#This is just one page I nearly died
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Made a comic omg 💙💛💋
#honeyworks#lipxlip#aiyuu#hworks#someya yuujirou#shibasaki aizou#confession executive committee#lily's haniwa artz#Onegai hworks San pls make Em canon official#I salute webtoon artists esp the ones who does everything in solo#This is just one page I nearly died#If there's any typo don't mind it I can't be bothered to fix#Merry Aiyuu Christmas guys~
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ੈ✩‧₊˚ BEACHED! (OP81)
pairing: oscar piastri x f!reader
summary: after oscar saves you from an embarrassing accident on the beach, you accidentally go viral
warnings: cheesy humour, chaos
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just tweeted
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
liked by danielricciardo, logansargeant and 98,002 others
yoursername shout out to australia, especially to the random dude in orange who saved my life from prematurely ending (note: waves in australia are brutal stay away if you can't swim)
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yourbsf NO FR SHOUT OUT TO KING I WAS TOO BUSY LAUGJING AND TAKING PHOTOS
yoursername I NEARLY DIED Y/B/F
yourbsf i was too busy giggling! your dream boy and first time he's seeing you is nearly drowning
friend1 Y/N DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS (6)
yoursername an australian?
user IS THAT OSCAR???
user oscar in papaya even on the beach… i fear he has no other clothes
user WHAT IS GOING ON
user NOT ME SEEING OSCAR TODAY AFTER HE SAVED A RANDOM GIRL FROM DROWNING?!?!
yoursername who tf is oscar
oscarpiastri hi! random dude in orange here
yourusername UM.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ twitter reacts
ੈ✩‧₊˚ dms with oscar
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted stories
[captions:
1. treated the tour guide to lunch :)
2. note: don’t let an f1 driver drive the golf cart if you value your life. moments before i nearly died (again)]
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
liked by oscarpiastri and 76,408 others
yourusername live evidence of the moment my tour guide turned on me
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user UHHHH
user oh so now they’re hanging out… i smell love at first sight
user NOT HIM DIVE BOMBING YOU????
oscarpiastri HEY i saved you again as well🙄
yourusername AFTER I SWALLOWED LIKE A GALLON OF WATER
friend1 @/yourbsf where were you during this murder attempt
yourbsf honey they don’t even know i’m here
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just posted a photo
liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 224,517 others
oscarpiastri best way to get used to the aussie waves is to just go for it☀️
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user okay when will an f1 driver save ME from drowning and fall in love (and then try to drown me on two other occasions)
user hahaha i think they’re just friends
user GIRL ^ look at what he just posted dedicated to her and tell me he’s not already obsessed
yourusername please stop trying to end my life i have a child at home
user UM
oscarpiastri a dog. she has a dog.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
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yourusername australia i am in love with your food, your weather, and certainly your people. i can’t wait to come back one day🤍
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user ‘and certainly your people’ 🥹🥹🥹
user i knew she was only on holiday but why am i legitimately sad she’s leaving?
user why am i crying for people i don’t know
user is the shirtless man in the bg of the third oscar😳
oscarpiastri don’t be a stranger🧡
ੈ✩‧₊˚ texts with oscar (1&2) and your best friend
ੈ✩‧₊˚ your username just posted a photo
liked by 65,087 people
yourusername puppy therapy
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user no oscar in the likes again :(
user he’s so fluffy
user my heart aches so bad i want her back with oscar
user no fr i’m hoping that they can meet up when he’s travelling again :(
yourbsf coming over for a cuddle (with you and charlie pup)
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just tweeted
replies…
user why do i feel like this is about y/n…
user i hope they still talk :(
user with the way they’ve been posting i don’t think they do :(
user sending you love oscar. you’ll smash next season🧡
user something definitely happened
user im guessing just summer romance that fizzled out now they’re both busy :(
ੈ✩‧₊˚ mclaren just posted
liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 200,091 others
mclaren pre-season testing underway✅
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user did anyone see the interview he did on f1’s page?
user no what happened?
user they asked him about his winter break, and his smile faded so fast :/ then he just said he did a bit of exploring and moved the conversation on so fast
user god they. really fell for each other huh
user mclaren you have an opportunity to do the best thing. invite y/n to one of your races and reunite them please
ੈ✩‧₊˚ an email from mclaren
ੈ✩‧₊˚ texts with your best friend
ੈ✩‧₊˚ mclaren just posted a photo
liked by 247,996 people
mclaren a special home race for oscar with even more special guests🇦🇺 #OP81
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user IS THAT… IS THAT CHARLIE PUP. IS THAT Y/N.
user DID MCLAREN TAKE OUR ADVICE
user IS IT FINALLY HAPPENING ARE MY LOVES REUNITING?
user IM HERE RN AND SHES DEFINITELY IN THE PADDOCK
user FOR REAL? HAS OSCAR SEEN HER?
user NOT YET BECAUSE HE’S BEEN IN PRACTICE SESSIONS BUT THEY FINISH SOON
ੈ✩‧₊˚ user just posted a thread
ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo
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yourusername who said fairytales aren’t real
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user OH MY GOD ITS OFFICIAL
user i would like to thank mclaren
user why am i crying. i don’t know these people
oscarpiastri and in all 100 versions of the story, i’d always choose you
ੈ✩‧₊˚ oscarpiastri just posted a photo
liked by yourusername, landonorris and 247,721 others
oscarpiastri i guess i was the real race winner after all
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user THE CAPTION IM SOBBING
user can’t believe y/n went from nearly drowning to dating the internet’s boyfriend
yourusername can’t wait to have my life threatened by you for years to come
oscarpiastri okay nearly backing over you was an ACCIDENT
mclaren you’re welcome😉
landonorris when is it my turn
mclaren challenge accepted…
landonorris NO NO NO I TAKE IT BACK
————
a/n: HIHIHI i hope this lived up to expectations omg. the snippet for this went crazy but i don’t know if this is good EEK
huge thank you to EVERYONE for all the love in my inbox and comments recently, i’ve had so much fun writing these smaus so it’s been great to see everyone’s thoughts🤍
this will most likely be my last one shot posted before christmas with not funny (didn’t laugh) being my first post afterwards, so i want to say a huge merry christmas to all who celebrate!!
and finally. thank you for 800 followers!!! merci du fond du coeur. ça représente beaucoup pour moi🤍🤍🤍
- giselle / zellie / gigi / elle / gi i havE SO MANY NAMES
taglist (found here): @iluvvmeeee @champagnelovers101 @alessioayla @idkiwantchocolatee @skatingiswalkingincursive @six-call @he6rtshaker @hobiismyhopeu @tallrock35 @sunflower-golden-vol6 @woozarts @minkyungseokie @vellicora @tsukishitm-a @lucyysthings @treehouse-mouse @iloveyou3000morgan @gwginnyweasley @hetfieldd @sweetbabygirlsworld @wittywhispers
#f1 x reader#f1#oscar piastri smau#oscar piastri scenario#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader
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I CAN SEE YOU | Spencer Reid x FBI!Reader
Request: Congrats on 2k!!! Could you write something based off of ‘I can see you’ by Taylor Swift with Spencer please?
Description: Spencer may or may not have a little thing for the desk jockey on the floor below, and she may or may not have a thing for their silent elevator rides together.
Length: 1.2k
Warnings: fluff?? Season one Spencer in mind when I wrote this (my sweetest boy)
He passed through the lobby at the exact same time every day. Usually with his head dug in an obnoxiously thick book, or fiddling with the strap on his satchel bag, or flicking his long curls out of his sweet, hazelnut eyes. Sometimes with thick round glasses perched on his slender nose, sometimes nothing but a thoughtful, musing frown.
Not that she was obsessed with him.
But it wasn’t hard to acknowledge that whoever the guy on the sixth floor was that seemed to stick to an incredibly tight schedule had the face of a god.
Though she supposed he could say the same about her schedule seeing as they seemed to enter the elevator at nearly the exact same time every single day, never saying a word, a brief nod of hello was about the extent of their interaction. One time he had pressed the button for her floor, number five, for her, and she hadn’t stopped smiling the rest of the day.
Of course there were times he and his team would be away on a case, in which she wouldn’t see him for days on end, while she went to her lonely desk in forensics no matter what case had come up.
In the grand scheme of things, she was a desk jockey, inputting numbers and data and figures, organising files and sheets and loading ink into the printer. She was a nobody and he was part of the BAU.
No one would even notice if she didn’t show up for the day. At least that was what she hoped as she sped walked out of the cab, her hair soaking down her back, her lungs puffing in a crackling wheeze, frantically tucking her tight shirt into her dogtooth pants, limping on her ankle that she’d rolled racing out her apartment building into the raging storm that had overcome Virginia in a matter of hours.
She felt socks wet through as she squelched her way into the elevator, barely noticing the usual passenger that was tracing a bony finger down the page of Pride and Prejudice, quickly flicking over the page in a matter of five seconds.
He looked up when she hopped in beside him, squeezing in as a handful of other people followed her. Trying desperately to even her hair out in the large mirror behind them, it was only then she realised her mascara had smudged down her cheeks entirely, making her look like she’d slept in a pile of charcoal.
“Fuck,” She said loudly, her hand slapping over her mouth when she realise the deadly silent elevator full of federal agents turned to look at her, and she felt her cheeks heat as if her makeup condundrum hadn’t been embarrassing enough, “S-sorry,” She muttered, turning her head to the ground as she frantically wiped beneath her lids with her cardigan sleeve.
Turning to see if he had noticed, she caught him staring right at her, and she could have sworn the heat on her face blazed even harder when she saw he was smiling into his book in amusement.
Fuck. She repeated in her head this time, taking a small sigh of relief when the doors opened on the first floor and half the passengers trickled out onto the finance floor.
She was still fixing her hair by the time they got to the second floor, communications, and even more people got out. By the end of the third floor, it was just the two of them left.
“Bad morning?” He broke the silence, and it was the first time she’d ever actually heard his voice. He was even dreamier than she’d thought, in a boyish kind of way.
“Car battery died, and the bus was full,” She murmured, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves that were entirely sodden, “And then apparently someone up there hates to see pretty girls get to work looking dry and respectable,”
He chuckled properly, and she swore it soothed the ache of the cold rain just the smallest bit.
“Don’t we all,” He mused, though his eyes went back to his book, flicking over the words faster than she figured would be possible.
She figured he didn’t want to be bothered by the drowned rat looking woman that had all but thrown herself into the lift beside him, interrupting his reading with her curses and pitiful glances.
It was only when they reached the fourth floor that he quickly rooted around his bag for something, likely a bookmark since he didn’t seem the type to dog-ear a perfectly neat page. It wasn’t until a soft, moss green sweater was thrust in her face she snapped out of her self loathing daze.
Looking at him wide eyed, he nudged it towards her hands, and it was like Spencer only just realised that offering a stranger your clothes was perhaps not normal, but he didn’t feel like they were strangers.
She was the first person he’d ever met in the building besides Gideon. He remembered the two of them stepping into the elevator, the bashful woman already flicking through files, her lanyard hanging low over her chest as she chirped good morning to Gideon and he did the same, wishing her a good day when she stepped out onto floor five.
He couldn’t help if he was so perceptive he’d clocked her name and position written on her ID, couldn’t help it if he was a huge fan of routine and repetition, that he purposely walked into the lobby at the same time every day knowing she was going to be right behind him just for an excuse to see her.
No, they certainly weren’t strangers, Spencer tried to reason, yet he wasn’t even sure she knew his name.
“T-take it,” He stuttered, watching the doors close and the lift jolt as it ascended to her floor, “You can just bring it back tomorrow,”
“That’s- I couldn’t,” She reasoned, her eyes fretful, “It’s yours,”
“I’m not using it, you must be freezing,” Spencer reiterated it with another nudge towards her, and he saw the longing glance she gave at the promise of warmth.
Number five dinged above them, and the doors slid open.
“Just take it, please,” He said, and it seemed like that was the magic word as she cautiously took it out of his hand, and melted when she realised it was softer than she’d thought, like it was made to feel like a giant hug.
“Thankyou…” She said, heading for the doors with slow steps; she didn’t want to leave whatever moment he’d caught her in.
“Spencer,” He replied, smiling at her with a shy cadence.
“Thankyou, Spencer,” She said, and gave him her own name back. But he already knew it, and he realised he would sound like a complete creepy stalker if he’d said so. So he just nodded, a small wave off as she headed for her office and the doors closed behind her.
He loved how she said his name, he thought blissfully, but he loved even more showing up to work day after to see her waiting by the elevator, his sweater washed and ironed, pressed neatly in her hands and still warm from where she’d tumble dried it.
She handed it back to him with a sheepish smile, and he took it gracefully, catching a whiff of her fabric softener and felt fuzzy inside right there and then.
“Good morning, Spencer,” She said sweetly, and he swore he wanted to kiss her the minute it left her lips, glossed with something rouge and shiny.
But he didn’t, he just said it back, loving how her name rolled over his tongue.
#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#matthew grey gubler x reader
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What makes JKR's shitshow even harder to process is that she didn't just ruin a book series. Harry Potter was an entire subculture. Like Star Wars and Star Trek fans, Harry Potter fans dedicated their lives and careers to the series. I don't know if I'd call it "underground," but liking Harry Potter got you beaten up when I was in school, so it was more of a dedicated indie culture than a mass-appeal fanbase.
Harry Potter was so huge that fan works developed their own followings. Potter Puppet Pals racked up hundreds of thousands of followers and was nearly as relevant as the series itself. For fanfiction, Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality got so big that it has a Wikipedia page. The band Harry and the Potters spawned the wizard rock music genre. A Very Potter Musical developed a fanbase and launched Darren Criss's career.
Harry Potter also has extensive ties to fandom history. Everyone in my generation (millennials) remembers coming home from school to read Harry Potter fanfiction on the Internet. Today, most people just post their stories on Wattpad or Archive of Our Own. But at the time, the fanbase was splintered between fanfiction.net and dozens of individual websites and forums, some made for specific ships. Since they all had individual hosts, a lot of those sites have been lost to time.
And there's the infamous My Immortal fanfiction, which is an Internet legend with people still searching for the author. Everybody read that one (and laughed at it) in middle school.
Pre-social media, fan sites like The Leaky Cauldron and Mugglenet had massive followings because they were one of few sources for news, theories, essays and fan content. Some of these sites still exist after being around for over a decade and building their own legacy.
Before Deathly Hallows came out, fans were so desperate to know what happened that Mugglenet published a book called What Will Happen in Harry Potter 7: Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Falls in Love and How Will the Adventure Finally End? Yep...Harry Potter was so big that people wrote separate books about what would happen in an upcoming book.
And that's not mentioning all the book release parties, Harry Potter-themed events, monuments, fan films, restaurants and even a theme park. A lot of fandoms have those, but Harry Potter infiltrated every aspect of popular culture.
Today, there's a thriving culture of "Harry Potter adults" with themed weddings, baby showers and Etsy stores. Putting your Hogwarts house in your Instagram bio is pretty much a prerequisite for joining the "bookish" community. Warner still produces new content, like the Fantastic Beasts series, although we've all seen what a disaster that's been.
Everyone has at least a few memories associated with Harry Potter even if it's just watching the movies. I had great memories associated with Harry Potter. But looking back at the subculture, history and thousands of fan works, it doesn't seem fun anymore. Studying the fandom or being part of it comes with an awkward tension because you don't want to seem like you're condoning JKR's bigotry but can't divorce her from the series. This subculture was spawned by a woman who turned her legacy of magic and wonder into one of abuse and hatred.
I don't expect people to write paragraphs about how much they hate JKR every time they post about Harry Potter, but it's still uncomfortable to see people make new content or wear their Harry Potter Etsy tote bags like nothing happened. Even if they clarify that they don't support her, it's just a weird, tense situation for everybody.
People dedicated years of their lives to running Harry Potter fan sites, writing fanfiction, cosplaying characters and making fan movies. If I were in that situation, I'd have a mild identity crisis. I'd ask myself "Did I waste all those years? Should I delete my content? Where do I go from here?"
So ultimately, JKR didn't ruin "just" a book series or even "just" a fandom. She tanked an entire culture, which inspired people to look at Harry Potter more critically. The issues that people brought to the light tainted the series's legacy even without JKR's personal issues.
Once, Harry Potter was a series for generations. Now, former fans hope that the series fades into irrelevancy. Unfortunately, JKR didn't just tarnish her legacy--she took decades of history, millions of fans and a worldwide subculture along with her.
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Hi Neil,
First off, Good Omens is so wonderful— thank you (and Terry Pratchett and David Tennant and Michael Sheen!) for bringing Crowley and Aziraphale into existence. They bring so much joy to me and to so many people!
Secondly, I have a writing question! I am not a writer, primarily; I’m a scientist. But, I’m a scientist writing a journal article, specifically a journal article that has been hanging over my head for many years now. I’ve reached a point where I feel completely burnt out, almost pathologically unable to make progress on the manuscript. The data and results are strong and important, and I recognize that it’s a “story” that needs to be told, and that I’m the only one who can tell it (not to mention that I have several collaborators counting on me to get this done!).
So, my question is, have you ever had a story that you felt, for one reason or another, that you really should tell or needed to tell, but that was a horrific struggle to actualize on the page? Do you have any advice for how to make myself write when I’m completely demoralized and weary with what I’m writing, but unfortunately am nearly contractually unable to simply throw it in the trash and start on something else?
Thank you so much for any advice you can give (or even just a word of encouragement!!), and for your continued engagement with the writing and fandom communities!
Sometimes you can do it by getting out of your own way. Sometimes you can do it by remembering or finding out once again what do you like about the project on the story to begin with.
I have frequently found when faced with a story that had died or that I had lost interest in or that I thought was awful, that if I read it aloud to another person they get interested and I start getting interested and often finish wanting to carry on to find out what happens next and to move forward. Dead projects have come back to life like this.
But it's also worth remembering that there are bad days and there are good days and there are projects that even if the days are awful and the whole thing feels terrible, the only way you will get to the good days is by pushing forward. The good days are there and waiting for you -- you just have to keep going to reach them.
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Sacheen Littlefeather (Apache/Yaqui/Ariz.), the Native American actress and activist who took to the stage at the 1973 Academy Awards to reveal that Marlon Brando would not accept his Oscar for The Godfather, has died. She was 75.
Littlefeather died at noon Sunday at her home in the Northern California city of Novato surrounded by her loved ones, according to a statement sent out by her caretaker. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which reconciled with Littlefeather in June and hosted a celebration in her honor just two weeks ago, revealed the news on social media Sunday night.
Littlefeather disclosed in March 2018 that she had been diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer, and it had metastasized in recent years.
Brando had decided to boycott the March 1973 Oscars in protest of how Native Americans were portrayed onscreen as well as to pay tribute to the ongoing occupation at Wounded Knee, in which 200 members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) faced off against thousands of U.S. marshals and other federal agents in the South Dakota town.
Speaking in measured tones but off-the-cuff — Brando, who told her not to touch the trophy, had given her a typed eight-page speech, but telecast producer Howard Koch informed her she had no more than 60 seconds — she continued, “And the reasons for this being are the treatment of American Indians today by the film industry … and on television in movie reruns, and also with recent happenings at Wounded Knee.”
Littlefeather’s remarks were met in the building by a smattering of boos as well as applause, but public sentiment in the immediate aftermath of her appearance was largely negative. Some media outlets questioned her Native heritage (her father was Apache and Yaqui and her mother was white) and claimed she rented her costume for the ceremony, while conservative celebrities including John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Charlton Heston — three actors who had starred in many a Western — reportedly criticized Brando and Littlefeather’s actions.
As she was becoming an indelible part of Oscar lore, Wayne “was in the wings, ready to have me taken off stage,” she told the Los Angeles Times in 2016. “He had to be restrained by six security guards.”
Regardless, nearly 50 years later, the Academy issued her an apology.
“The abuse you endured because of this statement was unwarranted and unjustified,” then-AMPAS president David Rubin wrote to her in a letter dated June 18. “The emotional burden you have lived through and the cost to your own career in our industry are irreparable. For too long the courage you showed has been unacknowledged. For this, we offer both our deepest apologies and our sincere admiration.”
Although Brando’s stunt had the intended effect of renewing attention on Wounded Knee, Littlefeather said it put her life at risk and killed her acting career, claiming that she lost guild memberships and was banned from the industry. (In addition, the Academy subsequently prohibited winners from sending proxies to accept — or reject — awards on their behalf.)
“I was blacklisted — or, you could say, ‘redlisted,'” Littlefeather said in her documentary. “Johnny Carson, Dick Cavett and others didn’t want me on their shows. … The doors were closed tight, never to reopen.”
Littlefeather managed to appear in a handful of films (The Trial of Billy Jack, Johnny Firecloud and Winterhawkamong them) before she quit acting for good and earned a degree in holistic health from Antioch University with a minor in Native American medicine. Her work in wellness included writing a health column for the Kiowa tribe newspaper in Oklahoma, teaching in the traditional Indian medicine program at St. Mary’s Hospital in Tucson, Arizona, and working with Mother Teresa on behalf of AIDS patients in the Bay Area. She would go on to serve as a founding board member of the American Indian AIDS Institute of San Francisco.
Via The Hollywood Reporter
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okay i’m feeling a little delulu and playing pool with the boys right now. ideas are rolling and i want a fic where joel fucks reader on a pool table (breeding kink maybe?!?) you’re the best
Run the Table | Pairing Joel and Tommy Miller X Fem!Reader
Summary: You're home for Christmas, only to find yourself there for the New Year. You decide to blow off some steam, only to end up at Joel's Place, your old local watering hole. Bits of your past get dredged up, and before you know it, Joel and Tommy have you bent over a pool table.
Word Count: ~6K
Warnings: Dubcon from the perspective that the reader is a little drunk, but she's definitely a willing participant. Family feuds. Alcohol. Age gap implied but not referenced explicitly. Flirting and bantering. Threesome with the Miller Bros. Betting. Pool. Oral (m and f receiving). Fingering. Praise. Use of daddy. Fucking on pool table. Pool. Suggestive use of a cue stick. Dom undertones from Joel. Hard core breeding kink. References to pregnancy. Cum kink. Cum swallowing. Praise kink. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Use of pet names. Tommy and Joel are suave in this, but reader gives them a run for their money. Use of slut. No descriptions of reader, except that she has boobs and hair. Minimally edited. Filth, filth, filth.
Authors Note: Thank you so much for the ask, Abby @javipispunk/@barzalmatty! This was such a treat to write. You naughty girl, I hope this inspires you, or at the very least, makes you O. Thanks for submitting this ask in babe, ily. This will be my last fic of 2023. Thank you all so much for your continued support.
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications
The living room, which was all holiday cozy a few days ago, now feels like a battleground in the weird liminal space between Christmas and the New Year. You can’t remember the last time you spent more than three consecutive days with your family, and now you remember why.
The family drama has hit an all-time high, with arguments about the dumbest stuff echoing through the house – your mother yelling that someone put her Pyrex in the wrong cabinet, your father yelling at your brother for adjusting the settings on the remote. Hell, even the dog is over it; spending most of the day lounging in front of the LED fireplace that your mother picked up at Costco last winter. You never really understood that one, given your living room has an actual functioning fireplace.
Of course, you all love each other, it’s just that the festive candle is now nearly snuffed out; not to be lit again until Thanksgiving. Or if your mother had it her way, Easter, but you haven’t cared much for Easter since that one year that your cousin Ron ate way too many hard-boiled eggs and couldn’t stop farting all night. Never again, you swore to yourself then, and still swear to yourself now.
You come back to your hometown maybe once a year, twice if someone dies. You haven’t lived here in years, and yet the streets bear the weight of nostalgia, each corner holding echoes of memories that time has both polished and weathered. The town is a paradox, frozen in a bittersweet dance between familiarity and change.
You’re cozied up under a blanket on the couch, a glass of red swirling in one hand, the Eve Babitz novel your roommate gifted to you in the other. Try as you might, you just can’t seem to relax; the words on the page are blending into a snarled blob of ink. The tension is too much; the heavy air in the house makes it difficult to concentrate. Fuck this.
You throw on your coat and slip out of the house. I’m going out, be back later, you call out but you don’t wait for your words to be acknowledged before the front door slams shut, not that anyone was listening in the first place.
You pause on your front stoop in the cool night air and take a deep inhale, tilting your head up to the sky, the moonlight coating your face like a veil. The winter air that fills your lungs makes you feel alive, and it’s then that you realize how close you were to suffocating mere moments ago.
You stand under the stars and consider your options before eventually landing on the best of them. Your old watering hole from college; the one with the heavy pours and the best pool tables in the town – Joel’s Place.
The snow crunches under your feet as you make your way there. In the silence, it’s easy to let your let your mind wander. You haven’t been back in years, and yet, your mind still drifts to thoughts of dimples and salt-and-pepper curls. You wonder if he’ll remember you – not likely, you think.
Your stomach flutters at the thought anyway.
++++
The door to Joel’s Place creaks open, releasing a gust of frigid winter air that clings to your coat. Note to self, bring a scarf next time. The warmth inside is a welcome contrast, and the familiar scent of the aged wood and whiskey acts like a time machine and transports you back in time to your early 20s. It’s just the same; the mahogany bar, stools with cracked leather seats, and vintage beer signs adorning the walls.
While aspects of the town may have changed, you’re pleased to find that Joel’s Place has not.
As the door swings shut behind you, you find yourself in a familiar dimly lit space, except – it’s not – it’s quiet. A little too quiet. The pool tables in the distance stand untouched, their felt surfaces waiting for the familiar crack of balls colliding. The hanging lights above them cast a warm, dim glow, illuminating the emptiness that seems to linger. It starkly contrasts the energy you were surrounded by earlier in the night.
The place is empty, except for one customer at the bar. The bartender – Joel, you hope – is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate for a moment, taking in the scene before deciding to sit an appropriate two stools away from the man, not wanting to be awkward. You don’t think he would mind, not really, but you suppose the rule in a situation like this is similar to public transport etiquette. If there’s more than one open seat, you never sit directly next to anyone.
“Excuse me, sir – is this seat taken?” You ask, a hint of sweetness and formality behind your voice. You know it’s not, but the manners that were hammered into you from your tidy upbringing are hard to shake.
The man looks at you, the neck of the beer he’s nursing parting from his lips as he does. Now that you have a full look at him, he’s quite gorgeous. Olive sunkissed skin, dark curls, deep brown eyes that all but scream trouble.
“All yours, sugar,” he responds. And oh, he’s southern to boot, with a hint of a twang behind his inflection.
You slip your puffy coat off your shoulders, revealing your ensemble for the night; a simple pair of jeans and a tight long-sleeve cashmere sweater that cups the curve of your breasts and lifts them just right, a lovely slit down the middle that exposes just enough. You hook your coat under the bar and pull out the stool, its metal legs scratching against the floor as you do.
“So, the producers didn’t have enough to pay for some extras for this show, or what?” you joke, a slight smirk on your face as you settle yourself onto the stool.
“‘Spose not,” he responds, a hint of a smile on his face as he brings the bottle back to his lips, his eyes locking with yours as he does.
“And the uh–bartender, Joel, if I remember correctly,” you say, a questioning tone behind your voice, “he here, or is this just a one-man show?”
And wouldn’t that be something, you here all alone with just him.
“Can’t be a one-man show with you here, darlin',” he responds, his dark eyes drinking you down like the beer in his hand. “He’s here, just in the back hooking up a new keg,” he adds.
“Oh,” you respond, your voice a smidge too high – like you’re some fucking school girl about to see her crush in 3rd period. “Good, that’s good. Can’t have all of our friends here go thirsty,” you retort, making a vague gesture with your palm to the empty space in the bar in an attempt to recover yourself from your very obvious interest in the bartender being here. So stupid.
“Can’t have that, they’re a rowdy bunch” he responds with a wink and you flash him a warm smile. “You’re funny, I like you,” he adds, “name’s Tommy, by the way, and you are?”
You give him yours with an extension of your hand. His swallows yours, but he’s gentle and discerning with the shake he gives it. He holds you there, just looking, and you feel a warmth creep up to your face. With your hands still interlocked, a broad figure pushes through the door from the kitchen with a resounding thud.
You turn to face him, and his amber eyes immediately find yours. Your breath hitches in your throat, your pulse quickens, and you’re now acutely aware of the fact that you’re still linked with Tommy.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Either ‘m getting old and my eyes are deceiving me, or it’s little Miss Shark sitting at my bar, chatting up my brother,” Joel lets out, his voice low and even. The corners of his mouth lift and you think he might smile, but his face goes just as unreadable as always as he grabs for a bottle behind the bar. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you around here, sweetheart. Good thing, too. You ran out some of my best-paying customers."
You don’t dwell on the comment, your mind is too absorbed, drunk off the fact that he remembers you. It’s been years, but you swear he hasn’t aged a day. You can’t help but eye fuck him as he slides a glass in front of you, and pours you a finger of whiskey. Not only does he remember you, but he remembers your go-to drink, as well.
As you lift the edge of the glass to your lips, you see Tommy shift his gaze from Joel and back to you, his face twisted in an expression of disbelief.
“Wait, little Miss Shark,” he begins, tipping the bottle in his hands in your direction as if to point at you, “Yo–you’re the one who ran the tables here for years? Shit, darlin’,” he says, dropping his gaze to the bartop for a moment, trying to hide the fact that he’s impressed, before looking back at you under his lashes.
“That so hard to believe?” you respond, your voice coated in the warmth of the alcohol. Your cheeks are hot, but you’re not confident it’s just from the liquor; more than likely it’s a result of Joel’s eyes, heavy like boulders, that haven’t left you since he walked in.
Tommy doesn’t answer you.
“Not my fault they underestimated me,” you retort, nursing down the amber liquid in your glass.
Joel laughs.
You and Tommy both turn to face him.
“Bullshit, sweetheart. You knew exactly what the hell you were doin’,” he adds, nodding his head slightly to you, the bottle hovering in his hand, signaling you for a refill. He pours a glass for him and Tommy this time, too.
You look at him, mouth slightly agape like you’re waiting for him to finish his side of the story. He turns to face Tommy, one hand resting on the edge of the bartop, his knuckles bleaching under his weight. The other grips the glass in front of him.
“This one used to sit at my bar, let men buy her free drinks, and then she’d work pool into the conversation,” he says, pausing to take a sip. “She’d be all, ‘I’ve never played, maybe you could teach me blah, blah’ batting her pretty little eyes until they’d cave. By the end of the night, she’d have them makin’ bets and melting like putty in her hands.”
You try to hide your embarrassment behind your glass. He’s not wrong. You used to do that. You’re not sure if you did it because you were bored, not like there’s much else to do in this shit town anyway, or because you liked the attention, but whatever the reason you have to admit it was fun.
Besides, most of them deserved it anyway. If losing a few hundred dollars was the biggest price they’d have to pay for flirting with a young college girl while their wives sat at home waiting for them to come home and half satisfy them, well then, you were okay with that. Plus it kept your rent paid.
But that was a long time ago; it’s been ages since you’ve even picked up a pool stick. You just hope that the old idiomatic expression, old habits die hard, rings true for you now.
The alcohol that courses through your veins gives you a sense of confidence to be a bit bold. You prop your elbows on the sticky bartop and gaze up at Joel. “You gonna kick me out then, Joel? Punish me for all of my wrong-doings?” you flirt, testing, teasing. You flint your eyes over your shoulder to look back at Tommy, and can’t help the surge of arousal that you feel when you notice his eyes are already on your backside. You look at Joel and see the clench in his jaw, the furrow in his brow, his pupils blown wide open.
“No, ‘m not gonna kick you out, sweetheart,” he says, filling the glasses once more. Between that and the wine from earlier this afternoon, you’re already feeling quite buzzed, and more than a little reckless. You watch him complete the pours before reaching for your glass.
“But you are gonna have to make it up to me somehow,” he adds. Your pulse doubles and there’s a familiar tug at your navel when you think of what he might mean. Before you have time to respond, he adds “Tell you what, I’ll make you a bet this time. You see Tommy here is a bit of a pool shark himself, and well, baby you already know what I am.” Both of them look at you with dark, hungry eyes. “You beat us, you can have whatever you want,” he adds.
Your skin feels hot, and you suddenly wish you opted for something cooler than a sweater. “And if either of you wins?” you ask.
“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Joel responds, downing the last of his drink, shooting Tommy a knowing look.
It’s a trap, you know it is.
And yet you agree.
++++
Joel rounds out from behind the bar and leads the way. He walks past the front door and locks it before pulling the plug on the neon open sign that hands in the nearby window. As you three approach the pool table, Tommy picks up a cue stick leaning against the nearby wall – he twirls it in his hands and hands it to you. He picks up another and passes it to Joel, before finally grabbing a third for himself.
“Hope you’re not a sore loser, Darlin’,” Tommy says with a wink.
You playfully roll your eyes. “We’ll see,” you cheekily respond, toying with the end of the cue stick and rubbing chalk on the tip end of it, being a little suggestive with your movements. Both Tommy and Joel notice.
You gather around the table, and Joel sets up the balls. “Alright, break time. You’re up first, sweetheart,” Joel says. You lock eyes with Joel for a moment and fuck, this is gonna be rough. He has you so flustered and you haven’t even started.
You refocus your gaze on the triangular arrangement of balls. You steady your feet and bend over the table, smiling a little when you feel both of them look at your ass. With a swift motion, you strike the cue ball, scattering the rest across the table, sinking a solid and a stripe into two adjacent pockets. Not so bad for being a little rusty, you think.
Joel lets out a low whistle and looks at Tommy. “Shit, brother, we might be in trouble here,” he says. You smile at the compliment, and round around the table so you’re directly in front of Tommy. You look at Joel as you bend over the table, lining yourself up to hit the solid ball with a clear path to the pocket in front of it.
Your ass skirts against the front of Tommy’s crotch and his breath hitches in his throat. As you’re about to take your shot, a large palm ghosts over the curve of your hip, and the sensation causes you to miss the shot. Fuck.
“Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart, you a little distracted?” Tommy coos.
They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.
Joel’s up next. His broad frame rounds around the table, and his shoulder brushes against you as he does. He finds his best angle and deftly lines the cue stick up, his biceps straining under the cloth of his shirt at the new position. You walk over to the line of his shot and bend over on the opposite end of the table, your tits spilling out of the slit in your shirt, effectively distracting him. He takes his shot and misses.
They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.
“Ooo, good effort on that one,” you tell Joel, placating him, “better luck next time,” you conclude with a wink. Joel clears his throat and steps back from the table.
Tommy circles the table next, attempting to find an easy shot.
“So I’ve been thinking, we should make this game a bit more interesting,” you say. You watch as Tommy bends over and lines up his turn. He pulls the cue stick back, and just as he’s about to knock it against the ball, you finish “For every shot we miss, we have to strip a piece of clothing." The shock of your words causes Tommy to miss his shot.
“Guess that means you’re starting us off,” you tell Tommy. He shoots you a look. His hands find the buckle of his belt and he undoes it, discarding it on a nearby chair.
The three of you play like that until both Joel and Tommy are clad in nothing but their boxers and socks. You, on the other hand, are still mostly clothed, except for your sweater. Your game started rough, but despite their best efforts to distract you, you’re running the table.
With only one ball left on the table, you walk up to where both of them stand side-by-side. You stand there facing both of them, and they allow their eyes to linger on your chest. Tommy is standing with his hands cupped in front of his crotch, in an attempt to hide his growing bulge. Joel, however, is unreadable as ever.
You lock eyes with him as you snake your arms behind your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. You unhook it, your nipples stiffening in response to air. He casts a quick gaze down to your breasts but doesn’t allow them to linger before he looks at you. His jaw is stiff, and he looks at you like you’re something to eat. Keeping your eyes peered into his, you hold the bra out and give it to Tommy. The moment is so charged. So many things being said with no words, all body language discussion.
You take a few steps back before turning around to grab your cue stick that’s resting against the edge of the pool table. You walk over to the other end of the table and line up the final shot of the game. “So I’ve been thinking about what I want as my prize,” you say, bending down far enough that your tits smush against the felt on the table.
“And what’s that, sweetheart?” Joel asks. You let out a little hum of satisfaction, dragging the cue stick back. “Want you both to fuck me, right here on this table,” you add, punctuating your statement with your final shot. You watch with bated breath, releasing it when you see the last ball on the table fall into the pocket.
The three of you stand there in silence, waiting for someone to make the first move.
“You heard her, brother,” Tommy says, advancing towards you. “A bet’s a bet.” His hands find your hips from behind, and he pulls your backside against his firm body, dropping his head to nip at your neck. His lips trail up the side of the sensitive skin there and you let out a little purr as his tongue darts out to lick your pulse.
Your lusty gaze watches as Joel closes the gap between your bodies, and he pauses inches from you. He lifts his palm and uses the backside of it, trailing his knuckles down your cheek, over the soft swell of your chest, until his hand opens up and cups your breast.
It’s all dizzying touch, your vision already a little fuzzy from your buzz, and with Joel’s hand on your body in addition to Tommy’s mouth, you’re the one who’s putty in their hands this time. Joel brings your nipple to a stiff peak using his thumb and forefinger, before he lifts them back up to your face. He hooks two fingers under your jaw, tilting you up to face him.
“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” Joel says, voice low. You look up at him with doe eyes.
“I know. Now what are you going to do about it?” you taunt.
Tommy stops his affections on your neck and looks up to lock eyes with Joel. He gives a knowing smirk and Tommy reaches his arms around your body and begins to undo the button on your jeans, the zipper following, before he's pulling them down far enough for you to step out of them.
“Oh, sweetheart. We’re going to fucking ruin you. Right here on this table, just like you asked,” Joel says.
“Think you can handle that, hmm? Want both of your daddy’s to stuff that pretty little cunt of yours until you can’t think straight?” And fuck, he’s filthy. His words go straight to your core and you feel slick pooling in your panties, your pussy just begging to be touched.
Before giving you time to respond, his large hand comes down to cup your sex.
“Shit, baby. All this for us?” Joel asks. Your eyes close when you feel Tommy continue his assault on your neck. You’re pinned between both of their bodies, their hard cocks pressing up against you from both angles. It’s already so intense. The want, the sheer desire you feel for both of them is almost overwhelming.
“Use your words, Darlin’, we wanna hear it,” Tommy rasps against your skin.
“Ye–yes, all for you both, want you so bad,” you respond with a moan. A groan reverberates through Joel’s chest, and he gives Tommy the same knowing look they’ve shared all night.
Tommy steps back and comes to stand by Joel’s side. “You’re gonna have to earn it. On your knees, baby,” Joel commands.
You fall to your knees and feel the hard, wooden floor against your bare calves. You position yourself in front of both of them and fold your hands in your lap, waiting for one of them to give you further instructions, practically worshipping at the altar of the two gorgeous men above you. Joel reaches down and brings his pointer finger to lift your chin to face him. He runs his thumb over your lips.
“So pretty like this,” he rasps. As he releases you, they both nod and you take that as permission to release both of them from the confines of their fabric prison.
You start with Tommy, dipping your fingers beneath the band of his boxers. Instinctively, your eyes find Joel’s and you glance at him as if to ask for permission again. He nods once more, and you drag them down to the middle of Tommy’s thighs. The cock that springs free is fucking delectable; a perfect width and a sizable length. The tip is prominent and there’s a thick vein bulging along the side of it. He’s well endowed, and thank fuck for that. Your hands reach up to grasp the base of it, and your tongue darts out to lick the bead of pre-cum that’s welled at the tip. It’s salty and delicious, leaving you wanting more, more, more.
You pull your mouth away from Tommy and replace it with your hand, slowly and firmly stroking the length of him, his skin smooth like butter under your palm. He starts to protest when he realizes what your next move is. You use your free hand to release Joel from his fabric confines and moan at the sight of his cock. Of course, they both would be blessed below the belt. As delicious as Tommy’s cock is, his older brother has a bit of a lead on him.
Truthfully, you’re not surprised in the slightest. Joel’s cock is well above average in length, but the main attraction is the thickness. Just from the looks of it, your fingers probably wouldn’t meet if you wrapped your fingers around him. His girthiness intimidates you, but you don’t scare easily. You were hungry before, but now you’re positively ravenous. You kitten lick Joel’s tip then fully suck on it, eliciting a throaty groan from him. You smile around it, pleased at yourself for being able to affect him like that.
You want to please the pair of dangerously handsome brothers, but you’re aching for praise from Joel.
“Lay back, baby,” Tommy commands, guiding your hips up to rest against the grain of the pool table. And you do, the texture of the felt rubbing against your back in a soft embrace. Both of their hands find your chest with flat palms, and they drag them down over the expanse of your breasts and stomach. They pause, both of them face-to-face with your cunt. ‘Go ‘head brother, all yours,” Joel says to Tommy.
And shit, the hot mouth that greets your wet core is inviting in more ways than one. His lips lock around your waiting clit and you moan in response to the sensation. As Tommy sucks at your center, his tongue making perfect rotations on your clit, you can’t help but let go.
“Shit, that’s so good – need more,” you beg, and Joel can tell the ask you’re making is for him. He slips his middle finger into your pussy, and your wall clenches around him. The pressure that Tommy applies to your clit is so good, you could probably come just from him, but the added drag of Joel’s finger sawing in and out of you reminds you that you want more, need more, need him.
“Joel, yes – fuck, yes, please don’t stop,” you beg. Tommy continues tracing patterns over your clit and Joel adds a second, then a third finger, which you greedily accept. “More!” you beg, and Joel obliges, slipping a fourth finger into you. “Such a tight fucking cunt, not sure how I could fit another, but happy to stretch you out baby, gotta get you ready f'us,” Joel says. Tommy purrs as he laps up your release, and Joel groans, wishing he was the one at your chef’s table, sampling all of your flavors.
With the way both of them work at you, you feel like a helpless fish, caught on their hook. They dropped the bait and you were quick to bite, now having to pay the price for your decision. The both of them reel in their line, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. They drag you to the water line of your orgasm, and you give up any hope of staying below the shoreline.
Your release washes over you like a wake from a boat, an inevitable. You let the waters fall from your shore before you open your eyes and see both of them, their hard cocks staring you in the eyes. Giving you a moment to come up for air, Joel gently strokes your cheek, an act of tenderness amongst the debauchery taking place.
Tommy gives Joel a knowing look and lifts his right leg to help hoist him onto the pool table. With you spread out underneath both of them, he positions himself right above your head. You all but drool at the sight of him stroking his cock from this vantage point, Tommy looking down at you as if he were seeing his reflection in a pond for the first time. His jaw hangs slack as he works himself from base to tip.
Meanwhile, Joel’s hands find your hips and he deftly tugs you down, so your waiting pussy is just barely hanging over the edge of the pool table. He puts your legs over his brawny forearms, bearing the weight of your lower half, and spreads your legs wide, fully exposing your glistening cunt to him.
You’re almost shivering with how badly you want his cock inside you. He grabs the base of it in one hand, the tip of him barely ghosting against your wet and dripping seam. He collects some of your arousal on him, before using his thumb to drag it over the length of his member.
He knows he could fuck you just like this, lord knows you’re wet enough, and he's done his due diligence to stretch you, but he knows he’s a lot to take. He leans his head down and spits, his saliva falls onto the tip of him, partially covering himself and your clit. He taps the mushroom head of his cock on your clit a few times, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your bodies as he pulls it back.
As much as you would love to focus on Tommy’s length in your face, your sole attention is on Joel, who’s about to fill you to the hilt. “Mouth wide open, baby,” Tommy begs above you, calling you back to his attention. You feign your hardest to listen. You open your jaw wide, and he places the tip of his cock on the tip of your tongue, dragging the heaviness of it over the expanse of it.
Just as he slides in deeper into your wet and waiting mouth, Joel bunts his hips forward, pressing half of him into your tight hole. It’s so much, and they’re both not even halfway in yet.
They lock eyes with each other and synchronize their thrusts. Joel pulls back and thrusts into your cunt, and Tommy pulls back momentarily before your mouth welcomes him deeper into your throat, so deep in fact that the tip of him bumps up against the back of it, nearly causing you to gag. The corners of your eyes prick with tears, and whether it’s from the stretch of Joel’s cock, or the head of Tommy’s knocking on the back door of your throat, you’ll never know.
“Shit, brother. She’s taking this cock so well, Jesus fuck,” Tommy mutters, thrusting his member in and out of you with a relentless pace, his hands now tangled in your hair like a bird's nest in a tree.
“God damn, you’re telling me. Little cunt is taking me so well,” and his words cause you to clench harder around him.
“Gotta ease up baby, or both of your daddy’s are gonna fill you sooner than we both want to,” Tommy rasps behind a breathless voice, “so good, so fucking good, my god.” You revel in their doubled praise and you can’t help but clench tighter, and Joel notices.
“Ah fuck, brother. I think that’s what she wants. Little slut wants us to pump her full of our cum,” Joel rasps, continuing his relentless pace, dragging his cock in and out of you. You moan in response, your words muffled around the expanse of Tommy, “Fuck, want you to fill me up so bad, both of you.”
“You hear that,” Tommy says in a breathless voice. “You heard her, give the girl what she wants,” Tommy encourages Joel. And fuck. These two are going to be the death of you.
“That what you want, sweetheart? Want Daddy Joel and Daddy Tommy to pump you full of all of our seed, want us to leave you dripping with both of us,” Joel says, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips strong enough to bruise. “Yes, fuck, fill me up, want every last drop of both of my daddy’s cum.”
Joel looks up at Tommy.
“Wouldn’t that be quite the fucking sight? Her all round from your baby, her pretty tits engorged with milk, me fucking dribbling out of her mouth," Tommy says.
"Such a dirty little slut, so good for us,” Tommy praises. Had anyone else uttered those words your skin would crawl, but it’s different coming from the pair of them. You’d let them spread you open wide and fuck you full of their come any day.
“Fuck, I think she likes the thought of that, I can feel her clamping down on me, gripping me so goddamn tight, brother,” Joel rasps. Your lips tighten around Tommy, and they both continue to use you, fucking you like they want, like how you know you need. They abuse both of your holes in their relentless chase for their own orgasm.
“Shit brother, ‘m close, not gonna last much longer,” Tommy groans, and you can tell. His cock stiffens and his pulses become more and more erratic.
“Not yet, need her to come again for us first,” Joel demands, dropping his thumb to your clit, beginning to drag slow and near-perfect circles over your sensitive bud.
“Need you to give us one more. C’mon, you can do it,” Joel continues to egg you on. “You’re so pretty when you come, give us one more, baby. Our perfect girl, let us feel it.”
With that, your whole body convulses and your vision goes white. You can’t help the shakes that follow, your entire body trembling like an earthquake. “Fuckfuckfuck, yesssss,” you cry out, your release taking over you like watercolor paint spilling onto paper, blurring the lines your pleasure has always been confined to – until now.
Joel and Tommy continue their movements, slowing as they reach their own peaks. “So close, baby, gonna come down this pretty fucking throat, gonna be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick load,” Tommy grunts out before he stills and shoots his spend down your throat. It’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth and down your chin.
Joel watches as you greedily swallow his brother's load. “Such a good girl. You gonna tell your pretty little cunt to swallow all of me too, hmm? Gonna flood that little pussy with my load, fill you so full,” he raps. “Gonna plug you so good after ‘m done, not drop is gonna go to waste, baby.”
You gulp, swallowing the rest of Tommy’s spend before answering, “Yes, Joel, p-please fill me up with your come, daddy,” you squawk out, voice hoarse from Tommy’s crusade on your mouth.
“As you wish, pretty girl,” Joel teases, as if he wasn’t the one to come up with the idea.
He thrusts once, twice and he’s filling you with his cum, just as he promised. He stills inside of you, and his forehead comes to rest on your chest. The sticky sweat on his skin makes it tacky, clinging to you in a way that parallels how you’re clinging to this moment. Both of your chests are heaving, ragged breaths coming out almost in sync.
After a few long moments, Joel reluctantly lifts his head up and slowly pulls out, but before any of his load drips out he uses a finger to plug your hole. You gasp and your body jolts from the oversensitivity. “Makin’ sure it sticks, darlin’,” Joel coos in your ear and gently moves the stray strands of hair from your face.
Thoroughly fucked out, you ask the pair of them, “So just out of curiosity, what would you have asked for if either of you had won?”
They both look at each other as if to decide if they want to tell you the truth or not.
“Come back next year for a rematch and we’ll tell you,” Tommy says.
With the way both of them look at you, how could you not?
It’s not even January and yet, here you are – excited for Easter.
What a fucking plot twist that is.
END
Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981 @pedrostories
As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx
Happy New Year!
#joel and tommy#joel miller smut#tommy miller smut#threes0me#joel miller x female reader#tommy miller x female reader#joel miller fanfic#tommy miller fanfic#pedrohub#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom#tlou fanfiction
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Wow! As the header says, my blog just went past 5k followers - I'd like to extend a heartfelt thank you to everyone who hopped on for this journey; I'm having the time of my life sharing my writing with you all.
In celebration and as a way to have a little fun - I'll be opening my inbox for a day and letting those who want to send in something fill it up!
Now, I know you're probably asking yourself 'Hal, I thought you said requests are going to be closed so you can finish the ones you have and work on the AUs?' And you'd be correct - I did say that. I'm not going to be writing full-length works for this event.
To anyone who sends something in (and follows the rules I have in place on my Request Form (be sure to check it even if you've already read it, I added some more characters and other stuff)) I'll be writing one-to-two page drabbles!
All this being said, after this post is uploaded I'll be opening my inbox up to anyone who would want to participate and closing it exactly one day after!
Thank you again for being the best community ever - I'm incredibly lucky to be surrounded by kind and respectful individuals as well as mutuals who are mind-numbingly sweet. I could not have achieved all of this without you; I think that's beautiful.
This post will also serve as the Masterlist for all of the expected drabbles, so if you'd like to keep updated on what's going to be happening/being written soon, this would be a good place to hang out!
ALL COMPLETED AS OF 11/5/2023
IMAGES USED: A black retriever in an extensive mountainous landscape by Maud Earl & L'angelo, la morte e il diavolo by Roberto Ferri || TOTAL: 5
➣The Perfect One
╰┈➤ ❝ [He stares at the rings under the glass with an acute narrowness to his eyes. He inspects every one as if a bomb might go off at any second, not missing a single detail in the metal.] ❞
➣Get In
╰┈➤ ❝ [Coming home with bruises and stitched wounds, you drag him into the bathroom to wash away the memories.] ❞
➣Hum Me A Tune, Blue-Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [You listen to his heartbeat as he keeps you to his chest, his breath tickling your hair.] ❞
➣Here Now
╰┈➤ ❝ [He nearly misses one of the most important moments of your lives together.] ❞
➣Burst Veins
╰┈➤ ❝ [He never noticed you weren't behind him.] ❞
IMAGES USED: Fallen Angel by Roberto Ferri & Nature of Fear by Nicola Samori || TOTAL: 5
➣Nervous Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [No one understands how you two get along - not when you're so different. It makes you second-guess yourself. He notices.] ❞
➣Blood Like Obsidian
╰┈➤ ❝ [Simon can only fight against so many nurses as they shove him back from your operation room.] ❞
➣Supposed To Happen
╰┈➤ ❝ [You died and left him a child he had no idea existed. How can he even begin to try and understand?] ❞
➣Digging Gaze
╰┈➤ ❝ [You indulge in a one-night-stand after you'd both called it quits, only, it leads to more problems. When he sees you again, how will he react to the swelling of your stomach?] ❞
➣Sole Survivor
╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞
IMAGES USED: White and Black by Vadim Gorbatov & Saint Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne || TOTAL: 7
➣Didn't Mean It
╰┈➤ ❝ [Arguments are rare, certainly ones that leave you in tears.] ❞
➣Him, Her, and the Dog
╰┈➤ ❝ [The woes of pining after a woman whose deadly K9 looks like it hates his guts.] ❞
➣Drunken Sappiness
╰┈➤ ❝ [You can't say you've ever had a boyfriend as perfect as Kyle.] ❞
➣How Do You Listen To That?
╰┈➤ ❝ [It was three a.m. when you all got the call to load up, but what's the best way to wake both yourself and the Sergeant up?] ❞
➣Finally Broken
╰┈➤ ❝ [Childhood friends turned lovers. The realization was far more violent and instantaneous than you'd like to admit.] ❞
➣Don't Look At Her
╰┈➤ ❝ [The bomb starts ticking down, rapidly firing to zero. Gaz won't let Price near you. Not after he'd remembered the Captain's actions when they'd first met.] ❞
➣In His Head
╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of his SFW and NSFW quirks.] ❞
IMAGES USED: Scene from the Great Flood by Joseph-Désiré Court & Saint Jerome in Prayer by Carlo Dolci || TOTAL: 7
➣Life Snaps By In Flashes
╰┈➤ ❝ [A collection of memories from the second he laid eyes on you. All flashing past in the soft buzzing of the overhead lights.] ❞
➣Heart-Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [Being a medic wasn't pretty, but when your boyfriend was the subject under your needle you can't help but enjoy his unwavering gaze. Today, he has something to share with you.] ❞
➣From Ten To Twenty & Beyond
╰┈➤ ❝ [You've known him ever since the incident on the playground, and now you can't help but imagine that same boy as you watch him make supper with flour in his hair.] ❞
➣Find Me
╰┈➤ ❝ [You're finally back in One-Four-One's hands, but that doesn't mean you're saved. Johnny tracks you down after a violent episode.] ❞
➣Still The Same Fools
╰┈➤ ❝ [There was always a rivalry between you two - that hasn't changed even if both of you have. Years later, the boiling point is finally met.] ❞
➣Is This Why?
╰┈➤ ❝ [He finally sees why you never introduced him to your parents.] ❞
➣Oblivious Pining
╰┈➤ ❝ [Johnny hangs off you like a silent beast. Not that you would notice, of course.] ❞
IMAGES USED: King Gustav III of Sweden and His Brothers by Alexander Roslin & Geography lesson by Eduard Karl Gustav Lebrecht Pistorius || TOTAL: 6
KEEGAN P. RUSS:
➣Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞
➣Hold Her Close
╰┈➤ ❝ [Keegan cares for his young daughter.] ❞
➣When The Fighting Stops & The Silence Sets In
╰┈➤ ❝ [Continuation of (Don't) Go To War: the aftermath of recovery and a budding relationship.] ❞
➣Movies and Stale Popcorn
╰┈➤ ❝ [Oak and Keegan finally get to watch that movie.] ❞
DAVID 'HESH' WALKER:
➣To The Boy of My Childhood
╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞
➣Keep The Sheets Warm, My Love Is Coming Home
╰┈➤ ❝ [If this wasn't enough to prove that you were the only person for Hesh, you didn't know what did.] ❞
IMAGES USED: Saint Catherine of Alexandria by Caravaggio & Amor Vincit Omnia by Caravaggio || TOTAL: 17
CAPTAIN JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH:
➣New Paint
╰┈➤ ❝ [Fighting to forget you, MacTavish finds comfort in whoever he can. Yet, like the layers of paint on the walls, it always peels back to you.] ❞
➣A Song of Gnashing Teeth
╰┈➤ ❝ [There was never a day where the two of you weren't butting heads - everyone was at their wit's end. Of course, you would both be forced to cooperate at some point.] ❞
➣Listen To My Voice
╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞
➣Look At The Stars; Look At Me
╰┈➤ ❝ [Stargazing in the middle of an overgrown and wild glade.] ❞
➣Alive and Breathing
╰┈➤ ❝ [You're sick. Very sick. John takes drastic action.] ❞
➣I Can See It In Your Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [It's finally time to meet the family.] ❞
➣A Green-Eyed Monster
╰┈➤ ❝ [You'd slept together, sure. No strings attached. Then why are you trying to make him jealous? Who cares, the point is that it's working.] ❞
SERGEANT GARY 'ROACH' SANDERSON:
➣Dance With Me Before The Chill Sets In
╰┈➤ ❝ [Tired? Yes, but he's never too tired for you and your loveliness. But maybe you need to remember to lock the door when you're home alone.] ❞
➣Raining Cats and Dogs
╰┈➤ ❝ [Roach has a deep love of storms.] ❞
OPERATION OFFICER ALEX KELLER:
➣Bright-Eyed History Lesson
╰┈➤ ❝ [A librarian with a fascination for war history and a soldier who loves how her eyes light up. Like a dog, he can't stop himself from coming back; smiling like a fool.] ❞
COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS:
➣Hold Me Longer
╰┈➤ ❝ [Mornings spent in the sanctity of warm sunlight and bare skin.] ❞
SERGEANT MAJOR RODOLFO 'RUDY' PARRA:
➣A Love Like Ours Makes Us Strong
╰┈➤ ❝ [Rodolfo came back, alive but bruised. How do you explain how terrified you were?] ❞
COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES:
➣Sleeping On The Porch
╰┈➤ ❝ [As it turns out, your husband never really died. It's safe to say you're not overjoyed.] ❞
➣Love Echoes In Silence
╰┈➤ ❝ [You can feel him watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a small smile. Humming to yourself, you listen to the birds outside the window.] ❞
SEBASTIAN JOSEF KRUEGER:
➣Ain't Giving Up My Pride
╰┈➤ ❝ [You get on his nerves, partially because you want to. But what happens when he finally snaps?] ❞
ALL 141 INCLUDED (SEPARATE):
➣Count The Hours
╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ❞
➣Wide-Eyed Panic
╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞
#halcyone updates#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#cod x female reader#5k celebration#cod masterlist
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i was supposed to go to sleep, but here we are...
WC: ~700
Warnings: NSFW, mdni, buggy x f!reader, fingering, multiple orgasms, "good girl," bit of misuse of devil fruit powers bc it just makes things easier to imagine
"Shhh..." Buggy hushed you before flipping a page.
Your teeth clamped harder on your lip, biting back the sounds that he deemed "too distracting." When you offered to help the captain with his paperwork, this wasn't what you meant.
---
Buggy quickly lost steam when it came to bureaucratic drudgery. Anything he could delegate was passed off. Work that had to be done by him was also passed off. This worked until it didn't. Until the crew learned about his deadlines and his ploys.
Suddenly, everyone was busy. There were emergencies that needed immediate help. Excuses were said in between breaths.
"Excuse me, Captain, someone's stuck in the rigging." "Richie broke a claw and I need to check on him." "I broke my hand and have to go to the infirmary." "I have to get past you and do something else, sorry!"
Maybe no one said the last one, but that's what they all boiled down to.
And that's how Buggy ended up laying in bed, boots on, suffering through a packet that was actually important and couldn't get lost at sea.
You could nearly see the pirate's life fading away when you stepped into the room. His spirit was being replaced by unnecessary acronyms, legalese, and superfluous writing. With each word his eyes skimmed over, a sparkle died.
It was pitiful. And adorable, but you wouldn't tell him that.
You offered to help, figuring Buggy would be more than happy to hand you the papers, accidentally give you a paper cut, and wander off to get drunk.
Instead, he patted the spot next to him. You sat down, sinking into the divot he created, and leaned against his body. Buggy put an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer.
You peered at the paper, ready to assist, when you realized Buggy had a different plan. A hand slithered it's way under your clothes and was finding a nesting place under your panties.
Buggy's fingers explored the area cautiously, chasing away the sensitivity and luring out arousal. He circled your bundle of nerves, avoiding contact and admiring from a distance. Buggy's warmth dipped lower, teasing you with how he almost touched the areas he usually attacks with passion and hunger.
"I thought you wanted h-help?"
"You are helping, now keep quiet so I can focus."
He kissed your forehead just as his fingertips collided with your clit. You gasped as the sweet electricity shot through your body and curled your toes.
Buggy stopped moving.
"I really do need to focus."
"I'll- I'll be quiet."
The movement started again and you sunk into your own body with a sigh.
Buggy knew how to play your body like an instrument. When to press harder and when to pull back. When you wanted small movements and when you needed something grander. When to keep tempo and follow the pattern, and when to create his own music.
The trembles in your body increased until the silent crescendos that left you twitching and panting. But with still more work to do, Buggy kept you underhand.
At first, you could pick out the shapes he traced. Numbers and figures to tally. Long digits that carried on longer than you did. Short numbers that brought about aftershocks of pleasure. Then the letters and words. At least, they were probably words. You couldn't hold onto them long enough to decipher the messages.
Buggy drew climax after climax from you body. You could feel how slick you were, a puddle collecting under your body. Every so often he'd pull out the hand and one of you would lick his wet fingers so he could turn a page.
"How much more?"
Buggy rifled through the packet.
"Three more, then it's done." He glanced at you. What a beautiful mess, covered in sweat and chest heaving. "You're doing such a good job for your captain. You deserve a reward for being such a good girl, huh?"
You nodded eagerly. A reward sounded nice.
"Keep being good for three more pages and I'll give you a nice big reward."
You nodded again and let your eyes close as Buggy picked up where he left off. A big, hard reward. That's what you wanted.
#buggy smut#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#buggy x you#x reader#buggy op#opla buggy#one piece buggy#buggy the clown#buggy the clown smut#one piece smut
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𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 !
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : a cute lil sleepover with your boyfriend miles :)
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : <3 this was also requested by anon, so enjoy luv ! (sorry for all the angst on my page rn..💔💔) this is very short due to my mind not being able to cook anything longer up. my minds been a bit all over the place😭😭 sorryyy💔 ART CRED : thokzu on tt
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : miles morales (1610) x reader
ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ
🕷️ while being conjoined at the hands, you both danced around in the pouring rain. your laughter filled the small space you danced in. miles was a nice change of pace in your life, ever since you’d gotten with him, things have changed for the better.
“you’re so beautiful” miles wasn’t usually the type to get all sappy without nearly having a nervous breakdown. “what did you do?” you replied, squinting and pointing an accusing finger at him. “nothing nothing, i just wanted you to know” miles laughed, watching you happily. this moment was cut short by his mother yelling. “MILES GONZALO MORALES GET INTO THIS HOUSE OR SO HELP ME!” her screams were louder than the rain. somehow.
when you two both walked into the house, rio had placed multiple towels on the floor so the rain wouldn’t get spread all over the floor. “you two—“ her lecture paused as she stared at the both of you. standing there soaked holding eachothers hands. “—get changed before you get sick.” she said, throwing even more towels at you two. “nowwww!” she added, watching you both still standing there, giggling.
what you two didn’t know, was that she watched the entire time as you two danced out in the rain. she found it heartwarming as her and jeff did the dame thing when they were kids.
miles wrapped a towel around you and rubbed it all around, creating friction to warm you up. “well, there’s no taking you home in this rain, my mom would kill me if either of us got sick.” miles spoke, looking around his room for a change of clothes for you. “uhh, here” he handed you one of his large white shirts, and fluffy pajama pants that his mom had bought a dupe of.
miles loved to draw, it was one of his favorite hobbies. he would often sketch you during class, as you would be nearly falling asleep at the boring lesson. no matter where he was or what he was doing he would always find himself drawing you. he had multiple sketchbooks already full, and every 2 pages there was a sketch of you.
there was something about the rain that was calming, making you tired. the rain definitely wasn’t going to let up soon, so you joined miles in his room as he completed his physics homework. he rubbed his temples in confusion. he had missed a few days of class, meaning he was behind in work. “you know it’s a trick question right miles?” you told him, giggling at his frustration. “no it’s not? it’s—“ he paused mid sentence, rereading the question. “no way…” he whispered, looking back at you. your giggling finally got to him, making him grab a pillow from his bed and toss it at you.
“hey HEY! it’s not my fault you missed class” holding the pillow up in defense. “you think it’s so funny hm??” he asked, picking up another larger pillow and threw it at you. loud laughter eventually filled miles’ room as you both began throwing pillows at each other.
his parents sat in the living room, listening to the laughter. “hope he’s done his physics homework.” his father spoke through an exhale, finishing his water. in honestly, they were all glad miles was happy and had someone to hang around with. (tehee.. get it? hang aroun? alr my bad don’t block me pls💔)
“okay okay fine! i’m sorry” you apologized to miles who was still hitting you with the large soft pillow. “i forgive you.. for now” miles spoke before falling onto his bed, pulling you close. his body heat quickly spread between the both of you.
soon the laughter died down, and the rain continued to patter against the window in his room. with slow blinks and miles caressing your face, you slowly fell asleep.
“i love you.” miles whispered pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead, watching your chest rise and fall. “you are a lover boy huh? crazyyyy” his father peeked into his cracked open door. “dad! get—“ lowering his voice, “—get out.” embarrassment quickly setting in. as his father left, he closed the door. “he takes after his father.” he mumbled with a laugh.
#💫 » 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ˚ ˛ * 。#miles morales#across the spiderverse#miles g morales#sony spiderverse#spider man across the spider verse#fluff#miles x reader#miles gonzalo morales#miles morales 1610#miles morales x reader
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hello, my beloved whump community. this is Emmett. but you probably know me better as this blog:
or you may remember the blog before that:
you may have even been here since this blog:
...i'm not taking you farther than that. xD
my account was terminated without any warning today. March 25, 2024. all of my blogs are gone and i have lost everything i have on them. you won't even be able to see any comments or reblogs for me on any of your posts.
if you have commissioned me over Tumblr DMs and not Discord, please contact me here. i did not have a copy of my commission list saved. i do not know who hasn't paid and who already has. i do not remember who was on the list. i do not want anyone to be cheated out of their money.
i have no idea why this happened. i was not doing anything that could justify my account being terminated with no warning or explanation. i'm so paranoid about it that i won't even type the blog names; that's why they're images instead.
but at this point, most of you know the type of whump creator i am. one who creates whatever he wants, no matter how disturbing or explicit it may be. one who loves creating whump and content in general of the Not Safe For This Website kind.
getting one of my blogs flagged, and now losing everything, is not going to stop me. i'm not going anywhere. but i am going to be changing my approach to posting content.
this is my Language Key. i will be using a system of emojis for tagging instead of words, so please read this before you go on my blog and know which tags you need to block.
if you need to block my blog for any reason, go ahead. i don't want to disturb anyone by showing up in the tags.
all of my artwork that is Not Safe For This Website will be linked to an external storage website, MEGA. it is completely free to view and you do not need an account. there will be no cropped previews unless they are 100% Safe For This Website.
all of my writing that is Not Safe For This Website will be linked directly to where i post it on my AO3. it is completely free to view and you do not need an account. there will be no writing put under a read more unless it is 100% Safe For This Website.
trust me, i'll have a better pinned post up at some point explaining who i am and my multiverse of AUs, series, and OCs, and links to my commission page, and my Ko-Fi...and i'll do my best to finish the masterlists and, once again, build myself up from the ground up...
but i'm exhausted. i never saw this coming, and it's made me realize just how unsafe i am. i lost so much content that was only posted on Tumblr and not saved anywhere else.
believe me when i say that i am fucking devastated.
but i'm not going anywhere. i will die with this site when it eventually goes down, and not because it tried to kill me.
that being said, you can find me here on Cohost, which is where i'll migrate to when this place dies or where i'll communicate if i happen to get IP address banned (probably without warning) or something that prevents me from coming back.
if you don't want to refollow me here, i totally understand. i can't say how grateful i am to everyone who does, but like...i get it. it's tedious having to refollow me all the time, never knowing when a blog (or full ass account) is going to suddenly disappear. if you want to get off this crazy, unpredictable ride now, i don't blame you.
and if you decide to stick around, for however long, thank you. this day has been one of my worst nightmares and i don't think i would be handling this with nearly as much grace if it were not for my friends and everyone on my Discord server (which, by the way, is the only safe place where i share everything uncensored).
they were my first line of communication. they helped me get the word out. they rallied for me and kept me from having one massive breakdown over this, so my heartfelt thanks go out to them.
i'm using the whump community tags in hopes that more people will see this. i had hundreds of followers on my last blog, more than a thousand on the blog before that...i know this isn't going to reach everyone, but i hope it will reach some people.
thank you so much for reblogging this to help spread the word if you do. and thank you for reading. ❤️
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My wonderful girlfriend got me Gideon the Ninth for Christmas and I realized why should I just give Worm recaps? Let's read some Locked Tomb! (We'll see how this format works, maybe I'll adjust it. Specifically might break stuff down into smaller segments instead of full acts, but I didn't think of doing this until after I had read all of act 1.)
Gideon the Ninth Act 1 (chapter 1 through 8) thoughts:
This book is so gay oh my god
Like, it's gay in ways I can't even explain. I love it.
Harrow beats the shit out of Gideon in chapter 2 and I don't know if I've ever seen someone get beat up in a more gay way.
"Oh Griddle! But I don't even remember about you most of the time." ROLL A FUCKING DECEPTION CHECK HARROW! You are saying this standing in the middle of the field you spent all night burying bones in just to foil her escape in the most dramatic way. You can't stop remembering her.
Gideon is the most herbo of herbos. I fucking love her. I love reading her PoV. She just knows punch and stab with sword and if those don't work than she'll just do them harder.
Also Gideon is SO fucking gay. Dear god. Dulcinea faints and Gideon turns off all though. HELP PRETTY GIRL. Nothing else.
Ok I could just make this whole thing "EVERYTHING IS GAY" but there is technically more than that.
I love how weird everything is and how little explanation is given. I don't want pages of exposition, I want to learn the world as it comes at me! This is perfect.
And just the very nature of things that seem weird not being given more than a passing thought in the book is information. Something may seem wild to the reader but it's so normalized to the characters that they wouldn't even think about the idea of it being different.
Lack of explanation also helps really show how much of a meathead Gideon is. Do the readers get to learn details about this thing? Only if it is a weapon, has tits, or Gideon is forced to listen while Harrow explains it. Otherwise no, why the fuck would Gideon spend her precious few brain cells on thinking?
And even if Gideon is forced to listen as Harrow explains it, the readers might not learn much cause Gideon might stop listening. I love her.
Aiglamene is wonderful. Crux is fine but I like her more.
Poor Gideon just wants a big sword that she can swing hard. It's not like she can't use a rapier. But why when she can go big sword?
SO MUCH CATHOLICISM
As someone who once was Catholic and then realized I was actually not a straight man, but instead a lesbian, I am in deep.
And the fucking slang used! Or whatever would be the right term. The shit they say! I love it. Just the weird sci-fi far future space necromancer universe and then suddenly "Are you asking me to . . . throw her a bone?", "Gideon had always known that this would be how she went: gangbanged to death by skeletons.", "Don’t hypothetically shove stuff up my butt again, it never does any good.", "Lo! A destructed ass.", "Well we were developing common sense, she studied the blade.", "Double Bones with Doctor Skelebone."
House of the First appears to be Earth. I kinda assume the House of the Ninth is Pluto, even though things obviously aren't in order given that the Seventh and Sixth are closer to the sun. Of course, I'm kinda expecting this to not technically be this solar system at all.
Undying Emperor, King of Resurrection, I Have Ten-Thousand Titles, Boss First, etc etc hasn't been on "Earth" in over nine thousand years. I wanna know MORE.
And the fucking Ninth House has their own prayer! Everyone else has one that the Ninth didn't know and then the Ninth had one that no one else knows! GIMME MORE!!!!
Also again, so many Catholicism metaphors or comparisons or whatever!
I could go on forever but gonna end this one with OH MY GOD SHE FOUND SUNGLASSES I LOVE HER. Fucking "I came prepared, my sweet." and "But then you couldn't have admired . . . these!" as she whips on the sunglasses. God. I nearly died.
#The Locked Tomb#tlt#Gideon the Ninth#Cairavende reads The Locked Tomb#Gideon Nav#Harrowhark Nonagesimus#Dulcinea Septimus#This might be the most lesbian thing I've ever read and I've read some pretty fucking lesbian things#Dulcinea might be my favorite so far
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Kaz and Wylan’s potential to become each other
Wow, you guys were a lot more excited about this than I was expecting! I made a post briefly mentioning this idea and it got way more attention that I was expecting, so as promised here is my explanation and I’ve tagged people who asked for it at the end :)
*WARNING: CONSTANT SPOILERS AHEAD*
Ok so the driving forcing of this comparison is rooted in the similarities of their characters and their backstories. Both of them lost a close family member, were abused by men with power over them, and experienced a form of ‘rebirth’ by nearly drowning in the Ketterdam canals. They also both experience disability; Kaz using a cane for a broken leg that didn’t heal correctly, and Wylan having severe dyslexia that prevented him from learning to read. A key difference that separates them, and arguably is a representation of the difference in the way their experiences have shaped their personalities as well, is that Kaz’s disability is a direct result of his chasing after vengeance, whereas Wylan’s disability was used as an excuse for his father to abuse him for what we as the reader see to be a minimum of eight years. (I’m assuming this because he is 16 in the book and was 8 when his mother ‘died’, which is the point that he describes he father to have “given up on him”)
I’m gonna quickly hop to parallels between Kaz and Pekka Rollins, bare with me I promise it’s relevant, which are quickly established as a key part of the novels. When Inej compares them, Kaz’s reply is “I don’t sell girls, I don’t con helpless kids out of their money” to which she gently responds “look at the floor of the Crow Club, Kaz”. Aside from this being the heartbreaking line that it is, it also does a very good job of highlighting their similarities and a similarity that they share with Jan Van Eck. When they meet the merch at the end of the first book they meet on an island called Vellgeluk, which is described as being popular with smugglers and slavers like those who kidnapped Inej. The other Crows are surprised Van Eck knows about Vellgeluk, but Kaz simply says “maybe he isn’t the upstanding merch he appears to be”. Great subtle foreshadowing for his double cross, and great establishment of the link between these three characters. In fact, Van Eck and Kaz echo each other more than you might think. Just as Kaz states “Greed bows to me, it is my servant and my lever”, Van Eck says “Yes, Chaos will come. And I will be it’s master”. In their first meeting, Van Eck accuses Kaz of murder and gambling with people’s lives, and in return Kaz points out that 1 in 5 of Van Eck’s ships will never return because they will sink or “fall prey to pirates”, so they are both doing the same thing, and that they both have the same motivations for this bloodshed: “profit”.
Now consider how often Wylan echoes Kaz, and therefore whether he echoes his father as well. They both have exceptional memories, Kaz’s being photographic/eidetic and Wylan being able to put words to music in his head to remember pages worth of infomation - this is even emphasised by Kaz being able to count cards when he gambles, saying “he could keep track of the game for up to three decks” and Jesper asking Wylan if he’d be able to apply “that trick to counting cards” to which he replies “probably. But I won’t”. They also both have impressive intellects, which could have placed them far higher up in the world than they’ve found themselves if it weren’t for cruel circumstances - Van Eck even comments on this, saying it angers him that Kaz has so much potential but does nothing with it. Then there’s their tendency to avoid being vulnerable. I think we too often overlook the fact that no-one knows Jan Van Eck hired two men to kill his son, not even Jesper, and that not even Inej knows what happened to Kaz on the Reaper’s Barge. Jesper believes that Wylan left his house as a result of his father’s abuse but that it was still his choice, and Inej has no information beyond “Pekka Rollins killed my brother” and the explanation of the con when Kaz faces off with Rollins in Crooked Kingdom. I genuinely believe that the biggest thing separating them is where they place blame for their situations. Kaz blames Pekka Rollins. Wylan actually blames himself.
Arguably, although he catalysed the events, if Rollins hadn’t conned Kaz and Jordie they still would have suffered in an almost identical way: they would both contract the Queen’s Lady Plague, they wouldn’t have enough money for both medicine and boarding, and Jordie would die. In that scenario Kaz would have still been left penniless and alone with nowhere to go, but he wouldn’t have had anyone to blame. In fact, he may have died as well because it’s really his drive for vengeance that makes him strive for survival. When he’s on the Reaper’s Barge he wonders if it’s worth trying to survive because there’s nothing waiting for him in the city, but then he realises that the chance of revenge is waiting for him, and that thought drives him to stay alive every day that follows. Without Rollins, Kaz probably would have blamed himself for Jordie’s death, and I’m backing that up with the singular moment when he’s first attacked by parem-high tide makers and has a brief “boy’s fear” that they are ghosts. He thinks, for a split second, that a ghost has come to kill him and what does he say? He says “Jordie had come for vengeance at last”. This is chapter three. We have no idea who Jordie is. With the limited information we had at the time and what we’d just seen happen to Big Bolliger, I assumed it was someone in Kaz’s gang that he had backstabbed and who has died because of what he did. But no. This single line leads me to wholeheartedly believe that Kaz blames Rollins, who realistically was only a small part of his suffering, quite so vividly to emotionally avoid blaming himself.
Wylan blames himself until around chapters 14 to 16 of Crooked Kingdom. His experiences with mental, emotional, and physical abuse have actively convinced him that his so-called ‘inadequacies’ caused a change in his father’s behaviour. But Wylan not being able to read didn’t magically turn Van Eck from a lucky family man into someone willing to try “specialists, tonics, beatings, [and] hypnotism” against his child. The fact is that Van Eck, like many abusers, is masterfully manipulative in everything he does. Wylan describes seeing his parents’ marriage as a happy one, but he also says “the argued all the time, sometimes about me. But I remember them laughing a lot too”. He’s quick to defend their relationship as if it isn’t supposed to be marred by argument and he lays blame on himself by suggesting that he was the root of their unhappiness. He also says that around Alys, Jan Van Eck becomes who he once was around Marya; a kinder, gentler man. I don’t think we’re meant to assume that he’s acting any differently with Alys in private right now, but I do think we’re meant to assume that he would have done down the line if he hadn’t been arrested (and presumably she filed for divorce). In chapter 14 of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan learns that his mother is still alive but that his father had her committed and declared insane so he could use it as grounds for divorce and marry Alys instead. And you know what happens? Wylan blames himself. He says, verbatim, to Jesper: “You don’t understand. It’s my fault”. He explains that Van Eck did this so he could have a “real heir”; because Marya produced a “faulty” child he needed a new woman to give him the child he wanted. That’s a messed up thing to think on so many levels, but Wylan doesn’t blame Van Eck because he is still being conditioned by his abuse. He and Kaz experienced different kinds of abuse, and Kaz wasn’t conditioned to blame anyone but his abuser, so that’s what he does. When Wylan does begin to blame Van Eck, he is immediately taken in by this same idea of revenge. Kaz says “you were angry. I needed you righteous” when explaining why he sent Wylan to St Hilde blind in chapter 16. Wylan was angry with his father before, but he wasn’t actively seeking vengeance. Now that he has a cause, someone other than himself to fight for? He tells Kaz “well, now you have me”.
Both of them have this potential to be fuelled by revenge or self-hatred, and although they go about it in different ways and lean towards different sides of the scale they are both balancing between those two extremes for the entire duology. Their past experiences have, and their future experiences could, tip them further either way but right now they are almost playing with the line.
Thank you so much if you’ve bothered to read this far, sorry for the long post but you did ask for an essay, so there you go. Tagging the people who asked - @kazooyay @mikasimaginairyworld @sunseeking-cyptid @moonlit-aura @alexplutoplanet @gandalfsmallnaturals @livsarthaven @goodomenstrack23 @origami-butterfly @flower-biatch @bookworm010307 @thesunniest @wherela @space-ace-thoughts @sixofbabycrows @antisocial-burrito
Sorry if I missed anyone!!!
#grishaverse#leigh bardugo#six of crows#crooked kingdom#kaz brekker#wylan van eck#kanej#wesper#kanej supremacy#wesper my beloved#inej ghafa#jesper fahey#nina zenik#matthias helvar#jan van eck#marya van eck#marya hendriks#wylan hendricks#jesper and wylan#six of crows wylan#kazzle dazzle#kaz rietveld#jordie rietveld#kaz and jordie#pekka rollins
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Sometimes when I be bored I think about Finnicks reaction to finding out his sweet girl is being forced into prostitution. Boy would be broken
no this is so real bc I also imagine the most angsty situations whenever I'm slightly bored which is why I write what I do lmao
tw talks about trafficking
but like imagine like you don't want to tell finnick about because he's already struggling and you want to comfort him without him worrying about you. so you bear the weight of it all alone until you can't anymore. you're able to say trips to the Capitol alone are for interviews with ceaser or to entertain the Captiol with whatever talent you've chosen, which is true except you're also being forced to entertain in other ways. and marks or bruises can only be explained as a fall or brushed off so many times before they become suspicious. and finnick notices that sometimes you just don't feel there anymore, like you've left your body, but the moment he brings it to you snap back into being comforting, happy, and supportive. finnick probably knows deep down before he actually comes to terms with it and when he does he's so broken up about it. why you? why didn't you want to tell him? how did he not notice ever sooner? what can he do for you?
and one night you're just laying in bed, he's been staring at the page of a book, but not focused on it. he's too busy fully realizing the truth and there you are laying down, staring at the ceiling, completely gone.
"Snow's selling you isn't he?" Finnick would ask it in the quietest tone and he's trying not to cry because you're his sweet girl, so loveable and soft, and now the Capitol is using you, breaking you down.
And he knows it's true when you just stare back at him, eyes so sad and a little shocked he figured it out. then you're both just staring at each other untill you're both bawling. and finnick is holding you like he's terrified to let go.
"why didn't you tell me?" he's mumbling out between choked sobs
"you just already have so much, I didn't want to add to your plate" and you're just so worried about him and he hates it and loves it
"I'm supposed to help you too, not just you with me. do you understand?" and you're nodding, saying you're sorry, and he's telling you it's okay
AND ON THE FLIP SIDE
finnick's girl, his sweet, gorgeous love, who recently won her games coming to finnick and telling him snow is planning on selling her
like you're all solemn and nervous, playing with your fingers and trying not to cry. finnick is so confused about the silence and what's going on so he's racking his mind to see if he did something.
and eventually with a shaky voice and tears on the brim of your eyelids you're like, "snow's going to sell me" and finnick's world comes crashing down
he's supposed to keep you safe which he already nearly failed at when you were reaped and almost died in the arena. "no, I'll talk to snow, I'll just take more, I can do it, I can handle it. not you, sweet girl, they can't have you." and he's just a wreck of tears trying to scramble for the next move in the chess game of the Captiol
"finnick, you're not going to do that." and your voice is still so soft, hands on his arm . "you can't do more, I can, and I'm popular right now"
and finnick's trying to insist, but you're hushing him as you cry until you start to really sob and crumble in his grasp so he's back in alert mode. stroking you hair, telling you he's got you, that things will turn out okay
anyways yeah a couple long thoughts I had about this, sorry lmao
#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair x y/n#finnick odair fluff#finnick odair angst#finnick odair x reader fluff#finnick odair x you#finnick odair x reader angst#finnick odair fanfic#anon
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i had a worm wiggle it's way into my head when 'work song' came on on my way home today.
pairing: steddie | word count: 2,949 | rated: T
cw: major character death (no gore, nothing descriptive, though it's stated that Eddie was sick and getting weaker, then implied that he dies.)
Eddie Munson’s mother was a witch.
He didn’t know this until he was stricken with the same sickness that took her from him years and years before, but he knows now.
He knows from the small chest he found buried deep in his and his Uncle’s attic one day after learning of his ailment, and the handful of months he should expect to have left, from the local doctor.
The chest was brimming with scrolls, tomes, candles, stones, herbs, vials, even a small pewter cauldron.
“I shoulda known,” was all Wayne had said, heeding Eddie’s beckoning call that hazy afternoon.
Eddie sorted through everything he had found; spending hours every day flipping through each book and journal, deciphering his mother’s handwriting and the spells she had inscribed onto the pages.
He even started to try a few; his mother’s ‘powers’, per sae, had come from the earth around her, writing in the largest, most disheveled of the journals that all she had needed to do was to listen to Mother Earth herself, listen to what she had to tell her.
So, Eddie practiced.
Small things at first, like seamlessly re-attaching the snipped off head of a daisy back to it’s stem, snipping it off again only to regrow an identical one in it’s place. Even starting a broken branch of the pine outside the Munson home on it’s way to a new green version of what was lost.
Eddie counted himself very lucky that Wayne was not one to believe the church’s nearly unhinged ramblings about witchcraft being the work of the Devil, and let Eddie practice a couple of the other simpler things on him.
“Jus’ don’t go thinkin’ I’mma let you chop my head off, boy.”
Wayne’s body aching from following their ox around all day with the plow? “Here, drink this, it should help.” It did.
Couple of Wayne’s fingers get snapped under the same ox’s hoof? A little harder, but he managed; the digits sore and achy that night, but good as new come morning.
“There a hair spell in that book, Ed?” Wayne joked one morning over breakfast, a good three quarters of the way through the six months the doctor gave Eddie, and a couple after finding Maggie Munson’s secret.
“Hmmmm….I dunno Uncle Wayne,” Eddie flips through his journal absently, “I think a Get Your Hair Back spell is too close to a love charm to work right. You could end up with hair all over your body and not just on that beautiful, shiny, head o’yours.”
“Love spells are touchy,” Maggie’s journal had said, “There are a rumored few that work, but only for the truest forms. I’ve tried some simple potions and charms…Al still left..and if they didn’t work…” the rest was easily filled in.
“Oh yeah? Then how's about a Cure What Ails Ya spell? Got one’a those in that there book?”
“Why? You feeling sick, Wayne?” Eddie half-jokes, trying to veer away from having this conversation with Wayne again.
Wayne’s quiet as Eddie focuses intently on the book infront of him, trying, and failing, to scoop up a bite of egg onto his fork without looking away.
“Ed,” his uncle starts, soft and pleading once again, “Is there really nothin’ that can help ya?”
Eddie huffs, dropping his fork onto his plate and pushing it and the journal away from him. Definitely something a younger boy would do, not the nearly 25 he is now. “Why don’t you give them a look, huh? ‘Cause I already have.”
“Ed–”
He snaps his head up to glare at the older man. “What is it Wayne? What?” Eddie snatches the journal back up off the table without looking. “I’ve looked okay? Through Mom’s and through every damn book in that attic. And there was nothing. Nothing! You think she would’ve left if there was?” He stands sharply, knocking the small faded blue table away as he does. “Would’ve left m—”
His free hand wraps around his middle, nausea and the spins taking him for a ride a the sudden movement.
“Hey, Hey, sit back down son.” Wayne stands as well, coaxing him back into his chair.
The nausea spells have become more frequent, the dizziness even more so, as the months have worn on, so Wayne ties up Eddie’s hair (growing thinner by the day), walks the short few steps to the pitcher of water he’d pulled from the well that morning, and pours some into a bowl, grabbing a clean(-ish) rag on his way back.
Wayne smoothes the cool damp rag over Eddie’s face and neck, slowly and deliberately until the nauseous feeling passes.
“‘M sorry, Uncle Wayne, I know you’re just worried.”
“It’s alrigh’ boy, I shouldn’t’a pushed.”
“I’m still doing better than most,” Eddie says, voice tilting up at the end, “I think it’s ‘cause of the magic.”
“Thoughtcha said there wasn’t no cure in that book.” Wayne states, moving to empty the bowl.
“There’s not,” Eddie closes his eyes, relaxes back into his chair. “Doc thinks Ms. Wilson had the same as me and Ma, and you saw how quick it took her.”
“Mrs. Wilson was nearly 70, Ed.”
“Then how about that boy Carver? He was my age, and Doc gave him six when he came down with it too, was gone in two.”
Wayne shrugs, “The devil wanted him back sooner.”
Eddie barks out a laugh, lifting his head to catch a glimpse of his Uncle’s ‘desperately-trying-to-hide-his-smile’ smile.
Wayne jokes, but Eddie’s been contemplating this for a while now. When he had hit his second month, he was about the same as he was, steadily growing weaker, as what was expected, but nothing like how Ms. Wilson and Jason had looked in theirs.
Hell, Jason had worked on the docks with Eddie since they were boys; both fit and lean, healthy young men with the musculature to show for their work.
That was when he’d found his mom’s books, and ever since, his health had slowed to a crawl.
“I think using mom’s magic is helping me.”
Wayne is quiet, cleaning their plates from the table and dumbing the leftover eggs out the window to the pigs.
“I think it’s your magic now, Eds.”
—---
And so it went.
Eddie’s given six months turned into a year, his magic growing from healing fingerbones, to mending their ox’s broken femur with ease.
His year didn’t come without worsening symptoms though, and his previously well filled out overalls hung loose around him, his calves barely filling out the tops of his boots tied all the way tight.
Wayne always kept the faith, so to speak, not a religious man by nature, but Eddie could hear him sometimes in the early morning and late night praying to “Whoever’s got their ears on up there,” to keep Eddie safe, to keep him in their sights when the time came.
Eddie had been doing work of his own, too. Writing down anything new he found out while sitting with the Earth, listening, watching….
Mother told him through the whispers of the trees, the soft humming of the grass, that he’d know when it was time.
And that time was within the next few days.
He felt it in his bones, he felt it in the air when Wayne passed him his birthday gift (a flaky scone with the biggest chunks of chocolate in town, an amazing treat he got once a year) on the morning of his 25th year, he felt it in the very ground he walked on…
He was ready, though he did harbor one regret. One thing he knew he missed out on.
He’d never fallen in love.
Over his last year, Eddie would sit with Mother; amongst the trees, lain back in the field of grass on the hill behind their house, and tell her about them.
The ‘they’ that he’d likely never meet, the they that would love him for nothing but his love in return.
Nothing was ever specific, only the vaguest feelings he’d get about them, about the way they’d love, the humor they’d possess, the love for Eddie’s stories they’d have.
And every time he’d speak of them, Eddie’d leave with something that he didn’t realize he had picked up until he was nearly back home.
A chain of daisies Wayne had plucked from atop his head when he sat down for dinner, a scrap of dark blue fabric he’d found walking through town, a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, the tiny sun bleached skull of a bat.
And he’d write. Over and over, never quite getting it right, but there was something he knew he needed to get out of his very being before he left for good. Something that felt like a promise.
–
The morning came, and Eddie awoke to a silent house.
Wayne out on the fields already, most likely out helping the folks on either side of them with whatever they needed doing, with only the hens’ clucks and pigs’ snorts keeping him company with the calls from the birds in the trees.
Eddie got up, slow as slow could be, got himself into his clothes, shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to their small blue table, tore out a blank page of his mother’s notebook and wrote.
Pouring all of what remained within him, Eddie thought of the Earth, of his mom, of Uncle Wayne, and them. His unknown love.
-x-X-x-
Steve Harrington’s mother was not a witch.
But for the last few years, he’s had a suspicion that his Grandmother is.
Everyone says that their food tastes so good because “It’s made with love!”, but with Mama Harrington, it was real. The love and intent she imbued into her meals was there. And she could cure any ailment.
She would always go on and on about the importance of food, each recipe’s ingredients’ healing powers, and of the recipes and their stories that had been passed down through the years from her mother, and her mother’s mother, all the way to now, where they ended up in a cookbook that’d gone untouched since it was given to Steve’s mother in the late 60’s.
“A gift! Unused for so many years, Steven!”
“I know, Mama,” he nods again, dropping some green something into the pot of sauce bubbling on the stove. “Almost 25 years.”
“Aye! You have catching up to do.” she says, shaking a thick wooden spoon at him.
“Me?” he scoffs, “I don’t know the first thing about cooking, Mama!” Baking? He’d hold his own. Cooking? If his grandmother wasn’t there to help him of on the phone to guide him through a recipe? Kitchen would go up in flames.
“Bah! Watch closely, dear.” she says, shuffling to the pot that stands nearly as tall as her where it’s perched on the stovetop. “It is always your intent behind what you are cooking. You can make anything be anything as long as the intent is there.”
“Even eggs?”
She nods, her nearly fully white bun flopping back and forth on top of her head. “Even just eggs.”
“So if I want a carbonara to help get my friend a passing grade?” he asks, incredulous, but immediately thinking of Robin, who’s coming up on her finals in a couple months (for her doctorate! A PhD! Can you believe that!).
“The intent! Put it into the eggs, into the pasta, I don’t care! But make it for That!”
She throws a concerningly large handful of pepper into the pot on the stove, and gives it a stir.
“Now, this is my Mama’s recipe, and it will help your Pa’s back.”
“How so?”
“Because I told it to,” she growls, glaring at the pot and raising her spoon as if she was going to smack some sense into it.
“Alright, Mama,” Steve chuckles, “What do you need me to do?”
He spends the next hour helping his grandma roll out some of her premade dough for some fettuccine looking noodles, grabbing a wrapped up blob “from the top shelf, Steven. That’s the stuff I made for you.”.
He rolls, folds, and cuts it as he’s told, then goes to pick Robin up from campus while she finishes everything.
“It won’t take long now, dear, and you shouldn’t either.” Mama scolds, waving her spoon around once again.
“Got it, Mama, be back soon.” He slips on his shoes, looks in on his grandpa in the living room as he passes, grinning at the loud snores he hears from the direction of Pa’s recliner, and slips out the front door to his car.
In no time, he’s picked up Robin, stopped for a movie from Blockbuster, and is home to the smell of fresh bread.
“We’re home Mama!”
“I’m just setting the table, grab your Pa!”
“Come on Pa, Mama’s got some pasta for you.” Steve says, coaxing his grandfather out of the chair and into his slippers.
“Ah, perfect, my back’s been real achy lately.”
“That’s ‘cause you sleep in the recliner, Mr. Harrington.”
“How many times do we gotta tell you, Robin? Just call us Ma and Pa.”
Robin plops down in her designated spot across from Ma, “Hey, you should get used to it now; Once I finally get up the nerve to Chrissy out, she’ll come over here all “Mr. Harrington” this and “Mrs. Harrington” that.
“And how’s that coming, Bobs?” Steve asks her, sitting down beside his grandma and immediately passing the plate of bread across the table to Robin’s waiting hands.
She starts going off at a million miles a minute about her longest standing crush, while Steve shares a look with his grandma, both smirking conspiratorially as Robin takes a bite of the bread.
That’d been Steve’s suggestion, a bread imbued with luck.
It wasn’t a “Love Spell”, Mama said there was none in existence that were worth the pain. But the minimal luck that she had sown before into countless baked goods (especially near February), have had a surprisingly great track record.
With everyone but Steve.
She couldn’t quite figure out what it was that kept him from getting the benefits too, every time she had tried, they had tried, it was an astounding failure.
First with Tommy Hagan, the carrot cake cookies Steve had presented him with as a special birthday treat back in middle school ended with two missing front teeth and a broken arm.
Then again without even thinking about it, he’d added some luck and hope to homemade chicken pot pies he’d whipped up when he and Nancy were on the rocks.
It had somewhat worked with Billy Hargrove, but that one hadn’t even been intentional, and he shudders to think about it to this day.
“I don’t know my dearest, maybe it is because you are already tied to someone else?” She had said after her tried and true pot pie recipe failed.
“But it didn’t even work with the one I was already with!” he yelled, sighing deep and pinching the tears away from the bridge of his nose. “She jumped right into Byers’ arms.”
Mama had just given him a pitying look, which was worse, honestly.
Now, he stays far away from any of Mama’s lucky foods, especially with the weird twisting feeling he had gotten the few times he’d tried over the years after leaving Hawkins.
He and Robin came up to Indy for Robin to go to U of I, a year after she graduated, and when Steve was fired from the job that had been paying the majority of their apartment's rent when he was spotted kissing his then boyfriend by his manager….they came to live with Steve’s grandparents, taking to them both with open arms and hearts.
He comes back to the present when his third bite of pasta clears away the last of his headache.
Steve shoots his grandma a knowing look, which she ignores with a sip of wine.
–
They’re nearly finished with dinner when it happens.
Steve’s listening intently to a story Pa is telling them, something he’s sure he’s hears a dozen times before, when he absentmidedly picks up, then takes a bite of the bread Ma made for Robin.
It’s more than he’s ever felt before.
In the past, whenever Steve’s tried to gain some luck in love, he’s been inundated with flashes, feelings, words, a warmth in his bones that he’s wanted to hold onto forever.
The feelings grew stronger the older he got, and now, Steve finds himself sitting on a rolling grassy hill.
It’s not a flash of a vision like before, he’s sitting in the tall soft grass, and his hands are already making a chain of daisies. Nearly done, in fact.
He finishes it off, turns it around in his hands, then when he goes to put it on…
He’s back at the table with his family, the slice of bread in his hand, and Pa still telling his story.
Steve jumps up, startling the other three, and beelines it to the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for just a damn scrap of paper.
Mama follows him, “Steve, the bread?”
“I was on a hill, chaining daisies, and now I have to get these words out.” He probably doesn't make a lick of sense, but he doesn’t want to lose them.
Suddenly, a pad of paper and pen are passed into his line of sight. He snatches them up, and starts scribbling down as much as he can.
He and Mama stare down at the words on the page.
“Mama, what is this?”
She is silent for a handful of breaths.
“This is why the luck never worked.”
now with a part 2!
also: i don’t know the first thing about being a witch or anything of the sort, nor do i know anything but the basics about cooking; hope im not way way off on anything!!! this is all in fun 😅
#eddie is living in a non-specified olden times#and steve is post-canon about to turn 25 so it's 1992 for him and robin#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#witch!eddie#witch!steve#work song#hozier#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#stranger things#st#wayne munson#robin buckley#noelle writes#it is nearly 11 pm and this looks good but i will probably find problems with it in the morning#if you see typos no you don't
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Safe Haven
Pairing: CG!Steve Harrington x Little!Reader
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: my first stevie h. fic!! my wonderful ♡ anon inspired me not just to write for him but also to rewatch season 3 which i forgot how much i loved 💕 i wanna start writing for robin because even the little bit that she appears here was so fun to write tbh!! warning for an almost swearword lol but other than that i hope its super fluffy and that you guys enjoy!!
You didn't mind the days that Steve worked. Most days, you called up Dustin and the gang, or Nancy, or Eddie, or you just stayed home by yourself and kept busy with any number of hobbies and activities. Today was different though; lightning ripped through the skies of Hawkins, rain spitting down so hard it nearly drowned out the cracks of thunder that interrupted your every thought. You could feel the anxious regression creeping up on you, and although you'd normally be fine being in little mode unattended in the safety of your home, but with the storm outside turning the daylight black, home didn't feel so safe anymore. Before you could get too little and before the storm could get too heavy, you were grabbing your bag and pulling on your heaviest hoodie, tucking the laces into the sides of your shoes to avoid the stress of tying them as you set out on your journey to Starcourt Mall.
Just the walk from your house to the covered bus stop had you soaked through to your shirt, and you shivered in the seat as the bus trundled down the slick streets towards the mall. You blinked your eyes, and repeatedly made fists and unfurled them, desperately trying anything to distract you from crying before you could make it to the back rooms of Scoops Ahoy. Normally you didn't like to bother Steve at work, no matter how many times he reassured you that you were always welcome there, but you felt this was rational option for you given the situation.
When the bus pulled up to the front of the mall, you lined up with the other passengers before sprinting the gap between the bus and the covered entrance. Once inside the dry safety of the indoors, your body mindlessly guided you to Scoops, the illuminated sign shining like the sun you needed so desperately today. Despite the weather being anything but summery, it seemed like everyone in Hawkins was getting ice cream this afternoon, and with your fear of being a bother far stronger than your need for comfort right now, you opted to sit at an unoccupied table in the front corner of the shop, furthest away from the counter.
Opening your backpack, you pulled out your notebook and a gel pen, hoping to distract yourself until the crowds died down. You could hardly keep your attention on the page for more than 15 seconds, flicking your eyes up to the counter and hoping to catch Steve's sooner rather than later. Your prayers were answered as he handed a double chocolate cone the next woman in line, his gaze scanning the remaining customers just as you'd popped your head up to check on him for the fiftieth time. His eyes got wide when he saw your distraught face silently pleading for his attention, and he intended to give you just that. Steve gave you a reassuring nod before holding a finger up to the next customer in line, and then disappeared into the back room. Moments later, he returned with Robin, who took over cash register duty while Steve circled around the counter and speed-walked over to you.
"Honey bun, you doing alright?" He asked softly, already recognizing your fragile state and not bothering with pleasantries as he slid into the booth next to you.
"Yeah," you nodded, "just wanted to see you, that's all."
"Are you sure? Is there anything I can do to help you?" Steve took one of your hands in his .
"No, its okay." You lied. "You can go back to work, I'm alright just sitting here."
Steve saw through you instantly. He knew exactly what you were feeling and exactly what you were needing now. He looked up at Robin, capably handling the next customers in line, and stood up with your hand still in his.
"Yeah, no, that's bull, come on baby." He started to tug at your hand.
Not wanting to argue, nor to be left without the warmth of Steve's grip, you gathered your things and stood up with him, letting yourself be led to the back room of Scoops Ahoy.
You'd never been back here before, and although you didn't really have any expectations to begin with, they certainly weren't exceeded. The employees only break area was bleak and grey, a single table in the center of the room, a big industrial sink, several humming freezers and fridges, and wiry metal shelves were the only things there; but it was quiet, and it was unoccupied. Steve brought you over to sit in at the table in a cold metal chair, digging through your bag and setting out all of your pens in a colorful array, and opened your notebook to a fresh page. Then, he went over to one of the fridges and pulled out a cold water bottle, as well as a bottle of apple juice, and he set them both on the table as well. Finally, he crouched next to you, taking your chin softly in his hand.
"I gotta go back to work now, okay baby? But I'll be back before you know it."
You nodded, and Steve continued speaking to you.
"We close at 8:00pm." Steve grabbed one of your gel pens and drew a little picture on the corner of the notebook page. "So when the clock looks like that, we can go back home and cuddle all night long. You can even help me lock up the shop if you want, how's that sound baby?"
"Okay dada," you whispered, and Steve pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.
"That's my little bumblebee. I'll just be through that window right there if you need me for anything at all."
And with one more kiss, Steve was back to work. After a few more reassuring glances from him through the partition window, you finally felt at ease enough to start drawing in your notebook, now comfortable passing the time until Steve was off work. With the tension finally released from your anxious body, you lost yourself in your art, coloring little animals, stars and planets, flowers, bugs, and ice cream cones. Before you knew it, you heard Steve's voice call out to the customers still enjoying a late evening treat.
"Alright everybody, Scoops Ahoy is officially closed. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!"
Sure enough, the clock on the wall matched the picture Steve had drawn. Your attention was drawn to the door as Robin walked into the back room, grabbing her bag and a soda from the fridge.
"See ya, kiddo!" She said, flashing a peace sign at you as she went back out to the front of the store, waving to Steve as she exited. "Thanks for closing up."
Steve waved back as Robin mingled into the crowd of shoppers all on their own way back home, then turned to you.
"I just gotta clean up a few things before we go," he said, leaning through the window, "but before I do, may I take your order?"
You grinned widely before turning back to your notebook, scribbling out a drawing of your favorite ice cream flavor absolutely covered in toppings. You ripped out the page and handed it to Steve.
"Coming right up baby!"
You happily munched on your ice cream while Steve closed up boxes of toppings and stacked them on the shelves. When the back room was clean, he helped you put your pens away and carried your backpack and ice cream out to the front of the store so you could stay close to him while he wiped off each of the tables, mopped the floors, and closed out the cash register. Finally, Steve helped you throw away the trash from your ice cream, hoisted your backpack onto his shoulder, and held your hand as you slid out from the booth. You walked together to the front of the store, where Steve stopped and turned to you.
"Would you like to do the honors, honey bun?" He asked, motioning towards the big light switch that controlled the fancy neon sign in the entranceway.
You nodded, reaching up on your tiptoes to flip the switch, and suddenly the empty mall became a lot darker around you. Steve noticed you tense up and immediately, his hand was back in yours.
"Don't worry baby. I've got you. You're safe with me." He said, holding you tight as he led you to the garage, and not intending to let go of you for a very long time.
#steve harrington x little!reader#steve x little!reader#cg!steve#cg!steve harrington#cg!steve x little!reader#steve harrington#daddy!steve harrington#daddy!steve harrington x little reader#stranger things agere#chloe's fic
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