#I think I was thinking about how many ways he obscures his face - the obvious with his eyes and then his hair floofs into it as well

[justmediocrewriting]

“I like your spots,” {m.d.l}

Summary: Luffy finds your freckles adorable, and being as blunt as he is, he isn’t afraid to say so — even in front of the whole crew, much to your embarrassment.

Genre: fluff, that’s it

Requested: ❌

Word Count: 0.9k

Pairing: Luffy/fem!freckled!reader

Warnings: none

A/N: so I’ve seen multiple drawings/posts about the whole “I like your spots” as a means to compliment someone’s freckles, and though I don’t know the origins of it I do feel as though it’s a very Luffy thing to say, especially the Luffy that is portrayed by Inaki Godoy; he’s too perfect for the role and adds a whole ‘nother level of cuteness to Luffy! I hope y’all enjoy.

By the way, my requests are OPEN!

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“I really like your spots.”

The knife fell to the counter with a clutter as you started; the carrots you’d previously been squaring evenly lay forgotten on the chopping block as you gaped at the man across from you.

Luffy, donned in his signature straw hat, was leaning his elbows against the counter, a small smile on his face as he cradled his chin in his palms and stared at you. Your face heated slightly when your eyes met his, and you flicked them down quickly and swiped your tongue across your bottom lip.

“U-um, what?” You spluttered out, confused and utterly flustered, and you swore you could hear a soft snort from somewhere within the galley. Luffy, however, seemed to not notice it, or he didn’t care, because he didn’t acknowledge whoever had done it.

“Your spots. I like them.”

Now you were more confused than flustered, and when you felt your cheeks had returned to a normal enough color you raised your eyes to meet Luffy’s.

“M-my spots?” You questioned, and Luffy nodded enthusiastically before raising his hand to point directly at your face.

“Yeah, the ones on your cheeks and nose. They remind me of stars.”

Your freckles had been brought to attention many a time in the past, and each and every instance never failed to embarrass you, but with the way Luffy just brought them to light, the embarrassment was on a whole ‘nother level. One that was far deeper and stronger than ever before; and your face felt hotter than the sun when you looked around the galley and caught the eyes of not only Nami, but Usopp as well, both of who were wearing identical smirks of amusement.

“Oh, u-um, thank you, Luffy. But, uh, they aren’t called ‘spots’. They’re called freckles.” As you mumbled this, you avoided the eyes of everyone in the room, and instead picked the knife back up with shaky hands and attempted to resume your previous task. Sanji had specifically asked you to square the carrots for him while he was away, and you had every intention of fulfilling that request.

Luffy, however, seemed to have no such intention.

“Oh, well, I really like your freckles, then. They’re really cute.”

You practically choked on your own spit, and by now your face was completely burning, and your heart was beating so rapidly and aggressively that you were sure everyone in the room would be able to hear it. You weren’t even sure how to respond to that; honestly, you didn’t know if you could, not with how tight your throat felt, and with how absolutely flustered you were.

You were positive that your small crush on Luffy was horribly obvious; you were in a constant state of awkwardness and clumsiness any time he was around, and the way your eyes would linger on him from time to time, and the way in which your cheeks would color vibrantly around him did nothing to obscure the fact — but you didn’t think Luffy even knew of it. If he did, he hadn’t said anything, and he acted the same as always.

Part of you really hoped he didn’t know, because not only would it be incredibly embarrassing, but it would be rather painful to know that he was aware of it but didn’t ask about it — because that could only mean one thing: he didn’t feel the same and you just knew you wouldn’t be able to handle that kind of rejection. So you continued to tell yourself that Luffy truly didn’t know, if only to spare yourself the pain.

But that’s why his compliments affected you so much; especially one that was aimed at one of your biggest insecurities. Luffy, kind, gentle, sincere, exuberant Luffy, was too kind for his own good, and he passed out compliments to his crew mates like candy. It came so easily for him, and he was never embarrassed or bashful about sharing words of kindness with everyone.

In a way, that made you hate getting compliments from him.

Because they made you feel special, made your heart feel warm and fuzzy, and in those moments, you could imagine that Luffy had eyes for you and only you, and that he meant every compliment on a level that was deeper than friendship.

But that was absolutely preposterous and crazy, and you knew this. You knew it with your whole being, and though it was painful, it kept you from losing your head completely.

It was silent in the galley, and with a start you realized everyone was staring at you; including Sanji, who had just arrived in the galley. You wanted to curse at yourself. You hadn’t even noticed his arrival because you were so caught up in your own thoughts. Realizing they were waiting for you to speak, you cleared your throat.

“Thank you, Luffy. Sanji, would you like to take over again?”

Said blonde gave a small chuckle and a shake of his head, as if something was just highly amusing to him, and it made your skin crawl; but when the man crossed the galley to take over the action of squaring the carrots, you were much too relieved to hurry out of the door and back onto the deck to worry about what had amused the man so much.

You swore you could feel eyes boring into your back as you did so; and from the weight of them, you knew exactly who they belonged to, as well.

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A/n: I know this is a short drabble, but honestly it was just stuck in my head and I had to write it! I hope y’all liked this little blurb, and if you did, don’t hesitate to give it a like!! Love y’all ❤️❤️

#opla #opla x reader #x reader #opla Luffy #opla luffy x reader #one piece

[mrsnancywheeler]

enchanted // finnick odair x f. reader

based off this request

summary: after winning your games you're thrust into a new scene of capitol luxury and parties. in the midst of the gowns, and masquerade masks you meet someone who you instantly feel sparks go off for, victor finnick odair.

masterlist

warnings: idk how I feel about this one, first meeting, allusions to trafficking and Capitol issues, alcohol consumption, reader is a little tipsy, first meeting, kind of innocent!reader, fear of being lead on, unedited, no use of y/n

1.4k words

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You were grateful for the masks, unless someone studied hard enough they wouldn't know it was you. It hadn't been that long since your Victory, but you'd already been so hounded by people, forced to go to so many balls that any way you could avoid the constant congratulations you were immensely thankful for. Besides you were still in constant awe at the Capitol luxuries, drinking some bubbly drink that made your brain pleasantly fuzzy as you looked at the dazzling chandeliers.

“You must be our new Victor." The voice startled you and you turned to see who it belonged to. He had an aura of confidence even though his shirt was so unbuttoned that it was basically falling off, which would have mortified you. The mask he wore had starfish on it which could be a Capitol fashion statement, but his outfit wasn't gaudy enough for that. So one of the District 4 Victors, maybe? Your brain felt too light to try and think of their names.

“How’d you know that?” You murmured, taking another sip of the fizzy drink.

"The Drusus’ host three annual high-end parties, including one for each victor, so this one. We're all used to, well, all of this." He was smirking, gesturing to the larger than life decor.

“Oh." You hoped it wasn't that obvious to everyone else, although your face had been plastered on screens all across Panem so recently you doubted how much the mask really obscured. He grabbed one of the small delicacies laying on the table and chuckled.

“You match some of the decor too, sweetheart.” The tablecloths were a light purple accompanied with bouquets of lilacs, bellflowers, and statice, you felt your face heating up. Your dress was in fact a complimentary purple as well as your mask.

“My little sister mentioned it was a color I liked, in one of those final tributes left interviews and I guess it's stuck." Your voice is quieter than you'd anticipated, but he seems to hear you just fine. His smugness for no apparent reason should make you bristle, but something about him makes you want to melt into the ground.

He takes a step towards you, face closer than anyone’s has ever been, taking a slow bite of the pastry he's been holding. “Well it certainly is your color." If you hadn't felt like your skin was burning in embarrassment before, it definitely was now.

You gulped, trying to clear your throat, “Um, thank you." No one ever talked to you like this and it felt like he knew that, so was teasing you for it. A stranger was teasing you for your naivete at all of this and you were helplessly letting him. Maybe someone has talked to you like this before, but never with as much magnetism as he had.

“Once you pass glass three, that stuff is bound to make you sick." His hand brushed your fingers, tapping the glass.

You just nodded slowly, "I know.” Another sip was needed to handle the butterflies in your stomach, how terrible was it, to be this knotted up on a man who you didn't know the slightest. To let whatever he was exuding that had never affected you before now slip away, the glass slid back up to your lips. His eyes felt like they were staring into the deepest parts of you which just made you want to drink more.

You nearly dropped the glass when someone began yelling about fireworks. You'd still been trying to get rid of the jumpiness you'd felt since the arena. “Come on." He offers his arm to you and you stare at him for a second, “They're for you." You decide there's no point in trying to reason your feelings right now, your brain is too fuzzy, and it's the Capitol, nothing seems to make sense here anyways.

It shocks you how warm his arm is for someone who's nearly shirtless, he leads you out to the crowded balcony and his arm really is a life saver when you stumble over your own feet. “Thank you!" You're laughing at your own misstep and he follows right along."I'm sorry."

His laughter subsides and even in your misty state you swear a look of pity crosses his eyes. He leans over slightly, mouth so close it could kiss your ear, “They're gonna eat you up, sweetheart, don't let them." The whisper has your brain trying to race to understand, when there's no way you'll be able to reach a conclusion.

“What are fireworks?" You eventually ask, it feels like a stupid question, but things are awkward now which you're desperate to escape. You don't know who he is, or why he's acting the way he is, but you know you don't want him to think you're awkward. His smug smirk is back and that chuckle that makes your heart feel like it'll hop right out of your chest.

“Aren't you in for a treat? Never seen fireworks before, stunned by the chandelier, at this rate you'll never get bored, everything will keep on impressing you.” A loud pop crackles through the air and your legs instantly try to start moving before you remind yourself to stay put. You're safe now, there is no more danger, just that of the charming man making you swoon. That danger isn't helped when he puts his hands over your ears. "Should've warned you about that one, sweetheart.” You know that your fefe must be burning to the touch since it's how you feel.

The pop explodes into much louder noises and then fractures of purple light are flying in the sky, the guests surrounding you cheering for the bursts. They're beautiful, the way the colors contrast the sky is truly enchanting. The rest of the show is equally as dazzling and by the time his hands pull away from you it feels more unnatural to be facing the night air.

“So, are you in fact, stunned?" You nod dumbly, maybe he is right and you should've quit drinking because you feel like such a fool right now. “I hate to go, but I have people waiting on me." He announced and you feel further embarrassment.

“Of course, sorry, I didn't mean to keep you from them." You glance at the floor, but his fingers are tilting your head back up and you can swear the electric sparks are in his touch.

“If anything, they're keeping me away from you." He has to be doing this on purpose, he doesn't know you, not really, but he's finding some sick pleasure in making your stomach twist. He goes to take a step away muttering another sorry, he's lifted your hand so delicately that you barely even notice until he's pressing a quick kiss to it.

“Wait-" He pauses, looking at you expectantly with that smirk. “Um, I- I don't even know your name?"

His laugh is like the perfect melody to your ears, “You haven't figured it out by now?"

You sheepishly shake you head, lifting the glass as an indicator, “Sorry, my brain is so airy right now, like I'm in the clouds." He takes it from your hands and swiftly the remainder of the liquid.

“Stick to the water, sweetheart.”

You wait a second further, "You won't tell me?” That almost feels even more shameful, like you've let yourself be strung along with charming words only for him to not even tell you his name.

He takes a step closer to you, his honey breath fanning over your face. "I've done anything else, that wouldn't be fair to me would it? It's okay, you're a smart girl, I'm sure you'll figure it out.” You could combust right now, under his slightly condescending gaze. Did he expect you to reach out after that, was that too desperate. "Once you think of it, let me know." You just nod along, why would he even want to talk to you? He seemed so magnetic, so enticing, why would he want to talk to you, mess with your brain? He's begun to step away before he comes back, so close you can hear each bitch in his breath as he talks. “You’re so sweet, don't let them take that from you, it's refreshing.” His lips graze your cheek before he's got that patronizing smile on as he talks off, leaving you shocked on the balcony.

Maybe he was just playing with you, like you'd heard man often do, but his voice was so addictive that you didn't care. It made you flush how forward he was, how effortless it all was for him. Somewhere in the fuzziness of your mind it began to click, only one victor was known for his effortless abilities with women, as well as being from District 4. Finnick Odair.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading, I'm not used to short-form writing my brain is currently hard wired for series, so idk how I feel about this but it was fun to write! thank you for the request and keep them coming if y'all think of anything you want me to write. feedback, comments, reblogs, and likes are all super appreciated, love you all 💋

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #thg #finnick imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fanfic #finnick x you #finnick x reader #hunger games finnick #thg finnick #finnick odair imagine

[pedgito]

Hii omg i just discovered you account and I’m obsessed with you writing 🖤

I have a request if that’s okay

Something like reader has this big crush (kinda obsession lol) with Eddie she’s always looking at him, going to the Hideout every tuesday to watch him perform and buys him weed but she doesn’t actually smokes and eddie notices that and thinks is cute so, so when she meets him in the woods to buy weed eddies like “i know you aint smoking that, why dont you tell me what you really want from me? Why dont you just ask me yo fuck you” or something like that 😩

author’s note: full disclaimer, i'm so sleep deprived on nyquil from how sick i've been, so this will either be really good smut, or complete disjointed and all over the place, either way, i hope it's not too horrible lol

cw: 18+ (minors dni), pining!reader (but also eddie too), god complex!eddie (if you squint) fingering/sex in the back of his van, lots of teasing, protected sex!! (i know, such a shocker coming from me), i'm probably missing something so just lmk!

word count: 5k

You didn’t think it was the best idea, but it made the most sense. Buy the weed, talk to Eddie, offer it up to some stoner willing to pay the same price—it had been seamless, almost too easy, and Eddie never seemed to question it either, despite the fact that you were as clean-cut and proper as it got, you’ve never been around anyone while they were smoking weed, let alone do it yourself. The prospect was terrifying, fear that you might lose control over your body and thoughts, end up being one of the people that experienced terrible highs—so you steered clear of actually trying it for yourself. Besides, it was the only excuse it gave you to talk to Eddie.

It wasn’t that he fully ignored you—you still had classes together, passed each other in the hall on occasion, but you both ran in completely different groups, which didn't leave much room to get to know each other or even have a normal conversation. 

You wouldn’t call it obsession, either—because Eddie seemed as intrigued to talk to you as you were to him—you were an enigma he couldn’t figure out, so many mysteries wrapped up into one, he was dying to figure you out. And sometimes your friends like to sneak over to The Hideout, it’s not the first, second, or even third choice of hangout spots on your list—but Eddie performs weekly, every Tuesday night, it was a highlight of what was usually a very dreary, miserable day. You tried hard not to be noticed, always shoving yourself in the furthest corner of the bar, the lights dimmer near the back, which helped obscure your face—though Eddie, he spotted you the moment you walked in, every time, but you didn’t need to know that. 

It goes on for weeks, nearly three months into the beginning of your senior year—and Eddie’s third go at it, until he feels the itch, the nerve, just to say something. He doesn’t really know what to expect of it, but he’s curious. Eddie doesn’t understand why you’re always so skittish or nervous around him, keeping a few feet away, but staring at him like there was nothing more important on your mind—you had the prettiest smile, which Eddie had been on the receiving end of more than a few times. He just wanted to know more about you—and why you thought buying weed from him was your only option; frankly, you were taking away from his business in some form, buying a hefty amount with no real use, he could’ve been dragging in new customers with that merchandise, but you disposed of it like nothing. Eddie was challenged in some form, unable to focus and pass his classes like the rest of his classmates, but he wasn’t dumb—you didn’t reek of weed, not like most of the people he sold to, you always agreed with what he offered, never arguing on price or strains—you had no idea what you were doing, it was so blatantly obvious. Eddie tried to play it off as long as he could, but it hit him one day—nestled on the edge of the picnic table, feet dangling just above the freshly fallen leaves, the dried foliage cracking beneath your feet.

“I’m gonna have to start giving you discounts,” Eddie comments jokingly, a slight hint of teasing in his voice as passes you the small sandwich sized bag of weed, dangling it in front of you, “you’re drilling through my product with these weekly meetups.”

“Sorry,” You reply lamely, grabbing the baggie and shoving it into your pocket quickly, shoving your other hand into the pocket to match, yanking your jacket over your middle as you talked to him, insecure of his openly he looked at you—it was like he could see right through you, “I guess I can buy less, if it’s really a problem.”

“No, no,” Eddie stammers, hands shaking out in front of him, he turns around to fiddle with the items in his chest—a mess of different items: papers for rolling, more weed, a lighter, and a fat wad of cash. You were completely out of your element with him, all the time, “—you know, since you’re such a loyal customer, I was thinking—“

“What?” You reply eagerly, forgetting self control for a moment, face blushing a deep red, cheeks burning like you’d just stood over a fire.

Eddie laughs softly, reaching in to pull a joint between his fingers—new and untouched. He’s got a look on his face, like he’s about to engage in a dangerous game, ready to pull you down with him. It’s terrifying, but you’re nearly on your tiptoes now, shifting awkwardly in the silence—maybe you should run. 

Instead, you stay, “I was gonna offer you a freebie.” Eddie admits, placing the joint between his soft, pink lips, flicking at the lighter with difficulty—he hits the bottom a few times, still nothing. The calluses on his fingers were a pain in the ass and he wants to put you on the spot, seeing if you crack under the pressure. It’s the perfect opportunity. “Do you mind?” He asks, voice muffled around the joint in his mouth.

You nod hesitantly, pulling the lighter from his grip gently—it wasn’t the first time you’ve ever held a lighter, you weren’t that clueless, but to try and think of a way out of this situation, it seemed impossible. You flick the lighter a few times, the flame finally coming to life, Eddie leans forward slowly, letting the end burn until it smokes, inhaling quickly. You make a subtle move back, pressing the lighter into his hand. You squint, the haze of smoke hitting your face. It makes your eyes water and your nose burn, you hate it. The appeal was never apparent to you—and you didn’t judge Eddie, but it always seemed so pointless to you, throwing away money for a temporary high. 

“Here,” Eddie says roughly, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment, breathing out as you took the joint from his fingers, “—it’s good shit, I promise.”

You pluck it delicately, held between your thumb and pointer finger—it’s so close, maybe you could just fake it, but now Eddie’s staring at you, waiting. You’re scrambling for a reason to weasel your way out of this. 

“I, uh—I can’t, Eddie.” You tell him softly, passing the joint his way, “My parents will know, I can’t just go home smelling like that.”

He stifles the laugh at your choice of words, the irony so relevant.

“I can smell the weed I gave you from your pocket,” Eddie points out, “how do you explain that?”

“I leave it in my bag—and then I move it, I don’t keep it in the house.” You explain weakly. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the sound of blood rushing and pounding in your ears. 

“How often do you smoke then?” Eddie asks curiously, trying to seem less abrasive with his questions. He wants to catch you in your lie, but he doesn’t want to scare you away.

He’s always been intrigued with, infatuated—he didn’t want you running in the other direction. 

You didn’t know what sounded believable, so you settled on, “Uh—every other day, sometimes twice on the weekends.”

That bag was enough weed to last anyone a month, as long as they didn’t overindulge. Eddie pushed in further, pointing out the slight inconsistency.

“Oh—because I usually only give that much to the real, real heavy smokers—they smoke at least twice a day, every day, and it still takes them a couple weeks to move through that much product.”

And if you heart couldn’t physically drop to your stomach, it still definitely felt like it.

“Uh, it’s—uh,” You try desperately to recover, “I share with friends too, so it goes pretty quick.”

“Aren’t you generous?” Eddie teases, having smoked through nearly half the joint by now, “Your nerdy little friends? The one’s in that book club?”

It was a soft jab, a pot calling the kettle black.

“It’s not nerdy,” You defend passionately, “you literally play D&D. That’s not fair.”

The squeak in your voice has Eddie smiling behind the joint, appreciating just how fiery you could be. 

“Why do you even care?” You ask, frustrated with him, it felt like he was picking on you for no reason. 

Eddie sighs softly, “I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” He stresses out, hoping you’ll relax, he sees your shoulders settle and takes that as a sign, “I’m just trying to figure you out—we talk a lot in passing, but I barely know you.”

It’s all your fault, your shyness, your innate fear of being caught in your lies—they were harmless, but it still felt wrong.

“It’s okay.” You tell him quietly, hands fisted in your pockets in tight balls of frustration. 

Eddie laughs to himself, nodding for you to take a seat on the bench, you're hesitant but listen anyways, taking whatever bait he is offering. If you weren’t going to fess up, Eddie was going to drop his knowledge of it to you and wait for your reaction—it could go horribly, but it was worth the risk. It wasn't like he couldn’t notice the way stared at his lips every time he took a drag from the joint, or how he licked his chapped lips frequently, chewed at his bottom one out of habit; you were mesmerized. 

“I wanna show you something,” He explains, squeezing in beside you, the rough material of his jeans rubbing against the outside of your leg, the prickle of the wood digging into your thighs where your dress didn’t cover, he grabs his supplies and sets the rolling paper out, a small bagging already ground up weed that was ready to go, and makes a small motion with his hand, “but I wanna see how well you do it first.”

“Eddie—“ You panic, glancing between him and the items in front of you. You didn’t have the slightest clue how to roll a joint, you wouldn’t even know where to start, Eddie looks at you pointedly, eyebrows raised slightly in question, “—I, uh—“

Eddie moves silently, grabbing the supplies for himself, working quickly and expertly, like he’d done it a million times. It’s surprisingly fascinating, eyes locked on his tongue as it pokes out to seal the paper together, his eyes flicking to your momentarily.

He set it down gently, hand curled up on the table as he looked at you, other hand resting against his thigh, he fiddled with his rings with the pad of his thumb, letting the silence linger for a moment.

Then finally, “You've never smoked before,” Eddie deduces, smirk crawling up his face, “have you?”

You shake your head slightly in defeat, his fingers curl against the denim, he is desperately holding back, your wide eyes staring up at him. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to buy weed to talk to me.”

And if you weren’t dying of embarrassment before, you were now.

“That’s—that’s not,” You fumble with your words, trying to find some kind of remark or comeback, or just explain yourself—nothing ever comes.

“What’s the real reason?” Eddie’s turned toward you now, leg swung over the bench so he’s straddling it, facing you’re curled in body, still struggling to keep your distance, jacket hugged right around your midsection. 

“My friend’s are scared of you,” You admit, eyes turned down toward the table, “—I had to find a way to talk to you without seeming obvious.”

Oh, it was very obvious. Eddie doesn’t want to strike you while you’re down though, so he keeps that to himself. 

“So, you like me?” He teases, nudging your arm with the soft touch of his knuckle, smiling sweetly at you. If your heart wasn’t already pounding out of your chest, it was definitely going to burst if he kept looking at you like that. 

You shrug indifferently—you weren’t sure of what your feelings were; curiosity, yes—the idea of trying not to obtain something seemed impossible, it was intriguing, to say the least, and it wasn’t like you were immune to all the rumors about Eddie. People constantly talked about him around school—either hateful or downright rude, but there were a few that talked about him like he was god personified—you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself religious, but it wasn’t going to stop you from finding out how true those rumors were.

“Like is a strong word,” You laugh slightly, crossing your left leg over your right, shoes shifting together under the table. You felt a few raindrops hit your shoulder, pulling you both from the intense conversation, “—I should probably go.”

“Wait—“ Eddie stops you, grasping the wrist of the hand that was still shoved firmly in your pocket, “—don’t go.”

And against every fiber of your being, you nod, letting him lead you down a path you weren’t sure you’d be able to feel remorse over.

“Why do you park so far away from the school?” You ask randomly, letting him drag you along the way, feet desperate to keep up with his wide strides. 

“Principal Higgins would skin my ass if he found out I was smoking on campus in the mornings,” Eddie explains, glancing back at your briefly as he reaches to open the rear of his van, giving you a full view of the back—it was surprisingly unmessy, aside from a few empty cans of beer and some suspiciously wadding up pieces of tissues and magazine pages, it wasn’t unwelcome—though, it reeked of weed and cigarettes, “—well, here’s my home away from home—trailer, whatever.”

Your parents would surely kill you if you went home smelling like either of those. 

Eddie leans inside, allowing you to crawl underneath the bridge his arm made, pointedly avoiding the opportunity for him to look up your dress, turning on your backside to scoot in beneath him—he looks mostly unphased, maybe you were reading into this too much. It could just be an innocent gesture to get to know you, altering motives aside—not that you would mind; you were hoping for it, selfishly enough.

You strip off your jacket once you’re seated, feet crossed out in front of you as you lay your jacket over your lap. Eddie closes the doors with a rough tug, nearly knocking himself on his ass, before finally taking a seat across from you, let’s outstretched around your own, one foot planted against the floorboard to allow him to rest a hand on his knee. 

“So—what did you want to—“ You start, quickly interrupted by Eddie motioning you over, you hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not it was worth it—your body moves on its own accord though, pushing up with your fingertips until you’re crawling toward him, breast peeking through the fabric that hung down. Eddie didn’t avert his gaze, though you’re almost positive his eyes are solely locked in yours, heated and intense as he stared you down, face still holding every bit of its softness.

You shift to sit beside him, but his hand comes up to stop you, “Come here,” His voice is soft, pleasing—like he knows what you want, it’s exactly what he needs, he’s more than willing to give you whatever you were hoping for, “right here.” He instructs, watching as you hesitantly swung your leg over his thigh, his left shifting down to accommodate room for you, the back of your thighs settling against the top of his, dress flowing out over his jeans, covering all the rips and holes that showed off his pale skin.

Eddie’s hands slip over the fabric of your dress gently, testing his boundaries, still holding his gaze on your face, “Why don’t you tell me what you really want?” He asks with a hint of knowing to his voice—he just wanted to hear you say it. “No more lies—or buying weed off of me for no reason.”

You put petulantly, shoulders falling slack as you watched his hands travel further up your dress, settling on your waist, the heat of his hands seeping through the thin cotton material, he squeezed gently, you gasped, “I’ve heard…things.” It’s a lame response, but it’s all you can manage.

“Things?” Eddie mocks, fingers coming around to fiddle with the tie on your dress, only lingering and never pulling, he wouldn’t take that step unless you allowed him.

“Girls talk about—you—and how good you are at,” His ringed fingers slip under the string, pulling against the strings, “stuff—like, with sex and all that.”

Eddie chuckles darkly, pulling a hand away to tilt your head up to look at him, rubbing tenderly at the skin of your jaw, “Sweetheart, if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.”

If only it were that easy—you’d never be bold enough to say it, not without a heavy amount of coercion, and a lot of teasing, it seemed pathetic to say it so simply—part of you enjoyed the game he was playing at. 

“I’m not like that,” You confess, “—too scared.”

Eddie nods slightly, “Too shy,” He notes, thumb dragging along your pursed lips, pulling them apart gently, “that’s okay.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” You laugh nervously, “I still—still think you’re really cute,” You admit, “and you’re so nice to me—“

“An adorable girl who buys all my weed and will do anything to talk to me?” Eddie asks redundantly, “I’d be stupid not to be.”

Eddie takes a moment, breaking the heated facade, “Say—what have you been doing with all the weed?”

You wonder if you should lie, deciding if it’s worth confessing over—but it seemed like everything was already being laid bare, “Uh, this guy—his name is Rick. I sold it to him really cheap, I just wanted to get rid of it.”

“Rick?” Eddie questions like he wants you to elaborate.

“Always smells like weed, looks kinda homeless—he hangs out behind the Rec center near my house.” You tell him honestly, and Eddie can feel the proverbial light bulb switching on in his head.

“You’re selling weed back to Reefer Rick?” He asks with a slight hint of incredulousness in his voice—it bordered on betrayal.

“I—I don’t know who he is!” You say defensively, “He didn’t seem sketchy or anything—did I do something wrong?”

“No—it’s just—“ Eddie laughs at the ridiculousness of it all, “—I’m not selling you anymore weed, sweetheart.”

“That’s fair,” You say on a small sigh, “stuff is gross anyways.”

“And you’re sitting on the lap of Hawkins second biggest pothead,” Eddie challenges, “so what does that say about you?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try you,” You reply boldly, voice still too soft and innocent, “—it’s not the same, you know.”

Eddie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth slowly, like he’s struggling to hold off whatever is eating at him, eyes half lidded and staring straight through you. 

“Tell me what you want.” Eddie demands slowly, other hand joining your face, adjusting your head until it’s locked between his grip, assuring you tell him directly rather than to your lap.

“I want you to touch me.” You admit shyly, his face pulling up in a smile

“I am touching you.” He points out; the smartass he’s known to be. “Show me.”

Shaky hands pull at his fingers, curling around his open palm until his hand is settled under your dress, pressed against the sticky, wet material of your underwear—there is no reason to feel shame now, not with the full grin that spreads across his face.

“I knew it.” He snarls, fingers rubbing soft circles into the material, the cold press of the fabric making you squirm, “How long?”

“How long?” You repeat, confused at his questioning.

“Since you’ve been touched.” He clarifies.

“A few months,” You tell him, “I had this thing back in the summer—whatever, it doesn’t really matter—“

Eddie laughs at you rambling, an attempt to settle your rattled nerves. “It’s fine—I was just gonna say you’re really wet—I’ve never, never touched a girl for the first time and had it feel like that,” He tells you honestly, “it takes time—god, can’t believe I could’ve had you all this time.”

“All this time?” 

“You really think it was all one-sided?” Eddie asks, “Sweetheart—I’ve known for weeks that you weren’t smoking that weed.”

“I guess I wasn’t very smart about it.”

Eddie shakes his head in amusement, “Doesn’t matter—we’re here now. Can I touch you?”

“You are.”

“Not how I want to.”

Your eyes widen at his admission, nodding shakily in response. His hand slipped under the fabric of your panties, one large finger running down your folds, ghosting over your already sensitive clit, dipping his finger inside of you instantly, a sharp gasp ripping from your chest as you gripped his shoulders, leaning forward slightly at the sudden intrusion.

Eddie looks up at you, your mouth hanging open slightly as he works his finger inside of you slowly, “Can I?” He asks, mouth parted slightly as he looks down toward your breasts, soft skin peeking out the top of your dress.

You nod fervently, exasperated by his constant polite questioning. “Eddie—stop asking, just do it.”

“Just wanna be sure.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want it—all of it.” You tell him honestly, “Plus, it’s ruining the whole—thing everyone says about you.”

“Thing?” He laughs softly, mouthing over your breasts.

“They—they say you’re like—I don’t know,” You feign the importance of it, it doesn’t really matter, “that you’re a god—with, you know.”

“A god?” Eddie teases, testing the word on his tongue, taking a small nip at your chest, your breath catching, “You think I’m a god?”

“Not me,” You shake your head, “it’s just what I’ve heard.”

“But, I’m sure you thought about it—so be honest with me.”

You sigh, shoving his face against your breasts to muffle his endless rant, “Jury’s still out—we’ll see.”

Eddie hums against your skin, dragging his tongue through the valley of your breasts, somehow having worked another finger inside you without you noticing, so caught in staring at his mouth that it’s an afterthought, but then he’s curling his fingers and you can’t do anything but moan, head falling back in anguish, your stomach tightening at the sensation.

“Condoms?” Eddie asks hopefully, he could feel his cock straining painfully against the line of his zipper, he was sure you felt it too, he wanted nothing more than to relieve that ache. 

“Oh, fuck—no, I don’t have any.” You say with deep regret, wishing you had thought ahead, had some type of courage that you could turn things into more, but no—and now here you were. 

“Wait—“ Eddie yelps, pulling back from your chest, “—passenger side, under the dash,” He points in that direction, removing his hand gently to allow you to scramble toward the front of the van, yanking open the compartment to find two dust covered foil packets.

“God—these things have to be a hundred years old,” You complain, grabbing at the items and returning to Eddie, tossing them into his lap, “are we sure that’s safe?”

Eddie takes a hesitant look, nodding gleefully as he reads the black print, “Thank god—they’re still good for a few months.” You look at him with narrowed eyes, wondering why he had such a decrepitated pair stashed away.

“We got them during one of those safe sex classes,” He says defensively, “better safe than tied down with a kid, right?”

He had a point—plus, you were more than eager to move things along.

You reach for the tie of your dress, struggling to find the string at this ankle, Eddie noticed, “Hey, don’t worry about—“ He says soothingly, “just take your underwear off—they’re already soaked to nothing anyways.”

“God—shut up,” You reply lightheartedly, stripping yourself of the garment before returning to his lap, watching as he pulled himself out of his pants in hurry, red leaking tip screaming for relief, holding the shaft firmly in his hand while he ripped at the foil with his teeth, grabbing the rubber and throwing the trash to the side.

“Wait—“ You interrupt, pointing at the condom in between his teeth, “can I?”

Normally he’d find it weird, but it was the ultimate turn on when it came from you—curious hands and curious minds, he couldn’t deny you that.

“I’ve just—never,” Most guys refused to wear condoms, so it was kind of fascinating, “—forget it.”

“Oh—of course,” He obliged, handing the protection over to you, watching as you slowly rolled the latex over his tip, down his shaft, until it stopped near the base, fingertips brushing through his curls faintly, “—I always wear one, I don’t see why guys complain about it. It really doesn’t make a difference.”

You laugh softly, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman?”

“A godly gentleman, I hope.”

Your smirk softly, guiding your hips over his own, letting him rub his wide, aching tip through your folds, gathering up some of your slick before slipping in slowly, allowing you to adjust to the girth of him. You let out a quiet sigh, hips rocking slightly as you forced him deeper and deeper, a collective groan from the both of you when he was fully seated inside you.

“Let me untie your dress,” Eddie practically begs, yearning for the sight of your bare breasts and soft stomach as he fucked into you, wanting to see your body shift with every movement, “yeah?”

You nod, arms coming to wrap around his neck as you shifted your hips slightly, small lifted motions as you moved against his dick, Eddie muffled the groans in the alcove of your neck, fumbling with the tie until the dress fell loose, pooling at your hips.

“There we go.” He sighs in relief, pulling at your arms until they’re resting at your side, giving him the perfect view of you, so wound up and panting for relief, hair askew and in your face, much like his own. “Touch yourself, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a new concept, you did it often—just never in the presence of others. But, Eddie sent a surge of confidence through you, something completely unexpected. Your fingertips dragging against the skin gently, body breaking out in goosebumps at the sensation, you squeeze at your breasts, receiving a small grunt from Eddie as he thrust into your harder, eyes locked on you, alternating between your working hands and exasperated face. 

“Fuck—I thought you were so innocent,” He laughs warmly, hands gripping at your hips, thumbs digging into the curve of the bone settled their, rocking you in time with his eager thrusts, forceful and totally in control, “guess I was wrong.”

“Surprise.” You mock breathlessly, the soft mounds of flesh squeezed gently between your hands, thumbs rubbing over the hardened buds testingly—you’ve never been super responsive, but then Eddie is reaching his tongue out, following the drag of your thumb, and that concept flies completely out of the window.

“You gonna come on my dick?” He asks teasingly, mouthing at the undersized of your breasts, “—think you can come without me touching you, sweetheart?”

You shake your head in a hurry, the thought was like torture, but Eddie doesn’t budge, removing his hands from you fully, resting against the side of his van, arms outstretched at his side. You stop for a moment, frustrated.

“That’s not fair.” You pout slightly, earning an amused laugh from Eddie.

“If you want it so bad—you’ll get what you need,” Eddie tells you, his thighs nudging your hips forward slightly, causing him to slip even deeper, “take what you need, okay?”

You look at him with a heated gaze, lust and anger laced together, “Lay down.” You order, watching as he shifts eagerly, allowing you full room to stretch your hands over his chest as he lays back, giving you the perfect amount of space to lose yourself, rocking your hips at a pace that has Eddie choking on air, palms pressed firmly against the material of his shirt, gripping slightly for assistance. 

“Fuck—okay,” Eddie pants, meeting your thrust with fervor, “I see how it is—shit, please tell me your close.”

“So close,” You whine, “God—so fucking close.”

Eddie makes a noise, “Mmm, not god, sweetheart.”

“Fuck off.” You laugh through baited breath, mouth hung open on a wordless gasp as he thrust into your harshly, hitting a spot so deep that you’re curling forward at the suddenness, nearly coming then, but you try to hang on, “Eddie—-shit—“

“It’s alright.” He nods, hair messy and bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, rubbing your thighs tenderly, letting you rock your hips with such an intensity that he can’t hold back any longer, coming almost immediately after you, both of your desperate gasps of pleasure mixing together, cunt clenching tightly around him as you came, almost completely untouched—it was intense and visceral and like nothing you’ve ever felt. Eddie pants loudly, letting out a sudden laugh when you finally lock eyes.

“Oh, don’t look so smug.” You chide, shoving at him gently. 

Eddie doesn’t respond, leaning up to kiss you without warning, you make a noise of surprise, not offended in the slightest, but deeply caught off guard. Eddie pulls away slowly, staring at you hesitantly.

“That felt overdue, I’m sorry.” Eddie apologizes.

He doesn’t expect you to return the same eagerness, nearly toppling him back, lips pressed against him with all the energy and feeling you could muster, indulging in the simple act of kissing him. You’ve never experienced anything this special; so raw and real, it was exhilarating. 

Eddie slips out of you gently, tying up the condom and disposing of it in the front of his van, a small trash can nestled underneath the dash—it was filled to the brim already, which wasn’t surprising. You dress quickly, watching as Eddie shifted and tucked himself back inside his jeans quietly, eyes lingering on you the entire time. 

“No more excuses, okay?” Eddie says, “I get it if you don’t want to be seen with me at school—I can live with that, but seriously—I like you.”

You smile sweetly, tugging at your jacket pocket until it falls open, “I like you too, Eddie.” You find the bag of weed with ease, tossing it in his direction. “Keep the money, I don’t need it.”

Eddie catches it with one hand, “Same time next week then?”

You nod eagerly, leaning up to press a chaste kiss against his cheek, “Don’t be late.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #my writing #1kfic

[yostresswritinggirl]

Tied Down

Alhaitham, Cyno with an Unhinged Reader; can be seen as platonic or romantic (Tighnari & Dottore ver.)

-> Alhaitham with your out of this world ideas

Your exaggerated gasp immediately took Alhaitham's attention from his book, exquisite eyes only moving a few to look over you.

"I got a hypothesis now."

The Scribe quickly lowered his eyes, silently praying for the gods despite being a skeptic that you leave him be for his own sanity.

But of course, if the gods were unresponsive before, how would today be any different? His defeated sigh was obvious as he sees you making your way over in his peripheral.

"I have a hypothesis!"

"Do you have evidence?"

"Hear me out first!" He sighs again as you take his book, peering on the page he was on before making a disgusted face, chucking it over your shoulder.

He stares at you with no emotion. Not replying, hoping you'd take that as a no and leave him back to his peace. You don't, of course.

"So, you know how I've been studying about the elements and visions, right?" He does, of course. "I think I know the pattern on Anemo vision wielders now!"

"And that is?" His curiosity breaks his silence over the bold statement, and your smirk widened at his facade breaking.

"They all have dead friends!" Immediately after, you're on a tug-of-war as Alhaitham tries to kick you out of his office.

Alhaitham always thought that he was commonly misunderstood. After all, once he got to know you, he was sure the Akademiya lunatic title fits you more than he did.

However, it's that eccentric quality that made you standout to him, even if the way your mind works is more complex than the textbooks he reads in his spare time. And he reads a lot of advanced materials.

Sometimes your ideas are plain old jibberish, outlandish or too ahead of his time. And on better days, it makes him ponder and dissect your thoughts with vigor. So long as you have such a creative outlook, he lets the previous failures go, although you are on thin ice.

Whenever he's on his wit ends with a discovery or theorem he needs more insight on, technically you are his last option, but an option nonetheless. Something new ALWAYS sprouts when talking to you and he wants to make sure he's mentally ready for that roadtrip.

You drive him insane, pretty much, but it's the insane he preaches that makes a scholar a scholar. Instead you took that as a challenge.

Because of your operational symbiotic relationship, Alhaitham gets dragged into your antics or he genuinely supports you in your discoveries if it would help make sense of your plans.

He'll find himself negotiating with the Eremites, observing in obscure places, even putting himself in danger just so that he could take the consequences instead of you. "At what distance does the primal constructs detect approaching enemies?" The next day you'll get your answer, with a pinch on the cheek from an exhausted Alhaitham.

Besides the fact that he likes you for your 'genius', he can't deny that he enjoys your presence. Which is why he makes genuine effort to understand and appease your interests, reading through many materials about your recent hyperfixation just to keep up with the conversation - make your outings entertaining.

Best outcome is the look of pure disbelief and held shock whenever you prove him wrong. Him blinking at you with slightly agape lips while you had your hands on your hips with a wide grin.

"You were right." "Mhmm?" "I've spoken with the traveler about the individuals they met who are Anemo vision wielders, a deceased friend is a common factor. Except for a female alchemist in Mondstadt that only has an enstranged friendship." "An outlier." "Correct." "That friend must be dead by now, surely." "I worry for you sometimes."

-> Cyno with your manic antics

"Prepare for trouble."

"And make it double!"

The large congregation of merchants looks up from the boxes of canned knowledge towards the cliff overlooking their gathering where two silhouettes stood, shadowed by the high rising sun behind them.

"To protect the world from forbidden knowledge." "To unite all people in the land of knowledge!"

The confused people watched as the two suddenly faltered in their gimmicky pose and hiss at each other, the conversation too far to make out before they went back to their previous positions.

"To denounce the world of injustices and evils." "To uphold the rules and purge the illegals!"

Only when the chant of familiar, bone-chilling names did the canned knowledge merchants finally understood the confusing scene in front of them, but was all too late to flee when the judicators of the Akademiya pulled out their weapons and jumped down to the clearing.

"Team Matra will chase you down, day and night."

"Surrender now, or prepare to fight!" But the merchants never had the chance to even surrender as you struck first.

Cyno couldn't really blame you. As the Matra focused on cross-referencing and paperworks, your work isn't as... exciting as his, as you put it.

So at times when there's a rare occurrence where he does need an extra pair of hands, and you look like you're about to pass out from boredom, Cyno lets you tag along. He lives for that smile you give him every time he visits your office.

But that smile is also his doom. And the culprits you'd have to subdue. The General Mahamatra could be seen pulling his headdress down, trying to ignore the looks and pleas for mercy while you went ham on beating them up.

No, it is because of their wrongdoings that got them here in the first place, he has nothing to do with this other than following protocols.

If he's the hunting dog, you're the rabid dog always ready to bite. Actually, you're always the first one to rush straight into battle, and after the hundredth time his warnings to NOT do that had been ignored, he stopped doing so and let it be.

While his name is popular among students of the Akademiya, you're more well-known (feared) by Eremites and suspicious merchants. Scholars would rather be visited by you than the General, and the parallels never fails to amuse him.

It's not that he doesn't care, far from it actually! You have his full trust to finish your battles no matter how reckless your approach is, how your adrenaline-fueled mind and body cannot be deterred by small cuts and wounds.

And if there were rare moments when it's too much to handle, rest assured that the General would have your back to the point that you don't even realize the danger as it was already neutralized by his hands.

Cyno never shies away from complimenting your fighting style, even *complimenting *it with his own so that you two can better synergize in the battlefield. The excitement to have someone to spar with after the unfortunate retirement of his previous partner came back tenfold.

It's those rare times that he can boast his pride in front of you, showing his unmatched strength that you have yet to properly win against.

His job as a Matra and the General Mahamatra had always been a dangerous path to walk, and he greatly appreciates that you can keep up and join him without problems.

Besides, he has a front row seat of just how feral and strong you can be. A side that those used to your office persona will never lay eyes on, his very own privilege.

There was a Tighnari and Dottore version for this but I got too busy with my birthday and my tipsy self cannot be bothered to write more so have this

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #exile.flower #cyno x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #gender neutral #genshin impact #cyno #Alhaitham #genshin impact crack #sumeru arc

[wreckedandpolemic]

85 and 143 for white and gold pls pls pls🙏🙏

dutiful hostess - matty healy

(mdni) in which your boyfriend needs a lesson in politeness. part of the white and gold universe. 1579 words.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’ve gotten yourself into something you can’t handle with Matty. Other times, like now, you’re sure he must wonder the same thing about you. You can’t help that he’s so fun to tease, that making him crumble is intoxicating. Even though you’re playing the dutiful hostess, you keep flitting back to Matty, sticking out like a sore thumb in your crowd of friends. 

“Baby, I feel like I’m going crazy,” he complains, but cracks a smile when you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “If I have to hear one more 2010s pop song, I’m putting my head through a wall.”

You huff a laugh, shoving him affectionately. “You’re ridiculous,” you scoff, then smile softly at him. “Thanks for letting me have my friends over,” you add. “Sorry it got a bit crazy,” you chuckle awkwardly, your shoes pointedly sticking to the usually-pristine floors.

“S’okay, angel. It’s your house too, now. But you’re cleanin’ this up hanging out of your arse tomorrow, okay?”

You giggle. “Yeah, okay.” You lean down close to his ear and speak in a low voice. “I promise I’ll find a way to repay you,” you purr, shifting slightly to obscure your hand from view as you slide it between his legs, swallowing his gasp when you squeeze his cock gently. “My sweet boy. Being so patient,” you croon, craning your neck up until his lips ghost against yours and pulling away at the last second. His chest heaves as you step back, leaving him needy and unsatisfied.

Later, you find him tucked away in a corner of your living room, watching your friends play Ring of Fire in bewildered concern. Spotting you, they shout your name, begging you to join them, and you wave them off, holding up a finger to say one second. “Why are you sulking?” you pout, splaying yourself in Matty’s lap and tilting his chin up to meet your eyes.

“Baby,” he laughs, taking hold of your waist and stroking the bare skin there in a way that makes you shiver. “I’m a thirty-mumble year old man at a college party, why do you think I’m sulking?” he scoffs.

You grind down in his lap, kissing his jaw as he groans. “These are my friends, Daddy,” you murmur, low enough not to be overheard even as you feel eyes burning into your back. “I like your friends, you could at least make an effort,” you tease, still subtly rocking your hips.

“You hate my friends,” Matty argues. You can feel him trembling with the effort of not grinding up against you. 

“I hate the boring people from your work. You don’t even like them. I like Ross, and the Hanns, and Charli and George. I like your actual friends.” He looks unconvinced, and you sigh. “Fine, be a sulky little brat. S’not like I was about to get drunk and sloppy and let you do whatever you want to me later, or anything,” you say with a shrug, climbing off his lap and breaking his hold when he tries to pull you back down.

Matty practically whines. “You’re killing me,” he complains, and the state of him makes your eyes blow wide with lust. Flushed and practically gasping for breath, an obvious tent in his jeans and his eyes dark and glittering.

You honestly aren’t sure which of you is going to come out on top in this struggle, danger written across Matty’s face and your will unbending. “Good,” you smirk, joining your friends’ game in time to draw the four of spades. “Four for whores!” you crow, making eye contact with Matty as you lean purposefully on the last word, taking a long sip of your vodka. He breaks first, looking away and swallowing thickly, subtly adjusting himself as he gets up and leaves the room, to your disappointment disappearing up the stairs.

You can’t quite remember how many rounds you played, enough that your head feels light and your decisions are impaired. Thankfully, though, someone else drew the final king. The mere sight of the concoction of gin, red wine, rum and vodka mixed with varying sodas that you created made you heave, the thought of having it slide stickily down your throat enough to have bile creeping. You push the thought to the back of your mind, giggling as you stumble up the stairs. A couple of people are hanging around on your landing, apparently waiting for the bathroom, but you pay them no mind as you push your bedroom door open, finding Matty sprawled on your bed watching some mindless TV show.

You click your tongue and he looks up at you curiously as you throw yourself down next to him. “The only thing worse than sulking at a party is sulking upstairs during a party,” you chide. “You’re always telling me ‘be good,’ ‘make an effort.’ S’not fair if you won’t do that for me,” you pout. “C’mon, you can be a good boy for me for an hour, right? Then I’ll kick everybody out and you can have me, ‘kay?” You grab Matty’s hand by the wrist and slowly drag it down your body, letting him palm your tits greedily and drag your skirt up to play with the waistband of your panties. Truthfully, you’d let him have you here and now, but he has a weird hangup about people hearing him fuck you. You roll on top of him, moaning into his mouth as he tugs you in for a messy kiss, your hips rolling down and his hand tangling in your hair. Gracelessly, you slide out of your panties, press them into his open palm and climb off him. “There. You can have those as collateral. Now come down and be nice to my friends, or you can go to bed needy and watch me get myself off tonight,” you order, pulling on his arm to try and force him to his feet.

He doesn’t budge, and you groan, mentally preparing a tirade. “You like messing with my head, don’t you?” he says lowly, and the anger simmering in your stomach clenches into something else at his tone

 “Only because it clearly turns you on,” you retort. “The fucking state of you, popping a boner in front of all my friends just from having me in your lap. S’that why you don’t wanna go down there?” you taunt. “You’re scared they’ll think you’re easy? Scared everyone’ll know my big, strong man of a boyfriend is just a needy, pathetic little slut?” you hiss. Matty whimpers slightly, and you know you’ve got him. Straddling his hips again, you grind your bare cunt against his jeans, moaning softly at the harsh scrape over your sensitive nerves. “Fuckin’ cuntstruck, aren’t you, Daddy? You’dve fucked me right there, wouldn’t you? Would’ve done whatever I wanted just to feel my cunt wrapped around you, huh?” Matty nods shakily, exhaling a trembling breath as you lean down with a predatory grin. “Get undressed for me, okay, baby?”

Matty shudders. “Th-There are people outside this door—” he hisses, and you press a finger to his lips, hushing him condescendingly.

“Well, this isn’t about them, is it?” you answer. “It’s about you and me, right, Daddy? You being a good boy for me, and doing as you’re told before I force you to come out and show all my friends what a little whore you are.”

Nodding slowly, Matty tugs his shirt off over his head, and you run your hands over the planes of his chest, tracing lovingly over the familiar We Are Kings tattoo on his hip. “Okay, princess. ‘M gonna be good f’you,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. You climb off him to let him struggle out of his jeans and boxers in one clumsy movement, cock begging and drooling as it springs free.

You wrap your hand around him, spreading precum down his length as he bucks needily into your hand. “You’re so pretty, Daddy, you know that? Such a pretty boy, with a pretty dick to match,” you praise, his cock twitching in your palm.

“Th- thank you, princess,” Matty whimpers, and you coo softly, watching him slip into submission, his eyes glazing over as he stares adoringly up at you. He whines sadly when you climb off him, digging in your dresser drawer.

“Arms up, Daddy,” you instruct, and he obeys unthinkingly, letting you tie one arm to each bedpost so he’s splayed out for you. “There,” you say, admiring your handiwork. “You like being in this bed so much, you can fuckin’ stay here.” He gasps in disbelief as you climb off him, retrieving your discarded panties and deliberately flashing your cunt as you bend over. “I’m gonna go and be a good hostess, okay? You can just stay here and maybe think about not bein’ so sulky next time, yeah?”

“Baby, m’sorry, please don’t–” You ignore his pleas and slip out of the door, careful not to widen it far enough that anyone outside could see him — you’re not that much of an exhibitionist.

The group scattered on the landing gape at you when you emerge from your room. You shrug, unabashed. “Hope you all enjoyed the show,” you smirk. “Party’s over, if that wasn’t clear.”

#THIS IS SUCH A TEASE IM SORRY #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #smut prompt fills #request #white and gold

[ari-leah-arts]

Firmus Piett Study/Notes.

I said I’d post my process/notes on how I taught myself to draw Piett. Enough people asked, so here we are. Anyways! I’m absolute garbage at doing tutorials so I’ll do my best to explain this.

First thing I did with Piett was take note of what my eyes notice about him first. His eyes and brow structure are what caught my attention first. Piett’s eyes are very noteworthy, not because of the color but shape. The way his lower eyelid seems to connect almost into his high cheek bone then curve back around to his temple. His eyes look large but they’re not. He’s not Steve Buscemi. It’s his eyelids that are large.

Next thing I notice are how harsh his brow lines are. Even when his face is lax, his brows look furrowed. Also I took note of how light his eyebrows are and that you can barely notice them. I decided a simple line got the message across and I need not worry about drawing his eyebrows in. The other feature, which brings it all together is how deep Piett’s eyes sit in his skull. (Another thing that makes him unique to Buscemi) Look at how harsh and sharp the shadows his nose ridge casts and how far.

On Severus it was his nose and hair that stuck out, with Firmus it’s his eyes and brow. Like Severus, Piett has noticeable cheek bones. With Piett they are not as sharp or narrow as, let’s say, Tarkin, but they are noticeable regardless. The mistake I’ve seen in some Piett art is that they narrow his face. Sharp cheek bones don’t equal narrow face with sharp chin. Piett’s facial structure is rather boxy, though looks narrow at certain angles. Listen, this man’s face breaks physics.

Snape’s nose was very important to getting him to be recognizable, though Piett doesn’t have a crazy unique nose, I still pay close attention to it’s shape. I notice his nose bridge adds to his harsh brow lines. Firmus also has narrow lips, but his top lip is much thinner than its bottom counterpart. I give Piett what I call “seagull lips”. The final point is the deep lines that seem to litter his face. These lines differ from angle and expression. (Though I did notice Piett’s facial lines got much deeper in ROTJ. In reality that could just be Colley aging, but we all know Vader ages people exponentially)

All this combined, I went from detail (photo references) to as simple as I can get to keep his likeness, even as going as far as to not use curved lines. This helps me to see simple shape and see how his obvious features work with the rest of his face. I’ve learned this forces me not to get lost in the nooks and crannies of a face where one can get lost and lose the structure.

I hope this helps, or satisfies the curios. As a final note, I’ll list some things I learned about our Admiral’s face that I didn’t notice before.

Piett’s nostrils seem to “flare” even at ‘rest’.

His eye’s aren’t as large as I initially thought. Their deep setting in the skull and thick eyelids trick you.

Piett’s Digastric muscle obscures his jaw shape depending on angle and position he has his head. Threw me off big time as I tend to aim style-wise towards narrow necks.

(Not anatomy related) His ‘rank badge’ does some weird fuckery from ESB to ROTJ. Just-just look. He gets his many many colorful chicklets when he was promoted, then by ROTJ someone nabbed his chicklets. (if you don’t know what a chicklet is….I’ve become ‘old’) So now I don’t know what badge is Admiral anymore and I’m too afraid to look.

Not facial related but, Piett is thin. That uniform from the front doesn’t do him any favors. The side views I have of him, he’s thinner than I thought.

His eyes are described in Canon as hazel, in Legends, they’re brown. Well, color picking straight from a high res photo that I sold my soul to Palpatine for, I have learned that his eyes MATCH HIS UNIFORM. I am looking at Tarkin’s relationship with Piett, with narrowed eyes. Tarkin…’designed’ the Imperial Uniforms. Though I think he designed the uniforms before meeting Piett, but still.

His hair is cut in a straight line on the back of his neck. Military cut, I’m sure. Little detail I noticed.

His hair at his temples are long enough to show his natural wavy hair. They look very soft.

Not a single scar or blemish on that man’s face. None. That I’ve noticed

GOOD LUCK READING MY HANDWRITING. I CAN DRAW, BUT MY SCRIPT IS ASS, AHAHAHAA.

#star wars #admiral piett #firmus piett #pray for piett #piett #tutorial #sw #ari thoughts #ari talks

[kokiriofthevalley]

My silly little Link headcannons

hii again I'm very bored rn sooo

again for Zelda, it's only the major ones, sorry obscure link fans

also wtf is this gif I found 😭😭

Skyward Sword

✯has the biggest crush on his Zelda bc they're so close

✯like it's VERY obvious how they feel about eachother

✯His fav flavour of ice cream is Oreo ice cream but he also loves toffee and vanilla too

✯He can talk but he prefers sign language (dialect of sign language may vary on preference ((like ASL or BSL or LSE, ect)) ) and talks to save time in an emergency in case the other person may not know sign, but DOES sign if they do

For this one, I thought about the cutscenes where he's explaining something (like the current location or condition of Zelda) to another character and we can see his mouth moving.

✯no because if video games existed in skyloft, i just know that he's playing stardew valley and papas freezeria. I can feel it in my BONES

✯Definitely woke up under his bed once and hit his head on the bedframe

✯him and Groose have insult battles but then they get ice cream together after

Ocarina of Time/Majora's Mask

✯somebody get this poor boy a therapist and a hug PLEASE

Twilight Princess

✯it felt natural to him when he transformed using the Zora mask in mm, because both the models for adult link and Zora link are the same size

✯mute

✯i think he played the ocarina like a recorder (aka with no experience at all) and did each note individually and the magic of the ocarina of time was probably like "there is NO WAY that I'm letting this kid tarnish my reputation goddamit" and made the songs sound nicer after he had played all the notes

✯forgot once that he was a kid again and walked to Romani ranch to get some chateau Romani and was genuinely surprised when Cremia said no

✯Had more of a genuine connection to Midna, but still had a friendship with princess Zelda

Wind Waker

✯felt a strange familial connection to the hero of shades when he met him and made link want to find out who the hero of shades was

✯does NOT like how short he is when he transforms into a wolf

✯Best poker face in history

Breath of the Wild

✯Gives Aryll piggybacks when she wants

✯would gladly eat his grandma's soup for the rest of his life

✯His grandma gave him the recipe to her soup when he left to discover the new Hyrule

✯Has the most major and unhidable (that's not a word but who cares) side eye in the history of time

✯If the events of WW didn't happen, I think he would have grown up to be a cartographer or he would REALLY like making his own maps

✯sorry to get all angsty but I don't think he wanted to kill Ganondorf. I just don't. I don't think either of them wanted to kill eachother. I feel like Link feels guilty about it because it's so obvious that it was only self defense after the triforce was touched by king Daphnes and it literally drove Ganondorf insane

Tbh I'd go crazy too if something I had wanted so badly got taken by another person even tho I literally got SEALED IN ANOTHER FUCKING REALM FOR A LONG AMOUNT OF TIME for it

Again sorry for no totk for this one pls no spoilers

✯Gets ambushed by Yiga so many times that he knows their names

*Yiga poofs into existence* "IM HERE TO KILL YOU LINK, IN REVENGE FOR MASTER KOHGA!!!!"

"oh hi jerry, nice weather eh?" -link

✯After he saved princess Zelda, he took a nap that lasted 4 ENTIRE days

✯not even the sound of kass' accordion could wake his ass up

✯very obvious but if he wasn't a knight, he would be a chef. Not sous chef. He would be head chef.

✯His hands are probably rough as hell from all that Hero Of Hyrule™-ing he has done

✯despite being able to lift heavy objects, his arms are still noodles

#tloz #ocarina of time #oot #tp #twilight princess #wind waker #ww #zelda #the legend of zelda #link #ww link #skyward link #skyward sword #mm #majoras mask #zelda headcanon #headcanon #headcannons #link headcannons

[foreverisntenough]

- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, smut love bombing, little sad, and kind of angst- not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note:. I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 9 - ‘You’re Mine’

Trent was dripping sweat. It was so hot out and it was another grueling training session of preseason. The team was away in some European country tucked in obscure mountains and as focused on the season and his fitness Trent was he couldn’t stop dreaming of being out of this rural landscape back on the city streets of Manhattan with you.

He was exhausted, trudging inside chatting nonsense with his teammates. He couldn’t wait to shower and get back to his room to call you. He went into the locker room pulling his top off over his head, throwing it on the bench, turning to face his locker to grab his wash bag when he was met with a slew of teasing whistles. He turned around to see what all the fuss was about and to his surprise it was about him. His teammates began to press.

“Who you been fucking Trentski?” Dom asked.

“Didn’t know you got into it like that brother,” Ibou said surprised.

“Shit, she got you good…” Curtis chimed in.

“What are you on about?” Trent quipped. The scratches he felt sting in the shower weeks ago from your last night in bed together were still there not all the way faded just yet. The boys questions continued to come piling in..

“Bro, who have you been sleeping with?” Andy pipped in.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” Cody said more innocently.

“It’s from a while ago…” Trent tried to ignore and suppress the inquiries.

“Well.. yeah Trenski it’s obvious they aren’t fresh but…. brother who’s marking you up like that.” Andy continued to pry.

The boys moved on but those closer to Trent were interested and wanted to learn more about who left these scratches they hadn’t managed to clock till now. Trent was always private particularly about his relationships but he was being more removed from the group than his usual self. He was doing things like going to bed earlier, not staying up to watch a movie or opting out of card games he’d typically die to win all unbeknownst to his teammates so he could talk to you.

You’re nightly check in and conversation with Trent had rapidly spiraled into something much more sexy. You two both incredibly horny missing each other and certainly missing each other's touch.

“Babbbyyy” you moaned, your hand rubbing circles around your pulsating sensitive clit.

“Fuck baby, I wish I was with you right now, I want to taste you so bad.” Trent growled imagining how good it would be to eat you out right now and not be alone in his hotel room.

You were overstimulating yourself but you just couldn’t stop. All you could think of was Trent’s tongue licking your pussy, flicking over your clit, his fingers drilling in and out of you. You were getting so wet just at the memories of him. Your hands were doing a decent job emulating it but it was hardly as perfect as it was when Trent was taking care of you.

You gasped out his name when you reached a certain spot with your fingers. Trent kept talking you through it, telling you how good you were doing, how good he felt just watching you get off to him.

“So good f’me beautiful. So fucking sexy. Going to be a good girl and cum again f’me? Cum all over your fingers like you would on me.” His words had you quivering. You were so overwhelmed with pleasure hearing his voice just pushed you over the edge. You came, squirting in the process, moaning senselessly.

“Fuck f-fuck holy shit T I miss you so much.” You managed to get some words out between heaving breaths. Your sheets covered in your juices. Trent’s release wasn’t far behind.

“Jesus fucking Christ baby, I need you so bad. I can’t handle this any more, I need you back with me, need to taste you, need to feel you.” Trent was babbling but also just unequivocally obsessed with you and after he came, it only furthered his feelings for you. “My perfect, perfect girl”

“T, I can’t wait to see you soon. I miss your kisses. I miss you so much…I hope that’s okay” You said finally catching your breath still a little nervous how Trent genuinely felt and your impending visit.

“Y/N, I can’t explain to you how much you mean to me. Trust me. I’m so… I don’t know, I can’t think of some cliche phrase to describe it but you’re it for me, baby.”

“Head over heels comes to mind for me” you giggled. Trent’s lips pulled into a sweet smile, your laugh was his kryptonite, he could listen to it on loop.

“I gotta go clean up, I have a team dinner soon, beautiful. I’m sorry I can’t stay and talk longer.”

“It’s okay T, really.” You said with a big smile watching him sit up unintentionally showing more of his tanned toned body. “I wish I could shower with you right now.” You mused suggestively.

“I would kill for that, I’m not being dramatic either.” Trent said incredibly seriously..

“Mmm gimme my T back please.” You said just about drooling over his body more on display now.

“All mine, right?” Trent questioned you.

“Promise.” You cooed before kissing at him through the phone.

He couldn’t hear it but one of Trent’s closest teammates, Dom, was knocking lightly on his hotel room door. Trent was in the shower and honestly he was still thinking of all the showers you two had shared until he finally heard his friend enter into the room.

“Yo bro! You here?” Dom's voice echoed loud through the room enough for Trent to hear from the bathroom.

“Shower” Trent confirmed his obvious location, muffled a little by the falling water and a J Hus song playing from a bluetooth speaker.

Despite Dom’s arrival Trent took his time in the shower but his friend was getting bored.

“Can I change the song?” Dom asked, yelling out to Trent.

“Yeah, mate, go ‘head. Left the phone charging on the bed” He directed Dom.

Dom waked over sprawling out on the hotel bed picking up his unlocked phone swiping open with the intention to go straight to Spotify. Dom shot up straight away though when the screen was opened already on a photo within the messages app from your latest conversation with Trent. He gawked at what was on the screen. The last message sent was a picture you had taken on a timer. You were naked in bed resting on your knees, ass seated back on your heels. Legs spread open. Your one arm wrapped right under your boobs pushing them up but still leaving them completely exposed, the hand of your other arm was in your mouth. Your pointer finger and thumb were pulling on your bottom lip to place your knuckle between your teeth. Your hair was down but a little messy, your eyes filled with feigned innocence. You were completely on display. Dom couldn’t help but look. It was a sexy photo but it was also meant for Trent and he knew that so he swiped away from the picture only to reveal the back and forth messages the picture had been included in…

“That call had me 🥵. Counting down the days baby” Trent had texted.

“I miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you soon”

“Missing you baby, was dreaming about seeing you like that all morning too.” He sent alluding to your earlier FaceTime.

“And what was I wearing, T?”

“Absolutely nothing, beautiful, just how I like.”

“Were you dreaming of this?” You sent the nude attached.

The message was what led to the photo being the last thing opened on the phone. Dom was absolutely shocked at what he was looking at. The pet names, the comfort level, the lust… who the fuck was his friend talking to and why had he not mentioned anything. When he heard the water turn off from the shower he quickly exited and navigated directly to Spotify to change the song to literally anything to avoid any suspicion that he had just found out Trent was clearly seeing someone.

“Sorry bro” Trent came out in a towel. Dom couldn’t barely think straight, not sure how to talk without bringing up what he had just uncovered.

“Yeah, no worries. Took you long enough though. Uhh you… you excited to get back to Liverpool in a few days?” Dom asked alluding to what might be waiting for Trent back home but he knew nothing about your situation and your distance. His question was oddly formal and random for the pair to discuss so Trent replied but with a confused look.

“…Erm yeah, suppose. Get the season going, feeling good about it. What’s going on?” He pressed.

“Nothing!” Dom almost jumped at the question like it was an accusation.

“Alright… let me change quick and we can head down to dinner.” Trent ignored the awkward exchange. Although Dom couldn’t get the image of you nude out of his mind and was piecing together just how Trent had probably gotten the scratches everyone was talking about in the locker room.

Trent was still texting you walking to dinner with Dom now seeing the photo you had sent, his reply consisted of just a plethora of drool emojis. Despite his attempt to be discreet, his face was anything but so Dom poked fun fully aware of what Trent was looking at.

“What you looking at bro? You’re practically drooling..” Dom probed pretending he didn’t know.

“Nah, nothing… just a text.” Trent tried to reign in his feelings about your heated message.

“Yeah, alright. Cool, cool” Dom said, letting it go for now.

The next day the boys were gathered in a common area just talking shit. When Andy probed the group if anyone had anything interesting going on; finally getting bored of each other's summer holiday stories but Trent clearly had yet to share the most exciting part of his so Dom took it upon himself to help share for him.

“Trenski you haven’t shared much about what you got up to.” Dom interjected.

“Yeah, brother, how was the trip to the US, you didn’t even tell us any of the dumb shit you got up to with the lads…” Andy pressed unaware.

“Yeah.. uh.. was good all around, met some great people, went to some nice places. Don’t know.” Trent said nonchalantly.

“Erm… that was the most boring basic answer I’ve ever heard. Give us something!” Curtis joined the conversation.

“Great people huh? Any you still keeping in touch with?” Ibou mused, eyebrows raised, poking fun that maybe girls were involved in the summer holiday but again unaware of your existence.

“If you count receiving nudes from some girl as keeping in touch, then I say Trentski is doing just fine in that department.” Dom spoke again. Trent’s jaw almost hit the floor.

“Excuse… me…” Andy’s jaw was also on the floor next to Trent’s.

“Expand! Expand! Tell us more Domi!” Curtis cheered now more invested.

“How do..” Trent began to speak quietly to question before Dom cut him off.

“Sorry bro, don’t leave your phone unlocked with a picture of your girl naked open… ‘baby’” Dom mocked Trent’s pet name he had read in your messages.

“Baby!? We’re calling this girl ‘baby!’ This is insane, who is this?!” Andy’s voice was laced with excitement but also shocked Trent kept this from them.

“Everyone low it.” Trent said gesturing with his hands trying to calm the rowdiness of the group.

“Wait so is she your ‘baby’?” Curtis inquired genuinely but still clinging to the conversation around Trent using a pet name.

“She’s… she’s my. I don’t know we haven’t labeled anything, we’re just going with it. Obviously we’re not able to be physically together right now. She’s just..” Trent babbled and then sighed in frustration over not totally knowing what to call you because he knew exactly what he wanted you to be but you weren’t yet.

“Oohoohoo” Ibou cooed.

“You guys just ‘miss each other so much’ and are ‘dreaming’ of her, getting naked photos, ‘counting days to see her’ I’m pretty sure it’s something.” Dom continued to lightheartedly mock the messages he read.

“First off, don’t ever go near my phone again and secondly, yeah it’s something… I just don’t know what yet, it’s tricky.” Trent was annoyed at Dom's unintentional invasion of privacy but also a little shy that he couldn’t just answer these questions simply.

“Wait, wait, let’s liven up the afternoon. Give the girl a call Trentski, odds are..” Andy probed looking for some excitement knowing Trent wouldn’t turn down a competition.

“It’s gotta be a FaceTime!” Curtis yelled. The game ensued and slightly fazed by his overwhelm Trent lost disgruntledly.

The FaceTime tone rang and Trent’s heart was racing. He sat back in his chair leaning his head back on the wall.

“When she answers, no one fucking say a word.” He glared at the boys moving their chairs around him ready with listening ears. Your sleepy face appeared on the phone and Trent immediately felt a little more at ease seeing you tucked in your bed looking absolutely adorable.

“Hiii baby” you cooed

“Yeah, you alright” Trent asked sweetly, trying to stay calm but Andy had grabbed his leg at the shock of hearing your warm voice answer so lovingly.

“Just laying in bed, thinking about you, T.” You said sexily unaware Trent had an audience. Dom and Curtis clung to each other giddy like little boys. Curtis slipping down off his chair onto the floor in dramatics and continued shock.

“Awh, don’t tell me thattt..” Trent shut his eyes, getting lost for a moment at the thought of being in bed with you forgetting about his audience, your giggle quickly snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Missing you lots. Counting down days.” You said soft and slow, clearly tired.

“Yeah me as well, beautiful” Ibou slapped his hand over his mouth hearing Trent use another pet name which resulted in Trent swatting at him discreetly out of your view.

“You okay? Seem like.. off?” You pried noticing that Trent seemed tense.

“Yeah, yeah, just tired, training…the usual. I gotta run through, baby.” Trent tried to just rush through this given his audience even though he did genuinely want to talk to you just not like this.

“Not fair, just going let me see you, only for you to leave me naked in bed with…” Trent cut you off before you could say anything further. Andy mouthed an ‘oh my god’ throwing his hands around in disbelief.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just needed to see that face” Trent said giggling at you just completely enamored by your ability to be so cute and yet incredibly sexy.

“Fine, well I’ll be here if you need me…” you said with a suggestive wink.

“Can’t wait to see you so soon, baby.”

“Bye, baby” you said, kissing towards Trent on the screen emphasizing the ‘mwah’ sound like you normally did.

“Bye, I.. I lo- I’ll talk to you later” Trent stuttered but gathered himself to wink back at you before the call ended. The group of boys erupted with noise, questions, jokes..

“Shut up! Shut up!” Andy yelled over the group. “You were almost about to say you loved her! Trentskiiiiiiiii”

“I’m down bad. I’m aware. I'm an absolute melt. Also… I hated that. That wasn’t fair to her.” Trent was quiet but the group only got louder again.

“Are we not going to talk about the fact that she has an AMERICAN accent!” Curtis yelled. Trent could only laugh.

“Yeah, well she does, she is in fact… American.” He confirmed.

“I wanna see her, Domi got to, so we should get to as well.” Ibou pressed.

“You’re definitely not seeing what Dom saw.” Trent said glaring at Dom. “But yeah fine, hold up I’ll pull her Instagram.” Trent proceeded to pull up your profile on his phone. He couldn’t risk showing the boys photos he’d taken in his camera roll, it was filled with far too much explicit content of you so he opted for your instagram.

You had a low key profile on the app, a small following, but your photos were anything but that. You had a thing for photography, clearly fashion so your feed was curated and stunning. If you had really wanted to you could probably push for the influencer thing but you never wanted that. Photos of you in little bikinis showing off an insane body, a face card that never declined, holiday photos that even these famous athletes would envy the locations of, perfect manicured hands adorn with jewelry holding martinis; it was all astonishing. Trent knew you really well now and thought it was amusing how blissfully unaware you were at how lavish you and your life truly were but more so how little it shaped you. You were incredibly normal, sweet, selfless, and down to earth. He liked that most about you, your appearance was a bonus.

“Holy fuck..” Curtis’ jaw slackened “Dom, I feel like you kind of down played this one…”

“What was I supposed to say, ‘oh yeah, Trent’s girl is sexy?” Dom quipped, only causing Trent to feign offense.

“You’re absolutely lying...” Andy responded getting a look at your profile. “Brother... what the fuck. This is your dream girl.”

“I’m aware. I am fully aware, so I’m trying not to mess it up.” Trent said now with a smile looking at a photo you had recently posted that was actually one he took but no one would possibly know that but the two of you.

“So she’s coming to see you?” Dom asked for clarity.

“Yeah, when we’re back, first match flying her over. I don’t think I’ve actually ever been nervous for a game before until I invited her to this one.” Trent honestly admitted, completely smitten.

“Awww trentyyy’s in love” Curtis said, squeezing Trent’s arm. The boys continued to tease and as annoying as they were… they were right. Trent was definitely in love.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think or if you have any thoughts/ questions! 🤍

Next part is up - Chapter 10

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold imagines

[triflesandparsnips]

I'm not seeing enough deep-dive nonsense about the new Good Omens season 2 poster drop on my dash, and by god that means I must be the one to deliver it.

For those who haven't seen it yet, behold:

...there's a lot in here to go a wee bit feral over, if one was so inclined, and lord knows I love an inclination.

The Obvious Stuff

1. There Was Only One Bed Chair

This is the bulk of the commentary I've seen, and tbh, it's pretty great. "I am bored/busy and ignoring you but also what is personal space, never heard of her, we will not be taking questions at this time."

Notably, however, this is the second time we've seen them back to back-- the majority of the poster art we saw for the first season had them side by side. In both cases they're in a position to face some third thing together-- the difference, perhaps, is that side by side might imply equality of situation, while back to back implies implicit trust that the other won't stab you there.

2. The bookshop

Aw, look at them. Look at it. What a glorious little mess. This is them in London. Arizaphale looks pleased with the situation; Crowley looks bored af but he's also squished up on that one dang chair, so there's a "cat sitting next to you because parallel play and mirroring are the Best Interactions" feel to it.

3. Tea and wine

Arizaphale's got a teacup, Crowley's got a wine glass, this is very Them and indicative of their Vibes. Tbh, I think this is just a nice bit of design work, but it's worth calling out.

4. The outside street

The shop across the way is using a Gothic and reads "GIVE ME" before being cut off. No clue what it means, but it probably means something.

5. The tagline

The previous tagline we got was "Something's going down in the Up" (with that grey feather falling between their black and white wings)-- this tagline reads "Everyday it's a-getting closer."

Easiest interpretation is, oho, we're getting closer to the second season, and gosh there will be some Plot in it. And sure, yes, it works for that too, huzzah. But leaving aside the "it" and what that may mean-- "a-getting" is a fascinating word choice. It evokes similar constructions like, say, the somewhat obscure "Sumer is icumen in" (a song about the changing of the seasons and also encouraging a cuckoo to go lay some eggs in other birds nests if u no wat im sayin eyyyyy)-- and the significantly less obscure protest song "The Times They Are A-Changin'", whose ending stanza is:

The line it is drawn

The curse it is cast

The slow one now

Will later be fast

As the present now

Will later be past

The order is rapidly fadin'

And the first one now

Will later be last

For the times they are a-changin'

Gosh.

Now the Real Fun Starts

This poster is a composite image (as so many ads are), composed of different bits and pieces to form a whole impression -- based on fun stuff like relative pixelation and whatnot, you can often tell what portions of an image were there to start with, and what were specifically added in after the fact. How packed this poster is in tiny details -- which is exactly where I would hide fun hints to things -- is generally a cue for me to take a closer look, and I have been, I think, rewarded.

1. The books with legible titles

Zoom in on Aziraphale's book-- he's reading Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities. The "two cities" in play are Paris and London, and the book is set before and during the French Revolution.

It's the story of a man who had been previously imprisoned in the Bastille for 18 years, and then was released to go live with his daughter -- who he has never met, what with the whole "imprisoned" thing -- in London.

The opening paragraph is:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

The pile of books in the foreground have two visible titles: the topmost one is Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (a "novel of manners" that's considered a heavy-hitting romantic classic, and also yes the leads are both prideful and prejudiced and it takes an entire book for them to clear that up) and Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island (a young adult coming-of-age adventure story about a kid who finds himself on an adventure with a bunch of pirates to discover buried treasure).

Of note: A Tale of Two Cities, Pride and Prejudice, and Treasure Island also all have note tabs sticking out of them, and are the only books that have them. This is reminiscent of how Arizaphale studied and referenced Agnes Nutter's prophecies.

Some of the books beneath the window technically have titles, but they appear to be about as pixelated as the rest of that section, and so I suspect they're just part of the scenery.

Similarly, most of the books on the background shelves are like that as well, except:

Joseph Heller's Catch-22 (A satirical novel set in World War II; Wikipedia briefly explains that "the novel examines the absurdity of war and military life through the experiences of Yossarian and his cohorts, who attempt to maintain their sanity while fulfilling their service requirements so that they may return home." The book also coined the phrase "catch-22," which is a situation someone can't escape because of paradoxical rules-- in the case of the book, you can't ask to be evaluated for insanity so that you can be exempt from flying dangerous missions, because "anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy.")

Iain Banks's The Crow Road (and a first edition, perhaps? I haven't read it, but apparently it's a Scottish family drama about a perfect murder against the backdrop of the 1990s Gulf War. Its opening line is "It was the day my grandmother exploded." The phrase "the crow road" is a euphemism, in the book, for death.)

Joseph Conrad's Lord Jim (Sparknotes says it's "the story of a man named Marlow's struggle to tell and to understand the life story of a man named Jim" -- a young man who goes to sea, makes a terrible and cowardly decision while following his leaders, and then spends the rest of his life haunted by it.)

There's at least one extra, partially obscured title:

It appears to read "THE BODY ------ and ------", which makes me wonder if it's an anthology of murder mystery short stories.

Leaving aside the uncertain book, commonalities between many of these books include:

soldiers, war, and the horrors/absurdities thereof

doubles and parallels

death and murder

a young/inexperienced protagonist thrown in with more experienced/weirder folk

fragmented and out of order narratives, sometimes having to be pieced together from multiple viewpoints

...pirates

2. The strange but noticeable inserts

There are several images that have been inserted into the poster that -- unlike the teacup and wine glass mentioned above -- don't seem to make a lot of contextual sense and are therefore, perhaps, extra information. These include:

a. the three lizard boys

b. the broken smartphone

c. the matchbox with the quote on the side

d. the camera

e. this statuette that seems suspicious

f. this record and scroll that seem out of place

g. the clockface with the missing hand (which may be just for the Aesthetic, but whatever, I'm including it)

What do they mean? No clue. I suspect it will become apparent as we get trailers and/or the actual show.

In Conclusion

Uh.

Look. Design teams can do all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons. All of this could mean absolutely nothing.

But.

Using my magical powers of bullshit deduction, I might look at all this, and that grey feather falling from the earlier poster, and say... well... the war's still ongoing, yeah? So maybe... maybe there needs to be a new angel keeping an eye on things on Earth. Or an eye specifically on Aziraphale and Crowley.

And that would look SUSPICIOUS, right? So this is an angel who's maybe... a little bit Fallen. For the sake of the Mission. Like, they've agreed to sin just a lil bit, just enough to justify being thrown out of Heaven, and they're not actively in Hell because they're, oh, just stopping off, or maybe just going really slowly, or maybe they were sent back up from Hell because they were still "too good" and all that Pureness of Spirit was stinking up the place--

Whatever. Point is, they're on Earth, they're very confused, it sure would be nice if these very Established metaphysical elders could give them a few hints about how to get on. We'd then get to enjoy a Guide to Living a Totally Normal Human Life given by these two disaster dorks, plus whatever nonsense is derived from, idk, various extraneous plot shenanigans, probably involving a Murder and maybe a MacGuffin Maltese Falcon.

And most importantly: this new angel? Wow no they couldn't possibly be a spy because again WOW, what kind of angel would deliberately Fall? Wouldn't that require doing the wrong thing to do a right thing? ...okay maybe, but can it really be wrong if it was done by command? ...well, wait, it surely must be wrong because otherwise the mechanism wouldn't have worked-- but then, wait, which thing was the wrong thing--

And Aziraphale and Crowley would watch this bouncing volley of cognitive dissonance with great interest, also possibly while holding hands.

#good omens #season 2 #good omens season 2 rampant speculation

[moony-ghoul]

Gibve blankie Dew thoughts

Plez? 🥺

YEAH YEAH YEAH BLANKIE DEW

it all started with dew collapsing into rains bed one night. he was exhausted, stressed out of his mind preparing for tour and the anxiety that comes with performing every night. despite how many rehearsals they do our shows they perform getting actually on stage is a big mental game for dew

and tonight he was too tired to keep playing

so naturally he treated himself to an unholy amount of mounts stash and crept in to spend the night cuddled up with his favourite water ghoul

rain doesn’t hear him enter, sitting on the edge of his bed, back facing the door and changing the strings on his bass. dews arms snake their way around his waist

“hello there” rain smiles down at the fire ghoul nuzzling his thigh. dew reeks of weed, making rain slightly annoyed he didn’t offer to share any

“let me finish up with this and we can cuddle okay?”

dew whines dramatically, throwing himself into the pile of plushies on rains bed

“you don’t love meeeee” he cries, throwing himself around like a kit throwing a tantrum

rain rolls his eyes, hiding his smile “i’ll only be a second, gotta have this ready for rehearsal tomorrow”

dew mumbles something rain doesn’t quite get, shoving his face into a dragon plushie. rain tries to go back to his instrument but is interrupted by dew poking him in the side with his toe

“could not go” he mumbles again, nuzzling into the plushie

rain turns to look at the fire ghoul, his face is obscured by the dragon but his shoulders are tense

“you know we can’t, dew.” rain sighs, rubbing dews calf softly “we leave in a week and phantom still needs help, we have to-“

“I KNOOOOWWW” dew whines again, throwing the dragon plushie at rain with very little force considering his hazey state. “…i’m sorry” dew says almost immediately after, voice soft again, “… can i- can.. you please uh give him back”

rain places his bass on the floor, he can finish it in the morning right now his ghoul needs him. he picks up the dragon and gives it back to dew before wrapping his lanky arms around him, trying his best to shield dew and his new friend from the world

they lay like that for a while, dew hugging the dragon close to him and rain holding him close to his chest. dew starts to purr softly

“so” rain starts, “do you wanna talk about it?”

dew rubs the soft dragon against his face again, “s nice”

“sorry?”

“dragon” dew states like its obvious “nice texture”

rain doesn’t end up getting his answer, but he knows dew well enough to figure it out in his own, even if dew is insistent on jumping around the topic of his stage anxiety

he wants to help, he hates seeing his ghoul hurt, but he’s truely at a loss. the next few days pass and dew only gets more stressed and more tense, the only time when rain gets a glimmer of his dew again is late at night when he stumbles into rains room stoned and picks up that same dragon plush

dew let’s put chirps and purrs as he runs his hands along the fluff of the toy. he sleeps with the dragon sandwiched between his face and rains chest. rain has no idea how he breathes at night like that, but if it makes dew happy he doesn’t think too strongly on it

their last night in the abbey comes around quicker than any of the ghouls wish. dew has been on edge all day, brows stuck in a furrow and lip trapped between his teeth. he doesn’t even smoke that night, he stands in rains doorway stone cold sober

dews eyes dart over the bed quickly, anxiously

“where is he?”

without context rain would have assumed dew was talking about an actual living, breathing kit

rain grins cheekily at dew. “i have a present for you”

“where is he?” dew asks completely ignoring rain

“you reminded me of something,” rain ignores him back, picking up the box hidden under his bed and handing it to dew. “it came with it when i first brought it, but i didn’t like the texture as much as you seem to”

dew looks between rain and the box, trying to figure out the catch. a cautious hand slowly removes the lid, he’s met with the dragon and a plush baby blanket, seemingly made of the same material

rain can’t read the emotion that flashes across dews face, he meets rains eye, the anxiety still sits there

dew takes a shakey breathe before speaking

“i don’t need-“

“do you want it?” rain stops him, “you can take them on tour if you want, they’ll fit in your backpack i already checked”

dews hands shake when he finally picks up his new gifts, he holds them to his face and takes a deep breath in

when he exhales he grins at rain, his adorable crooked fang grin. rain watches as the anxiety melts out of his ghoul finally

“they smell like you”

#BLANKIE DEW BLANKIE DEW BLANKIE DEW #shitty ghoul ficlets #i’m so tired i’m not editing this #blankie dew is so important to me you don’t even get it

[inkedroplets]

Wait what Lena/Peggy fic?!? I was scrolling and just had to stop and die a little at the possibility of this existing lol Lena Luthor and Peggy Carter? Two of my favorite characters ever? Together? Time travel? I don’t even care how, just want you to know I would read this ship soooo fast!

Not just time travel but Lena getting yeeted to another Earth.

I don't know where I would even begin to try and explain the plot spaghetti in my head. But essentially it would begin with Lena's portal watch malfunctioning and finding herself on a completely different Earth, scooped up by Coulson.

Much much later, (I cannot stress how much later) the time stone makes an appearance much later and Lena being Lena can't help but run a gamut of tests on it. Which sends her back in time where she happens to meet Peggy...

But here's a really brief snippet just for fun. It hasn't been edited at all and there's very little context but still:

“You wouldn’t happen to be an enhanced individual, would you, Miss Luthor?” Coulson asked

“I’m sorry?” Lena said, the first real hint of discernible irritation shining through her overly calm facade. “Where exactly are you looking, Agent Coulson?” She crossed her arms over her chest, the thin line that was her mouth somehow narrowing even further. There was a flicker of understanding and then horror that passed over Coulson’s face before his expression reverted back to that of a friendly but put-upon bureaucrat that would like nothing more than to punch out for the day. “At your file, Miss Luthor.” He held up a manila folder that he had obscured by his clipboard. “Or rather, what would be your file.” He tossed the empty folder down on the table. “The  problem is there’s nothing in it and not for lack of trying.”

“Does SHIELD not know how to use Google?” Lena glanced down at the empty folder wondering how anyone searching for the name ‘Luthor’  could come back with nothing to show for it. “Funnily enough we tried that too after we exhausted all other avenues. There is no record of, well, you, anywhere. Not a single hit on any of the databases my team scoured and before you try and impugn my team’s tech savviness again, our hacker was incredibly thorough. It's the first time I've seen her so perplexed,” he said. Instead of sounding annoyed or even angry he looked almost impressed. 

“So you think I'm lying,” Lena said, feeling that much was obvious. She was being interrogated, after all. Which was why it surprised her so much when Coulson shook his head. 

“No, Miss Luthor, on the contrary, I believe you are who you say you are. If you were going to try and obscure your identity with an alias, I assume you’d choose something less…” He looked down at his hands for a moment. 

“Less what?” 

“Less conspicuous. Lena. Luthor,” he said, enunciating each word clearly to hammer home the inherent strangeness in the symmetry of her name. 

“One of the many downsides of being a Luthor,” she said self-deprecatingly and gave a halfhearted shrug of apology. “Too many L’s.” 

Coulson who moments ago looked all too happy to let her ramble, perhaps hoping she might monologue her way into revealing something about herself held up a hand to stop her from continuing.

 “That's not the first time you've spoken as if that's supposed to mean something. Your last name,” he clarified. “Should it?” Of course it does, Lena thought bitterly.

#asks #my writing #would it surprise anyone that this would be another rift fic? #I still don't know how to tag this story #supercorp

[marshmallowprotection]

Kait, you've had played with that thought before of two Saerans meeting each other, didn't you?

I was wondering… Did you ever think of SE Saeran meeting VAE Saeran before?

Two scared men who survived their own deaths, cursed on their body with a permanent reminder. What do you think their interaction would look like?

"...What happened to you?"

"I should be asking you that question, you know?" his dry response came like the beat of a drum. "After all, out of the two of us here, you're the one covered in scars... You look like a fucking mess... not that I'm any better but... did the bomb go off?"

Did you set it off?

"...In a manner of speaking," Ray's quiet voice echoed against the walls of the room like the worst kind of chamber.

Saeran eyed him, his red hair obscuring most of his vision as he tried to get a better look at the frayed skin on Ray's body. It was obvious that those scars covered every inch under his clothes.

How far did it run?

That was hard to say.

He wasn't going to ask more. There was no point when he already knew the answer. It was the same way he imagined Ray was able to understand where the coarse edges of his hands had come from. It just... wasn't any of his business. He didn't have the right to know or the right to understand why he made that decision in the first place.

It wasn't his place to pry.

It didn't matter why he ended up in this place or how it came to be before he blinked at the sight of someone like Ray, the only thing that mattered was how he well understood what the person in front of him was feeling. They weren't the same and yet they were all at the same time.

Different circumstances, different choices, but a similar conclusion.

It was something Saeran understood on a near microscopic level. Regardless of what they chose to do in the heat of the moment, action led to a reaction and a consequence. In his case, it was the blood on his hands that would never wash away, and the cracked skin on his hands was a testament to how many times he tried.

The scars that were on Ray's body were from something similar.

"And... your tattoo?" Ray asked. His eyes flickering between Saeran's face and arm. "Is that something you did willingly?"

Did you choose to have that tattoo because you believed in what you were doing or because you felt like there was no other choice?

Saeran looked at his arm. No matter how much he thought about trying to get rid of it for himself, no matter how much he thought about getting it covered up with more ink, or how many times he considered clawing at his arm to fray the image, he could never bring himself to get rid of it.

It was a reminder of what he did and who he was.

As long as he never allowed himself to forget, he would never go back to being that person. Even if he didn't know what he wanted out of life, he knew he did not want to be that same miserable, angry, lost person.

"In a manner of speaking," he replied, using the same words Ray had.

They were one in the same no matter how they decided to slice it.

A part of him always hoped that maybe there was another universe out there where things worked out better for him, but seeing this broken man in front of him made him feel as though there might not have been.

Saeran's jaw felt tense as he said, "Are you content with that?"

Ray smiled, a bittersweet kind of smile that felt so familiar it could have been his damned reflection. Painful. The words were painful. "I think you and I know... we have no choice but to be."

Of course.

No matter what universe, no matter what parallel dimension, it seemed as though his life would always be a laughing stock to the universe. A silly little game that a God was playing to see how far somebody could be tortured before they cracked.

Yet, Saeran could only bring himself to ask—"Do you.. have the sky?"

"I do. I don't know where I would be if I couldn't watch the clouds all day. I hope it's the same for you," Ray whispered.

#mod kait #ask #mystic messenger #jennis one shot #mysme #saeran choi #mysticmessenger #choi saeran #mm #se saeran #vae ray #choi ray #ray choi #saeran #secret ending #vae #drabble #crossover

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

The alleged presidential campaign of Ron (Three-Fingers) DeSantis is having so much trouble gaining altitude that you'd think Elon Musk were behind it. (Too soon? Don't care.) He seems to be extraordinarily unlikable, but he makes up for it by proposing policies that are extraordinarily unpopular. He has picked a fight with Mickey Mouse. But there's another devil in the unpleasant details of the DeSantis CV. From the Washington Post:

Hundreds of “enemy combatants,” held without charges, had gone on hunger strikes. As pressure grew to end the protests, DeSantis later said, he was part of a team of military lawyers asked what could be done.

“How do I combat this?” a commanding officer asked in 2006, as DeSantis recalled in an interview he gave years later to a local CBS television station. “Hey, you actually can force-feed,” DeSantis said he responded in his role as a legal adviser. “Here’s what you can do. Here’s kind of the rules for that.” Ultimately, it was the Pentagon’s decision to authorize force-feeding. Detainees were strapped into a chair and a lubricated tube was stuffed down their nose so a nurse could pour down two cans of a protein drink, according to military records.

Force-feeding is torture. Among other things, it is a stench in the history of England in Ireland going back centuries. There are no "rules" that make it less so. Only alibis.

The Post's story came out in March. As far as I can tell, it got buried in all the other stories about DeSantis' fight with Disney and about the dysfunction in his campaign. But it's now sprung back to life. DeSantis is in Israel, pretending he's a world leader. At a press availability, a reporter dogged him about his work at Guantanamo. Whereupon, DeSantis blew his cork. From The Hill:

“No, no, all that’s BS,” DeSantis told reporters at a press conference in Jerusalem. “No, totally, totally BS...How would they know me? OK, think about that. Do you honestly believe that’s credible? So, this is 2006. I’m a junior officer. Do you honestly think that they would have remembered me from Adam? Of course not.”

“They’re just trying to get into the news because they know people like you will consume it because it fits your preordained narrative that you’re trying to spin. Focus on the facts and stop worrying about narrative.”

"Narrative" is one of the newest conjuring words that conservative politicians use to obscure the obvious. And the only "pre-ordained narrative" I'm aware of concerning DeSantis is that he's a not-very-bright lightweight who's punching way above his weight class and who's running the 1962 Mets of presidential campaigns. This Gitmo business is way beyond both of those.

Mansoor Adayfi, a former Guantanamo detainee, alleged in an Al-Jazeera op-ed earlier this month that DeSantis was present when he was force-fed during an effort to break a hunger strike at the prison. Many international groups have said force-feeding amounts to torture. “As I tried to break free, I noticed DeSantis’s handsome face among the crowd at the other side of the chain link. He was watching me struggle. He was smiling and laughing with other officers as I screamed in pain,” Adayfi said in the op-ed.

He's going to need a better answer than "Narrative!" for this one. It would be a very sad irony if the only American politician to suffer politically for the torture regime created in 2001 were Ronald DeSantis, as a potential presidential candidate in 2023. History has some formidable teeth.

#us politics #news #esquire #2023 #gov. ron desantis #florida #2024 elections #2024 presidential election #2024 presidential race #guantanamo bay #forced feeding #the washington post #the hill #torture

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

WIP share for Potluck2023

I'm still working on the "Chief makes MRE videos as a hobby" fic that started off as a goof to get around writer's block (link here) and I wanted to share part of what's been written.

-

The very first video is short.

The camera’s autofocus makes sections blurry as the lens shifts from the figure in front of the camera to the small package in his hands. The focus never rises above his collar; only a pale sliver of scarred skin is visible. The throat carries a deep gravelly voice, one that conveys military service with clipped tones and succinct sentences. The voices on the video are muffled, barely caught by the camera’s mic as the video flies by. The supposed John never addresses the camera and his awkward demeanor is painfully obvious. A woman’s voice can be heard from off-camera telling him to ignore the camera entirely and just explain it how he did earlier. Speech comes in short bursts with stops and starts – never any more information than strictly necessary – but viewers in the comments swear that he throws a joke in near the end. His voice is a low rumble with a mostly flat affect, but it’s surprisingly soothing. Almost familiar, maybe from some old propaganda voice or a high school coach. He seems like one of those types. His face is never visible to the audience,  collar bones and scars peeking out from a military gray shirt are the most the camera captures. The man moves like a statue who just came to life and isn’t sure how humans move. 

The algorithm picks up the video and people spread it around. Military types find it relatable, civilians are entertained and not many people are making videos of the mundane parts of the UNSC. It’s grounded somehow. The guy is obviously a veteran, probably a helljumper, except he doesn’t cuss. The numbers plateau, there’s a few comments on the video, and it gets shuffled out of sight and out of mind for a few months.

The second video is longer. A full ten minutes and it drives the viewer count up, but doesn’t go viral. What had been passed around as a weird one off video was quickly gaining a cult following. It was new, it was mysterious, and it was military. ONI had a stranglehold on all dissemination of info and propaganda so the unpolished glimpse into one veteran’s (?) life was incredible. The speaker, this John – if that was his real name, was mesmerizing. His voice was comforting and the topic was intriguing. Viewers couldn’t look away, their attention glued to this half obscured man and his knowledge of some of the grossest looking food many of them had ever seen.

He doesn’t stutter but his sentences are short and to the point. He sounds like he doesn’t talk much, but he’s knowledgeable and even starts to share some very interesting anecdotes before the censors or his editor gets him. Chatternet runs wild, reposts pop up on Waypoint, and the comment section descends into conspiracy theories immediately.

When John2511 cracks open the MRE in his hands at the 3 minute mark and then coughs, viewers across the galaxy lean in. The less glamorous sides of military service rarely get through ONI approval and even the Chatternet is limited to what it shows – videos disappear, data is scrubbed, the algorithm gives and takes. The man on the video also has this strange draw, a way about him that pulls people in and makes them feel… something. He’s almost familiar in some uncanny way, but if you saw him in person you’d think you’d remember a burly scarred guy. The fact that he opens a field ration that’s older than half the audience and then eats it with minimal complaint cements him in the minds and hearts of viewers everywhere. 

Viewers latch onto his huge frame and scarred hands with bandages peeking out from the sleeves of some nondescript clothes. The comment section runs rampant with speculation. This guy must be special forces, or maybe an Innie, or even an escaped experiment. Maybe even one of those Spartans. Forums discuss the mystery, but the video doesn’t break into a mainstream audience. It’s another conspiracy theory, more nonsense, why would a Spartan be making these kinds of videos? ONI would not allow it, and they had drawn enough attention that there would definitely have been some kind of response by now. Is it some kind of propaganda to have someone describe and make decades old MREs and then choke down slop that’s rancid enough to make a Brute cry? Does this guy think botulism won’t affect him? Is this a healthy hobby that his partner, (wife?) the woman offscreen thinks she should continue to encourage.

The next video loaded up to Chatternet gets a few views before mostly staying dormant for a bit until the algorithm picks it up. It’s then shared a thousand thousand times across the inner and outer colonies and becomes a topic of conversation and debate. The viral video had come and now the hounds were baying. Who was John2511MREInfo? What happened to him? Is he really going to eat that?

And when is the next video coming out?

#my writing #potluck2023 #snippets

[mariana-oconnor]

The Devil's Foot pt 3

The last part of the story and still no devilish feet in sight. I have to assume it's the name of the drug at this point, because otherwise I don't know what's going on.

Last time Holmes and Watson did a very stupid thing and almost died a very stupid death. Then they declared their undying devotion to each other and it would have all been ever so sweet if I hadn't wanted to bonk their heads together to try to get their brains working via percussive maintenance.

⬆️Holmes and Watson's last two braincells there, right before they killed them inhaling an incredibly fast acting lethal poison.

"It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment."

Holy shit, that poison gave Holmes the ability to read my mind.

"But the cause remains as obscure as before."

I wonder. Could the weird poison that Holmes doesn't appear to have come across before possibly be linked to the famous explorer/adventurer/lion guy who has been to many exotic and distant locales?

Maybe?

Perhaps?

"I think we must admit that all the evidence points to this man, Mortimer Tregennis, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, though he was the victim in the second one. We must remember, in the first place, that there is some story of a family quarrel, followed by a reconciliation. How bitter that quarrel may have been, or how hollow the reconciliation we cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Tregennis, with the foxy face and the small shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom I should judge to be of a particularly forgiving disposition."

Multiple murderers? How very un-Occam of you, Holmes. I did entertain the possibility for myself for a little while. But if he did the first one he must have been in league with the second murderer, or at least close enough that they knew what he'd done. (By second murderer, I mean lion guy. Unless it turns out to be the housekeeper getting revenge. The only other option is the vicar and he'd have to be supremely arrogant to have brought both crimes to Holmes' attention).

Also, we've been through how you shouldn't judge people's characters based on their appearance, well, not their facial features.

But yeah, this all lines up with what I was saying at the start before Lion guy showed up.

I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure of the great African explorer appeared upon the path.

In my head, this guy is literally just an anthropomorphic lion.

For a moment I wished that I were armed. Sterndale's fierce face turned to a dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins started out in his forehead, while he sprang forward with clenched hands towards my companion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort he resumed a cold, rigid calmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive of danger than his hot-headed outburst.

This is the sign of an entirely rational and calm human being.

"I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," said he, "that I have got into the way of being a law to myself. You would do well, Mr. Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desire to do you an injury."

Yep...

He's clearly in no way a danger to society.

Absolutely not. I would feel completely safe in his presence.

I do not understand why he has such a strong and obvious reaction to the first bit, then attempts to back pedal and be all 'No idea what you're talking about'.

I mean, I do get it, but I don't get why he thinks it's going to work. As previously stated he absolutely should keep asserting that he has no idea what they are talking about. But it's such a transparent ploy after he's already lost his cool.

"I saw no one." "That is what you may expect to see when I follow you."

This line goes hard.

I love it.

Ninja Sherlock

🥷

"Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. "For years I have loved her. For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that Cornish seclusion which people have marvelled at. It has brought me close to the one thing on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for I have a wife who has left me for years and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of England, I could not divorce."

ACD's war against the British divorce laws continues. I have tried to look up the history of divorce law in the UK, but it is an incredibly tangled web that I do not have the inclination to untangle at this time. Although I just learnt that until 2012 people in this country couldn't get married before 8am or after 6pm. Weird.

I think we can all agree, though, that ACD thought the divorce laws were bloody stupid and he was right.

On the outside was written "Radix pedis diaboli" with a red poison label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "I understand that you are a doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation?" "Devil's-foot root!"

"The root is shaped like a foot, half human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name given by a botanical missionary."

But how tho?

Which half? I don't understand how you can have half of each of these... does it have toes? Is it a hoof? How? I cannot work out what this would look like at all.

Does it have five little hoof toes?

I don't understand.

"Among other things I exhibited this powder, and I told him of its strange properties, how it stimulates those brain centres which control the emotion of fear, and how either madness or death is the fate of the unhappy native who is subjected to the ordeal by the priest of his tribe."

Mortimer. Mortimer, Mortimer, Mortimer. You're dead, so I guess this doesn't really matter now, but you don't... take the incredibly obvious poison from the incredibly mentally unhinged man and then use it when he's still in the country. Not when it has such obvious and unique effects. This is what is called Bad Planning and Obvious.

It's like you wanted him to kill you. Is that victim blaming? probably. But you're also a murderer, so... does it balance out?

Also, Mr Lion Man, don't... tell people about your weird crazy poisons and then follow it up with 'also you could kill people with it in this country and law enforcement would never be able to detect it, lol.' Especially not if you're suspicious of the guy.

So many bad decisions in this story.

"I well remember how he plied me with questions as to the amount and the time that was needed for its effect, but I little dreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking."

Yeah, because that's a really unsuspicious line of questioning.

'So, this undetectable horrific poison. How much would I need to use... hypothetically, of course... to like... kill three people. In a room the size of... ooh, say my siblings' card room? And how long would it take? Just asking... out of curiosity. No reason other than purely scientific interest. I'd never actually kill anyone with it. Bu-ut if I wanted to...'

Lion man... you should not be allowed access to hazardous materials. Your OSHA compliance is poor. That needs to be in a locked poison cabinet. You shouldn't be handling it without PPE and you definitely shouldn't be letting untrained and unvetted people in there.

"My soul cried out for revenge. I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes, that I have spent much of my life outside the law, and that I have come at last to be a law to myself."

But sure, he can get off because he was killing the first murderer... I guess. I'm not as sympathetic towards him as I've been towards previous people. Maybe because he doesn't strike me as the kind of person for whom this was his first or last kill. His reaction to Holmes seems like he's prepared to just murder anyone who gets in his way. Previously the people Holmes has let go have been people who killed as a last desperate attempt to free themselves or were pushed too far past their breaking point in one instance.

This guy just... seems like he wouldn't bat an eyelid at killing again. And again. And again. For far less reason.

"And now, my dear Watson, I think we may dismiss the matter from our mind and go back with a clear conscience to the study of those Chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in the Cornish branch of the great Celtic speech.”

I still think this is nonsense, but sure. I have discovered that apparently someone somewhere apparently wrote Holmes' paper on the subject and published it in 1998. Which is a thing.

Thanks Watson for warning me against poisoning myself. I'll bear that in mind. Perhaps you could take your own medical advice?

#Letters from Watson #The Devil's Foot #Sherlock Holmes #long post

[mqfx]

so a passing thought about post-canon sangcheng occurred to me & i would like to receive any wise counsel you'd like to give on my thought processes... 🙇‍♂️ they're a little disjointed. disclaimer that i havent read the novel in a while!

im not super convinced by the idea that nhs was able to control eeeeverything that occurred in his Great Revenge--i imagine a lot of it was incidental and opportunistic.

im not clear on whether jiang cheng would figure out that there was a masterminding aspect to the grand finale at the temple at all, bc while i think he's smart! he's also, like, so uninclined to overanalyse things that might uncover something painful for him (see: wwx's behavior post golden core transfer--unless you have to adjust for shixiong admiration/how jc places wwx on a competence pedestal? if wwx says he can handle it he can handle it, until he doesnt handle it so hard he dies. i guess.)

ANYWAY. i dont think jc would be friendly, or maybe he wouldnt like that he Was friendly with nhs if he thought nhs intentionally put jin ling in danger. im not sure if nhs DID! but im thinking in circles about whether jc would think that would have been the case. in my mind he is both endlessly capable of knee-jerk trust recindication (is that a word.) AND trust extended way past reasonable limits. but do you think that would be discussed (with jiang cheng loudly in tears about it in front of many rubbernecking witnesses, mdzs style?) at all? the most i can imagine is jiang cheng yelling obscurely around whether he can trust nie huaisang! clarifying details & inside voices are for the next generation.

i feel like there something to be said about how he trusts wwx with jin ling's safety, too...

this kind of doesn't have a conclusion im just interested in what you think of post canon sangcheng en generale-- it feels like a very different relationship from anything i can imagine in like... cloud recesses era. they're both miserable i think 😀 but actually post canon jiang cheng is doing better than usual than he has been for a long time, in a sense, and nie huaisang is probably thinking he should be doing better.

sorry this is so long!

ok firstable i must address "rescindification" bc it compelled me and apparently the noun form of "rescind" would be "recision" or "rescindment". heeheehee

now my thoughts on the matter:

2019 me wouldn't have agreed with this but remember 4-5 years ago i was only a college sophomore and was less capable of independent thought. since i was more caught up in fandom back then i generally went along with the headcanon that NHS Planned Everything, especially since it gave him more BAMF-ness(??) to, i guess, make up for the fact that he's not a "strong" cultivator. i would Like to delete the fic i wrote about it then but people like it a lot and i'd feel bad just taking it down. it's kinda like my sorrows of young werther (in that goethe regretted his first published work. not that im like goethe ew)

2023 me obviously thinks that's kinda eeehhh and i agree with you more now bc (flips through my memory of Hot Strategist Tips) no plan survives contact with the enemy. nhs wouldn't have been as effective if he had clear strict play-by-plays from the get-go. i think overplanning is what got jgy, because he kept stacking plots to cover his tracks but nothing makes a crime obvious quite like a cover-up

(unrelated question: if you're stark naked in the street, do you cover your ass or your balls? the correct answer is, you cover your face.)

as jgy's narrative foil and winner of that year's political oscars, nhs wouldn't make those exact same mistakes. not to mention, his strength (i think) is in recognizing patterns and doing the least amount of work for maximum effect--the hallmarks of the "lazy" (efficient) genius. plus it's not like he was starved for opportunity (again, bc jgy really was doing too much..... he really could've not gotten caught if he would just focus on the damn infrastructure)

also re:jc yes you're right my man's the king of repression and sublimation lol the whole "who is the REAL mastermind" would be the LEAST of his problems right nyeow!!! he has to help his nephew secure the succession and keep those scheming little rats of jinlintai away from jl, THEN he has to reckon with the fact that his brother is back, which comes with 15+ year old unopened baggage. wouldn't it be funny if he's like, an old retiree before nhs even tells him "yeah it was me lol" and that's finally the thing that kills him LOL sorry

ok that aside let's imagine a scenario where jc gets a whiff of an inkling of an idea that NHS Risked JL's Life (whether he did or not is irrelevant in this case). i'd like to believe that as an older sect leader, like yeah sure emotionally he's stunted like evel kneivel* but at the very least he should have the presence of mind not to scream at a fellow sect leader in the streets about Serious Accusations. (he is not as logical about wwx in canon because that's his big brother and no younger brother is ever logical about his big brother. also he knows wwx well enough that he can trust wwx Wouldn't Endanger Kids)

*get it. bc evel kneivel was a stuntman

imo jc would go in circles thinking "but no..... nhs wouldn't do that" then "but that's what i thought about jgy too......." and then working himself up to a froth. this will probably result in the most intense assessing death glares and some shady little quips in public. coin toss whether jc would decide to confront nhs about it privately. at least for as long as jl hasn't fully settled in on the role yet, i highly doubt jc would let his guard down for anyone, even nhs. maybe wwx

postcanon sangcheng...... keep in mind i have shipper goggles on. but they're not getting married babes im sorry if i'm keeping it realistic they both have Duties to fulfill and they live in a Society where they don't have time to...... governance is not just Paperwork, it's their lived reality and not everyone has the privilege of a living family to hold down the fort while one goes off traveling (@ lwj, but he can do whatever he wants forever). not saying that they'll get married to other people and have babies, mind you. especially in societies based on martial strength i think it would be less important to have an Unbroken Bloodline than it is to pass down sect techniques

at the end of it IF there's a romance then they're living off of stolen time, sneaking around during hunts and conferences. and i highly highly doubt it'll be a soft epilogue my loves they are two jagged broken people who have given up too much and gotten back so little. they are not gonna make each other better, but hey the consolation is that they also can't make each other worse! at least they'll have someone else who somewhat Understands what it's like. "miserable but not alone" is a boon if you've lost everything else that mattered

#hewwo #asks #anonymous #NOT TO PAINT A BLEAK PICTURE of one of my favorite ships in the world btw!!!!! #i just think it's not gonna be soft or fluffy. they both have a lot of healing to do :( #comfort like a knife under your pillow #sangcheng #long post