#varnish company

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“EXTENSION TO LOCAL MANUFACTURING PLANT,” Owen Sound Sun Times. April 22, 1931. Page 1. ---- Above shows the recent addition to the plant of the Northern Paint and Varnish Co. of Owen Sound, to give them greater facilities to take care of their increasing business.

#owen sound #paint factory #varnish company #manufacturing plant #great depression in canada #capitalism in canada

[avalonsienna]

#Toroid hook winders #Linear traverse winding machines #Custom transformers #Vacuum/pressure impregnation varnishing plant #Polarity and turns ratio tester #impulse and hi potential tester #Electronics manufacturing services India #electronics manufacturing services chennai #top Ems companies in India #bestEmscompanies in India #ems #Avalon Sienna EMS

[floorsandingdublin-blog]

Get Your Floor Sanding The Dustless Way

Due to the everyday wear and tear, the floor will inevitably get ruined. Sure, measures like treating it with protective finishes wards off these effects, as well as the routine cleaning. However, over time, the scratches, fading, deeply set stains, cracks, worn out sections and other kinds of imperfections will be hard to ignore. This will call for a round of floor sanding and refinishing. Here, the existing coats are removed, exposing the bare wood. New treatments are applied, from the wood stains to the lacquers or waxes, depending on the aesthetic and wear resistance requirements of the premises.

The sanding process itself is pretty hectic. Lots of heavy machinery is involved, and it’s in fact one of the most taxing renovation projects to undertake, with plenty of room for error – which is why getting a professional is always recommended. One key problem also arises – the dust. Loads of dust are generated, which makes it a messy affair. Dustless floor sanding systems have been developed to particularly deal with this.

#floor sanding dublin #floor sanding #Commercial Floor Sanding #floor sanding company #dustless floor sanding #dust free floor sanding #wood floor refinishing #sanding & varnishing

[submariini]

When Finland’s Käärijä took the stage at this year’s Eurovision, a star was instantly, explosively born. With an outrageous energy, infectious presence and that oh-so-catchy hook, the Vantaa-based rapper may not have won the contest but he certainly snatched the hearts of those in his home country and beyond. We ask Käärijä the million dollar question: what next?

[full article under the cut]

Last May, a peculiar frenzy engulfed Finland. Virtually all green foods – cucumbers, especially – were sold out from stores. Buildings across the land were bathed in vivid green lights. Social media brimmed with green-themed parties, while data obtained by Swedish fintech company Klarna showed a 570 per cent increase in the online sales of neon green shirts.

This phenomenon was all thanks to Käärijä, the rapper who represented Finland in the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest. His now-infamous, blazing green puff sleeve bolero – dreamt up by Finnish broadcasting company Yle’s costume design team and which he dons when performing the smash hit track ‘Cha Cha Cha’ – had taken on a life of its own, the lush hue uniting the entire nation amid the competition. “It was incredible to see it happen and so cool being part of it,” Käärijä says. “It wasn’t planned at all – it was the people who created the commotion. I’ll definitely never forget it.”

When we speak over Zoom, Käärijä, whose real name is Jere Pöyhönen, is lounging in his minimal apartment in Vantaa, a city just outside Helsinki. He appears on my screen shirtless, a chunky gold chain dangling on his neck. On his head sits a pastel turquoise cap adorned with little cat ears. As he gestures with his hands, I spot flashes of poison green nail varnish. Pöyhönen’s chosen attire, or lack thereof, is extremely fitting – he typically performs bare-chested (“It gets so hot during my gigs”) and his Instagram handle is @paidatonriehuja, or ‘shirtless rascal’.

Hot off a performance in western Finland, the 29-year-old is enjoying his first days off in a while. It’s been a sweltering summer of non-stop touring, with fans flocking to festivals and concerts nationwide to see his explosive live show. Things are not winding down either, with Käärijä heading off on his first-ever European tour this month. Some of these shows sold out in mere minutes, an indication of his immense international following. “It’s so exciting; I’m definitely jumping into a new territory with that tour,” Pöyhönen says. “But I don’t have any expectations – I’m just going to let everything happen organically rather than stressing about it.”

Although he created one of this year’s buzziest songs, the guy on my screen is humble and, save for his look, almost un assuming. I remark on the stark contrast to his fiery and flamboyant stage presence. “Through Käärijä, I get to channel all the craziness, quirkiness and hyperactivity I’ve had since I was a child,” Pöyhönen says, describing himself offstage as “just this ordinary dude”. Without delving into further details, he tells me that the name Käärijä (translating roughly to moneymaker) stems from a history with gambling. Despite the darkness of its origin, he notes that the moniker is to be taken with a grain of salt.

While it might seem like Käärijä exploded into the public consciousness from obscurity, Pöyhönen has a long journey in music behind him. Born in Helsinki but having spent most of his youth in Vantaa, he started dabbling in the medium at just three years old. Coming from a musical family (“My dad and big brother both play the guitar”), jamming sessions were commonplace in the Pöyhönen household, his instrument of choice being the drums. “I was playing with pots and spoons before I got a set of those plastic kids’ drums,” he says. “When we moved to a bigger house, we built a band room downstairs where me and my brother spent a lot of time practising.”

At that time, rap music hadn’t yet entered Pöyhönen’s life; he was strictly a self-described “metal guy”. His older brother had instilled in him a love for the genre, particularly metal icons Rammstein. Upon starting high school, his musical taste broadened and he began listening to Eminem and popular Finnish rap groups Fintelligens and JVG. “Me and my friends were filming our own music videos to old rap songs, learning the words by heart,” Pöyhönen says. “It [making rap music] pretty much started as this humour thing I did with my mates.”

Encouraged by his loved ones, Pöyhönen began writing his own songs, still playing it for laughs. Turned out he had a knack for it. “Since I was little, I’ve been an avid storyteller – my imagination ran a little wilder than the rest of the kids’ at my school,” he says. “So when I started making music, I didn’t even need inspiration; I was able to whip up the lyrics from my head.”

But then, at 15, an unexpected turning point came by way of a severe sudden illness. Rushed to the hospital with ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, Pöyhönen underwent emergency surgery to remove his colon. Had he not been treated immediately, the complications could have been fatal. “I was writing songs in the hospital – music became a source of strength for me,” he says. “I decided that if I make it through this, I’m going to give my all to music and be serious about it.”

After over a decade of hard work and countless hours in the studio, Käärijä released his first album, Fantastista (Fantastic), in 2020, but it would take three years for him to become a household name in Finland. After snapping up the top prize in Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (the Finnish contest for new music) with his party anthem ‘Cha Cha Cha’, a song dedicated to a hedonistic night out fusing rap, electronic music and metal, he secured the coveted spot as his country’s entrant for the 2023 Eurovision, held in Liverpool. One of Pöyhönen’s craziest dreams had come true.

For Pöyhönen, Eurovision was “an amazing but immensely tough experience”. The event’s intense schedule and the little time carved out for practising surprised the artist. There was no room for errors or retakes once it was time for rehearsals. “They didn’t give much mercy,” he says. On the bright side, the long days filled with “lots of press conferences and waiting around” gave Pöyhönen a chance to get to know the other artists. “The group we had there was wonderful – there wasn’t a competitive atmosphere at all,” he says. One of the contestants he became especially close with was Sweden’s Loreen, with whom he exchanged numbers and promised to “meet up and talk about everything else but music”.

By the time the grand finale came, Käärijä’s explosive performance and infectious song had made him one of the favourites to win. Ultimately he came second, while Loreen nabbed first place. How did Pöyhönen handle the letdown? “It was a huge disappointment, but in the end, the feeling didn’t last long,” he says. “When I thought about how far I’d gotten, the incredible journey it was and all the new friends I made, I realised that these things are far more meaningful than winning.” Plus, he still achieved something major: ‘Cha Cha Cha’ made history as the first ever Finnish song to reach Spotify’s global most-listened charts. The track’s reach proved to Pöyhönen that language doesn’t matter; it’s all about creating a singular, infectious sound: “The mouth is just as much of an instrument as the piano or the guitar is,” he says.

Having made history, I ask Pöyhönen if he felt any pressure after the Eurovision bubble had burst. “Of course there are the thoughts of ‘what now?’ and ‘is this going to be it, will anyone be interested anymore next year?’ – I’m aware that the hype won’t last forever,” he says. “But I’m onto creating the next thing, trying not to feel any pressure for future releases. I haven’t done that before, so why would I do that now?”

Pöyhönen hints at a new album dropping sometime next year, but in the meantime, he’s enjoying the attention – including his Vogue Scandinavia debut. Shot at the extraordinary home of the late interior architect Antti Nurmesniemi and his wife, textile artist Vuokko Nurmesniemi, we find the space where Pöyhönen and Käärijä meet, the quiet confidence mingling with that more-is-more persona.

And while Käärijä might develop as a character (“I want to show that he’s more than just a bolero chap”), he’s adamant that he will stay true to his music and keep singing in Finnish, despite the sudden international attention. “In the end, I’m doing this for myself,” he says. “Also, why change something that works?”

Photographer: Karoliina Bärlund Stylist: Sanna Silander Talent: Käärijä Hair Stylist and Makeup Artist: Neea Kuurne Photographer Assistant: Milja Laakso Stylist Assistant: Nelli Korhonen

#käärijä #jere pöyhönen #eurovision #the article in full

[judasgot-it]

Hold Me Tight (and Don't Forget Me)

Scenario: Dazai takes you out on a date the day he's arrested. Slight Warning for Jouno being an ass.

Hold Me Tight - BTS

1.3 k word count

Blue skies and perfect weather - the worst, because that meant that today would be the perfect day before Dazai would ruin it once again.

It was a strange feeling to have. It was too peaceful, like a flock of seagulls waiting to be chased.

There was nothing wrong. And that was what was wrong with it.

"Dazai. Did you do something?"

You knew it was impossible to ask Dazai these questions and get an honest answer - your ability didn't work on him, so it was only a force of habit to want to interrogate him.

In response, he only smiled, like a cat that was too high for the barking dog. It made your skin bristle every time, but today he was handsy - he smoothed down your sleeves, easing your nerves with a gentle touch.

"I didn't do anything that you need to worry about. We're supposed to be focused on us, remember?"

His grin was honest, almost charming. He sipped his coffee rather loudly to make his point, drinking as if to remind you with force that you were in a diner, not at the Armed Detective Agency.

"Well, yes. But I know you, and you're only hiding the inevitable. You can tell me Dazai, we are dating."

It was weak to pull a card like that with him, but it was always worth a shot anyway. As if dating would make a difference in how Dazai acted.

The man was a mystery, sitting in front of you in his casual attire - nicer because for once, he had washed them for this occasion. He looked put together as well, hair nicely done and his face looking as a man in his younger 20s should.

He typically looked a little disheveled, hidden behind his charisma but noticeable with anyone who cared for appearances. A good smile managed to hide a lot of things, and for once you didn't need to think about it.

In your mind, you knew that something was wrong from this. The last time he had taken you out like this, he had known he would almost die from an ability user, and it was his apology beforehand.

The strange sense of doom was disconcerting; but so was Dazai's cold skin. He was always bouncing so quickly between temperatures as if he were a broken heater - but being cold? On such a warm day?

"I know we are. Just enjoy yourself babe, can't you do that for me?"

His smile was warm, enough to reach his chestnut eyes - treated with a light varnish from the sunlight penetrating the windows. Whatever warmth his body did have, he must have given it to you through that smile, because now you felt just a little hot.

"I don't like you sometimes."

You averted from his gaze, still holding onto his hand despite this. Dazai didn't say anything, his fingers gently tracing patterns along the hair on your wrists.

"Your face says otherwise. Looks like you're loving my company."

He leaned in closer, careful of your plates, pulling your face to match his. It was easier to kiss him than to say you had lost.

But still, something was wrong.

Dazai kissed you as if he would walk out like this was his last dinner. It wasn't hungry and yet it wasn't polite - it was desperate and it felt like an apology for a crime he hadn't even committed yet.

Or maybe one he already had.

-

It was only the middle of the day when Dazai had decided that a good way to spend your time would be horse betting.

Gambling seemed like an odd place to have a date, but it hadn't been the worst one of his ideas. At least it was outside, and it made for good conversation - even as he insisted on staying as close to the crowd as possible.

Dazai had thrown around some big money - enough to make you worried he was going to actually kill himself tonight.

He was just...strange. As the races had gone on, he had become more and more nervous, fumbling with his pockets and becoming a sort of weird handsy with you - as if you wouldn't notice the strange clamminess his skin had become.

Cold and sweaty, a strange feeling on Dazai.

You were left stuck in deep thought as you stared at the pale white horse Dazai had bet on, a bold '9' staring right back at you.

"Excuse me"

A soft and polite voice had broken you out of your thoughts, forcing you to look away from the race - you had won, and a little bit of relief was felt knowing that Dazai was at least lucky enough to have not blown his last three paychecks on horse racing.

"Would either of you happen to know who won this race?"

His eyes were closed, while his smile seemed...off. Your ability was near constant in your mind, and you could feel how wrong this man was. He didn't really care which horse won that race.

"Number 9 won." In your silence, Dazai responded for you, smiling as if this were an idle conversation. He hadn't seemed to notice the scheming mask the man wore, like a fox ready to jump for the canary.

"So you won then, right? You seem quite pleased with yourself after all."

"Wow! How'd you know all of that?"

You tried to lean closer to Dazai, almost feeling how wrong the man was. It was almost like he knew something you didn't, and it was disturbing to you. His smile practically was still friendly, nothing wrong. But it felt almost as cutting as a knife.

"After I had lost my sight, I had gained new senses - I can hear your heart rates, smell your fear, and even feel your future in my back pocket."

Swiftly, the man had handcuffed himself to Dazai, revealing a pair of sharp canines behind his wicked smile.

"And I know that you, Osamu Dazai, are going to be arrested for 138 counts of conspiracy to murder, 312 counts of extortion, and 625 counts of assorted fraud. I could keep going, but I feel like your fiancé has heard more than enough."

Dazai turned to you, his face paler than the cumulonimbus clouds that towered the sky behind you. By his expression alone, you could tell he had no idea that this would happen.

"Wait, hold on-"

You held onto Dazai's arm desperately, reaching for the handcuffs that were beginning to tear him apart from you. This felt like a dream turning into a nightmare, and that you were running too slow.

"I'm a Hunting Dog. I know more than enough about you as well, and your ability should have told you that I'm not a liar like Mr. Dazai here."

Maybe that was why he felt so off. It was more than just the way he said horrible things - over 100 counts of murder, with complete and utter truth.

"Y/n."

Dazai looked back at you with a solem look. There were so many emotions in your head, that you could only focus on the words that had come out of his mouth.

"I love you. Don't forget that, okay?"

Abruptly, you felt him pry your fingers off of his jacket, and look back to the Hunting Dog who had arrested him.

"There's no chance of escaping you, is there?"

"Even if you're hiding in the crowd, I would just kill them. I can take liberties with human life. I can kill your darling too, if you don't start walking."

Numbly, you watched as Dazai left. As if it were a dream, you were stuck in place, unable to chase after him and tell him to stop and even explain how the hell he had gotten into this situation.

You hadn't even gotten the other man's name, not so you could curse him out for taking your love away. There wasn't even the chance to scream.

It was a horribly numb feeling, stuck there in that moment, watching as Dazai walked further and further away from you.

Sorry, had this idea for a while. I was gonna use this song for Jouno, then Nikolai, then GOJO but ended up being a depressing Dazai fic once again....sigh.

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x y/n #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n

[pullhisteeth]

hello, lovely! so so happy to see you writing again, you're really one of my fave writers here 🥹 if you want, would you mind writing a fluffy best friends to lovers one with eddie where he accidentally overhears nancy and robin talking about reader's feelings for him, and how the reader feels like she should just give up on her feelings towards eddie because it seems like a hopeless case lmao i'm sorry if it's too specific! ily ❤️

hi! I love you!!! I'm so sorry this took so long, I got stuck in the middle of it with no way out, so I scrapped it and started again. I hope you love it. thank you for the kindest message, you're a star xxx

contains some dubious eavesdropping and lots of fluff. somethin' suggestive towards the end but nothing huge. :-)

[3k (ish)]

-

“Hey, handsome.”

Eddie turns to the door. There you are, between the edge of it and the doorframe, socked feet on the step. You’ve got your hands behind your back and you want something.

He smiles at you softly and reaches his hand out without a word. He watches you return the smile and step down onto the porch and towards him. You lift your hand, take the lit cigarette from between his two fingers and lean on the post opposite him.

His eyes linger as you pull it between your lips and inhale, eyes fluttering shut and cheeks hollowing.

“You look nice today,” he tells you.

Your eyes open slowly as you turn your head to look at him. You bring the cigarette down and hold it out to him, twisting back towards the road to blow the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

As he takes it from you, you say, “Thanks.”

“New top?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

“‘S’pretty. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you say through another smile. This one’s sly, coy, a wall because he’s complimented you twice and that’s at least one time too many for you. He likes the way he can see how your cheeks warm and how you shift your weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting to stop yourself swooning.

You watch cars go by and listen to the distant sound of Robin’s laugh inside the house, passing the cigarette between the two of you until it’s nothing more than a butt. Eddie throws it onto the gravel at the foot of the porch steps, being gracious enough to save the Wheelers’ nicely varnished wood from being ruined by ash and a filter, and does his best to stomp it out without shoes on.

“Your sock’s gonna get wet,” you tell him.

“‘S’okay,” he says, hopping back up onto the porch and swaying about until he reaches the front door. “C’mon. There’s a mean game of Irish snap waiting for us in there.”

You hum again, only this time it’s a sadder sound. He feels the skip of his heart and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“‘M’gonna stay out here a minute. Need some air.”

“Oh,” he breathes. He takes half a step back towards you. “Okay. You want company?”

You shake your head and it rips something within him. It aches. “I’ll only be a second.”

The ache yawns open somewhere in his chest but he surrenders, returning to the door and leaving it ajar for you as he goes back inside. His mind stays with you as he moves through the house, eyes on his feet and the damp spot on the side of his left sock.

He passes the stairs and as he rounds the corner, he stops dead at the sound of your name.

His ears perk up like an animal and he moves, without thinking, so his back is against the wall.

“-And I get why she feels like that, you know?”

Robin’s pacing. He hears the soft thump of her fluffy slippers each time she takes another step on the carpet.

“She just…” Nancy sighs. “Surely she should try to tell him?”

“Nance, c’mon. You’re, like, the smartest person I know.”

“I just…”

“Nance.”

“He’s just… They’re so close, there’s probably so much we don’t see.”

“She tells us everything.”

Eddie catches his breathing getting heavier and stops, holding it at the hilt with lungs full of air. His hands are splayed across the wall behind him and he’s leaning with all his might, willing the floorboards beneath his feet to stay quiet just for a few moments more. His ears strain because to his right, Steve, Argyle and Jonathan are having some kind of cruelly-timed debate about pizza crusts in the kitchen.

“We can’t know that,” Nancy says. Eddie thinks she sounds sad; he can hear her mouth turning down in the shape of her words, and her fingers are drumming across the glass-topped coffee table, her anxious tell.

“We’ve known her long enough. And we’ve known him long enough. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“She just seemed so sad. I wish she’d try.”

“It’s not worth it,” Robin tells her, words short and frank. Her repetitive footsteps stop. “Clearly.”

Nancy hums.

“He’s hopeless,” Robin continues. “She’s been pining after him for what? A year?”

“More than that,” Nancy says quietly.

“Exactly! She deserves to be happy, we want her to be happy. So she has to-”

“Move on,” Nancy offers.

“Right.”

“But… We see him all the time. He’s our friend.”

“I guess we just… Help her through it,” Robin says. “Get Steve to set her up or something. Surely we know someone who’s far removed enough from Eddie?”

The colour has drained from Eddie’s face, seeping down his body and through his damp socks and into the floor. The hands keeping him steady on the wall are rendered useless, because he can feel them clamming up and slipping down the tasteless wallpaper the Wheelers have covered their hallway in. He slowly pushes himself up to stand and his head spins, the gaudy florals on the walls blurring to crisp bursts of colour.

What the fuck?

What the fuck did he just listen to?

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have listened; it was a private conversation, a private conversation about you. And yet he can’t bring himself to move, ears trained solely on the now-quieter mumblings between Nancy and Robin about how to cheer you up, and…

Andy.

Eddie’s stomach turns at the four letters as he hears Robin say them, louder than she’d been before, bright like a lightbulb.

Andy.

He lives down the street from Nancy, in a big house with a wrap-around porch and a mailbox Eddie probably knocked over at some point in his early teens. He has a good car - better than Steve’s, even - and wears ugly, pasty polo-neck sweaters and pristine tennis shoes. He probably plays tennis, Eddie thinks.

He’s everything Eddie knows your parents would love. Hell, he’s heard you complain more times than you should ever have had to about the sly comments your mother makes, the garden parties and barbecues you’re dragged to on hot Saturdays with the sole purpose of setting the two of you up.

“She hates him,” Eddie hears Nancy tell Robin flatly, their voices hushed again but just loud enough for him to do exactly what he knows he should not be doing.

“But he’s interested,” Robin whines.

“Only ‘cause her parents try so hard. He’s awful, Rob.”

“At least he’d try! I bet he’d take her to Enzo’s if we asked him to.”

“Rob,” Nancy hisses. “You can’t be serious.”

Eddie thought his stomach had dropped out of him a while ago, at the first mention of your name, but he’d been wrong, because he gets that awful sinking feeling once more when he hears the front door close.

In the seconds that follow, everything happens both incredibly quickly and painfully slowly, the way a car crash does, or watching someone fall. You round the corner, footsteps softening as you tread over the rug. Nancy and Robin’s hushed voices stop. Steve throws something at the bin in the kitchen. He misses. Argyle and Jonathan shout. You look up from watching your feet, and your eyes find him, wide and unsure. Eddie dies.

Well, whatever he’s feeling is what he imagines dying is like. There’s a cacophony of sensations and emotions bursting from within his body: firstly, there’s nerves, taking the form of butterflies the way they always do when he looks at you. They’re followed by a wave, though, of shame and, later, dread. He shouldn’t be here. He thinks you have worked out that he shouldn’t be here. He can hear Robin’s slippers again, only they’re getting closer this time, and then she’s at the door, right by his left ear. He can’t tear his eyes off you.

She calls your name, once in a tone so soft Eddie’s surprised it came from her mouth, and then again, only more confused.

He sees her in his peripheral vision as she leans her head around the doorframe and finds him with his back against the wall. She gasps, a quiet, wobbly noise, and then Nancy’s there, too.

You’re still standing a few paces from him, damp socks on the rug, looking at him with an expression that he cannot read.

“Eddie?” you call and he wants to die, he seriously wants to die. The world should swallow him whole for this, spit him out in the pits of Tartarus, let Cerberus have his way with him.

“Oh, god,” he hears Nancy say slowly from her spot beside Robin.

“Eddie,” you say again. “What’s wrong?”

Your face has crumpled into something between concern and remorse. Something unspoken hangs in the stuffy air of the hallway, broken only by the sounds of trash can basketball happening in the next room.

“Uh,” Robin drones, “We’ll, uh… We’re just gonna-” She slides out of the room, past Eddie, pulling Nancy with her by the wrist. “We’ll be in here,” she says, more to you than to him, an unspoken declaration that says come find us if you need us, before disappearing into the kitchen and closing the door.

He’s still looking at you, and you’re still looking at him. You’re about as pale as he feels as he stands upright again.

“What happened?” you ask him.

“I, uh… Fuck,” he stumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the top of his nose. He catches your wince at the curse and the aggravated edge it comes out with. “Uh… Nance and Rob, they were… They mentioned you, I might have… Overheard a couple things.”

He looks away from you as he admits this, that wave of shame more akin to a tsunami now. He’s an asshole. He shouldn’t have listened.

But he did.

“I don’t…” You’re fiddling, fingers winding around fingers, standing before him looking more lost than ever. He chances a glance at you and your face is twisted in confusion. And then it relaxes, mouth agape, as realisation dawns.

“Oh.”

Warmth crawls up your neck. It spreads like wildfire behind your ears, across your scalp, over your cheeks. Everything is hot, the room’s too small, the air’s too close; more than anything, Eddie is too close.

He watches you fidget. You step forward, and your face drops again, wincing like you’re standing too close to a flame, so you step back and turn, moving away from him quicker than he can process. His call of your name falls on deaf ears and ends just as the front door shuts again.

He hears the shuffling of many feet behind the kitchen door but ignores it, pushing himself off the wall and through the hallway. The space is like water, the pressure pushing him down, keeping him from the fresh air - and you.

When he wrenches the front door open he’s hit first with the smell of rain, that hollow, metallic scent. And then it mixes with something like sorrow, and he feels it burrow into his bones, a deep-set melancholy he wants so desperately to fix.

You’re sitting on the porch steps, your back to him, hunched over with your head in your hands. The way your shoulders move gives you away; Eddie’s at your side quicker than he can think to breathe, touching you before really checking that you want that from him right now. It doesn’t seem to matter; you lean into him like always. You hiccup and sniffle, face pressed into his t-shirt without thought, and his arm sits around your shoulder and his fingers press into your shoulder.

“I’m here,” he says, unsteady. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you say into his chest. You lean back and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I didn’t… You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”

Eddie’s brain is working too quickly for him to keep up with, but he manages to tell you it’s okay. “I’m not mad,” he says, thumb pressing into your jaw, the pads of his fingers on your neck, checking you over.

“I’m mad,” you choke. There’s the hint of a laugh there and he can’t help but return it.

“That’s allowed,” he says. He’s surprising himself with how quickly he’s turned into something solid and reassuring. “Want a do-over?”

You look at him and he aches again, his nose burning. You’re flushed and your eyes are pinker than usual, and as his eyes dance over your lips he sees they’re wet from crying and ripe for kisses.

They twist into a smile and he decides that, for now, that’s better.

“Eddie,” you breathe, coy. You nudge him softly in the stomach with your elbow. “Fuck off.”

“What?” he laughs. “I can leave you out here, if you want. Maybe Andy will come save you from m-”

Your elbow hits his lowest rib this time, with far more force than before, and the gasp he pulls from you is almost comical.

“Eddie,” you hiss, “they did not-”

“Oh, Rob would set you up in a heartbeat.”

You groan and let your forehead fall to his shoulder. And it’s here, where he’s enveloped in the smell of rain and the feeling of you, that he feels something open in his chest, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“He’s better than me, anyway,” he says quietly, fingers carding through the ends of your hair. “You’re too good for me. Some other boy would be better.”

“Other boys are boring,” you tell him, leaning back. Your voice is small and you can’t meet his eye but it’s the truth; he’s blind to it, apparently, but Eddie Munson is the only boy who has ever interested you. He is the only boy who listens, the only boy who sees you, the only boy you have any desire to know inside and out. You’re not sure you ever will know him completely, but if you spend the rest of your life trying, you’ll be happy doing it.

His fingers dance through the space between the two of you until they find yours, toying with the loose threads of denim at the frayed hem of your jeans. His bigger hand takes yours and you still can’t look him in the damn eye. You’d find a smile if you did, though.

He squeezes your hand and touches your chin lightly with the other, pressing the side of his index finger to the underneath of it to bring your face level with his own.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You obey, because it’s Eddie, and he’s so close and you can smell his uncle’s washing powder and the stubborn stain of pot and you love him.

“We could go for pizza,” he says, just as soft. “How’s Enzo’s?”

“You don’t have t’go fancy on me,” you whisper back. “I like Benny’s more.”

A grin splits his face and you match it, giggling.

“My girl likes burgers, huh?”

“Y’know I do,” you say, squeezing back. “Your girl?”

“Gotta take you on a date first,” he says. “Do it properly.”

“You’re startin’ to sound like a gentleman.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Your breaths are one and the same by now, your mouths so close together that your vacant space has become his. Your eyes move between his eyes and his lips and you catch his doing the same, and there’s an ache somewhere between your legs that makes you pull your thighs together.

He dips his head just enough, thumb pushing into your chin to pull you closer. You let your eyes shut and feel his lips over yours, slow and distant, before you lean into him. He kisses you sweet, his hand smoothing over your jaw to hold your face like it’s made of gold, and he moves against you with certainty.

He’s determined and as his tongue meets yours you bend into it, relenting. It’s magic, just as you’d imagined all these years.

He releases your hand and grabs your waist in his firm grip. It starts to get slovenly, your hips against his thigh, his tongue everywhere, and your head’s starting to spin.

“You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself,” you say, panting, smiling, pulling back from him to look him in the eye again. He’s all browns, dark lashes and darker irises, never wavering from your sight. “Thought you had to take me on a date first.”

“You’re too pretty,” he says, kissing you gently at the corner of your mouth. His breath blooms across your skin as he speaks. “Got years of not kissin’ you to make up for.”

His fingers dig gently into your sides and you suck in a breath that’s half a giggle.

“Gotta get back at Rob and Nance,” you say as his mouth moves over your jaw and leaves a mark somewhere beneath your earlobe.

He hums and leans back, saying his goodbyes to your skin with one last peck to your cheek, just below your eye.

“I think we owe them,” he says. “I do, anyway. Was never gonna get my ass in gear. Coulda lost you to Andy.”

“Never,” you say without a beat.

“Never,” he says back.

-

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie munson requests #eddie munson request #eddie fic #eddie fanfic #eddie imagine #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader

[charminglyantiquated]

So, I’m seriously looking into getting into tall ship sailing (waiting on follow-up from an interview rn) and I’m wondering for getting into it more long-term -

what do people do after sailing tall ships? Like, it’s a pretty physical job, and I’d assume there’s a point where your joints just can’t keep up with it.

Are there other jobs in the industry that people move to? I’m not really keen on the idea of moving up in the ship’s hierarchy- admin and being someone’s boss both aren’t really my thing. Do people retrain in completely different careers? Go back to whatever they were doing before they started sailing?

Anyway, I know your sample size might not be super large so I’d appreciate anything. Thanks a bunch!

This is hard to answer directly - on the one hand sailing tall ships is such a niche industry that there are limited pathways for straightforward advancement. But on the other hand, it overlaps with such a large number of other industries, and requires such a jack of all trades skillset - tourism, carpentry, history and preservation, hospitality, marine electronics, etc. etc. etc. - that there's a lot of ways forward for what I guess I'd call lateral advancement: moving to another job which uses most of the same skills. So there's no one answer, but if it helps, here's some things my tall ship deckhand friends have ended up doing, after no longer deckhanding tallships:

Get a captain's license and keep sailing. Captains often have it a bit easier physically (balanced out by the mental stress lol), and are paid better. Owning your own boat is optional; plenty of companies hire captains by the season to sail the boat, while the management of the company is dealt with by the actual owners. (This is what I did! I don't have the sail-hauling arms I did as a deckhand, but my knees and bank account are both in better shape).

Bosun, first mate, engineer, some other specialized non-captain crew member, usually involves licensing or other education that's useful down the road if you switch to an adjacent career

Racing yachts

Captain for hire on private vessels

Outward bound guide, other wilderness education programs

Harbor cruises, lobster tour guides, and other motor-powered tourist boats, both as captain and as crew - you have the patter and the safety skills but you don't want to deal with the hassle of sails

Water taxis, ferries and other passenger vessels

Lobstering, fishing, aquaculture, tugboats, other non-tourist waterfront industries

Marine surveyor, marine electrician, other specialized technician

Working in a shipyard - good fit for all the fit-out skills of sanding, painting, varnishing, covering and uncovering the boat

Cruise ship hostess

Train conductor (the passion for the early 1900s carried over well)

Working at a a museum focused on local maritime history

Tour guide for local buses, walking tours, etc

Boatbuilder (IYRS, Wooden Boat School)

Teaching the captain's license courses (nota bene: there were obviously some other steps between deckhand and teacher, notably ten years of being a captain in between. But this is what they settled into when they decided sailing was too physically taxing, so I want to include it).

Carpentry, house painting

Designing and selling custom made van-homes (apart from the technical skills, living on board a ship helps familiarize making use of every square inch of space)

Sailmaker

Of course there's other friends who went on to try something completely new and unrelated - I think because so many of the people who start sailing tall ships are here for something completely new in the first place, that's not an intimidating prospect so much as an exciting one. But many of them did make use of tall ship skills even when moving on from tall ships, so I hope the above list is helpful in giving a broad sense of what can follow!

#schooner bum life #i am probably forgetting some tbh #for fun. some unrelated post-sailing jobs: #artist #dog mushing in alaska #cheese making #sword maker #chocolatier #orchestra conductor #model #looking at that i think there's probably also something to be said for the confidence it takes #to pursue something you find interesting #even if it means starting from scratch #the same leap of faith that gets you on a tall ship can take you somewhere else

[redwinterroses]

Holy cow -- so the signed HC-TCG cards apparently ran into some trouble when shipping back from the hermits who signed them to the CREO people who would pack and send them out to us. Problems that looked like the silver marker used for signing them bleeding onto the back of the next card in the stack.

"Disaster! While we could absorb the cost of re-printing the cards, the timeline impact would be dramatic, as it would take months to re-print the cards, cut/trim them, send for signing, and finally return for final assembly and shipping." (<- from the update email)

So what did they decide to do to fix this problem with as little delay as possible?

They're cleaning them. Every card. By hand.

"We are ever-so-carefully wiping the back of each and every card, holding it in one (gloved) hand and wiping with the other, so as to not disturb either the varnish and Spot UV finish on the back of each card, or the signature on the front of the card."

I've been sitting here bouncing in my seat like a 5yo going "Are they here yet? Are they here yet?" But knowing this: I'm content to wait a little bit longer. Props to the folks at CREO (and especially to Luke Chesney, the founder, who is apparently a longtime Hermitcraft fan) for not just going "Eh. It's fine," and shipping the cards with the blemishes. That's a company I'd be interested in buying from again.

...but also I'm five so I will still be checking my mailbox every day. XD

#redwintertalks #hc tcg #hermitcraft tcg

[ageingfangirl2]

Met Your Match! Shanks (OPLA)

Shanks might have met his match when hitting on you in a tavern. You give as good as he takes. Shanks x Reader (female implied)

SHANKS

Another port, another tavern, another night of drinking and good times. The rest of the crew were merry, loud and mingling with the locals while I scanned the tavern for someone to keep me company. I was very confident in my ability to flirt and swoon women into my bed, and most girls in this tavern were already eyeing me up. However, there was one girl who sat alone at the end of the bar drinking and not paying attention to anything around them.

As I approach them they turn to face me and look me up and down, before going back to their drink, 'Not interested, find someone else.'

I sit on the stool next to them and order a beer, 'why would I find someone else when I want you,' I say boldly, puffing out my chest and accepting this challenge.

They laugh, 'someone's confident. I've had a long day, and I'm pretty sure another girl in here would be happy with your attention.'

'What do you do? I'm Shanks by the way,' I ask, genuinely interested, and maybe I could get their name.

They sigh, 'I'm a carpenter, and call me y/n.'

You didn't come across many female carpenters, and now looking closer I could see bits of sawdust on their clothes and they smelt like varnish. I can't keep the smirk off my face.

I clear my throat, 'I wish you were my big toe. Then I could bang you and every piece of furniture.'

y/n turns to face me trying to suppress a laugh, 'Okay Shanks, what's the difference between a G-Spot and a golf ball?'

I take a swig of beer, 'what's the difference?'

'A guy will look for a golf ball,' they answer deadpan.

I throw my head back and howl with laughter, finally someone else with a similar sense of humour, 'You've been sleeping with idiots love. You're cute as U in it, but quickie has U and I together.'

y/n nearly spits out their drink, their eyes twinkling as they take a deep breath, 'what do you call a man who cries when he pleasures himself? A tear-jerker.'

I take note of a few girls around us who were eyeing y/n up with disgust, maybe because they had my attention or maybe because of their dirty mouth. Either way, neither of us cared and continued to trade dirty jokes.

I straighten up, 'how is sex like a thunderstorm?'

y/n rests their chin on their hands smiling up at me, 'You're the pirate, tell me.'

I wink, 'You never know how many inches you'll get and how long it will last.'

Resting their chin on one hand, they reach over with the other and try to shove me crinkling their nose, 'how is playing bridge similar to sex? If you don't have a good partner, you better have a good hand--' they pause, eyes going wide, 'shit! sorry!'

Some stray strands of hair fall onto their face so I lean over and brush them behind their ear, our faces close, y/n blushing as I lick my lips, 'I only need one love. I've got one more for you if you think you can handle it. How is life like a penis?'

y/n gulps, 'How is life like a penis Shanks?'

'It sometimes gets hard when you least expect it,' I whisper.

y/n looks down and bites their lip, 'Why the hell not, meet me in the bathroom.'

I watch y/n get up and head towards the bathroom. I quickly finish my drink and get up to follow them, not caring who saw us and my obvious bulge. It had been a while since a girl had got me hard with words alone.

Y/N

Shanks enters the bathroom, locks the door, and before you can properly compose yourself after whatever the hell happened at the bar, he pushes you against the wall, his lips attaching to your neck quickly finding your sweet spot as if he could read minds.

You moan and tilt your head to give him a better angle, your hands reaching for the hem of his pants, while he does the same to your pants, both of you making quick work of the underwear of the other.

'Fuck me, Shanks,' you beg.

He comes up for air after switching between kissing and biting your neck, eyes dark and hungry as he smirks, 'Let me make you feel good after a long hard day.'

You squeak as he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist before he thrusts inside you without warning. It had been a while since your last time so you were tight but your body greedily wanted more despite the pain.

'Faster...' you gasp.

He complies and picks up the pace, 'so tight,' he growls, 'but it's like you were made for me,' he hums.

Not wanting to be heard you cover your mouth with your hand, eyes rolling back as wave after wave of pleasure consumes you. The only sounds are Shanks grunts and skin on skin. You didn't care how needy you looked as it doesn't take long for you to cum.

'Good girl, hold on a little longer,' he pants.

His thrusts become sloppier, and with one last thrust, he cums inside you. He stays inside you as the two of you come down together, and you remove your hand from your mouth.

'Being a carpenter has some advantages, Shanks,' you say playfully, lacing your fingers through his hair.

He raises a single eyebrow, 'tell me.'

You peck his lips, 'I'm good with wood and my hands.'

Shank's eyes light up, mischief the most obvious emotion, 'my ship is wooden. I could put your hands to good use love.'

After cleaning up you leave the bathroom together and it is obvious to everyone in the tavern what the two of you had just done, especially his crew who hoot and holler as Shanks leads you towards them with his arm around your waist and beaming like the cat who'd gotten the cream.

'Boys this is y/n, who wants another round?' he calls out.

Everyone cheers as Shanks sits you down next to a man who has black hair with a sprinkling of grey in it. You didn't expect to end your day screwing a pirate in a bathroom and drinking with his crew.

#anime fanfiction #anime imagines #opla #one piece fanfiction #one piece imagines #one piece #one piece live action #one piece live action imagines #opla imagines #opla fanfiction #one piece live action fanfiction #anime blog #shanks x reader #shanks x you #one piece live action x reader #red haired pirates #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks #opla shanks #shanks

[tihgnari]

ꕤ 44. a love stolen away (ღ)

tw: angst / wc: 743

the sky was colored cerulean, with minimal puffy white clouds floating about in a snail-like pace. it's a beautiful day today — perfect for picnics in the park with family, perfect for walking around the sidewalk with no particular goal but to feel the fresh breeze kiss your skin…

perfect for a wedding. 

"say, ayaka, how long do you think their vows was for each other?"

ayaka, who had started her day banging her fist against the varnished wooden doors, stops to look at you incredulously. "dude, i'm literally trying to get us out of here. don't be so pessimistic at least!" the banging resumes, with two fists this time. "i'll get you out of here, okay? just wait, and you'll get your speak now moment!"

you didn't laugh. much less reacted, really. your eyes hold no light, and it's jarring seeing the contrast against the sunny day, almost as if the universe is making fun of your miserable state.

"i wonder what color his suit was. i think he looks rather dashing in white, then again i also think he can pull-off any color."

ayaka sighs, walking towards you with heavy steps. she crouches before you but you don't spare her a glance. "don't worry, yn, okay? we can—"

"if you do get us out, i want to fly back home. maybe all of this is sign that me and ayato were just never meant to happen. we're from two different worlds. after he graduates he'll be the president of a company, but when i graduate i'll just be some clumsy intern who works 9 to 5 and doesn't get paid half as much as the hours i put in."

ayaka feels a spark of irritation in her nerves and she's never want to slap some sense into you as much as she does now. 

"yn, listen to me. what are you saying? don't give up yet—"

"coming here even made you fight with your grandfather. i don't want you to fight with your family."

"no," ayaka retaliates, stubborn. "first of all, you are more than what you think, yn. i genuinely don't think i would've survived college nor would i even be as mentally strong enough to even run as president! i am where i am now, because some god or deity above gave me an amazing friend. grandpa… needed to get that reality check that times are changing and he can't dictate what his grandchildren should do anymore."

you're silent, and ayaka would've thought you weren't listening if not for the glint of tears building in yours eyes. 

"this is just so fucked up," you whispered. "i didn't even get the chance to explain. he got married thinking i never returned his feelings, and that's what hurts me the most."

"hey, hey, the ceremony won't start in…" ayaka looks over her shoulder on the small digital clock by the bedside table. "no less than three hours! we can still make it so don't speak like all hope's gone. just help me bust down this door and we can hail a cab, the venue isn't far from here so—"

"earlier this morning, while you were still sleeping, do you wanna know what your grandfather said to me before he left?"

truthfully, ayaka doesn't. "what?"

"the ceremony started this morning, at 9AM. they changed the time and had informed all the guests three days ago — except for you. he said he knew his grandchildren, and honestly? i think he really does…"

ayaka wants to pass out. 

"…considering he knew ayato wouldn't spend a night in a room with the girl he's forced to marry and that you'd fly here with me to soil his plan. he knew everything. he caught ayato, and ordered him to text aoki that he was staying here when really, he was at another hotel. ayato's will is already broken down. your grandfather knew your brother won't run away, that he had no other option but to accept the marriage. while you, on the other hand…"

so that's why you looked lifeless, like you want to raise your white flag and fly back home tail in between your legs. 

the first tear rolls down your cheeks. ayaka didn't want to imagine what you felt, of a love stolen away before it began.

"timecheck: its 12PM, and i've given my context. so answer my question, how long do you think their vows was for each other?"

LOWKEY » previous : masterlist : next

a kamisato ayato social media au

summary — it was only recently you found out kamisato ayaka was, in fact, not an only child after all! seeing ayato for the first time gave you the severest case of the butterflies but according to ayaka, he’s off limits, especially to you as her most treasured friend. well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt, right?

notes — a wild rosie appears... and dips again for the next 5 mos /j

🏷 i. @rinrinchin @nejibot @viiolettee @katsumikumo @starryeyedkoko @xingqiusliegee @boxdisappeared @lovelyycherries @love6cks @kiyowoir @luvvmeilin @blackberri-jelli @moonlightbqe @kazooms @tricethecharm @lynnforever @kaedear @xiaoisahawtie @crowbird @apotatouwu @xinii @euryrue @aequha​@nuttytani @plinkuro @aixaingela @milesluvrrad @windasteriaa @cherrytomato2 @zannivrs @eishtar @wccycc @ceylestia @sweet-almonds @queenaveryrules @veyu002 @ukinya @adeptusx @x-xxiaos @loveyoutothestars @ssalamanderr

[alphabetboyluvr]

sundae (kinda love) | kth

pairing: non-idol!taehyung x female reader - childhood friends, unrequited pining, missed connection

premise: you always thought kim taehyung's lips would taste like chocolate sundaes, but when you learn -through a friend- that he tastes like watermelon chewing gum, the illusion shatters. so does your heart. in time, so will his.

warnings: a lil angsty, big question mark on a happy ending? (it's an ending! i'll give it that much!), short n sweet, mentions of alcohol, clubbing, tae is stupid!, but also not to be blamed (or at least not until the end), insinuation of emotional affair, big regrets, ballroom dancing, no smut and no fluff

wordcount: 1.1k

note from holly: originally written as a submission for my old writing groups monthly prompt - "I wanted it to be you. God damn, I really did." This is ooooooold, but it just felt apt with love me again and rainy days. i also believe it's the oneshot that someone on wattpad commented 'why are the tae ones always so shit' so MAKE OF THAT WHAT YOU WILL! lmaooo.

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

"Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow," repeats the familiar shrill of your dance instructor. "Nina, back straight! Namjoon, footwork!"

The village hall you're in is musty, dust particles imitating you as they dance in the sunlight that beams through the wide windows. It's a Saturday morning, and there's no place you'd rather be less. You're dancing with your best friend, Nina, because there are only three boys in your class of twelve.

There's Jimin, the star student; Namjoon, whose mother forced him to attend because she thought it would be good for him; And then there's Taehyung, their best friend.

He's only there because he has nothing better to do when his only buddies are too busy learning the paso-bloody-doble to hang out with him.

It's spring, and school is in full swing. They're growing, and as time lurches forward, they find themselves with less and less chances to enjoy one another's company.

And so Taehyung's shoes tap along the varnished parquet all rather naturally, much to the dismay of Namjoon, who really is trying his very hardest.

"Now! Turn!" Your instructor commands. "And switch!"

You throw Nina a look -one that she gives you right back- which you both understand to mean 'ugh'. Stupid switch you always think, and refrain from rhyming it with how you feel about your instructor.

There's no part of you that wants to hold hands with other random kids from your village as you Cha Cha Cha across the dance floor. You just want to spend time with your best friend.

The same can be said for Taehyung, but when the switch happens, he finds himself dancing with yet another random girl - Nina.

He glances over -checking who he stole her from- and when your eyes meet, he stumbles on his footwork. Nina giggles, and he looks down all bashfully; pink in the cheeks.

When he looks up, he's looking at Nina. She giggles again, and he gets a little shy, but he starts dancing with her like a duck to water. Something about them just seems to... work.

You suppose you should have seen it coming when the next week he asks to dance with Nina again.

At least, that's what you assume he's doing when he approaches the pair of you. She kind of just hops up and drags him away before he even gets a chance to ask.

When they reach an empty spot on the dance floor, Taehyung glances back over to you and purses his lips. His eyes are soft, and so wonderfully brown that you think he must taste like chocolate sundaes on a hot summer's afternoon.

You're fifteen when you watch from the sidelines as rosettes are pinned to their clothes.

Taehyung's in a suit - dark, a little too big for him. His bowtie is green; a congratulations gift from you, given on the night they smashed through regionals.

Nina is in a matching green dress. Pretty, hair pinned back, perfect. Just like always.

The village hall has been swapped for a convention centre in the heart of the big city. They've just won third place. Jimin and his partner snagged first. Namjoon didn't make the top twelve. He tried, though.

You're beaming, outrageously proud of their achievement - but when Taehyung's eyes find yours in the crowd, his smile falters. It softens after a moment, and he nods. You nod back. Smile. Whisper 'well done'. He grins, now, and Nina notices his line of sight on you, so she waves. You wave, too, but you'll tell her well done later.

When you're eighteen, in a bar in the heart of town, Nina tells you that Taehyung tastes like vodka lemonade and watermelon chewing gum. You don't see him that evening. He sends you a text as the sun begins to rise:

'Didn't see you tonight. Missed you tearing up the dancefloor.'

There's a smile on your lips, though you really wish there wasn't. You both know you've got two left feet. It was always Nina's thing.

You send him back a picture of the chocolate sundae you're nursing, and tell him that you hate watermelon.

He doesn't understand, and assumes you're drunk. You kind of are, legs slung over the side of a sitting room chair in your family home.

You mean what you say. Detest watermelon. Loathe it. Had been eating it the day before without a care in the world, but feel sick just thinking about it now.

You've loved the idea of Taehyung tasting like chocolate sundaes since you were a kid - but now you know otherwise.

It's ruined your perception of him.

Although it hasn't really.

Not in the slightest.

For when he shows up at your twenty-first birthday party without a gift, but a bottle of chocolate liqueur instead, you have to fight yet another smile.

"For all those sundaes," he says.

See, it's become a bit of a ritual.

Every time those pretty lips of his end up on Nina's -and he pretends to care about the fact you aren't around- a picture of a chocolate sundae lands in your message thread to him.

He still doesn't understand it.

Though he does smile when he sees them on menus, and he thinks about how much he'd love one whenever summer comes around. He never indulges, mind you.

Never.

Not until a few years later, when it's the only option for dessert in a gilded reception room, back in your hometown.

He doesn't think it's apt. It's autumn, not summer. Far too chilly.

It's been close to two decades since he first saw you dance - and you're still just as shit - but there's something beautiful about it, now. Maybe it's the flowers in your hair. Maybe it's the way you're looking at your groom, pink sunset pouring through the windows, fairy lights glittering above you. Maybe it's your dress.

Or maybe it's the way your eyes catch the light as you glance over towards him. He's holding your bouquet -Nina had palmed it off on him- and he nods. Smiles. The taste of chocolate is bitter in his mouth.

And only now does he really understand.

Because truthfully, he had wanted it to be you in that dreary village hall all those years ago, too.

God damn it, he really had.

Taehyung knows he shouldn't, but when he's had a few too many drinks, and your groom is off entertaining his friends, he sits beside you. You're watching your wedding party from the back of the room with a smile on your face.

When you look at him, you know -finally- he tastes like a chocolate sundae, now. Your smile falters. It's bitter. The sundaes are sweet, you assume. Haven't had one. Won't have one.

"Should've been you," he says so quietly it's almost a whisper.

You hate that you understand what he means. Hate that you nod. Hate that you're thinking about the way he tastes. Hate that your heart beats faster now than it did when you said 'I do.'

Hate that you say:

"Should've been us."

#bts fanfic #taehyung #kth x reader #kth angst #taehyung angst #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #kth oneshot #kth fanfic #taehyung fanfic #non idol au #kth #fanfic #bangtan ff #im so terrible with tagging still #waaaaaa #byholly

[ms--lobotomy]

I heard some of you were looking for Kyle. Who am I if not a provider?

Summary: Abbadon wants a companion for the night.

Word Count: 1461

Content Warnings: General 40kness, smut, once my Catholic guilt arc is over it’s over for all of you

Image Credit: @squishyowl

You looked out of the window of your cell. It was the one comfort you had here, and the view was almost beautiful. Silent columns of lightning stretched out between magenta clouds, churning away faster than they ever could on any planet. Iron bars marred the view somewhat, but you had to take what you could get in this strange land. The rest of your cell was pitifully dreary, with a curtain closing off what resembled a restroom and a slab of… something that resembled a bed. You chose not to look at those parts. At least, not now.

You heard footsteps coming down the hall. They were heavy and loud, announcing the presence of maybe two or three members of the Black Legion. You barely turned your head from the window before they fiddled with the keys to your cell, almost ripping the bars off of each other. You recognized one’s speech in Low Gothic, but it took you a few moments to really process it.

“The Despoiler wants a word with you.”

You tensed up. They surely couldn’t mean… No matter. You put one foot in front of the other and joined the three hulking men outside your cell. One of them started to walk off, and another prodded you with his chainsword.

“Move.”

You had no choice but to follow these strange men through the halls of the base. You lost track of where you were early on, going into new and uncharted areas of the base. Granted, you’d only ever seen the prison, so this was not a failing of your navigational skills. You hadn’t time to marvel at the interior despite being confined to your cell for what felt like weeks, you and your captors were walking too fast. You had to slightly jog to keep up with them.

Soon enough, you were upon a large door. You ran your fingers along the intricate woodwork, not having felt varnished wood in ages. Two of those strange men looked down at you as you lowered your hand. Another one turned on his vox machine.

“She’s here,” he said, stepping back from the door. The others did so as well, prompting you to do the same.

After a few moments, the door clicked open. You beheld a man taller than the three around you, the first without a helmet that you’d seen in a long while. He had a long top knot at the top of his head, and his eyes bored into you, unreadable. You immediately looked away, trying not to shake in your poorly put together shoes.

“Leave,” he said as the three behind you turned tail and left, muttering to one another.

He watched them as they left before turning his gaze back to you. “You can come in, you know.”

You looked up at him and slowly walked into the room. It must be his private chambers; it was filled with ornate things that you couldn’t have even dreamed of while in your cell. Your eyes darted from the paintings on the wall to the table and chairs built for someone his size. He walked towards the bed, sitting on it as it slightly gave way underneath him. “Come,” he said, scooting over slightly.

“Why do you bring me here?” you asked, rubbing your upper arm with your hand.

He smirked. “I just wanted a bit of company tonight.” He called your name. It was a bit strange on his lips, but it was the first time someone had referred to you by name instead of number.

Was it night? It was impossibly hard to tell in this space between space. You found yourself walking towards the bed and sitting on it next to him as he took his gauntlets off, then his pauldrons, then the rest of the armor adorning his arms. You couldn’t help but notice rippling muscles as your heart beat quicker in your chest.

“Not like I have a choice in the matter,” you said after a moment.

He chuckled. “If you do not wish to be here, I could grab another.”

“No-“ you interjected before you could stop yourself.

He continued taking off his armor, pulling his breastplate over his head before casting it aside. “Good,” he said. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and you tensed up yet again.

“I will not hurt you, unless that is something you desire.”

You looked up at him. He was looking down at you with… reverence, almost. You felt your face go warm as he took your chin in his hand. His grip was firm, but you could tell that he was holding back.

He let go and leaned down to take off his lower armor, and you watched intently as pieces fell to the floor, softly clanking against other pieces. He looked down at you and smirked once he was finished. It was then when he leaned in for a kiss, pressing against soft skin. You were taken aback for a minute before you reciprocated. He grabbed your hips and turned the rest of you to face him, your legs resting against his waist.

He brushed the sides of your shirt up, fabric gathering underneath his hands. You let out a soft moan before freezing, and he pulled away.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

You slowly nodded. He went in for a kiss again, this time biting your bottom lip. You squeaked, grasping for his body glove. You felt him chuckle against you, hands moving underneath your shirt up your back. He pulled away again, his hands moving to your thigh.

“Take it off,” he barked.

Without hesitation, you pulled your shirt over your head. He looked down at you for a moment, running a hand over your body.

“Good girl,” he said, pressing you down onto the bed before planting his teeth on your collarbone. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but it was going to leave a mark. You let out another high-pitched squeak, and he made another mark even lower. When he had his fill, he went down to your breast and took your nipple in his teeth.

“Abbadon…” you moaned as he bit you there. That was also going to leave a mark.

“What is it?” he asked before moving to your other side to do the same thing. You yelped, your fingers pressing into his back as he trailed lower. He was kneeling before you when he made his way between your legs, pulling your shoes and pants off and parting your legs with ease. He began to feast, eliciting soft cries from you. He reached places you thought someone could never reach, and before long, you came hard on him.

He pulled away, fiddling with the zipper on his body glove before taking it all off. You looked at him in awe before he pinned you down again, your fingers interlocking with his. He planted a quick kiss to your lips before he rubbed himself against you and you looked up at him, pleading.

“You will have to beg for it,” he said, grazing himself against you.

“Please…” you murmured. “Please put yourself in me. I want you.”

“More than anything you’ve ever wanted?”

“More than anything I’ve ever wanted.”

He put himself in, and you cried out. “You are taking me so well,” he said as he slid in further. You couldn’t form any cohesive sentences in response, so you let yourself cry out. He slid himself in to the hilt and stayed there for a minute, watching your face scrunch up and listening to your little yelps before he pulled himself out to do it all again. He started to go faster, and you felt your eyes rolling back. Here you were, stark naked, stretched out over him.

You came a second time, much more loudly and violently than the first. Abbadon smirked above you, victorious. His hands moved to your wrists as he kept going, and soon you realized how much stamina was granted to an Astartes. He kept you up long into the night before he started to speed up one last time. You were loud, and he stuck a few fingers in your mouth. He grunted something in his Cthonian tongue before he shot his load into you, once, twice, then a third time.

Liquid leaked out of you as he pulled himself out of you for the last time and shifted you fully onto the bed. He held you close to him. You relaxed into his hold as he ran a hand through your hair.

“You will not have to spend another day rotting in that cell,” he said.

You closed your eyes and sleep soon took hold of you. You slept better than you had in weeks.

@kit-williams

#ezekyle abbadon x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #ezekyle abbadon #warhammer lobotomy #hes got a yee yee ass haircut but also nice abs so #I know the khan has the same but he wears it better #also ive noticed my fics are getting progressively longer #im gonna write a novel guys. Brb #mating press march

[wolframtheregulator]

Hey, I decided to try using Tumblr again. Here’s a model I painted recently:

-=After being routed in the Scouring, they would hold out against Abbadon during the Legion Wars being dubbed “Thrice Cursed”, a mark of pride amongst the Fortunate Ones.=-

Some notes:

This model features 6 different bits of freehand

The spine, muscles, and tail were sculpted from scratch

There are 8 trophy skulls, 8 mirror coins, 8 fingers, and 64 tallies on his leg (8x8)

Body is a plastic contemptor and arms are from a helbrute

The model is covered with an ultra matte varnish and done in NMM (non-metallic metal)

His name Ancient Tethra of the Sons of Horus 21st Exploratory Company “Fortunate Ones”

#warhammer 40000 #wargaming #warhammer #horus heresy #chaos space marines #warhammer chaos #sons of horus #scale model #scale figure

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

"Marilyn Monroe was baptized by Aimée Semple McPherson, analyzed by Anna Freud, befriended by Carl Sandburg and Edith Sitwell, romanced (if you can call it that) by Jack and Bobby Kennedy, painted by Willem de Kooning, taught acting by Michael Chekhov and Lee Strasberg, photographed by Richard Avedon, Cecil Beaton, and Henri Cartier-Bresson. 

She managed—on the strength of limited dramatic talent and within a studio system that paid no attention to individual ambition—to work with some of the greatest directors in movie history: twice with John Huston, Billy Wilder, and Howard Hawks, and once each with George Cukor, Joseph Mankiewicz, and Laurence Olivier. 

She was the first Playboy centerfold and one of the first women to own her own production company; she was a nudist and a champion of free love long before these concepts emerged into the national consciousness. 

She maintained a deep association with the American military that, all on its own, lent her a mythic stature. When the Second World War broke out, she became both a teenage war bride and an actual Rosie the Riveter (long days spent working in the fuselage-varnishing room of the Radioplane plant in Burbank); her first cheesecake photographs were taken in the spirit of “morale boosters” for the boys overseas; her famous appearance in Korea—wriggling onstage in her purple sequined dress, popping her glorious platinum head out of the hatch of the camouflaged touring tank rolling her to the next appearance—remains the standard against which any American sex symbol sent to entertain the troops is measured. 

She was the first celebrity to talk openly about her childhood sexual abuse, a kind of admission that has become so common today that we hardly take notice of it. But to tell reporters in the 1950s that you had been raped as an 8-year-old—and to do so without shame, but rather with a justifiable sense of fury and vengeance—was a breathtaking act of self-assurance." 

From "Inventing Marilyn Monroe," by Caitlin Flanagan, in "The Atlantic," March 2013. (Photograph by Ed Feingersh.) 

[Follies Of God]

#Marilyn Monroe #Caitlin Flanagan #The Atlantic #Follies of God #Ed Feingersh #articles #words and writing

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  This is when things seem to get better with the Shelby family —at least with Polly— that a drunk client crosses the line with you at the Garrison. Haunted by his past insecurities and his burning jealousy, Arthur snaps. And he snaps very bad. For the first time since you've met, he reveals the beast he hides inside... And Tommy obviously uses the incident to blame you.

Words: 5k

TW: Angst, Obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy, graphic depiction of violence, murder, lot of blood, canonical violence, witch trial, allusions to smut, allusions to blood!kink, Arthur being an emotional and slightly psychotic mess

Notes:

✞ I don't condone Arthur's behavior. Also, keep in mind that Heaven is certainly a bit twisted too.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || Masterlist || NEXT

The sound of your heels hammering the cold pavement of Small Heath echoed in the nocturnal streets as you walked to the Garrison. Even though the expansion of the Shelby Company led the family’s interests away from the pub, they still hold the place dear to their hearts and sometimes they liked gathering there for old times' sake. Especially Arthur. Hence, rather than staying at home, reading in front of the fireplace, and dwelling on Polly’s odd behavior at the last family gathering, you decided to occupy your buzzing mind by surprising Arthur at the pub. A raven flew above your head and cawed, its presence stirring interest in you for he had followed you from the moment you had left your house. As you walked to the Garrison, you took a quick glance at the black bird’s silhouette, which was perched on a roof a few houses away. 

"Silly boy, want to tell me something?" You told to it, amused. The animal, dressed with dark feathers, replied with another caw. You chuckled and kept walking.

The white dress and fur coat you were wearing contrasted so well with the dull night that the few people you passed were not sure what they had just seen. Indeed, the moon's glow reflected its light on your porcelain skin, adorning your frail body with an almost supernatural aura. That was why some of them thought they had caught sight of an angel, just like Arthur did the first time you and he met.

When the dark wooden door of the Garrison opened, its noise overcoming the laughter, chatting, and sounds of glasses clinking against each other, a soft wave of warmth caressed your cold face. You had barely stepped inside when people almost all turned around, many pairs of eyes weighing on you. Curious and dumbstruck gazes looked at you, wondering what such a holy-looking creature was doing here — but you did not really care. Your petrifying aquamarine iris swept the room to become familiar with the place before you headed to the counter behind which you saw Arthur’s tall frame. The man was back to you, talking with his little boss-brother Thomas. Awesome, you thought, little King Shelby is here. Sarcasm filled your head at the mere sight of him. To be true, you were well aware that Thomas was always doing his best to avoid you, but it did not annoy you. Quite the contrary, you were more than satisfied with never seeing him — you still did not come to terms with him trying to strangle you after all. Nevertheless, you leaned over the counter, arms resting on its varnished wooden surface, and parted your juicy lips to speak. 

“Good evening, Mister Shelby. Care to serve me a drink?” 

Arthur’s whole being shivered with delight as soon as he recognized the enchanting and oh-so-peculiar tone of your voice — the same voice that had led him to you one bleak and sleepless night. Shaken to the core by your presence, he forgot about Tommy the moment you had started to speak and turned around to face you, the corner of his lips stretching in a genuine and blissed smile. Each time his steel blue eyes fell on you, it was as if God's grace struck him — even though you were living together. The thrills you gave him never left.

“Good evening, love. What is such a delicious little Angel like you doing here? It’s a bad town for such a pretty face ye know.” He almost cooed with his hoarse voice, his hands on the bar and his eyes sparkling with a teasing gleam.

“Fell from the sky and got lost in these streets, so I just followed the light.” Your fingers grazed the back of his hand and went up its skin, leaving pleasant tingles in their trail, until they reached one of the many rings he was wearing. The simple gesture, barely touching him, lit up a blazing fire in his soul. Thomas looked at Arthur and quickly understood that no matter what he would say or do, he held no power over his older brother anymore, “Evening, Tommy.” You said, finally acknowledging him.

“Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He retorted with a voice as cold as an arctic blizzard that could freeze Hell’s inferno itself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and left without any single word, his shadow disappearing in the streets as he left the Garrison, for your sole presence seemed to bother him. Well, at least his opinion about you did not change. However, the lack of peculiar reaction from him reassured you: Polly had not told him what happened to the tea party yet.

“Don’t mind him eh,” 

You did not.

“I should probably give you one hell of a strong drink if you fell from Eden… Miss?”

“Heaven Lavey.” You winked, enjoying his silly way of hitting on you as if it was the first time you met, “A glass of red wine would do the trick… And the barman’s heart.” Your teasing grin widened, unveiling perfect white teeth. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils, enraptured by your whole being. From your smile to your bratty pout, you got him on his knees. Each time he would dive his eyes into yours, his heart would quicken in his chest and dopamine would rush through his veins — who would want to keep taking drugs after tasting you? Not even himself. He was already high enough by your presence in his life and God knew he never wanted to sober up from you.

“As you wish.” He leaned over the counter to lay a tender kiss on your forehead. The way his mustache gently tickled your skin made you chuckle. How sweet he was, not afraid to lavish you with sweetness even in front of other people. Then, he gathered all his strength to pull away from you and take care of your order — which was nearly impossible to do, for you were both attracted to each other like two powerful magnets. But still, he did and then poured the finest red wine the Garrison had in a glass before putting it in front of you. Then, he leaned a second time over the counter to bring his face close to yours again, “as for my heart,” he paused, his eyes abandoning yours to drop on your full lips he watched with utmost desire, “You already snatched it, angel.” 

“You’re incorrigible, Arthur Shelby.” You could not help but laugh when you noticed that, as you spoke, his focus was still fiercely anchored to your lips. The urge he had to devour them was almost palpable, electrifying the air around him. Yet, you resisted the need to kiss him, rather bringing your small hands to his neck to fix his bow tie with indescribable tenderness. The pair of eyes that were watching you since your arrival could not believe that you had managed to tame the brutal Arthur Shelby — how he behaved with you was so different from the way he was with the others it almost scared them, “I hope you like this little surprise.”

“You can’t imagine how much I do.” He purred, grabbing your hands and putting them on his cheeks. How he loved feeling your cold skin against his. You cupped his face, looking right into his fair eyes with a never-ending love, and he instantly melted. His eyelids half-closed, for you had brought peace to his scorching soul again, “Lemme clean a few things and we’ll go back home eh.”

“Take your time. Je t’attends mon amour — I’ll wait for you my love —“

“Yer comfy here?”

“Arthur,” Your eyes rolled, amused.

“Want a cushion to sit on? Want to wait in a quieter room?” 

“That’s okay.”

“Mmm’kay” 

You freed his face from your sweet grip, leaving him lingering for more. When he reopened his eyes he could not hold the little growl that escaped his lips for you had not kissed him. He blinked several times, trying to chase away the charm you had cast on him with your sole presence, and reluctantly left you. Stars still danced in front of his eyes because of your intoxicating beauty — so hypnotizing he struggled to come back to what he was doing before.

Waiting did not bother you. In fact, you preferred to wait for hours here, in the comforting warmth of the pub and its hullabaloo, rather than being left alone with your thoughts in the quietness of your house. Sipping on your red wine, you were minding your own business when a man sat next to you, his body collapsing on the stool as if walking had been quite a struggle for him. Which was probably the case considering he was drunk. Only a few people were still at the Garrison, the others went home stumbling or dragged away by a fellow friend. The suffocating smell of whiskey and sweat that was emanating from the newcomer made you wrinkled your nose.

“Hey doll, all alone by yourself? ”  The man said, bringing the whiskey glass to his chapped lips to gulp what was left in it. You glanced at him and simply nodded, not really wanting to do any kind of conversation, “Your glass is almost empty. Lemme buy you another one.” 

“I really appreciate it but that’s fine.” You answered with a polite smile — but even when doing the bare minimum your angelic traits never failed to captivate your audience. The man noticed your strong accent and saw the opportunity to carry on with the conversation.

“You come from France eh? I fought in France! Bloody hell, still got the mud of this country under my nails!” 

Maybe he talked a little bit too loud, or maybe Arthur’s senses were as sharp as a wolf’s, but the fact remains he immediately raised his eyes from what he was doing to watch over you. His steel blue iris shifted their attention from you only to cast their furious fire on the drunk man that was talking to you. His woman.

“You know, I always thought it was kind of sad that all the people here only link France with the war. This is a beautiful country.” You answered, taking another sip of red wine. Somehow, you allowed yourself to talk with the man. At least time would probably fly faster that way.

“If France’s as beautiful as ya, I’ll rush back to it by tomorrow, doll. The name’s Jim.”

You silently replied to him with a light smile, gently shaking your head at the fella’s attempt to compliment you.

You smiled at Jim — And Arthur broke the glass he was holding in his hand. It had been crushed by the pressure with which he had tightened his grip around it until it shattered into bits. Sharp pieces of glass had pierced Arthur’s flesh, blood dripping from his palm, but the tormenting anger that was building within him was so overwhelming he did not even feel the pain. As seconds passed, his face contorted with rage and his eyes darkened with jealousy.  You. Smiled. At. Him.

That was definitely not okay — the man did not deserve your blissful smile. 

Deafened by the sound of his own heart pounding in his tight chest, Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat in a vain attempt to keep control. To not let his anger issue show. The rational part of his mind was telling him to keep calm, for he knew you loved him and only him. You had told him plenty of times, after all. And he trusted you, really. But the other part, led by his insecurities and his mental instability, whispered foul insinuations to his ear.

Why would she stay with such a criminal like you? You’re sick. You’re old. You’re broken — and no one loves broken men. 

You’re stupid, far less clever and charming than Tommy. HE is a real man. 

You either scare or repel women. Linda told you. You don’t deserve Heaven. 

Useless. So useless… Broken. Crazy, you’re fucking crazy. She’ll see what you are. A monster. Monster. Monster. 

Arthur’s jaw clenched as his mind spiraled into a never-ending maze of whipping thoughts and insufferable feelings. Self-loathing was becoming too much to bear — so messy it had started to drown him. He felt his sanity slowly slipping through the cracks of his skull and the only thing he could to do make it stop was to break things. And by things he meant Jim. 

“Listen, Jim. I think you should go back home and rest. This is the whiskey talking.” You stated.

“Only if you come home with me, doll.” He ought to say, his grin widening. 

Breathless with rage, Arthur felt the heat pooling in his face. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook his wounded hand to clear his flesh from the shards of glass.

“You really should —“

“Come home with me and I’ll make you beg.” He cut off before you had time to turn his invitation down , bringing his hand on one of your thighs to strengthen his point.

Destructive anger flowed through his veins like lava,  exploding at the moment the man laid a finger upon you. Agile like a wild cat, Arthur jumped over the counter and rushed toward you, his shoulders tensed and his arms swinging as he walked.  Earth shook under his feet, opening the gates of Hell more and more at each of his steps. 

“AL-FUCKING-RIGHT THEN,” He blurted out, standing fiercely behind Jim. Arthur’s thundering voice almost made him jump — and it was enough for him to take his hand off your thigh and turned around to meet the Devil’s eyes. You froze on your stool, astounded by your man’s anger.

His face distorted with both fear and confusion at the sight of Arthur Shelby, green with jealousy and maddened with fury, “What the fookin hell did ya say, pal? WHAT THE FOOK DID YOU SAY TO ME WOMAN?” He roared, blue eyes shining with a threatening glow. At this point, Arthur was almost choking with rage. 

“Oh my God Arthur, I did not know she was your woman. I’m sorry! I really did not —“ Jim could not finish his sentence for Arthur had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away from you in front of the few last clients' terrified looks.

“You TOUCHED her! You bloody touched her, ME ANGEL. ME HEAVEN. I can’t fucking believe it,” He spat, his words coated with bitter venom. Swirling in the chaotic vortex of his own fury, he did not hear the man’s bargains. And somehow, he did not care. There was nothing he could say to stop him anymore. Jim tried to utter another apology.

He had barely opened his mouth when Arthur’s fist crushed his nose with such a violent blow the sound of broken bones echoed through the Garrison. The man, almost knocked out by the uppercut, crashed on the wooden floor, a jet of blood gushing from his face, “Oi! Thought you fought in France. Come on, bastard! Fight me!” He snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal.

He’s going to kill him. That was what crossed your mind when you came back to your senses, overcoming the shock of seeing Arthur in such a frenzy state. You got up from your stool, “Arthur… Stop it please.” You called him, trying to be as soft as possible not to fan the flames of his anger. 

“I AM NOT GONNA STOP!” He barked, looking at you.

He looked at you 

and you saw the Hell in his eyes.

“Heard how he dared to talk to ye? Ah, you wanted to make me angel beg eh?” Arthur kneeled over the whimpering man, almost straddling his quivering body, to grab him by the collar of his coat, “Yeah that’s what you said right. But trust me, you sonofabitch, I’m the one who’ll make you beg!” He yelled, sending another powerful blast to the man’s face with his fists as sole weapons, adorned with thick silver rings. “BEG, YOU BASTARD!”

“P-please—“

Another disgusting sound of torn flesh and cracking skull filled the room. “By order —“ A third punch. Breaking teeth. Jim spat three of them at your feet. “Of the —“  Fourth. Fifth. His knuckles bruised and split under the strength of his blows but Arthur could not care less. All he wanted was to reduce Jim’s face to an unidentifiable slop of flesh.  “Peaky —“  Dislocated jaw hanging loosely. The horrible sight was accompanied by the cacophony of bloody gurgles. “Fookin — “ Jim had lost count of the punches that rained down on him. All he knew was that his body was giving up. At one point Arthur Shelby had stopped beating him, only to unstrapped the combat knife he kept in his holster, “BLINDERS!” 

“ARTHUR NO!!!”  Running to the scene and falling on your knees, you managed to grab his hands and keep him from stabbing the drunk man, “Don’t do that, please I need you. Please, please stop it.” 

Please.

Your voice, like a light piercing the thick veil of his darkness, snatched him from his murderous craze. Waking up by the smell of blood mixed with your sweet spring-like perfume, Arthur stopped in the midst of what he was doing and realized he was holding a knife above his head, ready to plunge it into a man’s chest. He took a look at you, noticing the shocked expression on your holy face, and all his anger disappeared into a void. His fingers loosened around the knife, which fell on the wooden floor with a metallic noise, “please Arthur, calm down… Call down, Mon amour.” You whispered, begging him with your eyes. Silence fell on the Garrison, as well as in his mind. The maddening voices had stopped and the buzzing hatred had vanished. Arthur left the unconscious man and collapsed in your arms, panting and shaking. Adrenaline made you shiver too, but you gently hugged his frame, one hand stroking his hair, “That’s okay… I’m here …”  You repeated just like a healing chant as a few men grabbed the severely injured victim and took him away from the pub.

“I’m … I’m sorry— Heaven, oh my god —“ Arthur stuttered, slowly realizing what he just did. He buried his face in your breasts, for comfort as well as to hide the blood that had splattered on him. He barely dared to hug your frail body for fear of breaking you.  Sometimes, he swore he had hell in his hands and he did not want to bring you down in the flames with him. 

“Shhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do it.”  You said with a soothing tone. With divine softness, you ran your fingers through his hair, not minding the blood he smeared on your clothes and bosom, “that’s okay, you’re a good boy..” But as you were trying to chase away your man’s demons, a far too familiar voice echoed in the room.

“What the fuck is this mess?!” Thomas Shelby exclaimed for he had just entered the Garrison, John by his side. His freezing blue eyes looked at you from above.  The king was here and he hated what he saw.

“John, bring Arthur home. Everyone OUT.” 

This was all it took to empty the Garrison from its remaining clients. When John gently put his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, Arthur’s embrace tightened around your tiny silhouette for he did not want to leave you.  “No,” he managed to beg between two heartbreaking sobs. His face still hidden, not daring to look at you for fear of seeing disgust and anger in your eyes, Arthur refused to let you go. Somehow, he was convinced you would not go back home — why would you after what you had just witnessed? “Don’t take me away from her!”  He said, a bit more fiercely, which resulted in John taking a few steps back and looking at you, silently begging you to help him. In the midst of the chaos, only you could bring him back to his senses. A brief sigh escaped from your lips before you gently forced Arthur to look at you.

“Listen, chéri. I need you to go back home and calm down. I’ll be very quick.” 

“No, no, you won’t come back.” 

“ I’ll do,” You wiped away his tears with your thumbs, accidentally smearing more blood on his face doing so, “and when I do, I’ll take care of you alright? I’ll keep you warm and loved.” Punctuating your sentence with affection, you slicked his hair back with a frail but oh-so-loving grin on your face. He finally accepted.

When he left alongside John, your smile vanished and you got up from the floor, legs still slightly shaking. Thomas was still standing in the middle of the pub, towering you with all his height, and looking at you with his cold eyes. His chilling stare followed your movements as you walked to the bar and poured yourself another glass of wine.

“I told you to keep a low profile,” He began. Thomas Shelby’s voice was dressed in an apparent quiet, but something in his tone was threatening — and even though he did not display any sign of emotion, you knew his blood was boiling.

“Oh come on Thomas, all I wanted was to make a surprise to Arthur.” You took a mouthful of wine — the much-needed alcohol calming your anxiety.

Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his dawning headache, “ A surprise… I hope you like the result then,” He retorted, before shifting his eyes back to you,

“Listen, I know you don’t like me but — ” 

“He nearly killed someone for you. What the fuck are you doing to my brother, eh?” Tommy slightly tilted his head to the side, a spark of resentment lightening up his icy iris. You remained silent, still not believing Thomas was really blaming you for Arthur’s outburst. Of course, you had not reacted immediately, but the shock had petrified you for a few long minutes — but was it your fault if he had beaten the man? Certainly not. At this point, Tommy was just lashing out at you for all the issues his family was facing. It was far easier than admitting his own flaws and responsibility. Visibly infuriated by your silence,  Tommy walked to you and stopped only a few inches from you, trapping your body between the counter and his own strong frame. He was close — so close your breasts were almost pressed against his chest, “Look me in the eyes when I fucking talk to you, Heaven.” He spat your name with disgust, as if he had just bitten into an apple filled with maggots.

“Get my pretty name out of your mouth,” You looked dagger at him, anger rushing through your veins at such an unwanted proximity. Yet you did not flicker.

“You fucking white Devil,” He hissed through his teeth, his low voice still calm in spite of his blooming hatred, “Are you happy to spread chaos in our life? What do you want from us ey?” He leaned over you, bringing his face closer to yours. With his brows slightly furrowed, Tommy’s sky blue eyes were probing yours, trying to understand the mystery they hid behind their aquamarine wonders, ”What do you want from me?! After Arthur is this me you want to control??” He growled. Your heart raced in your chest — shivers ran down your spine, and goosebumps appeared on your porcelain skin, for his unpredictable behavior was starting to worry you.

“I don’t want anything from you Thomas Shelby. Whether you like it or not I’m being honest with your brother. You know Arthur’s emotional, you can’t blame me for that.  You take away his meds, turn him into a killer, and now you’re surprised he snaps?? How. Fucking. Unbelievable! Do you know what I think? Well, I think you need me to be your scapegoat . You need to blame me for your sins. For everyone’s sins.”

“Fucking burn in hell,” He spat again but could not find something to retort properly. It seemed like the skies gave you the gift of shutting Thomas Shelby's mouth. Instead, one of his hands grabbed you by the neck and forced your face to get closer to his. His breath fanned over your skin, as burning as a dragon’s fire.

“Be careful with the Rule of Three, Thomas. For each spell you cast always returns to you three times stronger.”  You whispered. Then you gathered all your remaining strength to push him away from you, his musky and peculiar perfume almost making your head spin.  Not wanting to stay here any longer — and also longing for a hot shower to wash away the blood from your skin —, you headed to the Garrison’s door. Obviously, Tommy’s eyes followed you but he did not say anything, muted by his resentment. Admittedly, he was torn between the urge to bounce on you and the desire to see you leave. You were about to disappear, the cold breeze of the night jumping at your face and rushing into the pub as you opened the wooden door. But your instincts kicked in. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally decided to warn little king Shelby.

“By the way..." You looked at Thomas from above your shoulder.

"You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.” 

He froze. Confused and infuriated.

You left. Hurt and bitter.

When you came back home, you crossed your reflection in the corridor’s mirror.  Your body refused to work anymore and forced you to stop in front of it. Facing your own person was something you hated. With trembling fingers, you brushed the blood stain Arthur had left on one of your cheeks.

Mom! Mom, no!!

I’ll fucking kill you all!!

You clenched your jaw at the memory it triggered, but still, you kept looking at your tainted ivory skin as if you were slowly learning to come to terms with what you did and what you were. Your fingers trailed down your throat until they grazed the top of your bosom, where the blood had accumulated the most. Another painful memory assaulted your mind, replaying the aching, almost inhuman screams of your little sister when her flesh had been eaten alive by the hungry tongues of the pyre’s flames.

Only God knew how you managed to keep your mind from spiraling into the darkest pits of your trauma, but you did — maybe that was because Arthur needed you. That protective instinct was stronger than your own pain. That was why you tricked your body into moving away from the mirror and went upstairs to take a hot shower before joining your man in bed. John had probably managed to convince him to sleep. Or his body had collapsed on the mattress, exhausted by the energy poured in his latest outburst.

As the running water of the shower was filling the bathroom with its regular and soothing noise, you slowly let your white dress slip along your body until it fell on the floor, as well as your lace panties. You stepped over the pile of clothes and, without waiting any longer, you hopped under the shower and welcomed its warm water with utter joy. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you tilted your head back, water hugging your body and raining down on your long white mane that cascaded down your lower back. You almost managed to empty your mind when, suddenly, one gentle calloused hand brushed your hip. Jumping in surprise, you turn around and saw that Arthur had joined you under the shower. His hands, arms, and face were still splattered with half-dried blood he had not cleaned. To be true, he had been too busy curling up on the bedroom floor, panicking about at the idea of you leaving him after what you had witnessed.

“You’re here…” His gravel voice said, water falling on his naked body whose millions of freckles drew magnificent constellations on his skin.

“Told you I’d come back.”  

He smiled, softly. His steel blue had stopped avoiding you and was now firmly anchored in yours.

 He took a step toward you.

You stepped back in response until your bare body met the cold shower wall.

Your pulse quickened, fascinated by the way Arthur looked. He had something in his eyes — a mix of limerence and pure madness who, combined with the crimson stains on his face, made your legs weak. His breath was slow but yours soon became erratic, even though he had barely touched you yet. 

“You ain’t scared, love? Please, tell me you ain’t scared of your Arthur…” He said, his lower lip trembling as his body perfectly interlocked with yours. A small growl escaped from his throat at the intoxicating sensation of yours curves pressed against his skin. But despite his inextinguible desire, he still looked at you with hesitation and genuine guilt — his puppy eyes would surely break anyone’s heart.

“No, I’m not scared,” You replied, not shifting your gaze from him. The corner of your juicy and honey lips stretched in a small grin, “You…” You paused, bringing one hand to his stained cheek, “you look pretty with blood all over your face.”  

Arthur’s eyes lightened with both surprise and ravaging desire, for you had witnessed the beast’s violence but still thought he was attractive. A twisted wave of arousal shook you to the core when he bared his teeth in a vaguely dangerous but oh-so-seductive smirk.

“Oh bloody hell, angel…” Not finishing his sentence, his lips captured yours in a fury kiss for he could not wait any longer. The need to possess you, to feel you, was too devastatingly strong to resist. At first, his lustful kiss surprised you, and even though you burnt for him l, a part of you felt it was wrong to feel this kind of twisted attraction. Last thing Arthur needed was someone encouraging his violence — but your brain soon shut down at the thought he did it for you. Only you. Your arms locked up around his neck to deepen the waltz of your tongues, sending fireworks in your loins. It was far than enough to turn Arthur on who, all of sudden, lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, already suffocating with the hungry way he devoured your mouth and the shower’s steam accumulating around you.

As water rained down on your two intertwined bodies, it washed away the blood from your skins. The tainted liquid disappeared down the drain, leaving pale red stains on the bathtub's immaculate marble. 

You kissed him harder. Rougher. Until his flesh dived into yours in an explosion of pleasure and shooting stars.

For you had seen the Hell in his eyes, and loved it anyway. 

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alones but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.

Tagging those who might be interested: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08

#Arthur shelby #Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders x reader #Tommy shelby fanfic #Arthur shelby x oc #Arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders #Tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #Peaky blinder fanfic #Heaven Shelby #John Shelby #Michael Gray #John Shelby x reader #Polly Gray #Arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x oc #Paul Anderson #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #Alfie Solomon’s

[astr0exe]

K9 [COD MEN (POLY??) X M!READER] : CH2

Ch.1 , Ch.2 , Ch.3

CAS’ MASTERLIST !!

reader is transmac and autistic cause i said so :)

AO3 VERSION : K9

SUMMARY: K9 gets to know the boys even if he doesnt know how to hold a conversation

(feeling so bored transferring all this)

(absolutely terrified that my writings bad but oh well)

(enjoy chapter two!!)

(projecting into the character againnnn)

CW : Swearing + reader vaping + Alcohol Consumption

CHAPTER 2

Third Person POV :

As K9 sat down on the near-disintegrating couch next to Soap, Bucky decided to scour the room and hesitantly move towards the other men in the room. "Let's play a game so we can get to know each other!" Soap suggested excitedly. "Uhhh what's the game?" Gaz replied wearily, scared for what Soap had in mind.

“Never have I ever but as a drinking game? either that or truth or dare!” Soap nagged chuckling softly as he saw the fear in the boys' eyes.

”Umm sure why not I’ll play I wanted to get to know you all anyway..” K9 trailed off awkwardly squirming in his seat when everyone turned in surprise that he agreed.

”Well the boys don’t have a choice if you agree so!” he says as he stands, “let me go get the shot glasses and the alcohol and I will be right back! Don’t have too much fun without me!” he smirks as he walks out the room.

With Soap out of the room, it became deadly silent. Bucky padded over to Gaz slowly,” Hi boy, How's it going?” he addressed the dog, Bucky sniffed his hand and huffed calmly looking back to his owner for permission. K9 just smiled and nodded happy that his dog wasn’t ripping his team apart.

”He is really cute.” Gaz states, looking over at K9 noticing the chipped nail varnish he has on and his lack of eye contact. “Umm Yeah he has been there for me when I needed him” ___ responds softly, slowly they grab a vape from their pocket.

”Umm Do you guys mind if I use this in here I would smoke a cigarette but we are inside so this is my only option.” ___ asked carefully, afraid to offend his new team members.

”Nah we don’t mind lad.” Responded Ghost calmly, noticing how anxious K9 seemed.

Soap bounded back into the room excitedly, getting sniffed by Bucky as he placed the vodka and glasses on the creaking coffee table. “Okay let's get started!” Soap explained whilst pouring the drinks. “I’ll start, Never have I ever set fire to something out of boredom.” GazK9 and Soap both took a shot.

----- Time skip cause I cba writing the whole game -----

With everyone officially tipsy if not more drunk Gaz's gasped and asked brazenly, "K9 what's that flag on your jacket?!" with everyone in the room now looking at ___'s chest patch he knew he was going to have to explain.

"Umm it's the trans flag, I'm transmasculine. So I was born female at birth. I uh hope this doesn't effect your thoughts about me." K9 mumbled worried they would react badly. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as his bottom lip started quivering.

"Aww K9 come here," Soap started whilst opening his arms up to the near shaking man. "You're still a man bonnie {beauty}, I don't know about the others but I know that to me, you are still a lad." K9's tears started falling halfway through Soap's little speech, ___'s sobs racking his body, his tears soaking through Soap's t-shirt as they stayed huddled together. "Lad I don't think of you any differently. Thank you for telling us. Proud of you." Gaz explained kindly. Now all eyes were on Ghost.

"I couldn't care less what you have in your pants you're still a guy." Stated Ghost blandly but with a hint of softness. His eyes crinkled partially at the sides. Soap and K9 stayed cuddled up." Speaking of your pants ___ can I get in them handsome?" Soap flirted but K9 couldn't tell if he was joking or not and his whole face erupted into a red hue like a volcano, his brain short-circuiting. The boys all decided to tease ___ on the fact he looked like a tomato.

As the night grew later, everyone relaxed due to the company and the alcohol coursing through their veins, Ghost noticed Bucky nudging K9 with his nose. Confused Ghost strode over to where Soap and K9 were still cuddling and noticed he was asleep. Soap slowly stood up whilst holding ___ in his arms, smiling down at their resting form. Ghost and Gaz followed behind Soap with Bucky padding after his owner.

Walking through the near silent halls they mumbled between themselves,"K9 is gonna fit in great!" Gaz cheered. "Yeah he seems alright." whispered Ghost as he secretly admired the sleeping man. Soap just nodded, agreeing with them both.

#x male y/n #x trans male reader #cod x male reader #x male reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #fanfiction #cas speaks