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sofasoap · 2 months

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At the barbers

Pairing: John Price x F!Medic! Reader (call sign : Chameleon)

Summary: Part of @glitterypirateduck's John Price "O, Captain! Challenge" prompt used : 92: Giving Price a haircut and/or shave

Warning: T-M rating.

A/N: as mention previously in my Little secret series, Reader is from immigrant/non-Caucasian background. I know nothing about military. Thank you @mini-metal for giving me few suggestions and few ideas! *hugs*

Part of the Memory in a Fragrance series Part of Little secret series

Master list

“Love.”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you mind giving me a hand here please?” John struggled as he tried to lift his injured arm to trim his beard.

You sighed. “I am only good with surgical knives and scissors.” You took the trimmer off his hand and gently pushed his arm down. “Why not go to a barber?”

“.... I am not quite comfortable with someone holding a blade to my neck.”

“And you are comfortable with ME doing it?” you cocked an eyebrow.

He hummed. “That’s because you are my wife. I trust you with all my life.” he pressed a kiss into your forehead. Wrapping his good arm around you as you sink into his embrace.

“Well I am flattered by the great Captain Price trusting me with a knife to his throat.” you giggled, “But I really wouldn’t trust myself to trim my own dead ends off, let alone take a risk of destroying your luscious mutton chop.” You could almost feel him rolling his eyes as he mumbled something incoherent.

“How about one of the boys helping you?”

“I don’t trust them either.” he rumbled. “I trust them with my life.. But I wouldn’t trust them NOT destroying my beard. I already heard them plotting to shave my beard off in my sleep a few times.”

You couldn't help but laugh. “ Well… We gotta think of something. Can’t let you leave your hair and beard go until your arms heal….”

The strong leathery, lavender and cedarwood, faint hint of cigar smell hits you as soon as the two of you walk into the shop. The old radio playing some jazz music in the background, the old barber sitting on the wooden stool, reading the newspaper. It brings you distant memories. One of those rare happier moments when you were younger….

John finally agreed after a bit of coaxing from you to get his hair and beard done by the professional instead of you trying your luck.

“I will go with you, how about that? And maybe I can learn a few tricks and tips from the professional?” you suggested.

The barber waved to your husband to sit down on the chair after you explained to him what needs to be done. He was more than happy to teach you how to help John to maintain his pride and joy.

Price couldn’t hold back his smile as he saw how focused and concentrated you are, pouting and wrinkling your nose as you listened to the barber explaining each step and how to use the tools. It helps to distract him from some strangers working so closely to him with sharp apparatus. The barber even handed over the scissors a few times for you to try out.

“Stop moving, you are laughing too much.” you mumbled as you tried to trim the extra long strains around the edge of his jaw. “I don’t think you want me to accidentally take a chunk out of your beard, and have the boys laugh at you at work.” “I could always shave all my beard off.” “Oh so you changed your mind? You're definitely going to give them a heart attack and give me a heart break if you do that. So… Never.” you laughed as you handed the scissors back to the barber.

“You get to see Lieutenant John Price?”

“As much as you were a handsome young man back then,I would rather keep that memory in the photos.” You pointed out as you sat back down, letting the professional get back to work.

You observe your husband’s side profile with a faint smile on your face as the barber finishes off the rest of the trimming and hair cut. Even after years of marriage, you still have a hard time believing, this handsome man is your husband.

The moment you set your eyes on him, you didn’t think you had much of a chance. The ranks, the personality, the background…. Everything.

But he chose you.

“I choose you? I should be thankful you chose me, my love.” he whispered into your ear one night after you confessed your insecurity. Nuzzling his face into your neck. “For bearing my temper…my imperfections.”

“What do you think?” he looked at your eyes through the mirror as the barber dust the rest of the beard and hair off his shoulder, seeking for approval.

Moving yourself to stand in front of him, you gently lay your hand on his face, tilting it to the left, and to the right, and finally, giving him a kiss on the lip, enjoying the smell of the aftershave.

“Handsome. And the best mutton chop I have ever seen.”

“You sound like you have seen quite a few in your life.” he chuckled as thank and paid the barber for his service.

“Maybe, maybe not.” you teased him as you wrap your arm around him. “But it’s definitely the mutton chop that always gives me a good time.” you could see his cheek redden under the beard. “Now, it’s not so scary is it? Having someone else to trim your beard for you.”

“If you come with me again next time.” he squeezed your hand fondly.

“Gladly.”

“Oh what, you mean we missed out a chance of trying to shave his beard off?” “And You will get your mohawk shaved off too if you do that, MacTavish.”

Thank you @glitterypirateduck for hosting another wonderful event!!!! *hug*

Tag list: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@homicidal-slvt @mini-metal

@okayyadriana @deadbranch @cumikering @siilvan

@random-thot-generator @random0lover @devcica @nrdmssgs @glitterypirateduck @mmyrrhh

@mistydeyes, @groguspicklejar @roosterr

@gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot, @writeforfandoms @whydoilikewhump @tapioca-marzipan @alypink, @liyanahelena, @phoenixhalliwell

#ocaptainchallenge #call of duty #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #john price x you #sofasoap writes

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carolmunson · 10 months

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we better make a start (older!modern!eddie)

continuation of orange colored skyorange colored sky setlist

inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i go to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. tw: outside of an age gap, not much. super fluffy it borders on gross. eddie is in his late 30s/early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. music inspo: everywhere - fleetwood mac

Wednesdays at two… You wished you’d met this guy in the fall when you still felt cute getting off the train. It was like being in a sous vide every time you got on and off, walking back out into the hot sun of the city. Would your hair frizz? Was your makeup melting? You were at least smart enough to wear bike shorts under your skirt to avoid the rubbing of your thighs – hopefully he wouldn’t notice. Your feet hurt in your 90s looking wicker sandals but at a passing glance in a store window you figure you don’t look half bad. You look infinitely better than when he first saw you in your ‘errands ugly’ clothes. Maybe he’d even think you look cute. Y’know – if he’s even there. Why’re you meeting up with some random stranger anyway? A sick flare of nervous embarrassment slides through your chest like a snake – this is stupid. He probably forgot about it. Whatever, you wanted to pick up a couple things anyway – it’s totally fine – this isn’t weird at all – and if he’s not there? It doesn’t matter. Who cares? You’ll be fine. You’ll go home and sift through a never ending collection of left swipes and ‘haha not much, just chillin naked. wbu?’ messages on whatever dating app you feel like opening that day.

A block and an escalator later, you’re in the depths of the shopping center where Trader’s is. You swallow the sick creeping up in your belly — this is so stupid — but it doesn’t take long for you to spot him at a small table near the coffee stand across from the store. His hair sits in a low bun this time, most of his wavy curls spilling over and framing his face. He looks nice, black tee shirt that he might’ve pressed, smarter looking black chinos with a belt he likely got at a vintage store. The silver buckle looks pretty and polished, shining like the rings on his fingers and the rim of the wire glasses he had perched on his nose. He’s typing away on a laptop, black iced coffee melting next to it that he occasionally reaches to sip.

“Um…You’re Eddie, right?” you stammer out as you walk toward the table. He looks up from his laptop, the glow of this screen reflecting back in his glasses. He stops to look you over, straw still in his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he grins, a breath of relief puffing out of his nose, “Didn’t actually think you were gonna show up — was sort of a shot in the dark.” He stands up, hand outstretched for yours to shake, “I never caught your name.”

You take it, his handshake is firm and you can make out some of the tattoos on his fingers and hands. You introduce yourself and he mumbles a ‘nice to meet you’, your name sounds nice coming out of his mouth. “This feels like a business meeting,” you laugh, “Like I’m here for an interview.” He laughs back, “I did just come here from a meeting so I might still be in work mode, sorry.” He takes off his glasses, hanging them off the collar of his shirt. He packs up his bag, a well worn Jansport backpack covered in patches like the vest he had on the last time you saw him. You could tell it was old since there was a patch right at the center that read ‘METALLICA 1997 - Poor Touring Me’. A few other concert patches with ranging dates, 2003, 2009, 1998 littered the black canvas, you smile at it.

“1997?” you ask, “Metallica concert at what – nine? Your parents were cool with that?”

He looks down at it and his cheeks go pink, letting a breath puff out of his lips that makes them push out and motorboat, “What year were you born?” “‘92,” you answer, “Why?”

“Jesus,” he mumbles, rubbing his face with a tight smile, “You’re a young thing, aren’t you?”

“How old were you in ‘97?” you ask while you both make it through the double doors of the grocery store. He grabs a basket and raises his brows with another big breath. “Seventeen,” he says, “Got this backpack two days before that show actually.” “You still have it?” you ask, trying to do the math in your head of how old he is and how long he’s had it. “Jansport has a lifetime warranty,” Eddie smirks, “I’ve been putting it to good use.” “So why’re you back here,” you ask, following him to the back aisle where the bread is, “You just went food shopping a few days ago.” “I went for my neighbor,” he explains, grabbing two baguettes, “He fractured his foot and hasn’t been able to get up and down the stairs. Been running errands for ‘im in the meantime.” “Oh,” you smile, “That’s nice of you.” “Thanks,” he says, “You like bruschetta?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he starts, “I didn’t really think that Trader Joe’s was an ideal date so I thought I could ask you out here and also get some stuff for it ahead of time.” “Oh,” you repeat, heat creeping up on your cheeks, “What did you have in mind?”

“Well if you’re free tomorrow afternoon…” he begins, but gets sidetracked. He sneaks behind you to grab some yogurt covered pretzels, “I saw you grab these the other day and got some too, they’re fuckin’ delicious.”

The spicy suede scent he had last time is replaced with a bright citrusy cedar, it matches his overall disposition. Your mouth waters when you inhale.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he starts again, “If you’re free tomorrow afternoon, I’d love to treat you to a little something cute in the park. It’s supposed to be not so swampy.” “Like a picnic?” you ask with a hint of a tease. “Yeah,” he says, a glow of pink perking up on his ears hidden by his hair, “Something like that. If you’re into that – like – if you even want to go on a date with me.” “I showed up here. I feel like that’s answer enough, right?” “Right, right.” The conversation quiets while he tosses a few more things in his basket. “So what was your meeting for?” you ask, watching him look over the cold cuts and cured meats in the open refrigerated section. He was one of those, a ‘stand-and-starer’ instead of just knowing what to get. You try not to grind your teeth. “Oh, new client meeting,” he says, like you know exactly what he’s referencing.

“For what? If you don’t mind me asking.” He reaches for a package of salami and prosciutto before turning to you, “Do you eat meat?” You nod while he continues to pick up and compare products, “New client for my side gig.” “Which,” he says, tossing his selections in the basket, “If you can believe it, pays a shit ton more than my main gig.” “What’s your big money side gig?” you laugh, following him to the next aisle. “I’m a web developer,” he says, squatting down to look at granola. He hopes you don’t hear the way his knees crack, the way his face winces at the slight tightness in his joints. In Eddie’s defense, he didn’t get a chance to stretch this morning – normally he’s much more limber – he promises. “Like making websites and stuff?” you squat next to him, your own knees cracking. You hope he doesn’t hear it. “Just like that,” he says. He reaches in front of you, grabbing your arm to steady you as you wobble to move out of his way. His grip is gentle but firm, the spots beneath his fingertips buzzing with electricity, “Careful there, sugar.” A smile spreads deep across your face while your eyes make friends with the floor under you, both of you rising back to your feet. His keys jingle on the same carabiner from before, clinking against a silver chain that you’re pretty sure connects to a wallet in his back pocket. He has Nike Killshots on today, the white with a black check instead of the navy. Everyone and their father has the white and navy. “Do you like it?” you ask, holding in a giggle while he grunts getting up. “Writing code and doing graphic design? Sure,” he shrugs, “Got into it really ahead of the game. You were probably still in grade school.” You roll your eyes and he snickers, “But mostly, I make websites for trust fund kids who use daddy’s money to start new businesses. So it’s sort of like my side gig is uh…” “Exploiting the rich?” you grin, he grins too, “Super punk.” He shakes his head while you both walk out into the produce section, “No, no, super metal.”

“What’s your main gig?” “Oh, come on – don’t break my heart,” Eddie’s dramatic flare shines through when he leans up against the flat edge of the pillar holding up the bananas. He holds his free hand to his chest, looking at you with a faux forlorn face that makes his brown eyes shine. Now that you’re really taking stock, you see the thin silver hoop hugging his right nostril – something about it makes your heart thump harder in your chest. “The tattoos don’t give it away, huh?” he asks, passing the basket to the other arm, both biceps flexing against the well tailored t-shirt’s sleeves.

“A tattoo artist?” you wager a guess with a grimace and half shrug. “No,” he says, the word covered in a soft laugh, “But I’ve been in my artist's shop enough that I might as well get paid to be there.” “I can see that,” you nod, pulling a bunch of bananas from behind him and cradling them in your arm, “So what is it then?” “C’mon, it’s obvious,” he smiles, “I’m a rockstar.”

“Are you?” you ask, your laugh bubbles out of you and it makes the back of his neck get hot. You’re too pretty to be flirting with him in Trader Joe’s but he can’t stop trying to make you laugh and smile.

“Well,” he shrugs, kicking off the wall, “Sort of.” “Sort of a rockstar?” your brow lifts while you scan some of the fruits, hand reaching down to a display in front of you, “If you’re doing food food, how about I do dessert?”

“Peaches, huh?” he asks with a smirk, wrinkling his nose, “A little messy, don’tcha think?”

“They’re nectarines,” you correct, putting a few in one of the produce bags, “They’re not the same.”

“Hm,” he shrugs, letting his finger trail over the smooth waxy skin of one of the nectarines in the display, “Whatever you say, Peach.” “Pfft,” you shake your head the same way he did to you, tying off the bag while you try to ignore how the butterflies in your stomach multiply at him calling you Peach. “So if you’re doing dessert that means you’re free tomorrow, then?” he raises his brows, waiting for your answer while you both walk to the checkout line, “You never said if you were.” “Yes I did,” you protest. His tattooed hand reaches out for the nectarines and bunch of bananas you’re holding. You look down at them and then back up at him, Eddie gives you a look, encouraging you to hand them over.

“No, you said you’d go on a date with me – gimme these, I got ‘em–” he beckons you with his hand to take them until you relent, putting them both in his basket, “And trust me, I’m glad you’re down to go on a date with me. But I just wanna make sure you’re around tomorrow so I know to turn on my charm in the morning.”

“Oh, it’s not on right now?” you flirt. Eddie’s smile gets boyish and shy, tucking a loose salt and pepper collection of strands behind his ear. He’s too blushy to respond, thankful that the Trader Joe’s worker directs you both for the next cashier. He hands you your bananas and nectarines and you plop them into your canvas bag while he finishes up, walking together out of the double doors.

“Um, could I - uh – damn why am I so nervous to ask you this? What am I, sixteen?” he thinks out loud to himself, furrowing his brow at his own ridiculousness, “Fuck, could I um – get your number?”

“You already asked me on a date and you’re nervous to get my number?” you tease, “For real?”

“Long story, I’ll tell you one day,” he says, handing you his phone. He tucks in his lips while you take it, watching eagerly while you put in your information. You save it under ‘Peach 🍑’ with your real name in the second line.

“Oh what, did it happen all the way back in the 70s or something? Hard to remember?” Your mean girl tone of voice has a hold on him that thrums in his chest.

“So you’re one of those girls, huh?” he releases his lips, tip of his tongue pressing against one of his canines, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes his phone back when you offer it to him, taking a quick second to shoot you a text that just says ‘eddie m.’ Your phone dings in your hand, going to save his number while he watches.

“M’gonna put it in as ‘Sort of Rockstar’,” you giggle to yourself. “Please don’t.” “Too late.”

You drop your phone into your canvas bag, giving him a final once over. He does the same and his stare almost makes you nervous with the way his brown eyes soften when they find your face. Not one for awkward silence you reach your hand out like he did when you met outside of the store. “Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie,” you say, a lightness to your voice that has him swooning. His hand takes yours, big and slightly rough, calloused fingertips slightly brushing your wrist. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, giving you a firm shake, “Same time tomorrow? At the park?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll um, I’ll text you. I’ll drop a pin,” he offers.

You’re both quiet for a moment, anxious with anticipation for tomorrow – for a real date. You say your goodbyes, your ‘see you tomorrows’. Only to both start walking the same direction towards Target.

“Oh,” you laugh, “Are you going to Target, too?”

He laughs back, slightly hoarse and rough, smokey sounding, “I am. Should I wait a little? Don’t wanna cramp your style or anything. I know we just said goodbye.”

“No, no, we can go together,” you smile, big and bright, “We can both decide on what I’m making for dessert.”

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie #older!eddie munson #modern!eddie #modern!eddie munson #stranger things

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cosmowes · 2 months

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100 things to try

getting off the phone can be hard. i find that i’m only ever motivated to do it when there’s something else to do. so! here are those things, dollie.

hobbies:

collecting (figurines, blind boxes, vinyls, books…)

2. embroidery

3. thrift flips / diying clothes

4. jewelry making

5. kandi

6. collage making

7. painting

8. sketching

9. start an album list

10. thrifting

11. baking (w/o the box mix !!)

12. cooking

13. origami

14. doll customization

15. making stuffed animals

16. building models

17. clay sculpting

18. customizing shoes

19. dancing

20. yoga

21. pilates

22. singing

23. learn an instrument

24. skating (skateboard, roller skating/blading, ice skating)

25. biking

26. hiking

27. jogging/running

28. doing nails

29. doing hair

30. building costumes/cosplays

31. soapmaking

32. play dnd

33. writing

34. poetry

35. web design

36. character design

37. graphic design

38. font design

39. make short films

40. make bath bombs

41. start tutoring people

42. join a new club

43. start a book club w/ friends

44. read a play

45. write a play

46. go see a play (support small theatres!!! wooh)

47. journaling

48. programming

49. design clothes

50. crochet

halfway through… ps, if you’ve had the energy to scroll this, you have the energy to start one. pick your battles!

51. knitting

52. cross stitch

53. beading

54. learn solitaire

55. typing

56. learn cursive

57. start learning a language

58. make a dreamcatcher

59. start making smoothies

60. take cute notes

61. photography

62. climb a tree!!!

63. swimming

64. press flowers

65. get a pen pal

66. make tea (the nice kind)

67. make coffee (same as above)

68. make bookmarts

69. annotate books

70. jigsaw puzzles

71. crosswords

72. sudokus

73. word searches

74. quilting

75. make perfume

76. make lightboxes

77. skincare

78. making jams

79. whittling

80. carpentry

91. tie dye

92. archery

93. axe throwing

94. martial arts

95. making ornaments

96. music writing

97. terrariums

98. gardening

99. scrapbooking

100. pottery

#study blog #wonyoungism #hobbies #pink pilates princess #it girl #that girl #self care #self improvement #well being #it girl lifestyle #it girl tips #self healing #glow up #lifeblr #advice #cosmo txt

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sargeantposting · 4 months

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ARTICLE: The Florida Man of Formula 1 (2023)

Source: Michael M. Grynbaum, The New York Times Series: F1, 2023

Logan Sargeant, the only American driver in Formula 1, is zipping around the narrow streets of Baku, Azerbaijan, at roughly 200 miles an hour. His head bounces inside the cockpit as a wheel shudders over a rumble strip. It’s hard to hear over the banshee shriek of his V6 engine, carrying three times the horsepower of a run-of-the-mill Porsche Carrera.

Then the noise stops, and Baku vanishes. We’re inside a low-slung brick building nestled in the Oxfordshire countryside. The track, projected onto a CinemaScope-sized wraparound screen, was a mirage, part of a sophisticated training simulator. (F1 rules prohibit driving the real cars between races.) Mr. Sargeant climbs out of a replica driver’s seat wearing athletic pants. He won’t need a fireproof suit until later.

In three weeks’ time, Mr. Sargeant will do this for real: wind whipping his visor, G-forces of up to six times his body weight pressing on his neck, the ever-present threat of a catastrophic crash as he is watched by roughly 70 million people around the world. For now, it’s time for lunch. “Is chili bad for you?” he asks, digging into a bowl at his team’s commissary. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

Williams Racing, in Grove, England. It was founded in Oxfordshire in the 1970s, but it’s now an American subsidiary: a Manhattan private equity firm, Dorilton Capital, bought the company in 2020 for an estimated $200 million.

F1 teams employ hundreds of employees and spend hundreds of millions of dollars developing the world’s most sophisticated racecars.

Reaching Formula 1, the highest level of international motor sport, is a big step for Mr. Sargeant, 22, a South Florida native who began racing rudimentary cars known as karts at 6 years old and this year joined the Williams Racing team as the first full-time American F1 driver since 2007.

For Formula 1 itself, finding a hometown hero for American fans is a giant leap.

Although it is enormously popular in Europe, F1 struggled for decades to break into the United States. That began to change in 2016, when the sport was purchased for $4.4 billion by the Colorado-based Liberty Media, owned by the cable magnate John Malone. Liberty ramped up its social media — F1 had barely kept a YouTube page — and backed a popular Netflix documentary series, “Drive to Survive.” Once geared toward aging white men, F1 now has a younger and more diverse fan base. American TV viewership is up 220 percent from 2018, and the sport made $2.6 billion in revenue last year.

Still, a subset of F1 devotees complain about what they see as an overemphasis on entertainment and ginned-up drama. Under Liberty, they argue, pure racing is taking a back seat to cheap tricks to reel in casual viewers. And they often use a dirty word for it: Americanization. “It is becoming more and more like Formula Hollywood,” Bernie Ecclestone, the 92-year-old Briton who built F1 into a global business, griped last year. “F1 is being made more and more for the American market.”

The backlash reached a crescendo at last week’s Miami Grand Prix, which was added in 2022 as a showpiece for American fans. In a prizefight-style pre-race ceremony, the rapper LL Cool J introduced the 20 drivers one by one amid swirling smoke and a squad of cheerleaders. Nearby, Will.i.am conducted a live orchestra playing the rap song he recently recorded with Lil Wayne as part of a “global music collaboration” with Formula 1. (The lyrics rhyme “Max Verstappen,” the name of the sport’s top driver, with “your champion.”)

“Pandering to the American audience is killing @F1,” wrote one fan on Twitter, echoing criticism that bubbled up across numerous F1 websites. Even the racers complained: “None of the drivers like it,” groused Lando Norris, a Briton who drives for McLaren. Undeterred, Liberty announced that the bombastic pre-race sequence would be featured at several more grands prix this year.

In the United States, F1 has long been associated with a certain European mystique, most famously, the louche glamour of the Monaco Grand Prix.

In the United States, F1 has long been associated with a certain European mystique. Its drivers race across the Ardennes forest (Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps in Belgium), the plains of Lombardy (Italy’s Autodromo Nazionale di Monza) and, most famously, the louche glamour of the Monaco Grand Prix. The sport’s stateside image could be summed up by the 2006 comedy, “Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby,” which featured Sacha Baron Cohen as a pretentious French F1 driver named Jean Girard, a snooty Eurotrash foil to Will Ferrell’s macho NASCAR cowboy.

In 2023, F1 can feel a bit more Ricky Bobby than Jean Girard. In Miami, drivers circled a track built in the parking lot of the Dolphins football stadium, past an artificial Monaco-style “harbor”: blue-painted asphalt topped with ersatz yachts. A new Las Vegas race in November will have cars zooming down the Strip past Caesars Palace. Meanwhile, traditional races in France and Germany are gone.

Katy Fairman, a journalist based in Brighton, England, who runs the F1 podcast “Small Torque,” said she was surprised by the spectacle when she attended a race in Austin, Texas. “There were girls with pompoms,” she said. “I remember watching it and thinking, Oh my gosh, this is so different from anything I’d seen F1 do in a long time.”

Ms. Fairman conceded that some Europeans find the American hullabaloo “tacky.” But she added: “When it’s something to do with America, I think Europeans are quite judgmental. I think it’s just a bit of lighthearted fun. You guys like to have a party.”

The arrival of Mr. Sargeant, who grew up about an hour’s drive from the Miami racetrack, has spurred new interest, including a profile and photo shoot in GQ, and he’s happy to play the part. “What’s up America, let’s bring that energy!” he shouted to the cameras after LL Cool J introduced him as “the local boy done good.”

But as with F1, there are growing pains. In Miami, Mr. Sargeant finished last, his race ruined on the first lap when he damaged a front wing. After the checkered flag, he apologized to his team, his voice barely a whisper: “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it.”

Weeks earlier, in an interview in England, Mr. Sargeant had demurred about the pressure of wearing the stars and stripes. “I try not to get too caught up in the talk of the role of ‘first American,’” he said. “It’s still very early for me, and I have a lot to learn still.”

If Mr. Sargeant doesn’t perform, there are dozens of drivers eager to take his spot. “At the moment,” he said, “I just have to worry about staying here.”

For a globe-trotting athlete, Mr. Sargeant can be soft-spoken and endearingly self-conscious.

‘I just want to get back in the gym.’

Before his tough Miami weekend, Mr. Sargeant was asked how he would celebrate a top 10 finish. “Honestly, it might sound lame, but probably just go back to my house and get in my bed for another night before I go back to London,” he replied. “That’s all I want to do.”

For a wealthy, handsome, globe-trotting athlete, Mr. Sargeant can be soft-spoken and endearingly self-conscious. It’s not unusual for someone who, like a tennis prodigy or Olympian gymnast, has devoted their life since childhood to a sole pursuit.

Mr. Sargeant was 6 when he and his brother Dalton got a kart from their parents for Christmas. “No one in the family was really even that much into racing,” Logan said. “We just picked it up as a hobby, something to do on the weekend.” He began winning junior races around the country — too easily. To reach the next level and pursue Formula 1, he’d have to leave behind his friends and beloved fishing excursions for life on a different continent: “We just needed a higher level of competition, and at the end of the day, that was in Europe.”

Mr. Sargeant left Florida before his 13th birthday, bouncing between Italy, Switzerland and Britain as he raced on the European junior circuit; in 2015, he became the first American to win the Karting World Championship since 1978. “As a kid, it was tough,” he recalled. “Coming from Florida, being outdoors all the time on the water, great weather — it was literally vice versa.” He eventually settled in London, where he spends most days working out with a trainer. “I get away from a race weekend, and I just want to get back in the gym,” he said. “I hate that feeling of leaving slack on the table.”

It is incredibly difficult to nab a seat in Formula 1. Today’s drivers are physical dynamos trained to optimize their reflexes and performance levels down to how well they can withstand jet lag — critical in a sport that this year will include 23 grands prix spread over five continents. F1 teams employ hundreds of employees and spend hundreds of millions of dollars developing the world’s most sophisticated racecars. But it’s ultimately up to the driver to execute.

It also helps to have money. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion and F1’s only Black driver, is an exception, having grown up on a London council estate. Many F1 competitors are the sons of multimillionaires (and some billionaires) who can bankroll pricey travel and high-tech cars.

Mr. Sargeant falls into the scion category. He hails from a wealthy Florida asphalt shipping family. His uncle, Harry Sargeant III, is a former fighter pilot and onetime finance chair of Florida’s Republican Party who has been sued by the brother-in-law of King Abdullah II of Jordan and whose name turned up, tangentially, in the 2020 impeachment of former President Donald J. Trump. (Harry was not accused of any wrongdoing.)

Logan’s father, Daniel Sargeant, worked alongside Harry until the brothers had a falling out. In a 2013 lawsuit, Harry accused Daniel of misdirecting $6.5 million in corporate funds “for the purpose of advancing the international cart racing activities” of his sons, Logan and Dalton; that litigation was eventually settled.

In 2019, Daniel Sargeant pleaded guilty in federal court in New York to foreign bribery and money laundering charges related to his business dealings abroad. He is free on a $5 million bond and is awaiting sentencing. A Williams spokesman said that Logan Sargeant was not “in a position to comment” on any of the legal matters involving his family.

In F1, none of this particularly stands out. The mother of Mr. Sargeant’s Williams teammate, Alexander Albon, was jailed in Britain for swindling millions of pounds in fraudulent sales of high-end cars. A Russian racer, Nikita Mazepin, was booted from the sport after his oligarch father, a close ally of President Vladimir V. Putin, was sanctioned following the 2022 invasion of Ukraine.

James Vowles, the Williams team principal, said in an interview that he hired Mr. Sargeant for his speed, not his U.S. passport. “I’m incredibly pleased that the sport is growing in America, but I think it would be anything but disingenuous to say that Logan’s here for any other reason than I think he’s got this pure talent,” he said.

In his F1 debut in Bahrain in March, Mr. Sargeant finished 12th, outpacing this year’s two other rookies. “He has this insatiable desire to be better, to want more,” Mr. Vowles said. “He’s a perfectionist, and I like that in him.”

Tooting around in a Vauxhall Astra

Britain, where Formula 1 originated in 1950, remains the sport’s spiritual home, where most of its 10 teams are based. Williams was founded in Oxfordshire in the 1970s, but it’s now an American subsidiary: a Manhattan private equity firm, Dorilton Capital, bought the company in 2020 for an estimated $200 million.

It was an important cash infusion for a team that had struggled to keep up with rivals. Manufacturers like Mercedes-Benz pour enormous resources into their F1 teams, which double as an elaborate global marketing campaign and an in-house innovation farm; tech developed for F1, like engines that recycle braking energy as an accelerant, can trickle into consumer vehicles.

Formula 1 car simulators at the Williams Racing factory.

Formula 1 drivers practice on sophisticated training simulators.

The Williams campus is a humdrum brick pile that could be mistaken for an office park — a far cry from McLaren’s space-age complex an hour’s drive away. Many F1 teams provide their drivers with a high-end sports car for personal use; Mr. Sargeant commutes in a Vauxhall Astra, a compact.

Even the team’s sponsors are relatively down-market; whereas the official watch of Ferrari is Richard Mille (starting price: $60,000), Williams has a deal with Bremont, whose timepieces retail for significantly less. (On a recent visit, a Williams press aide was quick to extract a spare Bremont watch from his pocket and ensure Mr. Sargeant was wearing it whenever a photographer hovered.)

Given the huge costs, corporate partnerships are crucial to F1, part of the reason the American market, with its abundance of affluent consumers and wealthy brands, has proved so tempting. Gerald Donaldson, a journalist who has covered F1 for 45 years, recalled how cars were gradually taken over by corporate logos starting in the late 1960s.

“Marlboro paid all the Ferrari bills, including the drivers, for many years,” he said in an interview. “There are eager companies who want the publicity.” Mr. Sargeant’s car features ads for Michelob Ultra beer and an American financial firm, Stephens. In Miami last weekend, beachgoers spotted an airborne banner reading “Go Logan!” alongside the image of a Duracell battery.

Last year, the Miami race was viewed on ABC by 2.6 million people, the biggest American audience for a live F1 telecast. Ratings for this year’s race fell about 25 percent, perhaps a result of a duller-than-usual season dominated by one team, Red Bull.

Still, viewing data show that F1 is expanding beyond affluent cities associated with elite sports: In 2022, its top five American TV markets included Asheville, N.C., and Tulsa, Okla. ESPN is clearly betting on more growth. When the sports network renewed its broadcast rights last year, it agreed to pay $90 million annually — up from the $5 million-a-year deal it signed in 2019.

Liam Parker, a former adviser to Boris Johnson who now leads communications at F1, said the sport was intent on rectifying past mistakes. “We were too arrogant,” he said. “We couldn’t understand why the American fan base wasn’t falling in love with us.” But he also pushed back on the complaints that Liberty’s efforts to raise the entertainment factor had stripped F1 of something essential.

“This whole argument of ‘Americanization,’ it’s a very crude way to describe things,” he said. “We shouldn’t ignore things that can improve things for new and core fans. It’s about giving people more choices in the modern era. It’s modernization of access to everyone.”

Mr. Hamilton, arguably the biggest celebrity of the current F1 lineup, has offered his own endorsement of Liberty’s approach. “I mean jeez, I grew up listening to LL Cool J,” he told reporters in Miami. “I thought it was cool, wasn’t an issue to me.”

For all the debates over elitism, good taste and corporate rap collaborations, the core appeal of F1, when you get right down to it, may be something simpler — something Mr. Sargeant got at when asked in the interview if he had loved cars as a kid.

“I absolutely love driving, as you can imagine,” he said. “But to be honest, I’m not one of those people who studies cars and, you know, likes to know every detail of every single car. It doesn’t really interest me.”

“The part that interests me,” he concluded, “is driving them as fast as I can go.”

Eliza Shapiro contributed reporting from Miami. Kitty Bennett contributed research. Michael M. Grynbaum is a media correspondent covering the intersection of business, culture and politics. A version of this article appears in print on May 14, 2023, Section BU, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: The Florida Man Of Formula 1.

#logan sargeant #year:2023 #source:newspaper #one of the best logan articles imo #feel free to message me if you want me to gift you a copy of this article from the NYT with my subscription

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pollypenname · 1 year

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Below is a single chapter of The Tinker, a Bakugou x Reader slow burn with smut. If you’d like to read the whole story, click HERE for Wattpad and HERE for AO3. There are over 3.5 million readers, and we'd love to have you too!

THIS POST HAS MATURE CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE. READERS SHOULD BE 18+

Content Warning: Oral (female receiving), Intoxication, Penetration, Domination, Multiple Orgasms

Insatiable

[The Tinker, chapter 92]

"I don't feel anything," Y/N said. "Maybe everyone online is just dramatic."

"Could be," Bakugou shrugged. "Or maybe this bottle's a fluke."

The two of them sat on the floor of the plane, Y/N leaning her back against the wall and Bakugou against the couch. They weren't quite sure what else to do– it didn't feel right to be apart, so they'd decided to stay in the common area while they waited for the effects to hit, but they both were too nervous to get too close to one another. If the internet was correct, it might be a good idea to start at a safe distance.

Katsuki had put headphones in to try and attempt a minor distraction. In all honesty, he wasn't really listening– his mind was busy swirling with the anxiety of what was going to happen next. Unlike Y/N, he had taken the recommended dose, and it was a few minutes after her too.

Whatever he was going to feel would only be a fraction of what she would; but he wanted it that way. Online sources said that for men the love potion would eliminate the refractory period. That was why he'd taken those 3 drops: no refractory period meant he could help her as long as she needed, and he wanted to help as much as he could.

"Maybe we should eat," Y/N suggested. "If it's anything like alcohol, food could minimize the effects. I've got stuff in my bag... we can eat that so we don't have to order from the attendants." She climbed to her feet and stepped over Katsuki to grab her bag on the dining table.

As she passed, Katsuki caught the smallest whiff of her perfume as he breathed in. Wow. Had she always had that? It smelled amazing. He blinked a few times as he exhaled.

Y/N rustled through her backpack and pulled out a small bag of plane snacks. "Probably not as good as what the attendants could get us, but I don't wanna risk calling them in," She muttered. "C'mere, take your pick."

Bakugou obeyed, standing up and turning to sit on the couch with her. He hadn't meant to, but when he sat down he was much closer than intended– that sweet smell of her perfume was stronger now. He blinked a few times again to try and remember what she had said. Candy. He was picking candy.

"I've got suckers, chips... granola bars..." She stopped moving for a moment and looked up at him. "Damn, are you wearing cologne?"

"No," He huffed. "Are you wearing perfume?"

"No."

The silence stretched out while they stared at each other, unmoving. Katsuki was the first to break away from her gaze. "I'm not hungry." He slumped down into the couch and closed his eyes a bit to at least try and focus on his music.

"Suit yourself." Y/N dug out a sucker, ripping off the wrapped and popping it into her mouth. "I don't think the effects are that bad. I mean, you smell nice, but I think that's it so far. I feel pretty good."

Bakugou's chest was starting to feel a bit odd. His breathing had picked up, he was noticing that now– and his heart was pounding faster than normal. His adrenaline was up.

Y/N moved to the couch across from him to try and keep her distance. It had already been thirty minutes, but she didn't want to be blindsided by the effects– from her or from him. Neither of them knew what to expect.

Katsuki's eyes weren't closed anymore. He sat up slowly, unable to pry his eyes away from Y/N– specifically her mouth. She was on her phone now and didn't notice his staring, which caused a small shiver to run up his spine when her tongue lolled out of her mouth to lick up the flat loli.

He felt like a pervert, but no matter what he told himself he was unable to look away. Each time her tongue flicked over the sweet treat, an odd sensation surged through his veins and made him cross his arms tighter.

"Stop it," He muttered impatiently.

Y/N looked up from her phone, oblivious before but now understanding what was happening. "Shit. Bad choice on my part, sorry," She said, tossing it into the nearby trash can. This time, she didn't go back to her phone; she met his gaze and pulled her legs up onto the couch with her. "Do you... feel anything?"

"I dunno," He lied. "Do you?"

"I guess it feels a little hot in here. Is that just me?"

Bakugou shook his head. "No, it's hot," he agreed. He sat up a bit to shrug off his jacket.

The action made Y/N dizzy. All at once, the potion seemed to take its effect– her muscles felt weaker and a long shiver ran all the way through her body. Her heart began to race when she saw Bakugou's arms flex under his shirt as he tossed his jacket.

Y/N swore she could physically feel the potion seep into her bloodstream and spread to through her. It was warm– no, it was hot as her body pumped it to every extremity. Her breathing picked up and she couldn't help but squeeze her thighs together; but the friction made her shiver again. "Shit. I think I need a minute," She said under her breath, hopping up from the couch and making her way to the bathroom.

Bakugou wasn't doing much better. In an attempt to dull the sensations he pushed himself further into the couch, but it only made him feel more hot; with Y/N out of the room, he ripped his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside with his jacket.

The thrumming of the potion in his body was making his head cloudy. Whatever anxiety he'd felt before was long gone, now replaced with a heavy need. This was a lot stronger than he thought it was gonna be. Bakugou moved to the edge of the couch and leaned forward onto his knees with his elbows, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly to try and shake the relentless heat spreading across his face.

He didn't expect to feel so dazed. A few deep breaths didn't help– in fact, it only seemed to aid the surge of sensitivity that racked his body. When the wave hit his dick, he doubled over with a shaky breath.

Bakugou sat back, which he regretted almost immediately. The friction from his movement sent a jolt of red hot pleasure through his body and his jaw dropped open in a soft moan when he reached down to palm his erection. Fuck, the relief was indescribable. No way was he gonna be able to pull his hand away. Thank God Y/N wasn't here to see that he–

Y/N. Shit. Was she okay?

~~~

Funny enough, Y/N had also taken her shirt off. And her pants. The heat that seemed to radiate from her body somehow wasn't apparent in her reflection aside from her flushed face. How was there not a single drop of sweat? She wished she could sweat right now– then maybe she could fucking cool off.

Y/N gripped the edge of the counter as her body heaved with every breath and nudged the bathroom door open with her foot in hopes that a draft might enter the little room. Nope, it was hot out there too, and heating up as every second passed. Jesus Christ.

With nothing else helping, Y/N slumped to the floor with her back pressed against the counter. There was no way she was going to be able to ignore the feeling between her legs for much longer. She'd never experienced arousal at this level. It was primal, desperate, and unavoidable– at this point, there was really only one way to solve it.

She finally let her hand snake down her body, even the sensation from that making her breathing pick up again. When her fingers barely brushed her clit, even over her panties, her body seized up and she cried out. Loud. How could one small touch feel that overwhelming?

Before she could continue, she saw Bakugou's hand grip the side of the door and slide it open the rest of the way, both of them now having a clear view of each other. It felt like ages that he stood there, staring at her with his chest rising and falling.

"Why the hell aren't you wearing a shirt? Are you trying to torture me?" Y/N whined. She closed her eyes and turned away to try and avoid the onslaught of hormones from seeing his bare chest.

Bakugou took another shaky breath. "It hit you too, huh?"

Katsuki's voice seemed to bounce around in her head and heighten the arousal she felt. Now it was getting physically difficult to breathe, and the heat was reaching unbearable heights. "It's hot," She gasped out. "Fuck. It hurts."

"It's hurting you?" When she looked at him this time, he was holding each side of the doorway, watching her closely with concern. Bakugou had always been attractive– he was physically fit with a wickedly beautiful face, and his mannerisms only added to the dominance he exuded. It's everything her body told her she needed right now. The hormones coursing through her surged when he said, "Let me take care of you, Tinkerbell."

Y/N clawed at her skin. Now that she had seen him, there was no alternative. It had to be him. Her body craved him in every sense; his voice, his warmth, his body– he could take care of her. He could fix this. He could end the unbearable heat and make her feel better. Y/N wasn't sure if it was the potion, but she trusted him more in that moment than she ever had. "Help me," She begged.

It was all the confirmation Katsuki needed. He fell to his knees and crawled over her shaking body. "I'm going to make the pain stop," He promised, holding the back of her neck and peppering soft kisses over her face. "I'm gonna make you feel good, baby. Promise."

His lips made her delirious. "Can you stand?" She heard him ask. She could only shake her head no in response, worrying that they wouldn't be able to continue, but the ground disappeared from under her and she realized he had lifted her up. Y/N wanted to look at him desperately but she was far too dizzy.

He set her down in a standing position in front of the sink, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around her waist for support. "Find your legs, Tinkerbell," He whispered. "Bend over for me."

At the promise of relief, Y/N was able to rest her weight against the countertop with her elbows. His fingertips danced across her bare stomach and she almost moaned when he said, "There you go. Hold still, alright?"

She couldn't have moved if she wanted to– she was surprised that he was even able to get her to stand on her feet. Her body ached with desperation at how slowly everything was unfolding. "Kat," She groaned impatiently.

"I know," He said. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and slid them down her legs, a string of her slick connecting to the fabric and making Bakugou exhale shakily in anticipation. Once her panties reached her ankles he lifted her foot to fully remove them and toss them to the side.

Y/N gasped when she felt his hands hold the back of her thighs firmly before spreading them open, making her lower a bit until her stomach touched the cold marble of the counter. The cold air against her sopping wet cunt made her shiver involuntarily. Anticipation churned in her stomach as she waited.

"Katsuki, I need– Ohhhh shit," She moaned.

Somewhere in the back of her mind where the rest of her conscious thoughts were she had assumed he was going to fuck her against the counter, but instead of his cock she felt his tongue glide up through the folds of her pussy.

The relief was explosive and immediate– without warning and without another touch, she was cumming. Bakugou stared in awe as Y/N convulsed in front of him. Unable to help himself, he used his thumbs to pull apart her folds and watch her hole spasm around nothing. "Kat," Y/N whined. "I think... I think I need–"

He wasn't listening. Overpowered by his own lust and the need to watch it happen again, he closed his mouth around her entire heat and started again, letting his tongue glide through her slick with ease and lap it into his mouth to taste.

Peaches. The potion made her taste like peaches.

Bakugou's eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head as he continued. He could feel her squirming and panting above him, so he gripped her hips hard to hold her still as he licked and tasted every part of her cunt. She was downright addictive– this was dangerous. He could spend hours with his face in between her legs.

Once again without warning, Y/N came undone from his mouth, and Katsuki slipped his tongue as deep as he could to feel her walls clench around him mercilessly. He was pretty sure it was the hottest thing she'd ever done, finishing on his tongue like that. He was becoming ravenous for this.

When he pulled away from her for a breath he couldn't stop the groan from slipping past his slick-covered lips. "Do that again," He ordered, this time using his hand to rub tight circles against her clit, and she did as he commanded; just in time, he pushed his tongue back inside her.

She was powerless to stop him as she clenched and tightened around him once more, the orgasm even more powerful than the last with the stimulation to her clit. He was free to live out his sick fantasies with her pussy, and she couldn't be more relieved to let him as the pleasure washed over her in waves.

"I... I need you deeper," She begged. It didn't matter that she'd already cum three times; in her lust ridden body it still felt like she needed to finish. Relief was temporary and explosive, but the unrelenting need always rose back to the surface. Her insides throbbed mercilessly around his tongue as her legs shook.

Y/N felt two fingers slide into her pussy with ease and her eyes squeezed shut at the intrusion. There was no pain, only the spasming of her walls around him as he felt around inside her.

She whimpered when Bakugou pulled his fingers apart in a scissor motion to stretch her further. The motion made her body tense against him, but he didn't seem to notice. In the mirror she could see him staring right at her cunt in a way that could only be described as pure desire. Bakugou's fingers bent at the knuckle and he moved around to find that spot she loved.

When he found it, Y/N gasped and he responded with a wicked grin. "There it is," He said lowly, beginning to piston his fingers in and out to rub against the spot repeatedly. "Right here? Does that feel good, sweetheart?"

The sensation on its own had almost sent her towards her next orgasm, but the pet name falling from Bakugou's lips was what pushed her over the edge again. It was so unnatural to hear him use terms of endearment but it was such a turn on. "God, you get so tight when you finish," Katsuki gushed, not letting up on his ministrations and instead going harder to make her orgasm last longer. "Fuck. There we go."

At this point it was clear that Katsuki was doing this much more for himself than he was for Y/N. He was fulfilling his needs even more than hers, regardless of her countless orgasms– he hadn't finished once but was more riled up than he'd ever been.

He could do whatever he wanted to her helpless little cunt, and he was getting off on it, too.

Somehow Y/N was able to push herself up and off the counter to turn around and look at him. "Bedroom," Was all she could say before her muscles started giving up again. Katsuki was quick; be bent down and hoisted her weak body over his shoulder without hesitation and walked them into the other room.

After lowering her onto the bed, Bakugou finally pressed his lips to hers with a sigh. "You taste like heaven, you know that? Lemme taste you again," He said, about to move his head back between her legs, but Y/N grabbed his jaw and pulled him back up.

"I need you to fuck me. I need your dick this time," She said. "Please."

He almost didn't listen– he was in a frenzy of sorts, desperate to pry her legs apart again and devour more of her– but the look of sheer desperation in her eyes sent a wave of desire right to his throbbing cock. He'd gotten used to the ache while he'd eaten her out, but with her words he realized just how badly he wanted to feel her cum on his dick instead.

Bakugou nodded at her and she released him, allowing him to sit back and pull his raging hard on from his pants, giving it a few pumps before doubling over at the sensation. He'd almost forgotten how significantly the potion impacted his sensitivity. A shiver ran up his spine and he choked out a moan in front of her.

"Kat, hurry," She begged.

Katsuki grabbed Y/N's thighs and yanked her onto his lap to line his cock up with her dripping entrance. Rubbing the tip against her throbbing hole made a smile form across his dangerously handsome face. As lovely as it would be to tease her, he knew now wasn't the time– he pushed inside of her slowly, crawling on top of her as he did so and watching her face contort in relief.

"Does that feel good, baby? Can you feel my dick in you?" He rocked into her and she moaned against his lips in desperation. "Aw, don't get shy on me now. Do you like my cock?"

Once again, Y/N didn't respond, much too overwhelmed at the pleasure he was forcing her into. "Pretty girl. Going dumb on my cock, arentcha?" He teased, kissing the tip of her nose gently before rocking into her again. "Good girl. Y'look so beautiful like this."

Y/N wasn't quite sure what he was saying; she only knew that each word seemed to send her spiraling deeper and deeper into the sensations, making her clench and throb as he worked his way in and out of her wet cunt.

Katsuki picked up the pace, but this time he hooked his arms under her thighs and pulled them up by her chest, trapping her against the bed as he plunged his cock deeper and deeper inside her. "Fuck, you got tight. You like when I split you open like this, pretty girl?"

She cried out in response when he started thrusting harder. "W-wait, Kats, I think I'm gonna cum again–"

"There she is," He teased. "Thought I lost ya there. You wanna cum for me?"

Y/N nodded frantically which only spurred him on. He pushed against her legs harder to keep her still and kicked into high gear, going so deep he swore he was in her stomach. The angle had Y/N seeing stars and he didn't let up, even when her orgasm came crashing down and made her clamp hard against his dick like a vice.

The clenching of her walls sent Katsuki spiraling into his own orgasm, his hips seizing as his cock pumped out rope after rope of his cum into her spasming cunt; he came so hard he nearly lost consciousness from the pleasure.

A moment later Bakugou was panting for air, trying to recover a bit. Y/N was breathing just as desperately but still looking a bit dazed. Her chest rose and fell over the passing seconds and seeing her like this was doing things to him again. When he shifted his hips he felt the cum seeping out around his dick while her pussy continued to flutter around him.

That was enough to awaken his arousal once more and Bakugou wanted to sing praises to whoever made that fucking potion. Ever so gently he began moving back and forth, the mixture of his cum and her slick letting him push back inside her with ease. He moved to perch above her again. "How are you feelin, love? Do you want me to stop?"

Still a bit delirious, Y/N shook her head no. "Keep going," She breathed.

And they did.

For the next several hours, Bakugou ruined her over and over again, and each time she came with a cry of his name. It woke a part of Katsuki that he didn't realize was there– an insatiable need to force her into overwhelming pleasure as many times as he was able. Each time she cried out for him or grabbed at him desperately, it made his cock stiffen up again and he couldn't help but wreck her insides once more.

Katsuki took overwhelming pride in his ability to do this to her. Potion or not, he knew this need to please her and make her scream for him wasn't ever going to fade. For hours he used his dick, his hands, and his hips to send her into total explosive bliss. He'd lost count of the amount of orgasms they both had– dozens, probably, and it didn't end until the early hours of the next morning.

When the potion had finally subsided, the two of them were barely able to move from exhaustion, but that didn't stop Bakugou from carrying her to the shower with sore arms and making sure to hold her up under the stream of hot water. Without a word spoken between them, Katsuki washed and dried the both of them before laying her down gently under the satin bedspread.

He kissed her forehead before climbing in next to her, pulling her against him as they drifted off to the deepest sleep of their lives.

| Masterlist | more snippets from The Tinker | Ask Me Anything! |

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cacoetheswriting · 1 year

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celebrity skin. (part four)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.7k summary: as the relationship progresses, strong feelings develop.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, mutual pining, oblivious idiots in love, talk of bullying & past trauma related to bullying, mentions alcohol consumption, family issues / family drama— if i missed anything, pls let me know!

a/n: this is a little filler chapter, but there’s details here that will be important later. also, it’s just a little happiness and fluff in the lives of eddie and his favourite popstar ;)

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

Eddie is used to dealing with bullies.

His entire life consisted of people — mostly strangers — hating on him for one reason or the other. No matter the setting he found himself in, someone always had an opinion and they were never afraid to voice it.

Whether it was to gossip about the way he was raised, his family situation, (which frankly wasn’t anybody’s business, not like they cared). Or to voice their distaste about the trailer park Eddie grew up in, unsafe and unclean. Then there were the folks that had a never ending issue with his personality, the shit he found interesting that differed slightly to most, and the music he was into, heavier than the charts. And for the more shallow crowd, his physical appearance always caused a wave of upset since how he chose to dress was a clear indicator of who he was on the inside.

The high school bullies, like Jason Carver and his gang of dipshits, well, they never let Eddie forget he was less than. On most days, he didn’t let that bother him. He had thick skin, Uncle Wayne made sure he knew from an age arguably too young that people were assholes and Eddie should never let anyone get into his head. Hence the provocations with Hawkins’ finest, that often led to fights he knew he could easily win, but never did since Uncle Wayne also said, “be the bigger man”.

The music industry jackasses who wouldn’t give him a chance ‘cause Eddie and his band didn’t fit whatever image was considered hot at the time. Rejection after rejection. Bullshit reasons that made him angry, if not for himself, than for his friends that followed him out to Los Angeles, chasing a dream he’s had for years.

Then there were the critics: “who told these guys they’re good enough to try?”, “poor quality of lyrics and an even poorer performance”, “listening to the latest Corroded Coffin record is time I will never get back. sadly.”, “and for the next group of friends who think they have what it takes, let this be a lesson, you really do not”. To Eddie, these were empty words by people that hid behind a pen and paper, never bold enough to say it to his face. Although, it definitely hurt more when it was a fan gone rogue. Displeased by whatever shenanigan the band got up to and lashing out in the only way they knew how — cruel words.

Yes, Eddie was used to dealing with nonsense and he thought by now, at this stage in his life, he’d faced all of the bullies the world had to offer.

That is until he got involved with you.

Associating himself with someone of your stature was not a mistake by any means. In fact, Eddie would say the only mistake in his relationship with you was the time between your first meeting in August of ‘92 and your reconciliation all those months later. Time lost, wasted.

And Eddie was not an idiot. He knew that once people found out that ‘Corroded Coffin frontman and America’s sweetest popstar’ were some sort of an item, they’d voice their opinion, warranted or not. He was prepared for that, just like he was prepared to protect you from the usual bullshit he normally endured in the tabloids since he could take it, but you were pure and didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.

Granted, he didn’t expect he’d have to stand up for you so soon. He also didn’t expect the one person really rooting against your relationship with him, the one person he’d have to look out for amongst the group of usual suspects, would be your very own grandmother.

Yet here you all were.

Pacific Dining Car was exactly the type of restaurant Eddie usually avoided. Too much history in a place like this, attracting too many tourists who wanted to snap photos of the building featured in that one Chinatown scene. Privacy didn’t exist in a public setting like this one and Eddie knew to be careful with his reactions, after being burned once too many times in the past: ‘Eddie Munson, guest from hell.’.

The dinner location, chosen by your grandmother, also clearly bothered you. Knee bouncing, brushing erratically against the rockstar’s own leg, as you looked around to every misplaced sound, anxious of who could be listening in on the conversation with the matriarch of your family.

It didn’t help that the line of questioning offered by your grandmother was nothing short of hostile and with every passing second, you felt increasingly upset because you never got a chance to warn Eddie about her clear bias and obvious distaste towards him.

But on the outside, Eddie seems calm. His large, ring-clad hand is spread across your bouncing thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your covered skin. He holds eye contact with your Nana from across the table, unafraid of her words and how downright rude she is being. He even makes a joke at his own expense, earning himself a brow raise, as if to say “I didn’t know you had it in you”.

Even if it’s all a charade. Eddie knows not to let the bullies see him sweat, and at the end of the day, the longer he’s sat at this horrendous dinner with your grandmother, the more he’s convinced that’s exactly what she is: a big bully.

“And tell me about your parents, Edward?”

The hold he has on your leg gets a little tighter, so you glance at him, witnessing how his features shift just for half-a-second from composure to an expression you haven’t seen on him before. A certain melancholy behind his brown eyes that’s reminiscent of when your mom thinks about the father she’s never met.

Suddenly, you’re feeling protective and a confidence that’s failed you all night resurfaces. You turn back to look at your Nana. Placing one forearm on the table between you, then lift your index finger, which she notices immediately, and in a voice quite stern, you warn her to stop.

“I think that’s enough of the third degree,” you say to your Nana, unafraid to hold her gaze for the first time all night. “Eddie’s been very gracious, answering all of your questions very honestly when he really didn’t have to.”

Eddie says your name ‘cause he doesn’t need you fighting his battles, but you don’t pay attention to the murmur that’s escaped his lips.

“Can we just finish our meal in congenial silence, please? You’ve flown across the country, for what exactly, I still don’t know. Since you’re here and you invited us out for dinner, let us at least enjoy dessert,” you snap and retrieve your arm, wrapping it instead around Eddie’s bicep.

There’s a moment of silence. Your Nana’s scrutinising gaze falls on where you’re now visibly holding the rockstar sitting beside you. She’s not the only one looking. The sea of murmurs and glances engulfs you whole, yet right this moment, it’s not bothering you in any way. In fact, you welcome it.

Eddie tilts his head in your direction, a small smile circling his lips as you lean into him further, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s not really thinking of the people staring either. In that moment, as the emotions from the evening slowly die down, the only thing on his mind is how strongly he feels about you.

Even though Eddie has never needed anyone to stand up for him, anyone to fight off the bullies he’s often encountered, watching you put yourself in the line of fire, protect him from your own grandmother, further ignited these feelings inside of him. Fondness, care, and something much stronger than the sexual attraction that’s clearly been there from day one.

He places a kiss on top of your head, lingering a little longer to inhale the scent of your undoubtedly expensive perfume. The corners of your lips twitch upward at the contact. This morning, you were a nervous wreck about the world knowing you and Eddie were some sort of item. Now, mere hours later, you might as well have been holding up the middle finger and calling the paparazzi yourself. If anything, it was a liberating experience.

“I guess it doesn’t matter what I say,” your Nana says with an exaggerated sigh. She picks up her wine glass, taking a slow sip of the maroon liquid.

“Is that really so bad?” You question.

The shrug she offers is answer enough. It makes you roll your eyes, though the reaction isn’t appreciated by your grandmother. She tuts her tongue, shaking your finger at you as she takes another sip of the wine.

“That’s not very lady-like,” she says in a displeasing tone while leaning slightly forward.

You match her movement, letting your arm fall into your lap as Eddie places his on the back of your chair, fingers reaching out for you, softly grazing your back through your blouse.

“Oh, and how you’ve been behaving all night, is?”

“Honey, I’m just looking out for you. Why can’t you see that?”

It’s condescending, the way she says it, so it makes it all the harder to believe. And that’s the way it’s been your entire life. Her word was gospel. There was no fighting it. She was a manipulative woman and what she wanted to happen, always got done.

That didn’t bother you growing up. Mainly because her strong opinions and calculating hold on the world around her got you where you currently were: America’s favourite starlet. Selfish? Yes. But you’ve been called worse in the press.

There was someone else involved now. Someone you cared about arguably more than you cared about your career or pristine image. Eddie didn’t judge you like everyone else in your life did, and even though the two of you didn’t have the best start, being around him these last two days was nothing short of heavenly. So he didn’t deserve the treatment he’s so far received from your Nana.

“I’ve said this many times before, but anything I’ve ever done since you were a little girl was to get you where you needed to be. Get you where you belong. Now that you’ve made it, a little appreciation would be nice.”

Her words sting. Tears burn in the corners of your eyes as you tell her you’ve always appreciated her. She just shrugs again. Now Eddie’s the one being protective. He straightens his posture and before you realise what is happening, the rockstar is chiming into the conversation.

“With all due respect, there’s no reason to treat her the way you do.”

Your Nana’s eyes shift to Eddie, a smug frown circling her lips.

“Edward, please don’t get involved in business you know nothing about.”

The rockstar smirks. “The fact you’re calling this business, instead of a moment between family, tells me all I need to know about you,” he states and before your Nana gets a chance for rebuttal, he turns to you.

“Let’s get out of here, okay?”

All you do is nod, pushing down the tears and smiling at him with appreciation.

Time in Los Angeles moved differently than in New York.

The pace was slower, more relaxed. There was no urgency with anything. People took their sweet damn time, no matter how hectic their schedule was. None of this go, go, go, that you would find on the streets of New York. You appreciated that about California, which is perhaps why you ended up staying longer than intended.

That and the curly-haired boy you got to wake up with, every morning for the past three months.

The Corroded Coffin frontman had opened his home to you entirely following the dinner with your Nana. He had his assistant contact Holly that very same night and the following morning, your belongings were brought from the hotel to his Hidden Hills property. A week later, you arranged with Val to ship some of your clothes from your New York apartment.

In the months that passed, Eddie’s home had quickly become your favourite place on the planet, and despite not being a couple in the official terms, your relationship with the rockstar grew stronger with every hug, kiss, and every single time he put his strong hands on you, touched you in a way that made you see stars.

Tabloids were eating it up too. Every outing you and Eddie had graced the front page of every shitty magazine this country had to offer — which your labels were genuinely thrilled by ‘cause it helped create a buzz about your upcoming single with the band.

Obviously there were the people like your Nana who hated the relationship and made their unwanted opinions quite clear, or the people who doubted and thought it was some sort of PR stunt to boost sales. However, in your bubble with Eddie, you simply stopped caring. He made all of your anxieties disappear with nothing but a sweet smile.

And during this time, between spending hours by the pool, hanging out in the kitchen that before you came along was never used, or pulling orgasms from one another for hours on end, the two of you also had time to work on new music together.

There was honestly enough material for an entire album, if not two. Lyrics to songs that would never actually see the light of day, which made the whole writing process all the more special. Just you, Eddie, and his guitar. Scribbling rhymes on napkins, magazines, anything that was within reach once inspiration struck.

The songs were quite good too. You both knew it. Perhaps the best music either of you have ever come up with, but it was also vastly different from both of your usual styles. One song together, a guaranteed hit. An entire album? That’s a sell out.

So there’s a box underneath the bed you now share together filled with all the written lyrics and maybe, one day in the very distant future, they would get published in a memoir about your lives. Until then…

“Serious question,” the boy that’s constantly on your mind asks while stepping out of the bathroom, a loose towel hanging around his hips, water drops trailing down his toned and tattooed torso. “What are you wearing tonight to the party, sweetheart? Marianne said we should be somewhat matching, but I’ve got no fucking clue what that means.”

“Never attended an event as a Hollywood it couple, huh?” You tease, sitting up.

“Never really dated anyone, and you know that, baby.”

He stops at the foot of the bed and leans down to peck your lips, wet curls patting your cheeks. You hum against him, satisfied at the contact, and he smiles, wide, teeth grazing your mouth.

“Well, we’re not really dating either,” you murmur.

“So I guess we’re not actually attending this party as a couple, huh?” Eddie bites back playfully before kissing your cheek. He stands straight and you watch, eyes trailing along his multiple tattoos, as he wanders towards his closet.

There’s a happy expression on your face, one that’s only ever present around Eddie. How he makes you feel is not affected by any label the two of you have on your relationship, so do you really care that he hasn’t officially asked you to be his girlfriend?

Perhaps.

Actually, not really.

He's told you many times that he has difficulty processing emotions correctly, “like a normal person would, sweetheart”. Given the stories he’s told you about his upbringing, it’s completely understandable. And it’s not like you offered any guidance in this department as your idea of love was fairly skewered too. Idealistic, since your parents had it so good from the moment they met, but also messy because your Nana presented the other side of the coin with how she led her life.

To this day, your mother doesn’t know who her father is. She’s not entirely sure if he even knows she exists, if he’s even still alive. She’s asked many times, but as far as you were aware, she was never given a straight answer. Then there was the man your Nana eventually married. Rich and handsome, the only two consistencies in her string of stories about the lavish life they had during the brief time they were together. From what your mom remembers of those days, the man was kind. “And honey, at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters when it comes to love,” she’d say whenever she’d talk about him.

Eddie is kind.

Taking your mothers advice, that’s all that matters.

You hop off the bed and follow the rockstar. He’s rifling through some shirts when you walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso. He relaxes into you. It’s minute, but you notice it immediately and it makes your heart flutter ever so slightly.

“I like that black one,” you say after resting your chin on his bare shoulder. “And if Marianne says she wants us to match, that will go with the dress Versace made for me. Especially if you wear it with those leather pants you have and pair it all with a chain or two.”

Eddie takes the shirt you pointed out off the hanger without question.

“If only I had you before last year's Grammys,” he huffs out a lighthearted laugh, “My outfit was so bad. I know you definitely wouldn’t have let me leave the house wearing what I did.”

You chuckle delicately while letting your arms fall.

“Well, now I wanna see a picture,” you tease, then take a step back to lean against the set of custom-built drawers in the middle of the space.

“No way,” Eddie protests and spins to look at you, a wide grin gracing his features. He places the shirt to the side and stands in front of you, knee bumping against your own. “Sometimes I’m glad you actually didn’t know who I was before we met,” he says, taking your face in his hands, “This is one of those times.”

You roll your eyes. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Think Grace Jones with that gold cape-thing,” Eddie cites, “They had me wear something similar over my outfit, but instead of a plain one, it had all these random embroideries. I looked like I had just gotten out of bed.”

The picture he’s painted appears in front of your eyes and you throw your head back in an array of soft giggles.

“I was at last year’s Grammys,” you say in between those chuckles, “Can’t believe I didn’t see you, especially if you say your outfit was that atrocious.”

Eddie ponders your words for a moment, licking his lips. His thumbs graze along your cheekbones, almost as if he’s fighting himself, fighting whether he should say what he thinks to say: “I deliberately avoided you.”.

The Corroded Coffin frontman has made it clear since day one that he’s known exactly who you are. Shit, that wasn’t hard. The entire world knew you.

While Eddie was trying to graduate high school for the third time, you were gracing covers of magazines all the girls in Hawkins bought. And although he’d never admit it, he was guilty of buying some of said magazines too, though for different reasons than his female peers…

The printed images fueled his fantasies. After all, he’s just a dude and you have always been drop-dead gorgeous. Though, at risk of sounding like the perv he can sometimes be, he’ll keep that part to himself.

Honestly, that’s why he’s never really said much other than simply knowing who you are.

It’s why he’s never said anything about seeing you at different events you both attended over the years, once he’s made it big with the band. Or why he’s never said about wanting to talk to you then, only because he wanted to get into your pants, not because he was a fan since he really didn’t care for the music you produced — yeah, perv.

He definitely feels guilty about it. Especially now that he’s succeeded. Especially now that he does get to have you, kiss you, pleasure you. And aside from that, he’s gotten to know you on a much deeper level than what you presented to the world. Jesus, especially now that he’s fallen for you. Harder than he intended.

“I-I saw you,” he eventually admits in a murmur so quiet, he has to clear his throat and say it again, only louder. “I-I thought about walking up to you and using my usual charm, you know. Flirting with you a little, making you weak in the knees.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, stringing your brows together.

Eddie smirks. “‘Cause you’re you. Hot and honestly a little intimidating,” he answers honestly. “Baby, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the second you enter a room, all eyes are constantly on you. There’s this aura about you, it attracts a lot of attention, wanted or not, and that scared me.”

He pauses. “I saw you, thought you looked smoking and I think I even said that to the guys,” he laughs, “But when I downed a drink for a little liquid courage, it did the complete opposite. I couldn’t move.”

You nod at his words, taking them in.

Then you wonder what the last year would’ve looked like if you officially met Eddie a few months before you actually did. If he came up to you at the Grammys, what would you have said? Would you have landed in bed with him the way you did anyway? Would you be here right now, feeling all that you’re feeling for him? Or would it have been a random hook up in the bathrooms of Radio City Music Hall, only to be forgotten before they announced Album of the Year.

Shaking the thoughts away, since at the end of the day, it doesn’t really fucking matter, you push yourself into Eddie even more, chest pressed against his, hands on his neck.

“Does it still scare you?”

It’s a whisper. Loud enough to hear, especially as you incline towards him, lips now mere inches apart.

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “Wouldn’t have followed you into my home last August if it did.”

“Good.”

When your lips connect in an ardent kiss, one of Eddie’s hands moves to your waist. He squeezes, fingers slowly making their way up your tank top, caressing your skin. He’s slow with his movements, deliberate ‘cause each of your pressure points is engraved in his memory — and no matter what happens between you, he’s convinced how your body reacts to his touch, will remain in his thoughts forever.

Shit. Is this what love is?

The nerves kick in then. He pulls back slightly, scrunching his nose for a brief moment, before letting his arms fall and taking a step to the side. Tilting your head in his direction, you poke his arm.

You’re a little flustered by his sudden departure, missing his touch instantly. When you go to question what just happened, Eddie’s avoiding your gaze, fidgeting with the shirt he placed to the side.

There’s a slight sting in your chest, but you push it down because his mood tends to change depending on what the two of you are doing, or where the conversation is heading — just like yours often does. This was clearly one of those situations. Something crossed his mind and whatever it was, must have startled him a little.

“Where did you just go?”

He doesn’t immediately answer your question. Taking the time instead to slide on a pair of clean boxers, the wet towel disregarded on the wooden floor. He then works to unbutton the shirt you picked out for him, and you give him the time he needs ‘cause he’s often done the same for you.

And Eddie’s head is spinning. He knew his feelings for you were strong, he just didn’t realise that they were this strong. He didn’t realise they were love strong.

Love is a big word. It’s a big deal. Falling in love with someone is an even bigger deal and yes, he’s imagined falling in love with you over the last few months you two spent living together, but that doesn’t mean he was prepared for it to happen.

Gareth would tell him he should’ve been prepared.

Eddie recounts the stories his bandmate shared about meeting his “better half”, and how the two of them fell in love, eventually starting their beautiful family. Eddie then thinks about how beautiful you look in the morning, bare-faced and peaceful. He thinks about how you make breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening, both meals which you eat together at the kitchen island you first met by, and a smile circles his lips at the memory.

He then thinks about how much more you’ve opened up since then, telling him about your childhood in New York and the woman that really didn’t like you being with him. All those stories only affirmed this belief he’s had that you grew up in completely different worlds, yet you never let those differences get between you. If anything, for someone who grew up richer than the richest of Hawkins, you were more down to earth than every single one of them.

Jesus H. Christ.

“I-I… Fuck,” the rockstar clears his throat before finally looking back at you. “Wanna skip this thing? Watch MTV or somethin’ instead?”

You chuckle. “You want to bail on our own release party to watch MTV? The guys will kill us. Not to mention Marianne, she’d definitely have our heads.”

“But, we have fun watching MTV,” he whines, reaching for you once again. He guides your arms around him before resting his hands on your hips and pushing himself into you. “Plus, I think there will be other parties we’ll get to go to as a couple.”

You arch a brow, smirk circling your lips.

“A couple, huh?”

He smiles down at you. “Yeah, sweetheart. A couple.”

Heat rushes to your face. You’re unsure as to why you’re suddenly feeling embarrassed, but your hands move to your face, barely covering your eyes. And Eddie is smiling wide, definitely pleased by the reaction he’s gotten. So he places a tender kiss on each of your fingers, before reaching for them, intertwining with his own.

“Would you like that?” Eddie asks quietly, leaning closer as he does.

A nod of the head and a peck on the corner of his mouth is your response. It’s all Eddie needs for his heart to soar inside his chest.

“Then I think we should attend our own party as a couple,” you say quietly against his lips. “And I promise, the second it starts getting boring, we’re leaving to watch MTV in nothing but our underwear.” You draw out the last syllable, voice fading into nothing.

Eddie groans, low tone, then nods his head rather reluctantly. You kiss him gently once, then a second time only deeper, before freeing yourself from his grasp, also rather reluctantly, and walking back into the bedroom.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you call out.

The rockstar is behind you within seconds of the sentence leaving your lips. He attaches himself back to you, like a magnet, mouth to the crook of your neck, trailing sloppy kisses upwards towards your jawline. And you squeal in his embrace, laughing as he pushes you forward, stumbling towards the bathroom.

“I’m gonna help,” Eddie quips.

“But you literally just showered,” you giggle.

“Didn’t you hear me,” he stunts, nibbling on your earlobe. “I’m gonna help you, baby, ‘cause what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

And you’re on cloud nine when he labels himself as such. You tell him you like the sound of that, even though it’s such a miniscule thing in the grand scheme of things, after all, you’ve been acting like a couple for months.

But he says it again, “I’m your boyfriend now, sweetheart.”, and you’re shaking with excitement. Eddie fucking Munson, your boyfriend.

Let’s really hope it ends well.

as always, thank you for reading! reblog & tell me what you think

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @papillonoirsworld

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #celebrity skin.

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kookies2000 · 6 months

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So I was shocked about this.......

Adam Sandler movie got a higher score than Wish? 92% to an 82%? Same score as Trolls 3? So I watched Leo.

I like it, like, I really liked it. It was such a nice movie, a good concept, a great message, and the jokes were funny. And I mean adult jokes here and there. Have no idea how they got that drug joke in for the kids. 🤣 It's basically Adam Sandler taking the time to speak to children and the adults about life lessons. So the lizard, Leo, is going home with a different kid each week, with a unique problem and personality, and helping them by giving advice. Great advice that kids can understand. Beautiful!

BUT!!!!

It's definitely not perfect. 🤣 The musical numbers are very out of nowhere and the music isn't good. Like, they're not catchy, and you can't dance or rock out to them. And some jokes don't land at all. It's cringe sometimes.

But besides the flaws, I can see why it has a higher score than Wish. It does have heart and effort put into it. Definitely a film I would show my little sisters. But I wouldn't watch it a second time. One time is enough for me, and I appreciate the film for giving lessons my sisters can learn.

#leo #leo netflix

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stone-stars · 2 months

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welllll since you're offering to talk about naddpod music, would you mind talking a little about the uses and stuff of Meemaw's Burden? :3 nbd if not, but if it sparks your fancy, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

oh god mee maw's burden. anon. my dear friend. you have no idea how insane uses of this song make me.

okay. so lemme start by saying that mee maw's is only used in bahumia (c1/c3). i think about this choice fucking constantly. you'll discover why shortly.

i'm not going to list out every mee maw's burden use. i could. but i'm not going to. instead, i'm going to point at the fact that the song is called mee maw's burden. we first hear it when mee maw reveals that she's got crick rot to moonshine, and that she's been hiding it from everyone.

and like. jolene is a druid who will live for hundreds and hundreds of years. and lose so many people. she's the matriarch of the crick. she's carrying this so that others don't have to be burdened by it.

and... that's kind of what mee maw's burden is used for. the burden of the living. the burden of the parent. the ones who take things on so that others don't have to. it's... bev sr selling his soul to hell. beverly seeing erlin dead. telaine learning about melora, and breaking down at the end of the fight. "how long do half elves live". calder asking ultrus to make a deal with him.

it's-- mee maw's burden is... living. living when others don't. accepting heavy loads so that others can live on. knowing that you might not, and knowing that you're okay with that. being strong in the face of it, because you have to.

oh! that note i made. about why it not being used in c2 is insane to me. it's because in c2, there's the cycle. of rebirth and reincarnation. the relationship to death and lifespans is different. so... of course it's not used in c2. and of course it is used throughout c1/c3.

also! a fun thing i like to point out is that if you listen to mee maw's burden, and then listen to the song that plays as the boobs talk to melora at the heart of the world in 97 (9:44 in the ad free version), you will notice that the start of the melora song is a variant on mee maw's. enjoy that knowledge. yes, this is the "what an honor, what an injustice" song.

(and, because i'm insane. i did do that thing i said i wasn't gonna do)

campaign 1 uses: (25) mee maw reveals her crick rot (38) joris explains he helped akarot for the sake of the dwarphanage because no one cares about dwarphans (39) jaina and hardwon talk about how they failed gemma (51) the chosen kill everyone at the crick in a flashback (58) bev sr. admits to selling his soul (70) bev finds the field guide on how to defeat his dad (73) bev goes down at akarot's hand (80) bev's flashback to the execution in hell (87) erlin almost has to choose between healing bev and saving red (88) bev sees erlin dead and revivifies him (89) bev and erlin talk about pelor's death (90) bev and egwene talk about erlin being taken (92) moonshine sees pendergreens and paw paw after dying (96) both moonshine telling telaine about melora and telaine breaking down at the end of the fight (98) both pestilence killing balnor and bev defeating qwiksus (99) both telling lucanus about erdan and, of course, "how long do half-elves live"

campaign 3 uses: (7) callie tells the others about her past with stealing the egg and giving it to glen (11) beatrix tells duck team that she's the last of the ruby scale and her dragon has been killed (27) callie goes down in the king durretar fight / king durretar gets his breath weapon back / big bev also goes down / generally shit being real bad in that fight (29) do i need. do i need to tell you when in crown of dreams this is used? (it's calder making a deal with ultrus. it was never not going to be that.) (32) callie disobeys the worm and takes a bunch of damage in order to save hardwon (54) gowan learns about gregor, and tells calder that he can't help because he left and isn't a ranger. "please. we've already lost enough. do not put yourself in a position where i lose another brother."

#this is less in depth for reasons but i will say i don't think this is the last analysis you'll hear about mee maw's lol #god. what a song.#hanbles #naddplog #naddmusic tag #going insane about music on this friday #this one i might maintag. yeah. it deserves it #naddpod #anon #ask

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tengritexas · 1 month

Text

Some lyrics to a song Im working on from scratch! I may try to start throwing it together soon. ID LIKE OPINIONS WITCHES ✨️✨️✨️🗣

Tengri in Texas

Mongols in Texas, it cant be true

Im not from the east but I love the full moon

I used to like the snow, now Im just fine

I kinda like the steppe it eases my mind

Now all of my friends, we sit outside

And play country music in the Spring time

Blue skies are mentioned in every tune

Reminding me of Tengri in night and noon

Where the blue sky is, I wIll go

Crazy thing is he's always at home

Moscow to Mexico I will roam

And tell the stories of a friend I know

*whistle tone*

Some drink whiskey or bourbon

But when it comes to me Im a vodka man

One for the sky and one for the ground

And one for my soul as I come through town

I got a metal horse it takes gasoline too

Chasing eternal blue sky, Im coming on through!

The limit is 70 on this route

But I wont lie I went 92

And where the blue sky is, I wIll go

Crazy thing is he's always at home

Mongolia to El Paso I will roam

And tell the stories of a friend I know

*throat singing*

Tengri is deep like that blue sky

Take an airplane find out sometime!

Even cowboys say theyre lost in the blues

Hey ole rider, I love Tengri too!

And where the blue sky is, I will go

Crazy thing is he's always at home

Richmond to Belarus I will roam

And tell the stories of a friend I know (slow last bit)

#pagan #witchcraft #magick #witchy #shaman #witchblr #paganism #witch #tengri #shamanism #mongolia #folk music #music #country

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mariatesstruther · 5 months

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okay more on jackson’s senior center based off this post:

- it started as just miss shirley and her best friend darla wanting to live together and asking maria if she could maybe find a house for them to settle in together instead of living apart

- before this, mama shirley and darla would have to walk five houses each way to see each other for afternoon tea, which just won’t do. mama shirley is 92 and darla is 90 now, and both of them are too old to be have to walking that much everyday, mama shirley tells maria. she quickly and vehemently agrees

- maria has the idea of fixing a house up for jackson’s senior citizens to live in if they’d like to. it takes a lot of unnecessary convincing to get the council to dedicate one of jackson’s best houses to a maximum of five people, but maria gets it done. they pick one of the few houses that are placed in the farther back part of jackson, near the farm and the daycare center, so that it can be far-reaching from the entrance of jackson

- the first people to movie in are shirley and darla, who share a room on the second floor (thanks to tommy replacing the stairs in the house with a reliable ramp with a wall-attached handlebar)

- gary moves in not long after he breaks his left hip while herding the goats. he likes that the house is designed to be wheel-chair access and far away from most people in town. he also likes it because he can be close to darla, who he has feelings for, but nobody knows about that except for tommy and joel

- mr. wilson moves in on maria’s insistence that he’ll get hurt if he continues to live alone and try to do everything himself. his name is harold, but he insists that anyone younger than him calls him mr. wilson on account of maintaining a respectful distance. he’s a grumpy, gruff old asshole that reminds joel more of bill than bill himself, but he’s also known to do anything and everything maria tells him with only a small amount of grumbling. somehow, she convinces him to move in after he accidentally sets his kitchen on fire trying to make himself a pocketknife (which?????? maria still doesn’t have an answer for????? why harold was trying to do that????)

- last but not least is sandra dee, jackson’s oldest and most enigmatic member. nobody really knows where she came from or what her story is: she’s the only one of jackson’s seniors that managed to get to town on her own, arriving to town at 94 about a year after its founding with nothing but a backpack and three handguns. she clamed to be sandra, but they’re not entirely sure if sandra dee is her real name. she hums songs from musicals all the time and has expressed that grease was always her favorite. at least once a month she requests to go hunting with patrol and gets mad when maria tells her no

- senior center tea: shirley and darla have longstanding beef with sandra dee because she always cheats at cards during game night, shirley knows about gary being sweet on darla but is lowkey jealous about it because SHE is sweet on darla, and everyone thinks mr. wilson has a thing for maria but he actually told her in confidence last month that he is actually sweet on gary. mama shirley and mr. wilson can’t STAND each other

- tommy calls the seniors the jackson five. all of them call him thomas. he and joel bring them all basic living supplies at least once a week, but are known to be around there pretty often

tsym for anyone having interest in this pls feel free to add anything u want!!

tagging :))) @clickergossip @nerdieforpedro @mrsmando @callmekittenandyourmajesty @steeb-stn (ty for the idea of putting it next to the daycare!) @thatoneobsessedlinguist-writes

#maria finding out from gary that hes sweet on darla knowing shirley is sweet on darla and harold is sweet on gary: oh FUCK #idk where this is coming from but theyre all so vivid in my mind like #theyd have the best breakfastes over there at the jackson five home #dinas older sister talia works as their main caretaker #shes the only person is jackson all five of them agree is a good egg #she loves them but they drive her nuts #NO gary you cannot bring the stray cats in to sleep in bed with you. because theyre dirty!!!! im not arguing with you about this again!!!!#no mr. wilson miss maria is not coming by today. i don’t know exactly why the council is busy. no i cannot take a letter over there #darla. shirley. are you guys high????? did you steal my weed tea again????????#what do you MEAN you made your own????#its just a whole sitcom #talia and the gang #the tipsy bison #the jackson five #the name makes tagging so convenient #jackson seniors #jackson senior center #maria miller #tommy miller #joel miller

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

Note

If you're taking dialogue prompts then I would suggest Geraskier 20 and/or 45 and/or 92. ❤

20. “You are so unbelievably strong. So, so strong.”

45. “You lied to me.”

92. “My heart is beating… that’s cool.”

“You are so unbelievably strong,” Jaskier says from his spot thrown over Geralt’s shoulder, sounding a bit hysterical. “So, so strong. Do I weigh anything to you?”

With his hand that isn’t holding Jaskier in place, Geralt casts Aard to blast two guards rushing at them backwards. “Is now really the time for this, bard?”

“I think it’s always a good time to ogle handsome men who come to my rescue so valiantly.”

Geralt snorts and leaps off the scaffold onto Roach’s waiting back, dumping Jaskier across the saddle in front of him like a sack of potatoes. Roach doesn’t wait for his signal before she bolts, sending onlookers scattering as she gallops through the crowd. “I told you, bard, next time you ended up on the gallows for sticking your cock somewhere it shouldn’t, I was letting you die.”

“You lied to me.” Jaskier sounds far more smug than a man in his position should.

Geralt can’t argue with that. “The duke’s betrothed? Really?”

“She was quite pretty and she liked my music.”

“Is that all it takes?”

“Well, I am a sucker for a pretty face.” Jaskier cranes his neck to bat his eyelashes at Geralt.

“You’re a dipshit is what you are.” An arrow whistles by his head and Geralt twists around in the saddle to cast Igni at their pursuers.

“It won’t happen again?”

“Now who’s lying?” Geralt urges Roach to run faster. He doesn’t pull her to a stop until they’re well out of town and the sounds of shouting have faded behind them. Only then does he leap down from her back to untie Jaskier’s ankles and wrists.

“Ugh.” Jaskier slides off of Roach’s saddle. Geralt catches him around the waist to stop him from falling. “You finally let me ride Roach and you treat me like a sack of potatoes?”

“You alright?” Geralt pats him down to look for injuries.

“Well, my heart’s still beating.” Jaskier presses his hand to his chest. “That’s nice. Besides some bruises and scrapes, I’m fine. I’d say of all my imprisonments, that one was probably in my top ten. Maybe even my top five, since it ended with me being thrown over a handsome man’s shoulder.”

Geralt closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why he still keeps this peacock around. He especially doesn’t know why the thought of losing this peacock to a hangman’s noose scared him worse than anything has in a long time. “Just don’t let this happen again.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can make no promises.”

“Here’s a promise,” Geralt says. “Next time your fool decisions get you sentenced to death, I’m leaving you.”

“Sure you will.” Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for saving me, O Dashing White Wolf.”

Geralt can feel Jaskier’s heart beating against his chest. It almost makes up for the fact that he smells like a man who spent a week in a prison cell. “Any time, Jaskier.”

He doesn’t miss Jaskier’s triumphant little smile.

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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offbrandkyoya · 2 months

Text

92 Fight Club

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Diluc ran and ran to the train station.

When he arrives, the train leaves and Thoma was no where to be found. “Fuck..” He mutters, clearly defeated. He wasted so much time and now, he’ll never see him again.

Diluc turns back around but freezes when Thoma stands right in front of him. He notices he’s holding a brown lunch bag. “Thoma, y-you’re still here. I thought you left already?” The blonde blushes, “Uh, no, I got hungry and the line was kind of long…so…” “Oh okay.”

There was silence. Diluc gulps before speaking, “I wanted to talk to you.” “About?” “A…About us…” Thomas eyes widen, “Us?” The redhead nods. “Y-Yeah. I…I want to say I’m sorry. For literally everything…” He sighs, “Thoma, it was wrong for me to break up with you. I did that because I thought it’d be better for you. I should’ve talked to you about it but instead I just let you go. I really don’t deserve you at all. You never once complained about our relationship and it was all me. I thought I was doing the right thing but instead I let us down. I’m sorry.”

Thoma clutches his bag, thinking of a response. Dilucs face turned red as he’s a bit nervous about his reaction. Thoma looks the side, “I appreciate your apology but I don’t want us to get back together again.” Dilucs shocked by this. Surely, he thought Thoma would give him a chance because it’s Thoma. The kindest guy you’d ever meet.

“Why?” “Because…I don’t think..” Thoma closes his eyes tightly. “I don’t think I’m ready to be with you again. I’m sorry.” Thoma looks at him in pity. “I still like you but I’m not ready. Not yet.” “Then I’ll wait.” Diluc replies immediately, shocking Thoma a little. “Y-You will?” “Uh huh. I’ll wait as long as it takes but please, don’t fall for anyone else. I won’t fall for anyone either because you’re the one for me.”

Thoma blinks then bursts out laughing. Diluc jumps a little. “What a selfish thing to say. That’s so not you!” He calms down a little then smiles at him. “Okay, I won’t. Promise.” Diluc smiles too. “Can we at least be friends?” Thoma nods. “I’d like that.” Diluc smiles more. “Cool. Nothing like befriending your crush.” “Very cliche.”

The train arrives and Thoma begins to walk to it. “Well, see ya-“ “Uh, wait!” Diluc grabs his sleeve. He blushes a bit. “Let me walk you home?” Thoma giggles, “Okay but we’re going on the train first.” “Y-You know what I mean!” So the two men climb aboard. Another love story solved.

“I suddenly feel happy.” You say after you’ve put away your painting. “Freak.” Scaramouche comments and you punch his stomach. He groans as you puff up your cheeks. “Yn.” You straighten yourself up upon hearing that voice. Standing right in front of you are your parents. “Mom, dad, you’re here…” “We heard that you won.” “Oh right.” ‘Of course that’s all they care about.’

Your mother scans the room. “Where is it?” “Where’s what?” “Your painting.” Your father answers. “Oh, I put it away because I’m heading home. I had a tiring day.” You say sincerely. Scaramouche stands behind you, watching you converse with your parents. “I see.” Your mother shrugs, “Fine, I guess. We’ve seen it roam around the internet anyways.”

“To think you actually got somewhere with that.” Your dad chuckles and you look down a little. “Now that that’s out of your hair, you can go back to focusing on your studies.” “But-“ “No buts Yn.” Your mother lifts a finger. “You’ve disappointed us enough. Don’t try to continue to rebel.” You feel tears well up but you see Scaramouche’s arm wrap around your body.

“Yn can do whatever they want.” He says and your parents eye him. “Who’s this?” “Their boyfriend.” He states matter a factly. “Oh, I know him.” Your dad nods. “Yes, he’s the one who was abandoned by his mother a child.” “Oh that’s right! He’s the same one who had that crazy meltdown in public.” Your mom shakes her head. “Music doesn’t get you anymore.” Scaramouche growls but your hand rests on top of his.

“Don’t talk about him like that.” You say with an angry expression. “I don’t like that you’re talking crap about my boyfriend right in front of me! Also, I don’t give a shit if you’re disappointed by the fact I’m still doing art! I won because I’m good at what I do! You don’t support me at all and honestly, I don’t care.” You clench your fists. “Fuck you. My friends and Scaramouche are all I need.”

Your parents look at you wide eyed. You grab Scaramouche’s hand and stomp off to the front door. “Woah Yn, slow down.” He says once you’ve made it far enough. You guys stop and you frown. “Sorry…” “Hey,” He kisses your cheek and his hand rests on your cheek. “That was pretty cool that you stood up to them.” You smile weakly. “Thanks. I’m really sorry about what they said about you.” “It’s fine.”

He kisses you again. “Guess they won’t be seeing their grandkids.” You blush heavily. “S-Scara! Please stop mentioning that!” He laughs and kisses you again while you whine. “Before we leave, I’m going to use the bathroom real quick, okay?” “Okay.” You share a kiss before he turns back to use the restroom.

You place your arms behind your back with a hum. A few minutes passed, people leaving and entering. You decided to lean against the wall so you wouldn’t be in peoples way. As you wait, you noticed something odd. This girl keeps coming back and leaving. At first you thought she might’ve forgot something but she did it quite often.

She’s leaving again and you decide to confront her. “Excuse me, do you need anything?” She smirks a little, stopping in her tracks. “Why yes! Are you Yn?” “Um, yes?” Her smirk reminds you of the Cheshire Cat and because of this, you’re a bit skeptical at what she wants.

“Is something the matter?” “Oh nothing, nothing!” She giggled weirdly. “Then why are you coming back all the time? Are you looking for something?” “I was looking for you.” She says and you feel grossed out.

“How come?” She shrugs with a hum. “To congratulate you on your win. I really didn’t think you’d pull it off.” You tilt your head. This girl wasn’t competing so you wondered. “I like Scaramouche.” She says and it clicks. “Oh you’re a fan.” You say boringly. “Yes, I am! I’m also a HUGE Diluc fan!” “That’s cool.” You sigh and look the other way to see if your boyfriend is finished.

“Yn,” You didn’t even bother to look at her. “You don’t give up.” “No, I don’t.” “Even after having your painting ruined. Such a shame.” Slowly, you turn your head towards her, your mind buzzing. “How do you know that?” She stares at you with a sinister smile. “Because I did that.” Rage boils up inside you.

“You know what else? I even sent you about Thoma.” You let out a gasp. That was so long ago that you completely forgot that the only reason you knew about the drama was because someone sent it to you. That someone was the same girl who ruined your picture. “Why-“ “Because we don’t like you.” “We?” “Everyone. You’re a bug, Yn. Getting in the way of your friends. Were they really being abused? Or were you just trying to blame on someone innocent. Your existence caused the boys to suffer. You should be ashamed.”

You grit your teeth and grab her shoulder. She screams and slaps your face. “They’re attacking me!” She shouts. Instantly, you slap her back. Not only that, you grab her hair as well and tug it hard. She yelps in pain and grabs hold of your arms.

Everyone circles around you two, watching instead of helping. You didn’t care at all. You kick her stomach, making her fall in the floor. You get on top of her and punch her. “How could you?! I worked long and hard on that painting but because of your hatred for me, you RUIN it?!” “It’s what you deserve! You’re a complete, utter, WHORE!” You punch her again and she punches you back.

The fight didn’t last as you were pulled away by force. “What’re you doing?!” Scaramouche looks at you crazy, grabbing your arms back to prevent you from escaping. Seeing him made you come to your senses. “Scara, she ruined my painting!” The girl stands up with a huff.

“You deserved it! Someone like you doesn’t deserve this win!” You growl but Scaramouche moves you behind him. He lets go and walks to the girl. “Scara-“ He slaps the girls face. “Leave them alone or I’ll kill you.” Scaramouche glares. She scoffs, “Is this how you treat your fans?!” “You’re no fan of mine. You’re a virgin loser who’s insecure about their love life. Me and my friends will never give you the satisfaction of dumping Yn for the likes of you.”

She stares at him wide eyed and looks at the people staring and whispering. Scaramouche shoved her, tripping on her own feet, she falls. “Get the hell away from me or I’ll chase you away if I have to.” He takes a step forward and she struggles to get up and when she does, she runs off.

Scaramouche lets out a sigh and turns to you. “You need to learn how to defend yourself. You’re all bruised up.” He walks to you and observes your features. “Use your arms to block your face or have fast reflexes to block.” You blink then begin to laugh. “You’re so weird, Scara.” “Wha-“ You grab his face and kiss him, startling him a little.

You pull away and hug him. “I love you.” Scaramouche couldn’t help but feel confused but he smiles and hugs you back. “I love you too.”

- did you guys see that the boy and the heron won an OSCAR?????????

- unfortunately i never watched the movie but i love ghibli and am super happy for Miyazaki! :3

🏷️ @sakiimeo @coquettemaiden @rmiyuki @kur44pika @theblueblub @jxxji0309 @dreamsofminnie @ohmyfinggod @redactedhimbo @kunisbeloved @akagism2 @sketcheeee @thefandomcrow @beriiov @thenightsflower @yukiipc @scaraapologist @scarletttcroww @samyayaya @crucnhice @monaypo1 @feiherp @myaaones @warcelia @hangecanweholdhands @yuminako @valiryyz @screechingxiaolover @tiddieshakeshownu @ilovechuuyaa @d4y-dr3am3r @dazaisfavgf @swivy123 @ganyusbrideee @sagegreenthinks @the-left-glove @wonderland-fan @kylexzz @kaoyamamegami @whycantscarabereal @rvoulte @eunchaeluvr @lxkeeeee @silvermah @baby-bread-in @yelleloww @magica-ren @itzblazekun @im-inlovewithy0u @featuredtofu @anastaxiah @ask-aph-tanzania @drmyday @what-just-happened-huh @xtobefreex @v4lerixxq @duckyyyx @hannoahs-third-eyelash @brain-r0tt @iota1111 @accio-fandom @kaitfae @tikitsune @salmonieea

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hotchaways · 2 years

Text

pov: your instagram but you’re dating spencer reid

Liked by derekmorgan, itspennyg and 92 others

(Y/N)gram: scrawny motherfucker with a cool hairstyle

view all 21 comments

jenniferjareau: does spence actually know how to jump rope?

↳ (Y/N)gram: he was actually good at getting the timing right for the photo though

↳ derekmorgan: pretty boy cannot jump rope to save his life

spencer.reid: am i scrawny?

↳ aaron_hotchner: not entirely in my opinion.

↳ e.prentiss: yes

↳ (Y/N)gram: baby those are song lyrics but yes 😅

↳ spencer.reid: watch me gain my muscles

↳ derekmorgan: get a medic nearby in case you pass out

Liked by e.prentiss, daverossi and 84 others

(Y/N)gram: my best friend and spencer! off to some music festival in the desert 🏜

view all 19 comments

itspennyg: enjoy my lovely earthlings!!! 💗🌎

↳ jenniferjareau: we wish you could’ve come with :(

↳ (Y/N)gram: yes replace spence :)

↳ spencer.reid: why do you do this to me?

e.prentiss: lmao poor reid looks like a third wheel with jj and (Y/N)

↳ (Y/N)gram: did you not know that spence is just my beard?

↳ spencer.reid: i am feeling slightly offended that my own girlfriend is insinuating that i am a cover up.

↳ derekmorgan: you gotta admit jj and (Y/N) do look good together

↳ jenniferjareau: mhm, (Y/N) and i are the power couple of the century 😌

↳ aaron_hotchner: dropping by to say i definitely agree to that.

↳ spencer.reid: not you joining them, hotch :(

Liked by aaron_hotchner, itspennyg and 82 others

(Y/N)gram: he hasn’t moved for the past 15 minutes

view all 14 comments

derekmorgan: it’s because pretty boy’s sleeping

↳ e.prentiss: new life hack is to bring sunglasses everywhere

↳ jenniferjareau: is he hungover?

↳ (Y/N)gram: probably? he might have low alcohol tolerance

↳ itspennyg: i can’t believe someone can actually sleep in that uncomfortable position 😵‍💫

↳ aaron_hotchner: the meeting was unusually silent without him blurting out statistics.

↳ derekmorgan: everyone quietly leave him and go back to your desks

↳ (Y/N)gram: aye aye captain 🫡

Liked by itspennyg, e.prentiss and 87 others

(Y/N)gram: happy anniversary, wonder boy ❤️ you have no choice but to love my unique gift to you :) i love you

view all 21 comments

itspennyg: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MY BABIES!!! you two are growing up so fast 🥺💗

↳ derekmorgan: spencer is growing up, (Y/L/N) is still a short stack. happy anniversary!

↳ aaron_hotchner: happy anniversary you two. please keep the mushiness down on the low.

↳ e.prentiss: happy anniversary, the two of you are so sappy, it makes me sick 🤢

↳ jenniferjareau: happy anniversary to my best friends!! love you both :)

↳ (Y/N)gram: morgan you bitch take that back

spencer.reid: happy anniversary, love :) you increase the dopamine levels in my brain. i love you

Liked by itspennyg, aaron_hotchner and 94 others

(Y/N)gram: gifting the world a baby spencer reid :)

view all 21 comments

spencer.reid: (Y/N) I TOLD YOU NOT TO POST THIS

↳ (Y/N)gram: my job is to serve the people and this was what they wanted

↳ derekmorgan: look at pretty boy’s haircut and award-winning smile 🤩

↳ jenniferjareau: you mean spence’s boyband haircut

↳ itspennyg: HE LOOKS SO TINY I WANNA KEEP HIM IN MY PURSE

↳ e.prentiss: you gotta give it to him. he was real proud of his pearly whites

↳ aaron_hotchner: i don’t understand whether he’s uncomfortable or that’s his normal smile.

↳ spencer.reid: that’s my normal smile, hotch. 😐

Liked by daverossi, derekmorgan and 81 others

(Y/N)gram: legendary pasta man and popcorn hoarder (with derek’s popcorn) caught on camera 📸

view all 14 comments

e.prentiss: rossi looks like he’s being taken by the angels with the light above him

↳ daverossi: i am the holy pasta man.

↳ derekmorgan: this is war, spencer reid, you took my popcorn

↳ spencer.reid: i cannot believe my own girlfriend ratted me out.

↳ jenniferjareau: and i fully support her for doing that

↳ (Y/N)gram: next time don’t go stealing people’s popcorns, especially mine 😘

↳ itspennyg: why did (Y/N) just rush in to the batcave when she crossed paths with hotch?

↳ spencer.reid: she dunked the popcorn bucket over my head. it reminded me of my high school days.

↳ aaron_hotchner: so that’s why the floor was a mess.

Liked by jenniferjareau, derekmorgan and 90 others

(Y/N)gram: i told santa i wanted a disney prince when i was 7 and i got one 22 years later :)💗

view all 22 comments

itspennyg: YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE MY HEART IS BURSTING!!!! 🥺

↳ (Y/N)gram: penny our #1 supporter :( we love you!!! so much. we will get you all the croissants in the world

derekmorgan: i cannot imagine spencer as a disney prince

↳ e.prentiss: or even any kind of prince

↳ jenniferjareau: (Y/N) posting a sweet message and the two of you come in with that energy. i love it

↳ spencer.reid: i don’t 😒

spencer.reid: are you posting this so we can get a puppy?

↳ spencer.reid: but also, i love you. stop making me flustered at work

↳ (Y/N)gram: ……i love you spence hehe :)

↳ spencer.reid: we are not getting a puppy

Liked by aaron_hotchner, jenniferjareau and 89 others

(Y/N)gram: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. everyone, meet einstein!!! 🐶❤️ (ps. spence was actually ecstatic)

view all 23 comments

e.prentiss: i cannot believe how much of a simp spencer is for you

↳ jenniferjareau: he says he doesn’t want to get one but would do anything for (Y/N)

↳ derekmorgan: he’d probably commit arson for her

↳ spencer.reid: why are we talking about this?

aaron_hotchner: jack saw the picture and wants to meet einstein so they could play together.

↳ (Y/N)gram: we should play matchmaker for coco and einstein

↳ itspennyg: YES. adorable little hotchner-reid’s running around 🥺

↳ aaron_hotchner: i do not want to take care of the pregnant dog of my girlfriend.

↳ spencer.reid: hotch, you’re no fun. it’s just for 58-68 days.

↳ (Y/N)gram: we will make it happen

↳ aaron_hotchner: i am hiding coco from the three of you.

A/N: celebratory post because i passed my oral exams with flying colors and it’s my first month here!!! :) having this blog has definitely been therapeutic for me, especially gaining new friends and getting back to writing has helped me a lot. thank you all for the love you’ve given me the past month 💗

ps. yes, i did create a connection with my other social media post because coco makes a written appearance in this one :)

taglist aka my lovely spencer lovers: @psychosociogentleman @fandom-life-12 @whovianwholikesgirls @accountdeletedpleasedisregard @sweetpeterparker @izbelross @mynotesapptbh @wtfdudewhydidyoutakemyusername

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia

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