#I humbled myself 😅 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meowzfordayz · 10 months

Text

a hug (or, a thousand words too painful to say, but too precious to be left unspoken)

Author’s Note: this is a highly self indulgent fanfic, and is significantly coded to myself irl. 😅 Still enjoyable and readable for most anyone, but features a much more specific Reader than my usual writing. 🤗

a hug (or, a thousand words too painful to say, but too precious to be left unspoken)

Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~4,100

CW: alcohol, death content, Fem!Reader, implied canonical violence, mild sexual content

~faqs~

Another day, another lonely night. Glimmering in moonlight, Giyuu lies tired and still in bed. His mattress dips familiar and gentle in the center; a quiet reminder of his lack of a partner. Usually, he falls asleep this way, with a faint clenching in his sternum as he trades longing for unconsciousness, but tonight, he reaches for his second pillow — a worn and tactile belonging, saved for an elusive heart. The pillow squishes cool and small into his ribcage, and when he closes his eyes, he swears he can feel the tendrils of another’s touch; the breath of a lingering lover, smooth and warm against his skin — an embrace as secure as it is fleeting. A willowy breeze makes its way through his window, swirling around his room as though to compensate for the lack of company, and he finds himself wishing for the scent of closeness. Wishing for the press of a cheek against his chest, lips curving into a smile, arms clinging tightly—greedy, even, as though they truly desire him—around his waist, a hand rubbing slow circles into his back, the other gripping his bare skin. Exhaustion weighs more insistent on his eyelids now, goosebumps raising on his forearms as sleep conquers his melancholy, pillow happy and unmoving in its nook beneath his shoulder.

“Tomioka-san,” she says quietly, steps light as she walks beside him, “Are you going to be alone tonight?”

“I suppose so,” he shrugs, not sparing her a glance, “I intend to eat and then sleep.”

With a soft chuckle, she murmurs, “How straightforward,” expression kind as she remarks, “Would you like any company?”

“Whose company?” Giyuu deadpans, pulse quickening as his pace falters, still resisting the gravity of her stare, “Nobody likes me.”

“Now that isn’t true,” she retorts, “Kocho-san addressed you at least once during the meeting, and Shinazugawa-san was as behaved as he can be.”

“Formality is a given,” he mutters Meetings don’t count.

“And where exactly are we going?” she asks politely, a hint of amusement brightening her tone.

We? he pauses mid stride, realization settling in as the shift in greenery registers, well pruned bushes and watered flower beds trailing off to ancient trees and shadowy forest aromas, maintained cobblestones soon to give way to dirt trodden paths, spindly and senseless in their form and direction Why is she following me? Does she believe me incapable of protecting myself?

“I’m going to eat,” he states plainly, hesitating when she offers no response, “Are you…” swallowing nervously, eyes fixated on the ends of his sleeves, “Going to join me?”

“Tomioka-san, was that an official invitation?!” she exclaims cheerfully, birds scattering as she claps cheerfully, “I humbly accept!”

“I-” he begins to say, finally daring to look at her I didn’t invite you caught in his throat at the sight of bronzed sunlight glistening warm and tender through her hair, her uniform—in the style of Shinobu’s—perfectly fitted, additional haori a deep maroon not unlike half of his own, “Alright then.”

He leads her in silence, sun lazily sinking from the treetops to their branches to their trunks to their roots, a hazy darkness clinging to their silhouettes with the onset of night, hunger hastening his footsteps, an unfamiliar heat filling his chest with every peek behind him, her determined smile anchoring itself further and further into his memory.

—

“Tomioka-san.”

Grunting, Giyuu tilts his head, refilling their sake cups with a soft, “Huh?”

“Hashira don’t do this often, do they?”

Part of him wants to play dumb, wary of her openness and honesty, wondering if he should perhaps, not share his sake with her, her cheeks far redder than when they first entered the tiny restaurant, but a larger part of him revels in her earnesty. She hasn’t experienced enough loss is his guilt laden impression, sorrow spiking through his veins as he watches her down her cup. This has to stop he decides, lead in his gut as he braces himself to push her joy from his proximity.

“We’re usually too busy training to stay alive, trying to stay alive, or mourning those who couldn’t stay alive.”

“I understand,” she replies simply, taking his bluntness in stride, “Rengoku-san makes similar statements, albeit with a bit more enthusiasm.”

“Would you like to finish the sake? I’m tired, and will be leaving shortly.”

She blinks once, twice, and he nearly grimaces at the underlying disappointment in her eyes, voice steady as ever when she answers, “I’ll finish it for you,” for us, “Would you like me to accompany you to your next stop?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Of course, have a good night, Tomioka-san.”

A chokehold of regret grips him as her demeanor changes, heady comfortability dissipating between them faster than it thickened, the clang and clatter of other patrons suddenly louder than he recalled, facade of intimacy popping.

“Will I see you again?” he ponders aloud, alcohol speaking life into his treacherous thoughts.

“Do you want to?” she counters, raising an eyebrow, “I was under the impression that I bothered you.”

Standing slowly, he reaches out to pour the rest of the sake into her cup, tremor in his elbow noticeable only to her keen eyes, “I am alone, and it would be selfish of me to live otherwise. I don’t do this often,” ever, “Because it toes the line between duty and survival. You want to survive, don’t you?”

“I want to live,” she responds gently, a light fingertip resting atop his elbow, her other hand raising the full cup to her mouth, “I want to make the world a place where everyone can live.”

“That is admirable,” he murmurs evenly, back already turned to her, anxious to disappear into the ache of the dark, “May I see you at the next meeting,” may you continue living till then.

Where is she? Giyuu wonders, taking in the profiles of his fellow Hashira Surely…

“Tomioka-san, whatever is on your mind?” Shinobu coos loudly, “Never have I known you to actually daydream about someone!”

How unfair he thinks petulantly, haori feeling tight around his shoulders as he breathes in deeply, “Kocho-san.”

“That is indeed my name! Good of you to remember, we’ve been colleagues for so long anyhow.”

Eyes flashing with irritation, his nostrils flare, noting the distinct lack of a scent—her scent, swirling of amber and lavender, of dusky woodland and sundrenched wildflowers—drowning instead in the strength of Tengen’s perfume. The line up of Hashira feels incomplete, her petite figure typically squished somewhere near Mitsuri, her hurriedly tied hair missing from his peripheral, palette of stares otherworldly without the grounding brownness of her eyes.

“Kocho-san,” he repeats, certainty in his tone now, “Someone cares about me.”

“Oh?” she gasps, delighted at his sudden bite, “How wonderful, Tomioka-san! I would be honored to meet whoever’s oblivious enough to befriend you!”

Teeth gritting, his expression blankens, shame prickling at his skin Using her as leverage when she isn’t even present… how low of you…

“Would you like to dine together?” Shinobu chimes, “After this meeting? Do you have any old haunts worth revisiting?”

“I would not like that.”

“I suppose nothing could shine brightly enough to keep your focus,” Shinobu laughs lightly, good natured glint in her eyes as she quips, “That’s Tomioka-san, as sullen and single minded as always.”

“Does it shock you?” he ventures, “That someone could care about me?”

Head tilting at his question, Shinobu eventually smiles, silently mouthing as Kagaya comes into view Not at all, but I’m shocked you could notice in the first place.

“You weren’t at the meeting,” a frustrated voice mutters, cool body slipping into the seat beside you, “Oyakata-sama didn’t mention you either.”

“I was recovering from a mission,” she explains, not bothering to greet him, enraptured by condensation sliding down her glass of water, “Congratulations on your success.”

“The loss of the living is never a success,” Giyuu snaps, muscles still fatigued, his heart even more threadbare, “Slaying demons is just the physical aspect of being a Hashira.”

“And existing in the shadows and shrugging off praise is the other aspect?” she snorts wryly, unperturbed by his harshness, “Certainly, you are my senior, Tomioka-san, but you seem to be missing out on the true nature of your position.”

“I do not care for material treasures,” he says sharply.

Laughing at his assumption, she rolls her eyes, carelessly nudging his bicep with her own, “I’m not a Hashira for the sake of a salary. You believe me to be so shallow and stupid?”

“I don’t know you.”

“And yet, this is the second time we find ourselves in the same place at the same time.”

“You followed me the first time,” he grumbles, “This is my spot.”

“You didn’t leave when you saw me here,” she hums, gesturing at the bartender for more sake, “In fact, you willingly sat beside me.”

“I will not be bullied away from my few comforts.”

She lapses into silence at his indignation, mouth twitching as she considers his subtle confession — the extent of his self inflicted punishment.

“Of course not, we’re both Hashira, we couldn’t bully each other if we tried,” she jokes lightly, warming her palms on the newly arrived bottle of sake.

I wonder how they would feel, if I could offer her the heat of my own skin Giyuu frowns, “I’m stronger than you.”

“Not in the heart.”

Immediately, her attention focuses on pouring the sake, tiny clay cups reflecting her embarrassment back at her, chest nearly bursting at the pressure of waiting for his reply — of waiting for him to simply up and leave, again.

“If I was any stronger in the heart, then I would be dead.”

Pinching one of the cups between his thumb and index finger, he sips slowly, then all at once, head pitching backward, messy hair blurring the redness of his face, the outline of his feelings.

“Our line of work is tragic, isn’t it?” she remarks, following suit as she drinks from her cup, tongue tingling at the bittersweet flow of sake, “There are the silver linings of gratitude and the sunrise, but it’s grueling on the soul.”

“Your soul radiates ease,” he admits.

“And you envy me for that?” she asks gently.

“No. I don’t understand.”

“Tomioka-san, I-”

“-Giyuu. Call me Giyuu,” he interrupts Before the chance to do so escapes us both.

“Giyuu,” she tests the word delicately, unaware of the pricking along his spine, the flimsy defense of his clenched fists, eyes distant and guarded as ever, “So you cared about my absence.”

“And you revisited my restaurant.”

“Your restaurant?” she grins teasingly, “I didn’t pin you as a business owner.”

“Kanroji-san missed you,” he ignores her banter, reaching across her vision to pour the next round, “Should I be concerned about your love for sake?”

“Should I be concerned that you seem incapable of conversation without the tactical distraction of sake?” she retorts, neglecting to inform him that I only drink with you.

Mustering his courage, Giyuu breathes in the flickering glow of late night stupor and lowered inhibitions, surrounding patrons oblivious to the gnawing turmoil in his toes, working its way up his calves, his knees, the bend in his hips as he leans over the countertop, granting her a sideways glance, “I’m afraid I’m beginning to enjoy these moments of normalcy.”

Eyes widening, she sits upright, voice tinged with gruff amusement, “Normal? There isn’t a normal bone in your body, Tomioka Giyuu.”

“And is that okay?” he dares to venture Or is that why everybody hates me?

“It’s wonderful,” she declares, meeting his solemn stare with an overwhelming smile, “I’m positive there’s more to you than you’re willing to entrust with me, but perhaps someday, gradually, I can earn your honesty.”

“Would you accompany me to my estate tonight?”

“Feeling more scared than usual?” she chuckles, tentative hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, unable to hear the I should’ve done that struggling through the din to the forefront of Giyuu’s thoughts, “What’s different?”

He can’t bring himself to tell her I’m terrified, can’t bring himself to tell her This tightness in my lungs, how could I survive if a demon hunted me now?, can’t bring himself to tell her I’ve been too engrossed in yearning for my ghosts to get closer to the living, too buried in self contempt to feel the heat of anyone’s patience.

“Nothing’s different,” he lies, “I’m striving to be a better mentor.”

“Mentor?” she giggles, rolling her eyes, “How old are you, Giyuu?”

“Twenty one,” he stifles a sigh, relieved she let his omission go — disappointed she didn’t press further.

“And I’m twenty two.”

“Your kills?” he pries carefully.

“Fewer than yours,” she murmurs, “But my rank isn’t simply a pretty gesture.”

“My estate isn’t far,” nor is it much to see he tacks on silently.

“We’re all lonely, you know? I wouldn’t abandon you, even if you demanded me to.”

Her determination stirs a fierce emotion in his chest, maroon of her haori bleeding into his veins as he allows her promise to curl into the hollow of his throat, tone steely and splintered as he holds out his hand.

“Don’t utter such nonsense. Everyone departs eventually,” but maybe, just maybe, we could depart together.

She’s quiet as she reaches for his fingers, her callouses somehow familiar yet unexpected, warmth licking from her body toward his own coolness, unable to coax him any closer. I wonder how we appear to others Giyuu muses, an odd sensation spreading from the base of his spine up to his nape How her hand looks grasped in mine heart filling with nostalgia as he turns toward his estate Could we be…

—

“Oh…” her nose crinkles, eyes having long adjusted to the stillness of the night, “This is you.”

“This is me,” he affirms, grip still intertwined with hers, forgotten in the easy rhythm of their companionship, “Are you…”

“Willing to come inside? Judging your lodgings? Going to let go of your hand anytime soon?”

Blushing faintly—too faintly for even a Hashira to see under the foliage of midnight—Giyuu swallows thickly, no longer able to conceal his discomfort behind a sip of sake, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh?! And I didn’t even think to bring a housewarming gift,” she jokes softly, instinctively squeezing his hand, the flustered uptick of his pulse audible, “We can say goodbye here,” eyes closing against the dizzying rush of longing Sake, I’m sure it’s just the sake, “Until the next meeting.”

“What if I asked you to stay?” he whispers, unmoving, tired, sapphire eyes stuck, for once, on her face.

“Are you?” she smiles knowingly, releasing his hand with a gentle rub to his knuckles.

I wish I knew how to embrace you, how to ask… how to feel closeness without… “No, I guess not.”

“May I hug you, Giyuu?”

Her abrupt request cuts through the wayward spiral of their unvoiced desires, boldness propelled less by any sake, and more by the sorrowful gleam in his eyes, bodies drawn together by a shared craving to soothe each other’s listlessness, a haven of sweet, languid energy cocooning itself around his dampened, stoic posture. Barely able to nod, he swears he’s floating, slipping through her fingers as she melts into him, her head tucked precious and snug beneath his chin, mouth curving fondly at the scratch of his haori against her cheek. Her arms wrap slow and shy around his waist, forearms resting hesitant above his hips, light pressure of her sweaty palm touching the small of his back. Is this okay? she seems to say as her movements pause, waiting for the tension to seep from his shoulder blades. Are we alright? as she holds her breath, practiced and steady, allowing herself to gradually exhale as his eyes close, trembling fingertips grazing the hem of her haori, curling as if to tug her nearer, tighter, into the sloppily stitched patches of his heart.

“Tomioka-san!” she shouts excitedly, spotting his lithe figure slinking through the lower gardens, pointedly ignoring the amused snorts around her, “We’re going out for dinner, join us,” waving exasperatedly at Tengen’s dramatic groan, Kyojuro’s curious Oh?, Shinobu’s giddy laughter.

A slight shake of his head disappoints her, the sting of his rejection sharper than she anticipated, albeit the dimmest trace of a smile tells her where he’ll be instead.

“I don’t know why you bothered to invite him,” Tengen huffs, arms crossing, “He declines everyone and everything.”

“He is not the merriest individual,” Kyojuro nods thoughtfully, “Difficult to read.”

“I beg to differ,” Shinobu chimes in, “Tomioka-san isn’t difficult at all to read,” sly glint narrowing her eyes, “But why would anyone care to read him?”

“You’re all dear to me,” she murmurs softly, not striving to be heard, “Tomioka-san too.”

Brow furrowing with disapproval, Tengen chooses to disregard her remark in favor of questioning Kyojuro about his latest mission, Shinobu grabbing your arm to pull you along, the tug of Giyuu’s long gone presence halfheartedly resisting the Insect Hashira’s efforts for a fleeting second.

“Kocho-san…”

“Hm?” she hums quickly — too quickly to successfully feign oblivion.

“Never mind.”

“He’ll accept you, if you offer yourself,” she winks, dainty elbow jabbing at her side, “Few people accept him, he’s so aloof. You might even smile together.”

“I smile plenty!” she protests, face warming at the memory of Giyuu’s fingertips brushing feather light against the wrinkles of her uniform, “I always stop and smell the roses!”

And he needs someone as vibrant and upfront as you Shinobu titters, pinching her pink cheek with a smug grin, “Seems to me you’re quite enjoying the scent of a particular rose.”

“Kocho-san…”

“Hm?”

“I regret telling you anything!”

—

“How did you escape Kocho-san?” he asks, tall glass of juice nearly empty beside him.

“I simply explained I had someone important to see.”

Important? a dent forms between his brows, eyes shinier than she remembers.

“No sake tonight?” she smiles shyly, gesturing at his drink, “Saved a little for me?”

“If you’d like,” he offers smoothly, committed to unraveling his feelings—the odd sensation still nestled in his nape—after a much needed pep talk with himself (which would have continued through the entire night, had she not shown up).

“I think we should talk,” she says, not quite avoiding his display of intimacy, but anxious to unfurl the storm behind his gaze.

“You could sit?”

“Or we could walk,” she counters, “It’s a lovely temperature outside,” and I might run if I try to do this in here.

“You’re welcome to stay,” he declares softly, a warning haze of heat cupping his jaw, reddening his cheeks, not even sparing the tip of his nose, “At my estate. There isn’t much,” ... “But I’d feel…” I’d feel happy, “I’d feel better, knowing you’re somewhere…” dry? Safe? Within reach? “Somewhere less lonely.”

“You would share yourself with me, like that?”

“I have been, haven’t I?”

He moves swiftly, before she can respond, paying his tab, hand deftly finding hers as they head out the door, the feeling of her pulse in her wrist distinctly different—unbearably clearer—without the demanding buzz of alcohol in his bloodstream.

—

I have been, haven’t I? the sentence tumbles over and over in her head as they travel to his estate, its location vaguely familiar to her after only one visit, the plush of his hand so delicate yet firm as he guides her, almost too aware of every breath, every glance, every jump of his heartbeat, as though she might change her mind — as though she might forget their embrace, too painful and complicated to cherish.

“Giyuu-Oof,” she yelps as he suddenly stops, the front entrance shrouded from her view.

“I apologize,” he sounds so close, turning as she blinks, gripping both her forearms, “I fear I know what you seek from me, and I,” mouth shutting, his grip tightening, “I cannot be so selfish to indulge you.”

“Feelings are not an indulgence,” she whispers roughly, breast aching at his avoidance of her stare, unable to caress his jaw, unable to ask him to Look at me.

Knowing he might shatter if she did.

“My sister died. My best friend died. To protect me. Countless below me have died, those above me will die too. I will die. I can’t have it on my conscience, your faith in me, your… your pursuit, of me. I am as dedicated to the living as I am destined for an early death, and you-” speaking harshly now as she listens in silence, his body pleading for her to interrupt him, his heart clinging to the solace of her presence, “-You will die.”

Don’t ask me to mourn you, to trace the scars upon your skin as you leave me behind, to wallow in the numbness that used to be your scent, your laughter, your life against my chest.

“And what can I have?” she finally interjects, voice brittle with soured anger, “If I am marked for death, then why can’t I at least live? Why can’t I feel to the furthest extent of my limbs? Give to the deepest void of my soul? Hold you as close as you deserve to be held?”

“I don’t deserve to be held,” Giyuu hisses, still gripping her forearms, still teetering, “I deserve to kill for those who died in my place, to wander for those who couldn’t see the world, to die for those who deserve, much more than I do, to live.”

“Just shut up,” she snarls, shoving in closer to his glassy eyes, not wanting to shrug him off, but wanting him to, “Look at me, Tomioka Giyuu. Look at me. Tell me, Giyuu, what is living to me?”

“Certainly,” he seethes, “It isn’t me.”

“But it could be,” she persists, desperation clawing through her words, leaves crunching as she presses closer, closer, closer, the most tender of glares illuminated by the indefinite guard of the moon, haori sleeves falling slightly as her forearms lift upright, forehead nearly touching his collarbones, “I’m this close already, so what’s stopping us?”

“You said so yourself, I’m weak in the heart,” he mutters, releasing her arms, flinching when she promptly wraps them around him, frozen at the crossroads, “I’m stopping us.”

“Are you?” she whispers, gaze searching for his, stubborn brown burrowing into choppy seas, a wooden boat sinking, sinking, floating.

“Am I what?” he retorts, malice all but lost as a warm heaviness seeps through his cracks, “I am weak.”

“Are you going to stop us?” as she rises onto her toes, fingers tangled in the memories, the despair, the love, of his haori, “Are you going to live?” as her eyes close, that little wooden boat still floating, still slicing through the grief and deep of his vast blue, “Will you live with me?”

His lips part. A breath to say a thousand words. A breath to say nothing. A gentle snaking of his arms around her waist, palms cold and decided, cupping the back of her head, supporting the weight of her trust as she falls into his touch, throat bared for the barest graze of his teeth, the low groan of his broken desire caressing her skin, making its way to her jaw, nipping light and unsure at her earlobe, sucking soft and wet across warmth of her cheek, hesitating at her mouth.

“Giyuu,” she says, and he kisses her.

He kisses her smile, tasting of salt and relief, his eyelashes fluttering when she tugs on his haori, that odd sensation finally dissolving, devoured by the pressure of her closeness, body jolting as her eyes open, a life worth learning glowing before him, like molten starlight cradled against his heart.

“I will share all of myself with you, if you can tolerate my pace,” he rasps, feeling as though he’s gasping for breath, hurting at the emotional transaction of truth, “I am far from ready to live,” a poised, fateful edge lingering, even as he grasps her hands, guiding them to his neck, his jaw, his face, tracing the outline of his devotion, “But I…” a low sob erupting, posture crumpling, “I want to learn,” her haori dampening, his tears dripping one by one onto its stiff collar, “I want you to know how I feel, for how I feel to grow,” a sliver of his trust as clear as his pain etching itself into the walls of her heart.

“Giyuu,” she murmurs, “Giyuu, Giyuu, Giyuu,” hoping he understands.

As they walk the ten steps to his estate, hand in hand, he tells her, with a shaky, silent pause to tuck her hair behind her ear, that Someday, I swear I will.

#giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #tomioka x reader #water hashira #one shot #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

242 notes · View notes

chantsdemarins · 1 month

Text

😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston x Reader #Tom Hiddleston fan fic #foot lover #meet cute

48 notes · View notes

sev-on-kamino · 10 months

Note

Ok for the kiss prompt, I humbly request:

1. hesitant kisses, but when they part one whispers "do it again. please."

…With Commander Fox because I’m leaping into the Fox Den head-first 🥴

PS you’re the bee’s knees

Excuse me, but it is you who are the bee’s knees 💙💙 Thank you so much for sending this in!!! @wings-and-beskar

Welcome to the Fox Den, we have caf, and a commander who thoroughly needs kisses and affection, so here we go!

Kiss Prompts - Commander Fox

warnings: lil make out sesh, and you can determine where that leads 😏 as always MINORS DNI

Pairing: Fox x fem!reader (medic!!!)

These prompts are my foray into writing short things effectively, and I failed immediately 😅

word count: somewhere around 1k~ maybe

Interactions with Commander Fox were always a gamble. Either you’d catch him at the right time, and you’d get a pleasant, flirty experience. Or you’d catch him at the wrong time, and get a reticent, grump who made you want to scream.

The other medics shied away from dealing with Fox, so the task of any routine checkups always fell to you. You’d been curious why they didn’t want an excuse to chat up a handsome man, but once you met him, you realized why. He was no-nonsense, straight to the point, and highly intimidating.

He was no match for you though. You’d had no problem letting him know that he was not going to hinder your job with his attitude, and the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that worked. You didn’t drag him out of his office for exams, and he tried his best to keep the sarcasm and salt to a minimum.

“Hi, Commander Thorn,” you said with a bright smile, as you waited to be scanned in.

“Ah, perfect timing! He’s in one of his moods, so have fun, mesh’la,” He replied, as he cleared you to enter.

“Well, I brought good caf and some of those candies you said he likes, so maybe I’ll get lucky.”

Thorn began leading you to Fox’s office, more out of habit than anything else. You could get there blindfolded.

“Normally, I’d have to tell you bribery of an officer is a violation of code 263-8, but I’m willing to let it slide this time,” Thorn said opening Fox’s door without so much as a knock.

“How many kriffing times do I have to tell you to-“ Fox began before he looked up and spotted you. He rose quickly from his desk to stand at attention. “Oh, I apologize for my language. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“It’s ok, Commander. I hear worse. You wouldn’t believe the names I get called when I have to administer shots,” you said waving off his apology. “I apologize for being so early, but my first appointment finished faster than expected. I can wait, if you want.”

“No, no, now’s fine,” He said coming around his desk, and clearing a place for you to set down your pack.

“Have fun, you two,” Thorn said with a cheeky grin, as he left the pair of you alone.

“I, uh, brought you a cup of caf from one of the best stalls in town,” you said setting it on the desk alongside the package of sweets.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Fox replied, already sneaking a hand towards it.

You tapped his hand lightly. “Not before the exam, sir.”

“Right,” He said shaking his head. “How do you want me?”

Did he hear himself? Not that you were complaining. Flirty Fox was your favorite after all.

“Armor and the top half of the body glove off please.”

He complied, while you set up the things you’d need, and stole glances at him.

This is a medical examination, do not grope the commander! You thought, as you carefully placed your hands against his warm golden brown skin to begin your exam.

“Your shoulders are still too tight. I’m going to drink that caf myself,” you threatened.

“I did try the breathing exercises you suggested,” he countered.

“Really?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a light smirk.

“You’re my worst patient. I do house calls for you, and this is how you repay me?”

“How else should I repay you?” He asked, as you stepped in front of him to check his vitals.

“Following my instructions would be an amazing start.”

“Not happening. Anything else?”

You looked up at him, irritated and fascinated all at the same time. He was so close, you could see the fire in his amber eyes.

“Not anything within regulation,” you said, your eyes flicking to his lips before meeting his gaze again.

His eyes widened a moment, pupils slowly dilating, as if he just realized how close you were, yet he made no moves to put distance between the two of you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“How far outside of regulation are we talking?” He asked quietly.

“Just this far,” you replied, slowly moving closer, telegraphing your intentions to give him plenty of time to stop you.

Your lips brushed his softly, hesitantly before pressing closer. You felt a strong arm loop tightly around your waist pulling you flush against his bare torso. The heat of him warming you through your uniform.

Your tongue swiped gently over his bottom lip. A question. Can I taste you?

His lips parted in answer, and you slowly licked into his mouth, humming with pleasure. Realizing exactly how far you’d gone, you broke the kiss and looked up at him, swallowing hard, your face burning.

“Commander, I’m so sorry for doing that I-,” you murmured.

He cupped the back of your head, and whispered against your lips, “Do it again. Please.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, eyes fluttering closed, as you took his lips again, melting against him. The sounds of soft kisses, and pure indulgent pleasure filled the air, as the two of you mapped out each other’s mouths, learned each other’s tastes, and gently explored each other’s bodies.

The caf, candy, and exam were all forgotten. You’d definitely have to half-ass this report whenever you could manage to think about anything other than Fox.

***

taglist: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @iamburdened @sunshinesdaydream @ladyzirkonia @dukeoftheblackstar @rexxdjarin

#so this was supposed to be like waaaaaaaayyyyyy shorter #I apologize and I hope you love it #seven writes #seven answers #kiss prompts #tcw commander fox #tcw commander fox x reader #reader insert #tcw fox #tcw fox x reader

190 notes · View notes

nalyra-dreaming · 20 days

Note

Hey nalyra!

I was hoping you could sort of help put some thoughts in order.

So, what I keep seeing often is the discourse of lestat deserving the murder night vs lestat did not deserve it and that's why paris happens.

On one hand I agree murder night "needed" to happen bc the household had turned too toxic for all of them and something had to give ( and lestat did not seem about to relent on anything tbh ).

And then we have lestat himself saying he would have done the same thing and in a way its his fault things ended up the way they did. ( and we have sam saying lestat needs to be humbled to start a character journey in the next seasons)

On the other hand, there is the argument that paris happened because lestat did not deserve what happened in murder night and murder night was a mistake that claudia and louis paid for with the trial.

I find it hard to agree with the latter (it sounds too punitive and I don't think the trial had anything to do with actual rules it was all armand getting back at lestat and getting louis to himself) but as a lestat fan it was hard to watch murder night and say lestat deserved it as well!!

What are your thoughts on this whole mess? 🤔 😅

Okay, so... I personally think it is not that clear cut.

Because there are a lot of things involved in all of this.

For one - I keep saying - the abuse itself is in the book, so Louis did experience it as abuse, at least at times.

Now, Jacob has said that Louis "presents Lestat as a monster", because he is hurt by what happened. So Louis exaggerates (at the very least a little bit) - for reasons.

However, a tale is also always built on truth.

The Lestat in the book was very young still, and had a temper (well, he does not lose that, lol). Louis remarks on not saying something because he feared Lestat would destroy the parlor in a rage. They fight. And so on. Canon. The Lestat in the show is older, and jaded through loneliness - I personally think that is a great way to introduce the more bitter parts of the relationship, because it lends towards possessiveness and a certain remoteness, because he just sees it very, very differently to Louis, and sometimes cannot really empathize with Louis' actual problems. (Sam notes on that in the podcast, too.)

Now. When Lestat says in TVL that Claudia attacking him was "something he might have done himself"... then that refers to him trapping her in a too small, too fragile, too weak body - for eternity.

He knows he should not have made her. He is aware of that. That is what he refers to there:

From TVL:

But what had I done to Claudia? And when would I have to pay for that? How long was she content to be the mystery that bound Louis and me so tightly together, the muse of our moonlit hours, the one object of devotion common to us both? Was it inevitable that she who would never have a woman's form would strike out at the demon father who condemned her to the body of a little china doll? [...] And on a warm sultry night in the spring of the year 1860, she rose up to settle the score. She enticed me, she trapped me, and she plunged a knife over and over again into my drugged and poisoned body, until almost every drop of the vampiric blood gushed out of me before my wounds had the precious few seconds in which to heal. I don't blame her. It was the sort of thing I might have done myself. And those delirious moments will never be forgotten by me, never consigned to some unexplored compartment of the mind. It was her cunning and her will that laid me low as surely as the blade that slashed my throat and divided my heart. I will think on those moments every night for as long as I go on, and of the chasm that opened under me, the plunge into mortal death that was nearly mine. Claudia gave me that.

From Merrick:

Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. I winced at the recollection. Lestat had been condemning himself when he'd spoken those words to her, he'd been offering himself up to her rage. She'd known it.

And here is the crux of it all: "murder night" does need to happen in the grand scheme of things in order to bring both Louis and Lestat onto their journey... they both need to get a reality check, both need to be hauled low so to speak to be able to ultimately heal and the justification is what was done to Claudia (not Louis). And to find peace with themselves.

However, and here is the "problem", if you will - this crime against nature, against Claudia was not only done by Lestat. And that is what her diary entry from "Merrick" is about, and what I believe we already saw hints for in the trial scene when she turns to Louis... Claudia blamed both. "It was never about me." And we saw that already in the show when Claudia argues with Louis before leaving in episode 5, too.

She decided to go and try to kill Lestat, because she thought she could handle Louis more easily.

From Merrick:

To do away with Louis would be foolish, as he is without question the more malleable of the pair. [...] Louis will do as I wish, even unto the very destruction of Lestat, which I plan in every detail. Whereas Lestat would never cooperate with my designs upon Louis. So there my loyalty lies, under the guise of love even in my own heart.

Now, don't get me wrong, I concur with Bailey and Delainey in that Claudia is very justified in her rage, imho :) And... both Lestat and Louis feel the same way, they carry the guilt of what they did to her until the very end.

Now, Paris.

Paris... did happen because Louis and (mostly) Claudia factoring things in) did make a mistake.

They thought (mostly Claudia, and the show hints at that in that episode 6 sex scene when she says to Louis that they "cannot be all like him") that Lestat was the worst.

Like the big bad vampire™, the worst of the worst™, and him (certainly) making mistakes or having a temper or even physically fighting with Louis was the absolute worst that could possibly happen to them.

And that... is the (big, fatal) mistake that is being made.

The show gave us Lestat already brushing Paris off, so I believe show Louis will be a bit more... careful when they get there. A bit more reluctant. Nonetheless, neither Claudia nor Louis are prepared for the old world covens. Or their rules.

Lestat kept them mostly human, a family, because Marius had advised him to do so.

Claudia and Louis, despite their run-ins with the revenants, have no concept of the rules, the viciousness, nor the strength to defend themselves.

They kill off their only protection (so to speak) - and will pay for it.

I believe in one of the interviews it was called "out of the frying pan and into the fire", and that is, unfortunately, very fitting.

That is why "murder night" was a mistake... in Claudia's calculation.

Louis will come to the realization that he "hated Lestat for the wrong reasons" in the second half of IWTV. He will come to a lot of realizations, painful realizations, unfortunately.

Ultimately, it boils down to this, I think (very simplified):

No, Lestat (probably) did not deserve "murder night" for what Louis tries to argue for in s1. Because those reasons will turn out to be the wrong reasons, unfortunately, and likely for a variety of reasons (cue "tinkering" and "suppressed memories")

Yes, Lestat (probably) deserved "murder night" for not heeding Marius' warning. For not trying hard enough, too, maybe. For condemning someone that young. For trapping Claudia (and, by extension Louis) like that.

"I should have listened to Marius's warning. I should have stopped for one moment to reflect on it as I stood on the edge of that grand and intoxicating experiment: to make a vampire of "the least of these. " I should have taken a deep breath."

But he did not.

And the tragedy unfolds.

44 notes · View notes

ftm-radio · 11 days

Text

My gender is 4 years old

...and four days, as of April 15th. This post is a bit late. 😅

Four years ago, all the confusing little puzzle pieces I'd been collecting came together in a genuine eureka! moment and I realized I was transgender. It was exhilarating and terrifying and it undeniably changed my life for the better.

The last few years have felt pretty damn slow and I've had to scramble over a few frustrating obstacles (never changing my name AGAIN, lmao, that was annoying as fuck) but it's all been worth it and now it feels like I'm really making headway.

I started testosterone this past year! I did that! I'm almost 7 months on T now! Currently on a dose of two pumps of gel, which I have only missed applying once in all that time because I was literally sick. The changes are gradual but they are real and they have already brought me so much joy and made me so much happier in my humble flesh prison. 💗

The most anticipated change for me (and for a lot of transmasc folks, I imagine) is my voice, and BOY (heh) am I happy to share this data comparison with you:

[ LEFT: A screenshot from the Voice Pitch Analyzer app, dated November 3rd, 2021. It shows that OP's voice registers fully within the female voice range. RIGHT: Another screenshot from the app, dated April 12th, 2024. This one shows that OP's voice registers mostly between the Androgynous and Male voice ranges. ]

My voice is so different now. It sounds different, it feels different, and in just the last week or so I swear it has gotten a little rougher and raspier and I am LIVING. I could not be happier!!!

...okay, fine, I could be happier lmao.

I'm adjusting to my deeper voice and still learning how to use it in a way I like & that feels best to me, so I'm starting to do some casual at-home voice training again after basically forgetting about the concept completely since 2021. (Whoops.) But I am already so much happier and more content with my voice than I have ever been in my life, so it's only getting better from here, lads. <3

I've also had to go to a lot of appointments and answer a ton of phone calls about said appts recently because I kinda fucked up my eyeball (it's better now, don't worry! and be gentle to your eyes, they are delicate and eye drops are so fucking annoying when you're doing them seven times a day, jfc) and my voice has reached a point where I was a lot more comfortable interacting with strangers and I also didn't notice any surprise or confusion when I introduced myself with a male name! It was kind of amazing.

Also singing is even more fun now. I love love LOVE singing along with a male vocalist and feeling the way my voice kinda rumbles through my chest. 10/10 sensory experience.

Other changes aren't nearly as exciting or obvious as my voice, but here's a quick (?) rundown, for those who are curious:

Mood — Gotta be honest, I don't think I've really noticed any significant change in my day-to-day mood, though I may not be the best judge for this because I have trouble figuring out what/how I'm feeling in general, tbh. But I think I have certainly gotten more comfortable and content with myself and I'd even go so far as to say I feel a little more confident these days. It's nice, I appreciate it.

Acne — I definitely noticed a change in how my acne presents itself on my face. I wouldn't say it's worse than before (I've had very bad acne since I was a young teenager and only got medication for it like, last year which has helped immensely) but I think it's different. More little red spots and roughness than the unpleasant and painful pimples I'm used to. I don't even mind it, really. Oddly affirming.

Facial Hair — I've got facial hair. I really do!!! Not clickbait!!! It's not much, not enough for me to be brave and take my dad up on his offer of shaving lessons quite yet, but it has grown in enough that I don't feel silly including it in self portraits! 🤭🧔🏻 Got a little bit of a mustache happening, a little bit at the sides of my face, some fuzz on my chin (with one LONG hair that I can only assume has been greedy and stealing his brothers' growth), and a frankly surprising lil patch of hair under my jaw. On a semi-related note, not sure if my brows have gotten much darker/thicker. They might have? idk.

my new discord icon, hehe... 👁💜🪓

Body Hair — I have gotten a little more hair on my forearms, and it may have gotten a little darker too! I have a tattoo on my arm just below my left wrist and it's been surprisingly helpful for measuring arm hair growth because for years my tattoo was not covered by hair at all but the left side of it's a little fuzzy now... 😏 I've gotten more noticeable hair growth on my upper arms, which were basically hairless before (free gender euphoria every time I put on my T) and on my thighs. Don't think my lower legs have gotten much hairier, and I'm a little impatient about it lmao. I want to get hairy enough to rival my brother.

Energy/Appetite — Can't say I've really noticed any differences here? I am not a very active person and I already struggled with appetite and getting myself to eat before I started T (thank you adhd & poor eating habits 🥲💀), so I can't quite tell if I'm ignoring more hunger signals than usual. 😅 I am hoping to get more active and start doing more physical activity now that it's starting to get warmer outside again, so hopefully that will help me see these sorts of changes and also get me into some better eating habits as I expend more energy and work up a proper appetite! (Also, since we're on the topic... a reminder for all of us that taking care of yourself and feeding the body you live in is a million times more important than aesthetics and numbers on a scale. ❤)

Menstruation — I am still getting my period right on schedule, but I am happy to say it is considerably lighter than it was before I started testosterone! My period has begun getting shorter, too. It lasted for roughly 7–9 days before, but I was bleeding for exactly 7 days last month, and only 6 days this month. I'm not sure if this trend will continue at such a dramatic rate, but if my next round is only 5 days I will be very excited about it, lol. My uterus can retire any day now, please...

Bottom Growth — if any of my friends read this part, don't speak to me about it lmao — Yeah... there's a little bit of something happening down there. Not a lot, and I haven't really noticed any pain or sensitivity, but there's a Difference. Aaaaand I like it. 😌 I am looking forward to any and all future developments. 😏👉🏻👉🏻

Okay! I think that's it, really.

I know I haven't been super active on this blog for quite a while now (I have really gotten into fandom blogging on my main lmao, and also discord is my favorite thing right now, it's where 90% of my friends live) so I hope this nice, long, ramble-y post makes up for that a little bit. <3

Not gonna make any promises that I'll post here more often, but y'know. I might. It could happen. Definitely not leaving this blog to sit and gather dust, that's for sure. I'll still be reblogging stuff semi-frequently, even if I'm not writing up my own posts.

So goodbye for now, and thanks for tuning in! 👋🏻📻💖💙✨️

27 notes · View notes

violetvelourr · 1 year

Text

*me projecting onto my OC the desire to hold Kakashi tight every time I see him stumble because of his past* 🥺

Poor baby 😭

(P.s. who am I kidding - I want to hold him tight all the time, regardless 🙈)

☙ ❦ ❧

As I am slowly approaching a 2 year anniversary since I began writing my fanfic(s) with Kakashi (very slowly - I began some time around August 2021), I can’t help but recall how I got into all this. Initially I remember that after watching several random episodes of Naruto-1 and Shippuuden I got interested in Kakashi’s character and being impatient (or, let’s be honest, not too eager to watch the whole anime since I still don’t consider it too interesting 🙈) I focused on his story, reading various forums, watching videos (so I immediately collected all the spoilers 😅), and, finally, watched/read about his past.

I was so upset by what had happened to him. And my biggest trauma was that he remained single. This kind, humble, honorable man remained single!.. 🤯

So yeah, I think the whole thing began when I got upset and decided to change that, at least in my imagination.

I did read some fanfics, but the ones I came across did not really meet my vibe. Later on, as I got into the community, I realized that I was just unlucky. But, on the other hand, if I had found all the amazing Kakashi x OC fanfics and artworks from the beginning, I would never have had the courage to start my own 🤭

I was way too self-conscious when it came to my creations, so seeing something I was clearly unable to surpass would have been a firm argument to not begin at all. Later on I managed to change my attitude and stop comparing myself to others. Well, I still sometimes feel worthless, but… I have learned to ignore that and just struggle on and do my thing 🤭

So anyways, as I said, initially I began all this because it broke my heart seeing Kakashi alone with all this sad past and trauma.

In part 2 of my first fanfic (which I don’t know when I will ever get to publish 🙈)

several chapters are devoted to Kakashi opening up about his past to Arina (as he himself states - first and only time). And it turns out not an easy thing to do - she sees him completely shattered.

So yeah you could say this is an illustration for that moment. Although I’d say in the chapter he… probably looks a bit worse 🙈 so yeah, this might be a glamoured version 😅

#kakashi without mask #kakashi’s face #unmask kakashi #kakashi x oc #undress kakashi #kakashi #naruto #he deserves all the love #Kakashi needs a hug #Kakashi angst

185 notes · View notes

savagewildnerness · 19 days

Text

Incidentally, the photo I shared the other day, it is a Live Photo, so I share again so you can see me being blinky, Shirley saying “Okay” & Sam being noddy! 😂

I adored this play so much! I haven’t been to London now since February 2020 & I miss the days I sat in the theatre(s) for (many other plays &) this play as I saw it at both the Old Vic & the Noel Coward Theatre for hours, alone, immersed in the glorious world of this play!

Teehee. It’s so weird to me that Sam was literally a few metres away from me, but I was too scared to ask everyone for photos! Or anyone, beyond Shirley! I wish I had been braver now! But then again, I’m glad I didn’t annoy Sam & I guess I have a memento photo anyway! Here it is! It’s not only a photo even, LOL! It’s a video, essentially 😂.

The play was so exquisite though! I don’t think I could have coped to also know Sam would one day be Lestat on top of the exquisite glory that the play was. If you ever get the chance to see Shirley Henderson on stage, run as fast as you can at that! Sam wasn’t bad either! 😉😁😇 The while cast were glorious! But Shirley was transcendent! Just mesmerising, she was. And the emotion as she sang. I wish I could describe the emotional power. I’m crying now, because I can bring it back into my heart still now - how it felt. I mean, you can listen to the cast recording, but obviously it had more power in the context of the play. Why do time machines not exist? Anyway! Lucky me to have experienced it.

I’m actually very glad that at least I steeled myself enough to do this! I don’t know exactly how many times I saw the play (but I did see it enough that once at the Old Vic when I got a ticket on the day, the box office staff gave me the seat in the centre circle they usually save in case the Director wants to watch any performance, so the staff clearly knew I was there *again*!!! 😇 To give me the special seat… I think I only saw it twice at the Noel Coward Theatre though as it was more expensive then, but this particular photo was after the very final performance, which I was lucky to be at. They were dismantling the set & taking it out if the back of the theatre too.)

I did a tour of the Old Vic while it was on there too & so stood on the stage. In my humble opinion, The Old Vic is the most beautiful theatre in London & standing on the (massive!) stage, looking out at the auditorium it makes you desire to be there, performing. I felt similarly to how Lestat must have as a young boy, that world & its feeling so clear!

I’m not a big fan of musicals (though I love some, if I feel them!) but plays with music in are my absolute favourite. Because I love & feel music deeply & when you can be moved by music AND be moved by the incredible skill of actors (How do people act!? It’s a mystery to me! I find it awkward enough being even myself & like I don’t know how to be a real person!!) & it all combines, especially in such an aching, yearning play about the sorrowful tragedy of being alive & our sad, doomed lives. Oh, it’s so resonant and perfect!

I miss live theatre very much indeed!

Buuutttt…. TV vampires certainly are a fair substitute! They’ll do me, for now!!

Anyway, I thought I’d share this silly wee video!! 😂😅😇

#sam reid #interview with the vampire #anne rice #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #iwtv lestat #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #girl from the north country #Conor McPherson

20 notes · View notes

sharks-are-friends-not-foes · 8 months

Text

5 years ago- Sharks and Rays class pt. 2 (‼️No sharks were harmed!! They were brought on board the research boat, measured, tagged, and released‼️)

Tiger sharks are my favorite species of shark with Great Hammerheads (also pictured) coming in second. Why? It's because of this experience right here. One of the outings we did during the class, took us out to the gorgeous water of the Gulf.

Until this day, I didn't realize there was an 'efficient' way to bait and catch sharks (we may have been doing it for research, but it doesn't escape my attention that sport fishers probably use this method too 😓😭). This method is termed: Bottom Longline Fishing. I can't begin to explain the process, as there's many different forms of it (Google could explain better lol).

For what we were doing, it's a pretty cool practice, one that allowed myself and fellow students to see wild sharks up close. Obviously, what caught my attention most were the juvenile Tiger sharks (an easy tell is how vivid their 'stripes' are) we were pulling up! Their skin against the backdrop of the teal water was stunning! I fell in love with their beauty instantly, so they will always have a special place in my heart🩶🦈🖤.

As far as the great hammerhead though, you see on tv when biologists and researchers call out measurements like 'Oh! We've got a 15 footer!' If you've ever watched Shark Week, that is common. Clearly 15ft is large, but until you see it with your own eyes, you can't fully comprehend just HOW large that is! Granted.. the one pictured was a female who only measured in at 8ft 😅 almsot half the size of a full grown hammerhead. It didn't take a lot of imagination to grasp how large she could have been, had she been mature. Humbling is the word I'd like to use to describe that experience. Even at 8ft, she was powerful and was almost too big to fit on the large scale at the back of the boat. True beauties of the ocean🦈🩶

58 notes · View notes

keep-the-wolves-close · 17 days

Text

Steady Heart

Chapter 37: O Death

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language, dread, violence, kidnapping

* Word count: 1,881ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all.

Author's note: I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well! Please don’t come for me with pitchforks and torches! 😅

Feel free to scream at me in my ask box. I have a feeling we’re all going to need to.

Stella had gone out to the barn to grab Abigail to go for a night ride. The bay roan was antsy. The mare could tell Stella was anxious. Stella hadn’t really had much of a chance to take her out properly as of late, so that didn’t help.

Kayce said he loved her. That still floored her. She wasn’t sure if she was overreacting or not. Her mind tried to downplay what had happened. The last time she got ahead of herself, she ended up getting humbled really quick. She definitely didn’t want to do that this time.

Stella had a hard time comprehending why Kayce would be interested in her at all. If that’s what was truly happening here. She would have to suck it up sooner or later and find out. Then again, Kayce had bigger things going on. He was getting everything settled and finalized with his soon to be ex-wife. He had a living situation, and the time with his son to figure out. There’s no way he would have even been thinking about her during all of that.

Stella quietly led Abigail to the outside. On their way out of the barn, she spotted a solitary crow sitting on a fence nearby. Her face scrunched. A single crow? At night time? ‘What was that rhyme about crows? One for sorrow? Two for mirth? Somethin’ somethin’ blah blah.’ She felt her chest tighten at the thought of what that could mean. She’d seen one too many single crows lately. ‘You gotta stop freakin’ yourself out, girl.’ Stella heard noise ahead of her and saw Tate over at the round pen. He was alone, with what looked to be an armful of hay. She led Abigail over to the youngin’ and his horse.

“Tate, what’re you doin’ out here all by yourself?” She thought it was strange that he was allowed to come out by himself at night. Yes, the ranch was safe for all intents and purposes, but there was no way to effectively say it was safe at all times. It was late and most of the guys in the bunkhouse were out taking care of Jimmy’s problem. Stella ran a count in her head of who was still home. Jamie, Colby, Ethan, and Jake were the only ones in there. They were probably already looking at the backs of their eyelids.

The little boy latched the gate behind him, and faced her. “Grandpa said I had to feed my horse before I got dessert because it’s not fair that I’m treating myself and he’s down here hungry.”

Stella smiled. “Well he’s right, buddy. We can’t just forget about our pets,” she gently patted Abigail’s shoulder. “Do you want a ride back to the house? I’ll let you ride while I walk her.”

Tate’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!”

“Alright, bud. Come stand over here.” Stella knelt down and cupped her hands so Tate could step into them in order to give him a hike into the saddle. When he was seated safely, she handed him one of Abigail’s reins and held the other to walk her along. “So back to what your grandpa was saying.”

Tate sighed. He hadn’t been expecting a lecture from Stella.

“They depend on us. If we don’t come to help them out, they can’t just go get the hay or the feed for themselves.” Stella looked up at the boy. “They don’t have thumbs.” She wiggled her thumbs at him, successfully making him giggle.

“Yeah, you’re right, Aunt Stell. I gotta start thinking about him too.”

Stella nodded, “now you’re thinkin’ like a cowboy.” The fast crunch and skid of tires on the gravel of the hill could be heard not far behind them.

“Who’s that?” Tate questioned.

Stella’s face pulled into a frown and stopped Abigail’s motion and quickly walked around front of her. She wasn’t familiar with the van. Her stomach dropped thinking back to a few weeks ago with those men that were following her. How she said to Kayce a few nights back, “how can you be sure? There’s so many places people can sneak onto the property and we all would be none the wiser.” A couple men spilled out of the van and started to close the gap between them rapidly.

“Tate, get down now!” She clambered to catch the boy so he didn’t hit the ground too hard. She grabbed his shoulders to hold his attention. Quickly, she explained to him, “no matter what happens next, no matter what you hear, I need you to run. And if you can’t make it to the house, I need you to hide in the best hide and seek spot you can think of that’s out of sight and don’t come out until you hear someone you know! Do you understand me?”

He shook his head quickly.

“Take Abigail, use her as cover to run until you aren’t seen anymore. She’ll find someone when she runs off. Go!”

“But Aunt Stel —,” Tate started to object, but Stella cut him off.

“— I said go!! Run!” Stella yelled at him. She hated to scare him, but something was awfully wrong about the situation.

She knew Abigail would make her way back to the barn or in front of the bunkhouse. Stella needed her to be a distraction to keep Tate safe. She stalked off to the round pen. Cursing herself that she only had her hunting knife on her.

“Can I help y’all?” Stella called out to them, shocked at herself for sounding almost like Rip.

“Yeah we’re looking to get a message to John Dutton.” The lead man expressed.

“You are, huh?” She slid the knife out of its belt holster, that belonged to her and Ryan’s dad, in a fluid motion. To the men she approached it looked like she fixed her jacket. “Y’all tell me and you can leave. I’ll relay the message.” She tried to keep her eyes on the men and make sure she could see where Abigail was headed in her peripheral vision. If she couldn’t see Abigail anymore that meant Tate was one step closer to safety.

“Nah we can’t do that. We were sent with a specific purpose. You weren’t it.” The lead man confessed. Stella’s heart sank at the implication about Kayce’s son. “Now where’s the boy, Stella?”

Her hands started to go clammy. Her breathing was shallow. “How do you know my name?”

“We know a lot of things about you. About everyone here.”

The second man started to search around. Stella couldn’t see Abigail any longer. She closed her eyes for a split second and breathed hard. She prayed with every last bit of her soul that Tate was on his way to his grandpa.

“That’s nice, but you need to leave. You’re not getting anything.”

“We came for the boy, and we will not let anyone, let alone some girl, stop us.” The lead man yelled to his partner, “Cut out farther until you find him. I’ll take care of her.”

Stella turned abruptly, starting to make a mad dash for the bunkhouse. Her burning legs wanted to give out, but she pushed them to go faster. She could hear the lead man behind her as he gained length on her. He was almost on top of her and she panicked. She grabbed a piece of rebar sticking out of the sand by the round pen and swung it at the face of the lead man, hard. Stella swung as if she was trying for a home run.

The man’s jaw snapped shut and reopened as he let out a deafening scream. He grabbed the bar tight and yanked her toward him. “You filthy bitch!” The man’s words came out garbled. He gripped up Stella’s hair and pulled as hard as he could.

Stella stabbed at the man with her knife, but in her panic she didn’t have a good hold. She punctured his leg and he howled in pain. It didn’t have the desired effect Stella had wanted. She jabbed wildly and got him in his side twice before the lead man was able to slip it out of her hands.

Tate must have seen her struggle because he screamed her name loud and clear from not far off, “Aunt Stella!!”

“Fuck!” She wrestled with the man to get her balance back and his hand out of her hair. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tate as he ran over to her. “Tate, I said run to the house!” Stella screamed at him.

Tate continued to dart toward her, he wanted to get the men away from Stella. He was snatched up by the second man she’d lost sight of.

“Stella!!” His tiny voice hollered. Tate struggled against the second man’s grasp.

Stella broke loose from the lead man and started to scramble for the second, but was grabbed from behind. “Fuck you piece of shit! Let us go!”

A fist hammered down onto her head from the man that had her, knocking her glasses off her face. She groaned as her vision blurred. She tried to get her foot behind or under the man’s leg, to sweep his foot out but he stayed on top of it. His arms were wrapped around the top of hers as she struggled to gain some high ground. She didn’t want to do this, but she didn’t have any other option but to ram her head backwards into his nose as hard as she could. She hoped she would break it.

Stella and the lead man both cried out, and he loosened his grip. Her head started to thump wildly. Quickly slipping her right arm out of the weak hold he had on it, Stella wrapped it around the lead man’s neck and tried to flip him like she would a calf. They both hit the ground and groaned. Stella was winded and half woozy, but scrambled her way to standing.

She ran forward trying to make it closer to the bunkhouse. A silent prayer was said. Stella let out a scream she hoped would be heard by the entire ranch. “Colby! Anyone help!!” She would have gotten away if the other man hadn’t been enraged and made his way back for her after getting Tate in the van.

“Fuck!” She squeaked out. He gripped her up by the neck making her lose air and landed a solid fist to her face that dazed her. Her posture drooped and the man behind her let her fall to the ground.

She tried to claw her way back to standing to run toward the van. Both men kicked her sides, her head, her arms; anything they could get at to make sure she stayed down. The bunkhouse was too far away to have heard their screams clearly. She couldn’t breathe from the wind being knocked out of her and her vision was starting to go. No one was coming this time. With one final attempt to crawl back to her feet to get to the van, the lead man landed a knockout blow to her chin with his foot and Stella stopped moving all together. That solitary crow cawed and fluttering wings was the last thing Stella heard.

#yellowstone #kayce dutton #yellowstonetv #luke grimes #ian bohen #ryan #kayce dutton fan fiction #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone fanfiction #kayce dutton fanfic

13 notes · View notes

fangswbenefits · 4 months

Note

That anon should try working full time night shifts and write fics on a weekly basis for everyone to enjoy, FOR FREE. You never even ask anyone to donate. Writing is an artistry and takes time and dedication. You're doing everyone a service, again, FOR FREE. Not once have you asked someone to donate money. I've been following you for a couple months now, and you've only ever been passionate and humble about your work. It deserves praise, it deserves tips. In what reality is that wrong? 🙃

No one is forcing me to write 🫂 I fucked up my sleeping schedule on my own accord and I need to be careful so I don't burn myself out (it happened with Miguel). I am just passionate about Astarion and I honestly think this is a great fandom. I have been in others in the past that made my skin crawl, but this one feels like a happy place 🫂

Thank you for sending this and finding quality in my writing 🩷 The ko-fi link is merely on my masterlist, and people can choose to ignore it. It's a non issue imo. Writers who link their ko-fi pages aren't committing any crime 😅

#answered ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾#and I might need to talk to the head nurse cause these many night shifts are fucking me up..............#I have 8 this month and it might not seem like a lot but it's still a 10h+ shift and fucks up your circadian cycle....

39 notes · View notes

xpao-bearx · 1 year

Text

"Partners In Crime"

Officer Callahan x Bad Girl!Reader

SUMMARY: As the resident "bad girl" of Hawkins, you truly only want one thing: to get into the pants of the resident dorky and dedicated police officer, Phil Callahan (and hey, maybe steal his heart too!).

NOTES: I recently just finished Stranger Things and yeah, great show, but have you SEEN the men??? 👀 Anyhoe, being the ✨️whore✨️ that I am, it really comes as no surprise that I'm simping over all the hot dudes but one of the hotties I've become obsessed with is CRIMINALLY underrated 😭

And so, of course, I took this grave offense ✨️personally✨️ and wrote this lil piece! Though I can't really call it little because it is SHOCKINGLY long (for me) and I sacrificed hours upon hours of sleep 🥲 But hey, when Phil fucking Callahan (and his gorgeous actor John Reynolds) makes you horny and inspired, YOU👏SEIZE👏THE👏GODDAMN👏MOMENT👏

If it isn't already obvious, this fic contains 18+ SMUT AND MATURE CONTENT and it gets preeetty steamy if I do say so myself~ It's also set roughly around Season 2, and I say roughly cuz I suck at remembering plots and shit so I just went with the flow 😅 And as always, PLEASE don't be a silent reader! Likes, comments, and reblogs are VERY much encouraged and appreciated!! \(^o^)/

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this baby! This is my first ever humble contribution to the ST fandom and, who knows, MAYBE not my last ;)

youtube

In the small town of Hawkins, you were popular as the "bad girl". You were loud, headstrong, and constantly got into trouble--completely unlike any of the "proper" ladies that talked shit behind your back. But the trouble you caused, despite the chaos it unfailingly left behind, was never anything actually hurtful. Hell, you were even caught a few times using your colourful language to make some middle school children cry when you saw them bullying some poor boys (one of them, you remember, being the Wheelers' son who always looked like trouble followed him himself).

A bad girl with a golden heart; a cheesy, living cliché. But that's what you were. You just wanted to have fun, to live in the moment. But in this bumfuck town where pretty much nothing happens before that Byers kid mysteriously disappeared then reappeared, how could anyone really blame you for trying to stir shit up simply for your own entertainment and for your damn sanity?

But some of the locals knew you on a personal level. Particularly, the Hawkins Police Department. Before you stumbled upon Hawkins a few years ago, you were a drifter; chasing after the high of wherever life would take you, free yet lost. Whether it was by chance or by fate, you only stopped at Hawkins to fuel up your motorcycle and have a quick bite at the local diner until suddenly--like something out of those fucking romcoms your mother used to watch--you met him.

Phil Callahan. He was only a rookie officer at the time, having not even grown out his beloved moustache yet. You noticed his police cruiser parked at the gas station with an evident bump on the front of the car. He was fuelling up, but his hand holding the pump was limp and he was as pale as a ghost; eyes comically wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses, brunette locks tousled and sticking out every which way after frantically running his free hand through it god knows how many times.

And staring at this clearly stressed, slightly pathetic man, all you could think was: HOT.

Before your brain could process what you were doing (though, let's be honest, you never really used your brain much in most of your life decisions), you found your feet walking away from your bike of their own accord and towards him.

Once you were by his side, it's only then that you realized just how tall he was. So much taller. He easily towered over you and it made your mind drift to other, much less innocent thoughts.

Namely him bending you over his car and fucking you within an inch of your sorry excuse of a life.

"Can I help you?" Your head snapped up from the stranger's voice, eyes meeting his narrowed ones. And--dammit!--he was much more unfairly handsome up close. His light brown eyes reflected almost green, raising a suspicious brow at you as his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Sorry, Officer--" Your gaze strayed to his shiny name tag, a grin tugging up the corners of your mouth. "--Callahan. I just couldn't help but notice you. You look like you just died inside, man."

His brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to the bump on his car before quickly darting back to you. "Thanks for your concern, ma'am, but I'm fine. Nothing a civilian should be worried about, anyway."

"If you don't mind--" You piped up once more as he set the pump away. "I think it's got something to do with that nasty bump ya got there, huh?"

"Uh, okay, actually I do mind." He sighed exasperatedly, no longer able to hide his growing aggravation. Today was just not his day, it seemed. "Ma'am, like I said, it is none of your concern." He put on his police hat, tipping it to you. "Good day."

As he turned away from you, you sidestepped him so that you were in front of him again. Your grin was much bigger this time, practically reaching your ears. "Uh-oh, are you in trouble, Mr. Policeman~?" You purred, one hand reaching out and playfully drumming your fingers along his chest. You intently studied him from head to toe, as if admiring an artistic masterpiece before biting your lip and giggling. "Lemme guess... You're a young, new police officer who doesn't know any better. You got so excited driving a police car for the first time that you drove it a bit too fast and crashed into a tree or some shit. Sound about right?"

His face flushed scarlet, and you weren't sure if it was from the shame of having his dumbass misdemeanor exposed or from your fingers making a shiver run down his spine--probably both.

"How do you--"

"This ain't exactly my first time having a lil run-in with the law, so I know how men like you work." You winked. "Hey, tell ya what, how 'bout I help you? You can tell your other piggy buddies that I'm some crazy bitch with anger issues you caught for speeding and in my oh so scary rage, I purposely crashed my motorbike to the front of your car just to fuck with you. You can even put cuffs on me~"

He blinked, utterly dumbstruck as he stared down at the total menace that was you (and the fact that a certain part of him reacted at you graciously allowing him to cuff you), feeling like forever until he finally found his voice that cracked slightly as he spoke. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Y/N L/N." You hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned up on your tiptoes and dangled slightly off of him with the few inches left between the two of you. The sudden action caught him completely off guard, his hands dropping to your hips to support you and making him blush even redder. But you didn't care, smiling mischievously up at him. "Feel free to search me up in the system, Officer. I've got a permanent record, after all~"

And that's how you met Jim Hopper, Calvin Powell, and the rest of the Hawkins Police Department when Callahan brought you with him back to the station. They definitely didn't believe you guys, especially when you didn't have a single scratch on you that indicated you "crashed your bike to his vehicle" (Callahan cleaned up your choice of wording a bit). But it was amusing to see Callahan dragging you along in handcuffs, who appeared all too joyful with a shit-eating smile as if you just won the lottery. Meanwhile, Callahan's cheeks were flaming hot and his voice adopted to a nervous high pitch as he lied to everyone who were just barely containing their laughter.

It also wasn't long before you decided to settle into Hawkins in some shitty trailer park, but you couldn't really complain considering your drifting years weren't all sunshine and rainbows either.

Besides, Callahan made it all worth it.

It wasn't love at first sight, but there was absolutely attraction. Hell, you were practically (if not literally) throwing yourself at him during your first encounter, and after that it would be the same--if not more intense.

You were no stranger to trouble, but often times you would seek for trouble yourself on purpose just so you could wind up in the police station to bother--ahem, I mean, very persistently try to hang out with Callahan. Or you'd just go to the station despite having no business there, but Flo the secretary usually kicked you out before you had the chance to even lay eyes on the gorgeous four eyes.

Today, however, Flo wasn't there. You didn't believe in some higher power, but it was a fucking miracle that you were grateful for and didn't dare to question. And so you more than happily made yourself at home in the station, sitting down at Callahan's desk as you curiously pried into his stuff before a deep laugh from behind you broke you out of your little reverie.

"This is just ridiculous now, Y/N." Hopper shot you an incredulous though very much amused expression. "If you like Callahan so much--which I have no fucking idea why--then just ask him out on a date already."

It was no secret that Hopper can be a total grump, but oddly enough you became fast friends with him. He never gave you a hard time and you never bullshitted him, which in turn formed a weird sort of respect between the two of you.

You rolled your eyes at the huge man, turning back to Callahan's desk and inspecting his assortment of pens--which you thought was way too much and he probably doesn't even use all of them, but that only amped up his dorkish charm to you by, like, a thousand.

"You're one to talk, Hop." You scoffed, snatching a pen and beginning to click it continuously. "I bet your hand's tired from jerking off to Joyce Byers."

Hopper scowled, but a faint rosiness dusted his cheeks. "Okay, first off--" Click. "I do not jerk off to Joyce--" Click. "and unlike you--" Click. "I actually have the balls to ask her out--" Click. "she just hasn't--" Click. "WILL YOU STOP FUCKING CLICKING THAT GODDAMN PEN?!"

You didn't even flinch, casually stashing the pen away in your pocket before you stood and faced him. "Enough about you." You huffed, crossing your arms as your eyes levelled with his. Hopper may as well be a living brick wall walking around ready to punch whoever crossed him, but you were never intimidated by the chief of police whom you've admittedly grown a soft spot for. "Callahan on for patrol duty tonight?"

"Yeah, and you owe me big time." He frowned when you blatantly ignored him, but what was new? "I need as much manpower as I can get to investigate what the hell's going on with the pumpkin patches yet here I am, like a fucking idiot, helping to set you and Callahan up."

"You looove me~" You teased, patting his shoulder and granting him a Cheshire Cat-like grin. "This is all for a good cause, big guy. And just think, the sooner Callahan and I get together, the faster I'll be outta your hair!" You chuckled. "And hey, you're thinking too much into those pumpkin patches. Probably just some pumpkin farmers having a pumpkin war. Go big or gourd home, am I right?"

Hopper watched as you laughed obnoxiously loud at your stupid pun, looking so proud of yourself as little snorts wracked your smaller frame and your shoulders shook from sheer glee. He shook his head, sighing heavily to himself.

"God, I actually feel kinda bad for Callahan..."

•••♡•••

Night couldn't fall any quicker, but once it finally did your entire body was practically bursting with excitement like a child who's about to go out for trick or treating.

You hopped onto your bike, revving up the engine and driving even more maniacally than your Munson neighbour did out of the trailer park. You didn't even keep track anymore of how fast you were going, your hair flying as you raced down the road and were greeted by Halloween decorations strewn about in various houses' lawns.

A few minutes later, you found yourself on the empty road leading out of Hawkins. And just as you predicted--had hoped--the shrill blare of a siren sliced through the air and the all too familiar red and blue lights nearly blinded your vision as a police cruiser followed close on your tail.

You couldn't suppress the giddy grin that tore across your face, slowing down by the side of the road and the car pulling up next to you.

The butterflies in your stomach were doing fucking somersaults now as you heard the car door open and shut close, boots thudding on the ground as your favourite officer approached.

"Well, well, well... Lookie who we have here~?" The singsong voice made your grin widen even more if it was possible, making your cheeks hurt. The beam from a flashlight hit your eyes, and once your sight adjusted there was none other than Callahan, staring down at you with his pretty brown eyes. "If it isn't Lil Miss Trouble."

"Cally!" You giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl, and if we were being honest, you pretty much acted like you are. "Fancy seeing you here~ Halloween ain't 'til tomorrow, so why are ya out on patrol?"

"Beats me." He shrugged. "The chief suddenly put me on duty. Also, you know how much I hate that nickname." He grimaced, turning the flashlight off. It was quite dark, but you could still see him well enough due to a lone street lamp a couple feet away. "Get off."

His sudden commanding tone sent a shiver down your spine, a certain part of you getting wet. And it didn't help that you decided to forgo panties, your slick coating the seat of your bike. You then jumped off, your breasts bouncing slightly. This action didn't go unnoticed by him, his eyes dropping to your chest and trailing down your figure until his gaze landed on your skirt--if it could even be called that.

You were wearing a leather mini skirt that left little to the imagination, hugging your curves just right and showing off your thighs. He thought that if you made one wrong move, you'd flash him your panties; of course, not knowing you weren't even wearing any.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love your moustache?" You purred, heart leaping when he went speechless and his mouth hung agape.

His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, snapping out of his trance. "Only the first hundred times." He then cleared his throat, pointing an accusatory finger at you with a hand placed on his hip like a parent scolding their child. "Flattery won't work on me, Y/N. Do you know how fast you were going? And why weren't you wearing a helmet?"

"I know I was going pretty fucking fast!" You guffawed. "As for not wearing a helmet, well, what can I say? I don't like feeling restricted. I like being free. If I could, I'd totally go naked."

You saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped at your emphasis of "naked", a death grip on his flashlight as his jaw squared. "That's public indecency." He stated simply. He was getting better dealing with you, but the ever so slight crack in his voice was a telltale sign that you still very much had an intoxicating, beguiling effect on him. "And where the hell were you going? Were you...leaving Hawkins?"

You didn't miss the plaintive way he had asked the question, your heart melting. He cared for you. No matter how much trouble you caused everyone, caused him... He would still check up on you, and you even caught him several times keeping watch outside of your trailer when Will Byers went missing a year ago. He claimed that the police were patrolling every nook and cranny after the kid's disappearance, but you never saw Hopper or anyone else guarding other people's homes like how Callahan did yours.

"I'm not leaving, Phil." You breathed out, nothing more than a whisper as you looked up at him; serious, for once. Because as boring as this town was, you've grown fond of it. And Callahan played a big part in that and even if you weren't together, he was the closest to home that you've ever felt in a long fucking time.

He searched your face for any lies, brown eyes soft before a genuine smile graced his features. "You better not, Lil Miss Trouble." A beat passed between the two of you, breaths mingling together and you only just realized how close you both were standing to each other. He had you caged against your bike, and you had to strain your neck just to be eye level with the tall man.

Then something in his expression shifted, and soon he was drawing away from you. "W-Well, I'm gonna let you off with a warning. Just this once, though! Think of it as thanks for that time--" You cut off his rambling when you reached out, grabbing his hand.

"I didn't leave." You declared, an almost pleading tone in your voice. "So don't leave either, Phil."

For what felt like a dreadful eternity, you were swallowed by a deafening silence. You, who was usually so confident, found your will breaking with each passing second. Your grasp softened until you let go, feeling your heart sink to your stomach.

"...Forget it. Thanks, Cal--" But you couldn't finish; because in a blink of an eye, his lips were on yours. It was brief, feather light. But the chaste peck made your heart explode, and you didn't even question if this was just one of your silly fantasies. It felt too real--too good.

He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours and his warm breath tickling your nose. "I'm not leaving." He murmured, such beautiful, sincere greenish brown eyes locking with yours. "I'm not leaving you, Y/N."

You felt tears prickle your eyes, but before you would ever allow them to fall you wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled your nose with his. "Then prove it." And you crashed your lips with his, this time fiercely, passionately. You felt the rough brush of his moustache, but that only made everything feel astoundingly better.

He finally closed the gap between you two, looming over you, the flashlight clattering to the ground as his much larger hands clutched on to your hips before he easily lifted you and plopped you down on your bike's seat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, nipping on his bottom lip that elicited a gasp from him which you gladly took as the opportunity to slide your tongue inside his mouth. His tongue tangled with yours and coaxed it into a sensual dance, earning him a most heavenly moan from you.

You two only pulled away for breath, a thin string of saliva connecting your tongues. But his glasses were foggy and tinkly laughter bubbled out of you, feeling like a druggie high off of life--high off of him.

He chuckled, taking his glasses off to wipe them before putting them back on. "Sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "That ruined the moment, didn't it?"

"On the contrary..." You were still laughing, but you held one of his hands still on your hip and guided it lower, lower, lower...until his palm was right on your bare pussy. "You always turn me on, Cal. It's pretty fucking ridiculous, honestly."

His breath hitched sharply when he felt how drenched you were, his pupils dilating and mouth forming an 'O' at the realization that you've been half naked this whole time. He pressed his palm closer to your core, your laughter instantly dying down as his thumb slowly rubbed circles around your clit. One of your hands flew to his hair, something you've always dreamt of doing ever since you saw the incredibly sexy messy state it was in the day you met him. Your other hand clung onto his shirt for dear life, a gasp escaping you as he pinched your nub and began to stroke his fingers along your slit.

He leaned down to your ear, his fingers gradually increasing their pace and you trembled from the pure ecstasy that overcame your senses just from his deft fingers. "You really are a little troublemaker, huh?" He chuckled, voice dropping an octave lower. "You planned this all along, didn't you? Fucking slut..." His lips dragged down your ear to the crook of your neck, biting down and leaving a mark that had you crying out. "My beautiful fucking slut."

"All yours, Officer~" You mewled, your hand latched onto his shirt making its descent to his crotch. You palmed him, feeling his prominent erection aching to spring free as he groaned. "Just be mine, too." You peered down at him, eyes hazy with desire and desperation. "Pretty please?"

"I think I've been yours ever since we met. Not like I had a choice on the matter, anyway." He snickered before capturing your lips once more in a sultry, intimate kiss. Your mouth moved in perfect tandem with his, but you both took your sweet time as everything else faded away. There was only you and Callahan, Callahan and you. And it's all you ever fucking wanted; all you needed.

Not breaking the kiss, you shucked your leather jacket off and carelessly tossed it to the ground. Your hands came up to cup the sides of his face, fingers caressing him tenderly while his hands crawled beneath your white tank top; imagine his pleasant surprise to discover that you didn't wear a bra either.

"Jesus..." He muttered, yanking your tank top up before kneading and squeezing your perfect breasts as his lascivious gaze met your own. "You're gonna kill a fucking cop here." He grunted, making you giggle which immediately turned into an elated whimper as he tweaked your pert nipples.

"Get down. Turn around. Ass up." He ordered, and you didn't at all hesitate to obey. In your haste, you nearly tumbled off of your bike though Callahan steadied you. "Eager, are we, Y/N?" He chuckled, but something about the way your name smoothly, seductively rolled off his tongue had you wanting to fall down on your knees and reverently suck him off instead. But you didn't dare disobey, spinning around with your back to him and bending over your bike.

Though something dropped to the ground as you bent over, making Callahan arch a brow as he picked it up.

"My pen?" He scoffed, and though you can't see him, you can feel his disapproving stare boring into the back of your head like daggers. "Naughty girl, now you're stealing? Tsk, tsk." He flipped up your skirt, your ass now in full view as he licked his lips. His hands groped the pillowy soft flesh, releasing a low whistle of appreciation as he squeezed before suddenly raising his hand and spanking you.

"Ah..!" You exclaimed, looking over your shoulder with glazed eyes and flushed cheeks. "M'sorry, Officer~"

Smack! Another slap had you reeling in the best way possible, your pussy clenching at--unfortunately--nothing as you whimpered.

"Uh-uh. Didn't say you could look at me, did I, naughty girl?" He chided, seeing that you were wiggling your ass and trying to inch closer to him.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Three slaps, one right after the other. Your flesh glowed red with his handprint, making him smirk devilishly.

"M'sorry..." You said again, your voice coming out as a meek squeak. But more. You wanted more, more, more. "I'm a good girl, I promise!"

"I'm sure you are~" He hummed leisurely. "Just gotta prove it to me, right, baby?"

Before you had any chance to reply, he prodded your legs apart with his knee and his pants unzipping sounded like the most divine music to your ears. Both of your breaths got caught in your throats as the tip of his cock pressed against your pussy, stroking up and down your entrance slowly, teasingly. Your lustful impatience getting the best of you because, fuck, you deserved this, you were just about to slide down onto him when he suddenly pushed his entire cock in with no warning.

And fuck he was big. Much bigger than you ever fantasized, completely stretching you out as a long moan was drawn out of you and your upper body fell like a ragdoll on your bike. You vaguely heard him laughing huskily before he started to move; carefully, as if he was afraid you might break.

But with you? That didn't last very long, any pathetic thread of patience he had snapping as soon his thrusts started to become rapid, hard, wild--hitting that amazing spot deep inside your gummy walls over and over again, the lewd squelches of his cock slipping in and out of your pussy perfectly harmonizing with skin slapping against skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuck..!" You screamed, toes curling and grinding your ass in time with his thrusts as he watched, utterly transfixed, with how you seemed to just fit him like a puzzle piece; the fucking addicting way you slammed back down onto him, your skin rolling with each bounce, your pussy clenching his cock like a goddamn vice and effortlessly accepting all of him.

He then wrapped a hand around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head before pulling you up so that you were standing and your back was pressed against his chest. He nuzzled his face just beneath your ear, hot pants grazing your skin as he never seized his pleasurable assault to your cunt as he continued to pound relentlessly into you like a beast in heat.

Suddenly, he pressed his pen to your clit. Your eyes widened as you felt the long, thin object rubbing against your sensitive mound, stroking and poking at your folds as his cock drove in and out, in and out.

"Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" He whispered, planting butterfly kisses along the delicate column between your neck and shoulder, his grip on your neck tightening ever so slightly as he humped against you.

"Y-Yes, fuck, yes Officer..!" You choked out, rocking your hips desperately as you could almost see stars.

"Then cum, Y/N."

And you did; your walls fluttered and clamped down on his dick, your body stilling and eyes crossing as waves of the highest rapture coursed throughout your body. Callahan soon followed, a nearly animalistic groan accompanying the spurts of cum that gushed into your deepest, most intimate part as his hips stuttered to a halt.

You basked in silence, revelling in the satisfying afterglow. Then, agonizingly slowly, his twitching cock slid out of you, making you convulse and you could feel the hot cum trickling down your legs. He spun you around and gently grabbed your chin, tipping it up and examining your completely fucked out expression. You stuck your tongue out, and he didn't waste a precious moment as he leaned down and entwined your tongue with his. He held you closely, securely; hugging you to his broad chest as he stepped backwards until his back bumped into his car to support the both of you.

You were the first to pull away from the sloppy liplock, laying your head on his chest and sighing deeply. "That was..." You looked up at him, blinking dazedly. "...not what I expected."

"Did you not have fun?" He chuckled, though there was a hint of worry in his voice as his thumb lazily caressed your swollen bottom lip, kind brown eyes seeking yours. Shit, did he overdo it? Or worse... Did you realize that you actually weren't that into him?

"I did, it's just..." You trailed off before a giggle erupted out of you, shaking your head. "Y'know, the first time we met, I actually thought of you bending me over your car and fucking me. I never imagined I'd be bent over my bike."

"For fuck's sake, Y/N, you really are gonna be the death of me!" He whined dramatically, making you laugh and soon he joined you.

"So..." You grinned, fixing his glasses that had fallen to the bridge of his nose and running a hand through his sweaty, unruly curls that you loved too fucking much. "Was I a good girl, Cally~?"

"The fucking best." He returned your euphoric grin, booping your nose and, though he'd never admit it, he actually liked your nickname. Just for him, only by you. "Buuut you're a good girl that's coming back to the station with me."

"Huh? But I thought you're gonna let me off the hook for speeding?" You questioned, confused.

"I am, but you're forgetting your other crimes." He cleared his throat, rising to his full height and looming over you yet again. "Public indecency..." He traced his pen on your pussy, making you shudder as the cold metal glided across your skin up to the valley between your breasts. "...and theft."

"Well, Officer, if that's the case then you're not innocent either~" You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck and dangling off of him much like you did the first time. "You stole my heart, after all~"

His face was as red as a tomato, smiling like a doofus as he hooked his hands under your plush thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Taking you by surprise, but definitely not unwelcomed as he stared up at you with a stupidly smitten expression.

"We're partners in crime, then, Lil Miss Trouble~"

#Stranger Things #Stranger Things Smut #Phil Callahan #Officer Callahan #Phil Callahan Smut #Officer Callahan Smut #Phil Callahan x Reader #Officer Callahan x Reader #Phil Callahan x Reader Smut #Officer Callahan x Reader Smut #Reader x Phil Callahan #Reader x Officer Callahan #Reader x Phil Callahan Smut #Reader x Officer Callahan Smut

152 notes · View notes