“Well?” Gaz asked expectantly.

“Was a yes, Gaz,” Soap responded.

Ghost saw her eyes flutter closed as she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, and he grumbled; hopefully nobody had heard him. He was itching to move, his finger hovering over the trigger and his jaw clenching each time the target touched her.

“Right, Honey,” Ghost said, focusing the team again and settling himself down. “Once you’re on the roof, I’ll call Price—Gaz, move on my word or Honey’s, or when Price arrives. Soap, get to the rendezvous when I call Price. I’ll watch Honey and the target. Understood?”

Gaz and Soap gave him their affirmatives. Honey nodded, looking out the window and winking.

She looked back at the target and seductively bit her lip. “Do you think we could go somewhere a bit more…private?” Her query was laced with something sticky.

The target gave her his piss-poor attempt at a sultry smile, resting a hand against her neck and disturbing the necklace Ghost had adjusted earlier.

He’d be lying if it didn’t make him want to shoot the git dead where he stood.

There was a quiet yes, and Honey said, “I’ve always wanted to be kissed under the stars.” She forced a coquettish giggle. “Well, kiss, and…more, if you catch my drift.”

The target leaned in and pressed a kiss on her right cheek, the act on full display to Ghost.

“That can be arranged, my sweet,” the target murmured, his voice tainting their comms and making Ghost roll his eyes.

When the target abruptly gripped her waist and pushed her against the window, Ghost heard the faint sound of glass breaking and heard Honey force a playful comment about dropping her flute. Now, Honey’s back was to him, one of her hands flat against the window, her fingers splayed out. His clear shot was ruined. Ghost swore and Soap did as well.

“Target moved too far to my right. Can’t get a clear shot. LT?”

“Negative,” Ghost answered. “Honey, make a fist if you need back-up.”

Normally, he would’ve already had someone storming in to help if he wasn’t already, but Price had made it clear that this mission required tact. Ghost was on edge, but he had to trust Honey, even if the sight unfolding in the scope of his rifle made his skin crawl.

Honey clenched her fist.

“Affirmative. Gaz, Soap, hold your positions. Comms are quiet unless absolutely necessary.”

“Affirmative, LT,” the men immediately replied.

“Extraction is ready on your word. Get out of there—alive,” Laswell stressed over comms.

“Affirmative,” Ghost sighed, his trigger finger ready and aching to move.

“Not here,” Honey mumbled. Her fist remained clenched, the other hand still clutching her tiny bag.

She squealed in surprise when one of his hands dropped to grab her ass and squeeze. Ghost sharply inhaled, and he heard Soap clear his throat, holding back from asking for a visual on Honey.

“Not here, Johann,” Honey snapped, the sweetness quickly melting off her voice. “I want you, but I want you to touch me on the roof.”

The target’s other hand grabbed the other hidden cheek, fabric bunching up in his grip. “Want you here, you lovely little thing. Roof can come later.”

Honey gave him the tinkling laugh she shared with the team after showing them a video of a puppy or some other baby animal. Sometimes, Ghost smiled under his balaclava when it was thrown his way—but he’d never tell a soul.

This time, the sunny bells were a warning, and if the target didn’t do as she said, Ghost had a feeling he’d regret more than the coup.

“If you say so.” Her voice was uncharacteristically dark, its hidden sharp edges revealed.

“Gaz, Soap, be ready for my word,” Ghost said as Honey pushed forward, her heel pressing her dress’s hem against the window.

Just as they both responded, a howl pierced the comms, making Ghost wince. The target was doubled over, and Honey was kicking off her heels, sending them flying towards the windows across the hall. She took a lunging step forward over the broken glass and adjusted her body before throwing a punch to the target’s left cheek. He staggered up and took an angry, sloppy swing at her, but she dodged it and kicked her heel into his knee to destabilize him so she could gut-punch him. The target dropped to the floor. Ghost’s mouth went dry, and his cock twitched as she grabbed a fistful of the target’s hair.

“We’re going to the goddamn roof,” Honey gritted out.

When the target gave her a sly smile, she took a step back and let go before punching him again. The corner of Ghost’s mouth twitched with a smile when he saw the target staring at her with fear. She’d literally punched the smile off his ugly mug.

“On your fucking feet,” she growled, and he obliged.

Though he stood, he fought her the whole way to the stair entrance, and each time, his resistance was met with another blow to the gut. Ghost hummed in approval. This honeybee had a wicked stinger and wasn’t afraid to use it.

When she disappeared from Ghost’s sight—still swearing and commanding the target up the stairs—he made the call to Price, then barked over comms, “Soap, rendezvous. Gaz, be ready to assist if Honey calls for it—and, Honey, Gaz is ready to help restrain the target.”

“Negative, LT,” he heard her pant.

He saw her push the target through the door and onto the roof’s hidden balcony. Gaz was crouching down where he hid, his feet ready to run and his gun in his hands.

Ghost heard her sharply exhale and barely tracked her hand fly up to the target’s bicep. Then, he saw the target slump down to his knees and fall face-first to the ground.

“Is the target alive?” Ghost hissed, impressed but angry. “If you killed him—”

“Affirmative, LT,” she interjected, catching her breath and pulling an orange bag out of her clutch and depositing something in it. “Just a sedative. He’s gonna take a nice nap during the flight home.”

She hummed a random tune—her favorite song, Ghost noticed—as she put the bag back in her clutch. Honey waved at Gaz when he came out of hiding and walked over to her. Ghost saw her nudge the target with a bare foot and proudly put her hands on her hips.

“Bloody hell, Honey!” Gaz exclaimed, shaking his head. “Did Price know?”

“Affirmative,” Price boomed through the comms.

The helicopter came into view and Ghost stood up with a huff, slinging his rifle back across his body. He could see them helping Honey up onto the hovering ramp, her dress blowing in the wind. He chuckled before turning running into the forest behind him towards the rendezvous point.

“Headed your way, Lieutenant.”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Ghost replied as he came to a halt next to Soap in the clearing.

“LT!” Soap exclaimed, yanking his earpiece out, mouth agape. “Th’fuck I’d miss?”

“Ask Gaz,” he said simply, earning a groan from Soap.

The chopper thrummed overhead as it descended. They ran towards the ramp as it lowered, Honey’s triumphant face illuminated by the hold’s red light. Ghost climbed in and sat beside her with a grunt.

Once they were airborne and starting their flight back to base, Gaz described the scene Soap had only heard. Ghost noticed her diamond necklace was askew from her skirmish and hesitantly centered it. She gave him a soft smile and turned her head so her chin grazed over his covered knuckles. The gentle hum she gave him coated him in sticky-sweet syrup. “Honey” certainly was a perfect codename for her, he reckoned, contrasting her innocent sweetness and cutesy smiles with her impressive—and, at times, lethal—infiltration skills.

Yeah, Ghost was stuck in her treacly trap—and he didn’t plan on escaping.

masterlist

taglist (join here): @tizylish @dheet @sinfulsalutations

#thank you for the request!!#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley fic #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii fanfic #my fic #filled request

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 13 days

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[submitted 4/24/2024; 📂 for later reference]

WIBTA for reporting teachers to my school principal on the basis of the quality of their teaching?

Hello! For context, my school follows K-12 and I'm in my 2nd to last year (G11). Where I live (I don't know if it's the same for other countries) we all have to get into a track, and each track usually has its own teaching staff led by appointed coordinators who report to the principal every month or so regarding the performance of the teachers under them, though I've heard of some teaching in two or even three other tracks. This information will be important later on.

My first class in the morning is literature, more specifically 21st century literature, and it's taught by Mrs. G. The first thing that gave me a hint that the English-based subjects wouldn't be as great as I hoped was the fact that she was a nursing student. (It's on her Facebook profile. Nearly everyone I know in school posts concerningly detailed stuff about themselves on Facebook, and I just use it for the Messenger...)

Second or third in the morning on a normal school day is Ms. C. She's a DOST scholar which doesn't bother me in the slightest, but out of all the staff that handles the track I'm in, she's the only one who handles two subjects: Statistics and Reading & Writing, another English-based subject, one she doesn't have any certification for. (Again, from Facebook.)

Still, I know well that our system isn't perfect so I sat through their lessons. I was the kid that read a lot of books so I consistently scored high, but I noticed after reading a bit of DepEd learning plans that my classmates and I weren't getting the most out of their lessons for the competencies we were supposed to achieve - for literature, we needed exposure to representative texts from each continent, and for R&W, we were supposed to learn types of reading (archetypal, sociological, etc) earlier. The kindest I can say about them regarding their teaching is that they're deviating from the learning plans in a bad way + spoonfeeding the classes without making them think critically which I know is an important skill when it comes to their subjects.

I later learned from my mom who used to teach at my school that they're still able to hold their positions because they, for lack of a better word, bribe the coordinator with food and a bit of guilt-tripping since some of them are related to him, all to stay in the staff of my track because it's the most convenient one (2nd floor, one hall only). And the coordinator has let it happen for how many years already. It's a matter that should've been reported to the school principal and the division office, but I guess nobody's really had the guts to try and fix this for the sake of the quality of our learning.

I'm going to feel really guilty if I took up on that though. Mrs. G just gave birth this year and needs the salary to provide for her son, and Ms. C doesn't want to give up R&W so she can have enough teaching load + to keep staying in the staff of my track where it's safest to avoid her possibly abusive boyfriend, from what I've heard over the year. I want to do something, not out of malice, but out of concern that the next G11 batch wouldn't learn those 2 subjects and the necessary skills for them properly (because not all of them can afford to self-study).

So, WIBTA?

#aita #am i the asshole

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becca-e-barnes · 7 months

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Ngl I'd absolutely kill for a threesome with Bucky and Natasha 😍 I mean ,,, the constant shifting in power between the two of them of who is more dom of what's happening??? And the idea of being reader being the main focus of all this??

"Thats OUR good girl."

AGDJAKFLSL My little sub brain could never 😔

I don't remember the last time I wrote a lil threesome where the reader is submissive so I guess that's what we're doing today ✨

But the thought of both of them bickering over who can make you feel best while you're right in front of them is so hot. Nat thinks she understands pleasure best whereas Bucky argues that he knows what you like.

They agree that toys are out of the question because that wouldn't be fair and you're thankful for that. You hardly know how you're going to handle them competing without adding toys in.

"She's such... A good girl." Bucky groans, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor while Nat kisses up your bare neck, sucking and nipping your skin.

"The best girl." Nat hums in agreement. "Our good girl." Her slender fingers pinch one of your nipples while Bucky's mouth engulfs the other and you don't remember ever being this wet before in your life.

"She's all frustrated, bless her." Nat's other hand trails up your thighs until she reaches your sex, luxuriating in the feeling of your slick arousal against her fingertips. She knows what she's doing. You can tell that even by the gentle, calculated strokes against your body. She's only aiming to tease; to get you so worked up you beg her for relief, rather than Bucky.

"Have a taste." She removes her hand, extending two fingers to Bucky who gladly removes his mouth from your breast before engulfing the fingers with his mouth.

You hear his low groan, his eyes fluttering shut and it makes you almost writhe with need.

"Now that you've had yours, it's my turn." Nat withdraws her fingers, slipping out of her dress before settling on the bed between your legs. "You have a choice, sweetheart." She purrs, kissing a path from the inside of your knee, up your thigh and back down again. "Bucky might not last very long inside you and that would be disappointing, wouldn't it? You're so warm and wet and tight, it might all be too much for him."

You don't know whether to agree or not. You don't want to risk embarrassing Buck but at the same time, you'd be very disappointed if he wasn't able to fully prove how good he can make you feel. If you only get this experience once, you need it to be the very best it can be.

"If you like, I'll help him take the edge off while I take care of you. I'll let him fuck me and get his first load out of the way so he can give you the attention you deserve." Her voice is soft and sweet, your fingers tangling in her hair hoping it'll drive her mouth where you need it most.

Bucky looks like he would protest but who in their right mind would reject an offer like that?

"Y-yes. Okay, fine." You're so desperate to be touched, you'd agree to almost anything.

"Sweetheart, when it's your turn, I'm going to ruin you. Gonna make you watch how hard Nat cums for me, just so you can see what I'm going to do to you later." Bucky's confidence makes Nat laugh from between your legs.

The strokes of her tongue are feather light to begin with, trailing slowly over your soaked folds, slurping your arousal greedily. You don't miss her low moan as Bucky presses into her but she manages to stay focused, giving your clit the attention you needed.

Taking you apart is the entire plan here. You might be their focus but they're both smart enough to know that it's easier to win when they've sabotaged their competition.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #bucky x Natasha x reader smut #bucky x Natasha x reader #I might give this a part two #I'm not sure how that week was the way that it was #but it was insane #in a great way actually #I feel like that was a really big week for me #I did a lot of things that I was apprehensive about and they couldn't have went better #and I got myself a little treat for getting through it #I've been trying to get a Stanley cup to the UK for months now and I hadn't been able to get one #but urban outfitters is selling them now and I have the rose one ordered 💗#get ready for me to take that thing EVERYWHERE

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ao3cassandraic · 8 months

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I’m wondering about your thoughts on something I’ve been musing on after S2. How good is Aziraphale’s reading comprehension? How much does he understand subtext and metaphor? Because his behavior this season struck me with the impression that he didn’t really understand the books he collects. He’s clever at puzzle solving, and contains vast knowledge; but he always seems to take things at face value (when he’s not willfully misunderstanding), and refuses to give up black-and-white thinking, which would make it very difficult to analyze texts.

Angels, demons, language, and culture: part 1

You sure ask the difficult ones. (Which is great, I'm totally jazzed about it!)

I delayed answering this ask because it sent me off in a lot of directions:

What is an angel's starting knowledge base?

In contrast, how and what do we humans learn about our world and one another?

Which of these learning methods is not really available to an angel?

What do humans learn from books, fiction especially?

What kinds of information get left implicit in books because authors are humans writing for other humans?

How would an angel fill in those blanks? How would those blanks distort an angel's notion of How Humans and Human Things Work?

What would angels generally and either Aziraphale or Muriel (because yeah, it's hard to have this discussion without thinking about Muriel too) specifically read human-authored fiction for?

I don't have all the answers to the above questions. Not even CLOSE. I happily invite my fellow meta-ists to weigh in on any or all of them!

But let's see what I can tease out. We'll start with factory settings, so to speak.

Angelic vs. human factory settings

(questions 1 through 3)

Angels have (one) language. They have music -- or, at least, they can sing Her praises (likely by rote). At least some, like our Starmaker, have the knowledge to do specific jobs. Note that Aziraphale not only doesn't know how to make stars and nebulas, he's not even clear on what a nebula is. We can safely assume from that that angels don't all possess the same set of knowledge and skills purely by virtue (heh) of being angels.

We don't see, however, how much of what they know is simply an angel's birthright versus how much of it is somehow educated into them. We also don't know how She divvies up necessary knowledge, though I'd think it safe (given most takes on angelology) to guess that angelic rank and intended function are part of Her calculus, perhaps even the whole of it.

What strikes me hardest is that angels seem to be created either as adults or children (which is what I believe the scareable "cherubs" are), and they may well never change that state. The Starmaker is childlike in some ways, but not a child. Likely never was a child! Aziraphale, Before the Beginning, isn't childlike at all; his personality seems pretty close to fully-formed.

And children learn so very, very much. Babies learn so much as babies, while their neuroplasticity is super super plastic! Especially they learn about relating to other beings! (Which the Starmaker is conspicuously Not Real Great at, honestly -- absorbed in the work of creation, the Starmaker does not pick up the feelings Aziraphale is laying down at all.)

Children also learn one OR MORE languages, and that "more" is rather important, because language shapes how we think to some extent (the extent of that extent, and its nature, are objects of fierce debate among linguists and neuroscientists), and different languages shape us differently. Just as Crowley (as plenty of theologians argue) did humanity a favor with the whole knowledge-of-good-and-evil thing, the Tower of Babel (assuming that was a thing that happened in the GOverse; no reason it wouldn't have, I suppose) added a whole lot of nuance and complexity and competing understandings to humanity's sense of itself and its universe.

Exactly how angels and demons manage to speak all human languages (which Crowley indicates they can) isn't clear. If we accept that the Tower of Babel happened, both Heaven and Hell must have had to figure out a way to deal with it.

We do see, however, that angels and demons can be fluent in human languages without being fluent in human thought or human cultures. Gabriel and Sandalphon speak perfect English yet barely know which end of a book is up. Hastur and Ligur can't disentangle ciao/chow. And, I mean, actual food? Fuhgeddaboudit. So I see their linguistic facility as a sort of Douglas Adams Babel fish: it can translate an angel's or demon's thought into the target language, but it can't help an angel or demon think like an actual speaker of that language.

As an example, Gabriel can tell Job and Sitis about their new children, perfectly fluently. His purely-linguistic fluency does not help him understand that they loved their old children, much less why.

This may explain why Aziraphale studied French under M. Rossignol. He perhaps didn't feel he understood how French speakers think, and was interested enough in that to learn the language (as other meta-ists have noted, the language of love!) the human way.

So yeah, if I have a conclusion here it's that angels and demons can seem as off-center as they often do from a human perspective because they wholly missed out on a key period of human brain development.

What they have in its place appears to be... rules. Which is, I think, where I'll take this next.

#good omens #good omens meta #heaven and hell #the starmaker #aziraphale #hastur #ligur #babel fish #language and culture #tower of babel

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starstriix · 20 days

Text

can we talk about just how effective jock would’ve been in pushing a jo character arc. It’s not just the fact that Brick acts as a good moral compass, but it’s also how he encompasses EVERYTHING jo tries to avoid (he’s open with his femininity, emotional, sensitive, clumsy etc) and jo…still likes and respects him??

Like, she views him as an equal to the point of overestimating him (you and I both know that mf was trying his hardest in the thumb wrestling scene and jo was all “oh he hardly tried!! what a gentleman!!☺️” GIRL YOU NEARLY BROKE HIS THUMB). You can tell she genuinely enjoys competing with Brick, and she’s never bored whenever they interact. She’s often the one to go up and talk to him, despite beating him time and time again. Jo views him as a worthy competitor even after witnessing him being the most embarrassing man alive (who the fuck tries to dislocate their hip to impress a girl) and pissing himself.

The point is, Jo clearly holds Brick in somewhat of a higher regard despite him showing weakness so often. And that’s important because Jo’s main driving force is not wanting to appear weak.

You can see little moments of her showing care or concern before immediately switching back to her cutthroat attitude. Caring is a “”weakness”” that prevents you from winning (demonstrated by Brick in episode 7). When Jo volunteers to have makeup put on her, she immediately covers it up with a facade of toughness and says she’s “only [doing it] for the good of the team” (Compare this to Brick’s “Yeah, you heard me.” after announcing his dream of going to fashion school). She’s definitely struggling with internalised misogyny and associating femininity with weakness, but that’s an essay for another day.

Brick shows so much “weakness” and yet she still somewhat respects and even cares for him more than the other contestants. And I find that SO interesting.

Especially because he's her rival??? Their relationship is the embodiment of competition. Overcompetitiveness (or toxic competitiveness) is one of Jo's most glaring flaws, so to have her actually care about the one she should be against the MOST? It's a really good way of showing her overcoming her own toxic competitiveness.

Also, the parallels between Jo basically kick-starting Brick's character arc about prioritising the wellbeing of others...and then having Brick be a focal point in a Jo arc about prioritising the wellbeing of others...chef's kiss

I'd also like to add a little detail in relation to Jo's contestant biography. Specifically on her weird dream about letting a guy win because she thought he was "attractive." Yes this was hinting at Brick idc it was way too specific and odd compared to the other dreams, and Brick is the only guy we know who constantly competed against her (and lost). And I'm definitely reading into this too much, but it's actually quite interesting how her subconscious attraction to the guy overpowered her very, VERY intense need to win. Guess that's why it was a weird dream, but it still makes me think about the potential of Jo sacrificing her win for someone she grew to care for. Also I want representation of masc women in relationships that aren’t just played off as a joke

I can go on about this all night (I wish I could) but yeah. I really wish they'd give Jo a proper character arc because she really deserved one. She deserves to be able to grow and develop because she's a great fucking character, and Brick was literally the key to all of that. Peace out

#jock rant number 2736e72827 #total drama #jockjockjock #td jo #td brick #td jock #tdroti #ps shout out to maggot in rat’s clothing for being what i’ve always wanted in a jo character arc. and also being excellently written

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