#all of which are clever and professional | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joycrispy · 8 months

Text

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #unfortunately I do not have trains of thought #only long meandering strolls of thought #sorry about it #anyway tl;dr Crowley is a nerd #also I have a strange emotional attachment to the idea of 1500's Crowley...#...facedown in a pile of Mona Lisa sketches; drunkenly info-dumping about Aziraphale #and Da Vinci is just like. 'Ahhhh mio amico Antonio. You fucking simp.'

10K notes · View notes

on-leatheredwings · 25 days

Text

Checkmate

Yandere! Tim Drake / (AFAB) Reader

> romantic, rated M > tw/cw: yandere-typical behaviors (obsession). M rating is for a boner. just some sexual tension. reader is mentioned as bisexual.

> summary: Intellectually, Tim falls fast. Romantically, he falls hard. Seems this time it's both. > a/n: i just wanted to post some tim practice, pls let me know if i did okay. I made him a bit of a fuckboy i guess but ngl i think tim’s just run through af 😭 > word count: 1268

Tim likes you. And knowing himself, soon, he’s going to really like you.

More than anticipated, too. He didn’t think he’d have much of an opinion at all on you, when you had first met on your first day, in your new position as his personal assistant.

Personal assistant.

At the reveal, he exchanged a hard look with Bruce across the room. Tim Drake had not been slacking on the job. And sometimes he had the eye bags to prove it.

Tim hadn’t even said anything yet, when you chirped, “Think of it as delegation.”

You gave him a pleasant, albeit cheeky look – which he respected. If you had the qualifications and enough charm to impress the hiring manager, who was a notorious hardass in interviews, you were probably fine. Probably more than fine.

Either way, he expected to forget your existence until you texted or called him to remind him about meetings he hadn’t forgotten about.

It turns out, you had… personality. Probably more than you should’ve, working in the professional setting of Wayne Enterprises. You dealt with Tim’s shit (absences, excuses), but gave as good as you got (ultimatums, thinly-veiled blackmail to run and tell Bruce). You were also… very attractive. And clever. And smart. And insightful.

And God, he wonders if you have a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner. And he wonders if he can somehow orchestrate a breakup.

Tim moves a chess piece across the board.

Okay, maybe he’s being too hasty.

Oh, for the love of– you know what? No, he isn’t being too hasty. Anyone working in such close quarters with the heir apparent of Wayne Enterprises is heavily vetted. But it’s about time he did his own background check on you. He has made it three whole months without doing so.

See, he really is getting over his control issues. Eat that, Stephanie.

Okay, if he’s going to entertain the idea of courting you– Wait, wait, since when was it courting? Yeah, no. He’s merely entertaining the thought of you. He’s been burned too many times now to start courting.

Let’s talk about having sex first before we start talking about dating, he jests with himself.

Anyway. He wonders what would be the most interesting means of going about this. Coming out and confessing would be a little boring. Too easy. His eyes wander to your lips. You’re too focused on making your next move to notice him ogling the soft swell of your chest beneath a sharp button-up. You’ve rolled up the sleeves – very casual for this very casual hangout. You both lounge on your bed, in your bedroom, in your apartment, because if Tim wins, you don’t get to hound him on personally contacting investors. (Sometimes, you gotta leave malcontents out to dry. Make them miss you.)

He hopes you like being experimented with. Or maybe you like experimenting on others. He would do anything you liked because, man, it’s thrilling to know people and their wants. Anything you give, he could take it–

Tim startles as a realization comes to his mind.

… Him. Taking it.

Is that something he wants? To bottom for you? … Is that something… he wants?

Yes.

Now that the idea has been conceived, yes, he wants that. So that’s that.

The reality of whether you’d want to do that… is slim… maybe? You’re bi as well. Maybe that changes things. He’s not going to think about it too hard, because now he’s getting excited.

Tim would love for the skittering, synapses-firing-on-all-cylinders effect in his brain to cool down – for everything to wash over with cool calculation and academic interest. He manages to do that much for even the most intriguing cases. But you… Tim sighs.

And now he’s hard.

Tim shifts uncomfortably. He’s lying on his stomach, held up by his forearms.

He sighs, even though there’s an evil piece of his brain snickering and taunting, “But you love this, though!” Evil, evil.

At Tim’s increasing silence, you lift a brow. Man, he’s been out of it all game.

“Tim?” He comes back to planet Earth. “It’s your move. Again.” You wear a Cheshire grin. “It’s almost like we’re taking turns, or something.”

He blinks, baby blue eyes clearing up. He shifts in his spot, feeling trills of pleasure from friction against erection. Your sheets. Against his erection. He bites back a smile. Okay, yes, he loves this. He likes hiding like this, right under your nose.

Him getting a boner was a development he had foreseen coming ten minutes ago, once he started daydreaming about you. So he just went ahead and casually switched positions. A risk, but a calculated one. He was pretty sure there’d be no reason for him to get up and expose the tent in his jeans. And boy does he love it when he’s right.

Tim goes to move another piece, when he glances up at you and nearly goes slack-jawed. You don’t meet his eyes. Instead, you wet your lips, seemingly meditating on something.

You meditate on him. After all, Tim is so… pretty. Pretty in a way unlike the rest of his gorgeous brothers. He has pretty eyes framed by dark lashes and a smaller frame, though he’s deceptively muscled under the clean-cut slacks and button ups. He has silky black hair that often falls into his eyes; a defined jaw. And pale skin. He is notably the palest in his family, burning miserably on beach days. It is that pale skin, contrasted so sharply with his dark green tee, that brings your eyes to his collarbones.

Tim nearly erupts.

Fuck, yes. He caught you staring. It takes him self-restraint not to puff out his chest or try to show more skin, lest he reveal his hard-on.

You snap out of it only moments after he notices, grin returning to your face.

“You know if you lose focus like that, I’m going to win,” you tease, almost childlike mischief in your expression.

Tim so badly wants to parrot the words back at you, but he doesn’t want to scare you into never checking him out ever again. The little inch you just gave him– oh, he intends to take a mile. Whatever small acquiesces you give in the future, he knows he’ll take that and much more.

Now, he’s hungry for you. As soon as this game is done, he’s going to create a new case study file, just for you. He could start kicking his feet at the thought, he's that excited. He’s excited!

He’ll put the pedestrian, basic stuff like your height, weight, alma mater, major, past jobs and experiences. Somehow get into your social media that’s all on private mode to see what you’re always laughing at on that damn phone. He’s also going to bring up your phone records, go through your email, go through your physical mail. Oh, fuck, surveillance. He’s already in your room, too, luckily. If only he had more of his bugs on hand… The ones he always keeps in his belt buckle will do for now. Also, Tim needs to think of some way to acquire your breast, waist, and hip size – he has a good idea of those measurements, but he wants to know. When is the next time you’ll be out of the house and not at work, he wonders–

“Tim,” you whine, impatient. The sound is music to his ears.

Tim’s eyes rise from the board to your pouting face, and he smiles apologetically. Suddenly, your face dawns with disbelief and indignance.

Tim swiftly picks up one last piece and knocks one yours over.

“Checkmate.”

#yandere tim drake #yandere batfam #tim drake x reader #tim drake #yandere tim drake x reader #mine #this was so hard but i feel much better about writing him #TuT wow feels like forever since i posted anything

633 notes · View notes

sirfrogsworth · 5 months

Text

When I got to this photo in Katrina's collection of vintage family imagery, I was pretty stumped as to how to approach it.

There is a major problem when you zoom in to 100%.

The paper it was developed on has little micro bumps. When it was scanned, the light from the scanner caused a highlight on one side of the bump and a shadow on the other. This causes a pattern which is nearly impossible to eliminate using traditional techniques.

The easiest way to fix this is actually quite clever. You scan it once, then turn it upside down and scan it again. The second pass reverses the side the highlight and shadow appear on, so you can combine the images in Photoshop and blend them together, essentially canceling out the bumps. It's weirdly analogous to noise canceling headphones.

But I don't have access to the physical copy of this image.

So... now what?

Enter Fast Fourier Transform or FFT.

This is a filter that uses extra fancy math to recognize patterns in the image and eliminate them. There is a pretty good filter for Photoshop, but it does not work easily with newer Macs with Apple Silicon. I really did not want to figure that out, and I also was too tired to go downstairs to my PC. However, I learned that a Photoshop competitor, Affinity Photo, has this filter built in. So, I downloaded a trial copy and started the process of trying to figure out how to fix this image.

It was amazingly simple. It brings up these star patterns and you just paint black circles over every one but the center. It literally felt like magic. (Full screen with sound recommended)

So once I did this process I ended up with this...

The paper still had a rough texture but it was much easier to work with using traditional techniques. I started with a black and white conversion and meticulously went through the photo zapping scratches and flaws and balancing tones and sharpening facial features. All of my photo restoration tricks were needed.

I eventually landed here...

I then thought maybe I should match the sepia tone of the original print, so I got to here...

I think the black and white looks nicer in this instance, but I always like having options and this is the most faithful representation of how the photo originally looked.

But there is something else I have been playing around with lately. Photoshop has these experimental neural filters that use cloud processing to do various tricky enhancements. Most of them are in beta and they can be very quirky. But they have a colorizer that tries to detect people and things and adds color to them. Not every black and white photo is a good candidate. I have found these professional portrait photos work decently, but the filter is very hit-and-miss. And there are tools within the filter to help you make a miss more of a hit, but often I have to accept the photo isn't going to work.

But I decided to give it a shot with this one and surprisingly, the colorizer got me most of the way there.

I can work with that.

The one thing it does well is skin. Manually painting color onto skin is tricky and requires more skill and knowledge of traditional painting techniques than I have. But if a filter can do that part for me, I can do the rest.

So after my touchups, I got the image to here.

All I have left to do is my standard color enhancements to make them a little less ghostly and a little more human.

And I present to you where I started and the finished product. I encourage you to flip back and forth.

I'm not sure how, but I was able to go from an image I thought was impossible to edit to a beautiful colorized memory for my best friend's mom. I cannot wait to show her.

#long post #photography #photo restoration

868 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 4 months

Text

The Intern Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After you try to delay the inevitable, you begin your job search. At least that way you'll be able to get out of your father's house and away from everyone who acts like you're incapable of doing anything on your own. When Bradley pursues you, in part to bolster his own agenda, he's pretty convinced you're more capable than most.

Warnings: Language, reader's dad has a name (eventually 18+)

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Find the Prologue here.

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

Your father wasted no time over the breakfast that his chef made. You were still in your pajamas which consisted of a white silk camisole and shorts set, but he was already in a charcoal suit and tie, ready to seize the day. Or at the very least, your freedom.

"You need an internship," he said firmly as he smeared jelly on a piece of toast. "You need to complete a professional internship to show everyone that you are clever and talented and can think on your feet. You need to show them in person that your last name has nothing to do with it."

This was going to be a lot more involved than you originally thought. You carefully cut into your poached egg and asked, "So I can't just intern with you?"

He sighed and gave you a bland look. "I would love to have you with me all day and show you the ropes at Avio Technologies, but you already know that's not possible. You need to find a different department or a different company altogether."

You chewed your food and shot him a bland look of your own. It was almost amusing that he thought he could outwit you when he was the one who taught you how to play all of his games. "Maybe we could talk about this tomorrow?"

"You already got an extra day out of me, Sweetheart. My generosity has been all used up."

He looked almost amused now, so you knew you were skating on thin ice as you said, "I think an internship that starts in September would be the way to go."

When he set his knife down and bit into his toast, you straightened your back while he chewed. He took his time responding, and when he did, he asked, "And what exactly would you do during June, July and August?"

"There's a lot to be said for a little relaxation, Daddy," you told him in your most professional voice. "I've spent the last six years working nearly every day."

"And I've spent the last thirty five years working nearly every day. Please, get to your point."

You folded your hands in front of yourself and said, "I would be a better intern if I were well rested."

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood, taking one last sip of his coffee. If you or he wanted more to eat, his chef would make it. And you could see his housekeeper standing in the kitchen doorway ready to run in and clean up after him as soon as he left the dining room. All of it made you want to scream. You weren't even sure you wanted this lifestyle.

"Are you aware of the stipulations on your trust fund?" your father asked you in a voice laced with more than warning. You could feel the blood rush from your face. You'd been waiting your entire life for that money, and not because you wanted to use it the same way he did.

"Yes."

He nodded at you before he kissed your forehead. "Then make your decisions accordingly. I'll be back in a few hours."

As soon as he was out of the dining room, his housekeeper had her hands on his empty plate and coffee cup, and you abandoned the rest of your food for the relative solace of your bedroom. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, but it was close to lunchtime on the east coast. Maybe you could call one of your friends from school, but they were probably starting internships of their own this week. You glanced out your windows at the pool, but the landscaping crew was out there with leaf blowers, so you just flopped down onto your bed.

What did you want out of an internship? You wanted it to be like school. You had no problem with hard work, but you preferred it to come with a hefty side of fun. Cocktails, dancing, late night dinners, boys, shopping. You weren't too picky about how that fun was served up, but you were absolutely certain there was more to life than working nonstop. And nobody in their right mind needed as much money as your father had.

You reached for your computer and rolled onto your stomach. The last place you wanted to intern was at Avio Technologies where your supervisor would report every detail of your work back to him. Even if you found a department that had nothing to do with what he was working on, you'd be screwed. Your dad knew everyone. He'd find out if you forgot to cover your mouth when you coughed or yawned too loudly. No, you needed to find something without your dad's help.

After you update your résumé and your LinkedIn profile, you thought about contacting that hot recruiter you met in grad school. You were pretty sure you still had his number in your phone contacts. Maybe you should make a to-do list. Or maybe you should go back to bed now that your dad was gone. You ended up lounging around for so long that your stomach was growling because of your unfinished breakfast.

"Fuck it," you murmured, strolling out of your room still in your silk pajamas. If the groundskeepers saw you as you walked past the French doors, then it was their own fault. And honestly, you were more covered up now than you were when you were wearing your bathing suit anyway.

The fact that you had to sneak into the kitchen so nobody tried to help you toast a slice of bread was beyond annoying, but you tiptoed through the house anyway. You ended up walking around as you ate the toast, probably leaving a trail of crumbs, but at least this way the housekeeper would be entertained again. You wondered what the staff did all day long when it was only your dad here. He could literally take care of himself if he tried, but why try when you're worth billions?

You popped the last bite into your mouth and started dancing through the foyer to the song that was stuck in your head. You did a few spins and pirouettes, and then you started making up an actual routine as you hummed. When you heard the front door open, you tried to freeze, but your foot caught on the marble floor, and you stumbled awkwardly. Just when you braced yourself for a lecture from your father, you were greeted by deep laughter and amused brown eyes instead.

"Oh," you said, pressing your palm to your chest as you regained your footing. "It's just you."

"Just me," Bradley Bradshaw replied with a shrug. He surveyed your body, and you could tell he was trying his best not to react to your outfit. Or lack thereof.

You crossed your arms over your chest. "Yes. I'm still in my pajamas."

"I didn't say a word about it," he replied immediately, those brown eyes suddenly feigning innocence.

You knew your shorts left nothing to the imagination. You were also very aware that your nipples were probably peaked against your silk top, but you kept reminding yourself you were wearing less than this yesterday in the pool. Bradley however was wearing another designer suit that hugged him in all the right places, and his tie was once again a little too loose for you to take him completely seriously. His hair was a bit mussed today, too. Maybe his wife or girlfriend had run her fingers through it, but if that was the case, then he shouldn't be looking at you this way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked him.

His hands were back on his narrow hips as he replied, "Supposed to have lunch with your father."

"At least the chef and housekeeper will have something to do," you muttered to yourself. Then a little louder you said, "My dad's not back yet, and I hope you don't expect me to entertain you."

He chuckled. "Of course not. You look busy as hell dancing around. I definitely wouldn't want to interrupt that."

"Correct," you replied, tipping your chin in the air. "I've got no time for nonsense. Unless... did you bring your Armani swim trunks? It's a little early in the day for skinny dipping." You took a step closer to him. You couldn't pinpoint exactly why it was so fun to tease him, but he looked down at the floor and blushed a little bit before he replied which made you feel even bolder.

He met your eyes and said, "How embarrassing. I'm too early for lunch, and I'm too early for skinny dipping." His voice was a little softer now and you bit your lip, which drew his gaze to your mouth.

"You could always come back later."

His amused smile from yesterday was back as he said, "You really are a bit of a brat."

Then your father was right there, closing the front door behind him with a flourish as you took a step away from Bradley. He hadn't moved an inch, and his eyes were still on yours even as your father said his name.

"Sir," Bradley replied, turning toward him and holding out his hand. Your father shook it before patting him on the shoulder.

"We've been over this before, Bradley. You can call me Ted. We've been working together for a while."

"Ted," Bradley repeated, and you could tell that your father was secretly pleased by this show of respect. You wanted to roll your eyes, and then you realized that you were standing in the foyer in your pajama set at noon, and that was going to be a problem.

When your father turned toward you, his gaze was unamused. "Have you done anything today?"

"It's only lunchtime, Daddy," you replied. "But I updated my résumé."

"You have something better than a résumé," he snapped. "You have connections. Use them. I want you to have solidified an internship by the end of the week."

"But-"

He cut you right off, and you could feel the heat rising to your face as Bradley looked at you a little sympathetically.

"I don't generally deal with people who force me to repeat myself," your father said. "And I think you'll find I'm not the only one."

Now you were getting a little angry. He was talking to you like you just tanked a business deal for him. "I'm not some random person from your company."

But you could tell he wasn't listening now. He wouldn't really listen again until you had a job. "Once you find yourself an internship, I think you'll see that whomever you're working under won't take kindly to that sort of attitude. Now go get dressed," he said, dismissing you as he nodded toward the dining room and started walking.

You were left standing there with your hands on your silk covered hips and your bottom lip held firmly between your teeth. Bradley was giving you a curious look as he started to follow your father. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," you replied, barely meeting his eyes. Your dad embarrassed you in front of him. And sure, maybe you should have been dressed for the day, but you just got back to California. You wanted a chance to catch your breath. But now you were standing there watching both of their retreating forms with a bad taste in your mouth.

----------------------------

After an uneventful lunch with Ted, Bradley walked slowly back through his house. It was really more of a mansion or an estate, something that Bradley supposed he himself could afford now if he so desired, but he was used to his condo in Mission Hills. And he just couldn't picture having staff living with him.

He found that his head was on a swivel, peeking out the French doors to check the pool area and glancing up the main stairs to see if you were still around. A smile always crept to his lips whenever he thought about you, and it was obvious why. You were clearly a bit of a handful. Definitely a touch bratty. Old enough to know better, but young enough to not give too much of a damn. And you always made Bradley laugh.

At Christmastime, you were tipsy and tried to get him to drink a bottle of wine with you. He spent the rest of the night wondering what would have happened if he actually followed you into your father's kitchen, just the two of you. If anyone else happened upon that scene, he figured it would have gotten back to Ted. It was probably for the best that someone else had interrupted that.

But now his mind was swirling with information. You needed an internship. Bradley was headed off to Europe and could use an extra hand with work all summer. There would be endless meetings and constant schmoozing about the proprietary missile guiding software that Avio Technologies was currently peddling to the US Navy. Bradley was silently dreading doing it alone.

You might also serve as a useful source of information. If anyone knew what exactly was going on at Avio regarding the misuse of funds that he was certain he'd stumbled upon, Bradley was sure it would be Ted. Your father knew everyone. He had his hands in the research end of things where Bradley worked as well as the sales end of things where his old friend Jake Seresin was currently dabbling.

This is why Bradley was spending so much of his time here now; he was looking for information. And also for Ted's daughter. If he could appeal to your tastes as far as a job went, maybe he could get you to join him for the summer.

"Once again, I'm sorry about my daughter," Ted said with a sigh as he walked Bradley across the foyer. "She's stubborn. Headstrong. She wants to have her own agenda. She'll make an exceptional CFO someday."

Bradley couldn't help but chuckle. "Something tells me you're right."

"She just has a lot to learn about staying in your pajamas until noon and working your connections to your benefit, but she'll get there," he replied with a wave of his hand.

Bradley glanced up the stairs one more time, hoping for a glimpse of white silk and your pretty face, but you had tucked yourself away somewhere out of sight. "Thanks for lunch," Bradley said, holding out his hand for Ted to shake. "I always appreciate when you let me pick your brain, sir."

He chuckled and clapped Bradley on the back again. "How many times do I have to tell you to use my first name?"

"Always one more, I guess," Bradley replied, heading toward the front door with a smile. "See you at the office later this week."

Once he was outside in the sunlight, he slipped on his favorite pair of aviators he'd had since he first started flying F/A-18s and headed for his SUV. He walked past an assortment of sports cars in the circular drive before he got to his more modest black Range Rover Velar. As he drove back into the city to the office, he already started to formulate a plan. He just hoped you'd be around when he showed up again tomorrow. You were already integral to his agenda.

When his phone rang, he took it in the car as he wove through traffic. He didn't even check the number since only a handful of people had it. "Bradshaw," he said as he pulled up to a red light. "Bradley, it's Judy." He sighed and relaxed back against the seat; his receptionist was exceptional. She could take a pile of bullshit and whittle it down to the bare minimum of necessary information for him. He needed to give her another raise. "I have a few résumés here, and some of them were dropped off by hand. You know... a few Vice Presidents are trying to get their kids jobs in the software development lab. There are also some who are hoping for professional internships. Want to look at them, or should I toss them?"

Bradley ran his hand over his mouth before he said, "I'm on my way back to the office now. I'll take a look at them, but I'm hoping I found an alternative solution to a professional intern that might just be perfect."

------------------------

The following morning, you stood in your closet and held up your white bikini. You looked at it longingly, ran your fingers along the cute triangles that made up the top and wrapped the ties around your fingers before tossing it aside. Instead, you changed out of your pink nightie into an outfit that your father would probably refer to as 'smart casual' as soon as he saw you.

But you were alone for breakfast, because he was already gone for the day. When his chef asked you what you wanted to eat, she looked annoyed when you said cereal and fruit and told her you could get it yourself. The refrigerator was completely stocked, and you loved that your dad had removed cherries from his shopping lists since you found out you were allergic.

You swiped a peach and some berries onto the counter and started cutting them up, and now the chef looked like she was about to faint. You added them to the top of your cereal bowl and smiled pleasantly at her before you headed into the dining room with your coffee and breakfast. You'd have to contact some potential employers today. You already knew that. But you found yourself lingering over your meal until the cereal was soggy, trying to put off the inevitable a little longer.

You bargained with yourself. If you spent the morning looking for an internship, then you could lounge by the pool for the afternoon. "Excellent bargaining. You're so smart," you told yourself as you returned your dirty dishes to the kitchen while the housekeeper bounced on her feet nervously. She met you at the sink and snagged everything out of your hands.

With your computer on your lap, you sat on the couch and made a list of companies in San Diego that might fit the bill. The problem was, Avio was at the top of the list, simply because of the sheer number of different departments housed in the main office downtown. When you clicked on the Research and Development header, you saw a smug looking photo of Bradley Bradshaw and started to laugh.

"Clearly you know you're handsome," you muttered, reading about him in his short bio. Department Lead for Research and Development at Avio Technologies. Fifteen years as a US Naval aviator. Retired with medals of honor and a rank of Lieutenant Commander. Leading Avio in cutting edge research for naval aircraft software. "Impressive."

You scrolled through a few other departments and made a separate list of people to ask your father to introduce you to. When your stomach started growling, you realized it was already noon. "Time flies when you're not having fun," you murmured as you dashed upstairs, your bikini calling to you like a siren song.

Only because it would be convenient, you decided to ask the chef to make you lunch so you could eat it outside by the pool. You were just tying your sheer beach cover up over your bathing suit and leaving your room when you heard your dad's voice along with some others. As silently as you could, you tiptoed barefoot down the main stairs, looked both ways and dashed to the left toward the French doors. And then you slammed directly into someone.

"Shit," you whispered, grabbing onto an Armani suit while hands came up to your back to steady you. Then you looked up into those same pretty brown eyes as the big hands tightened around your waist. "It's you again."

Bradley was laughing, and the deep rumble had you pressing yourself against him. "Me again."

You tried not to laugh as you whispered, "If you come with me, you can ditch the rest of the suits." For some reason, you wanted him to join you on the patio, just like he had the other day. He'd ditched everyone else for your company then, and you wanted him to do precisely that again.

You tugged him toward the doors, but he just shook his head. "It's too early for skinny dipping, remember?" A rather inappropriate retort was poised and ready to go, just sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he added, "But I actually was looking for you."

Now your heart fluttered. "You were?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, releasing his hold on you. Your initial instinct was to whine until he touched you again, and you had to bite your lip to prevent another embarrassing moment. "I couldn't help but overhear yesterday that you're looking for a professional internship."

When he paused, you said, "I am. Go on."

He smirked, and he looked so much like his photo on the Avio Technologies website, you almost started laughing again. "I think I have something that could be exactly what you're looking for. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I could be. As long as it doesn't interfere with my sunbathing," you told him, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as his gaze dipped briefly to your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as that pretty pink color flooded his cheeks. He reached into his pocket without taking his eyes off your face and then held a business card between his index and middle fingers right in front of your lips. "Call my office this afternoon. Judy will set something up for tomorrow." He paused again. "If you're interested."

You plucked the card from his grasp, and he smiled as he turned to his left and headed for your father's conference room. As you studied the tidy font, you wondered what he was looking for in an intern. You wondered what he could offer you. After a quick detour to grab your phone, you went outside to make a call.

You were interested.

------------------------

Interested is an understatement for me. Offer her a job, Bradley! And pack you swim shorts, baby boy. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

531 notes · View notes

wormtoxin · 9 days

Text

ok. Narrative obfuscation in House Of Leaves. It’s a relatively simple story about a man who moves into a house with his wife and kids, and the house is haunted. That’s it. The core themes are very transparent.

Except, that story is documented by a famous war documentarian, then published as a series of rare tapes, which are discoursed by film buffs, then interpreted from viewings and reading film critique by a blind old man, then his thoughts are transcribed into a manuscript by a series of young women, which is then compiled from scattered notes by the most mysoginistic, damaged, toxic pothead drop-out who won’t stop talking about his life, which is THEN edited and published by some vaguely nefarious agency who soberly refuse to provide any clarification or context.

It’s not simple, but there are so many different hands on the wheel with wildly differing opinions that you can’t discern the truth.

Johnny Truant is such a miserable hopeless fuck up. He has no sense of academic rigor or archival professionalism. Any interference he provides only muddies the waters and taints what would otherwise be a gripping piece of metaphysical film criticism. His neurotic rambling and personal anecdotes cloud an otherwise reasonable story.

If he wasn’t in it, if we could read Zampano’s manuscript directly, WE would be able to understand the truth. We would get it completely, and we wouldn’t have to encounter so much violence, so much miserable graphic detail. It would be a better story.

And fuck it, if we didn’t have to read all of Zampano’s tangents and analyses and interpretations, if we could just find a copy of the famous “five-and-a-half minute hallway” vhs, if we could SEE it, we’d understand. We wouldn’t need endless pontification of what Navidson and Karen’s marriage might entail, or recitations of what a director once said in a Rolling Stones article. We’d see the hallway itself, stretching out into what should be the backyard, and we’d get it. Hell, Zampano is blind in his old age. He can’t even watch the damn movie! But we could. We’d know instantly, the second we saw it. The impossibility of it, the gravity of it, the weight of that dark abyss.

And well, the VHS recording is a little dark, and the quality is poor, and maybe the white balance isn’t so perfect. And actually, VHs tapes could be manipulated. We can’t be sure that Navidson isn’t just using clever videography tricks to invent a hallway. If we were there, if we found the house (it’s in virginia, isn’t it? we even have the address). If we GO there, we could look down that hallway. And it’s dark, so if we just brought a flashlight, maybe took a few steps inside-

#house of leaves

388 notes · View notes

spdrvyn · 7 months

Note

https://youtu.be/VYFxeZQhe5Q

Cough cough miguel

Cough cough angst/fluff

⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

me gustas tu — MIGUEL O'HARA

☆ in where miguel finds himself hopelessly pining for you, he tries ever so hard to deny his feelings but it just seems like everything around him reminds him of you.

fluff. pining. hopeless romantic miguel. i'm so insane about him!!! whoever sent this request reveal yourself because i'm about to get you JOKE

Miguel wasn't in love with you. Not at all. Not in a million years.

His ego was severely wounded from the amount of times that he's been teased in conversations for having this supposed crush on you. Even in meetings, very serious and professional meetings, where tasks were distributed and stations assigned, the whole room of spiders would chitter whenever your name slipped from his mouth.

To make matters worse, you were well aware of this little charade that went on with your coworkers. Chipping into these mindless games, you sling an arm around Miguel's shoulder (somehow) and loudly proclaim that you were his lover.

How he loathed you for it, you stuck onto him like a parasite. Stalking behind him at headquarters and when he turns a corner, boo! You're there. You surprise him in the darkness of his office with a giddy smile, not even giving him the opportunity to kick you out before you hop onto his platform and ramble about how your day went.

Whenever you pushed his buttons, he'd push you away with a growl. It was infectious, your laugh echoes and bounces off the walls and he especially hates how you sometimes get him to laugh a little in turn.

He was just unable to escape you, whenever he left his spider-cave to get a snack from the cafeteria, he could catch you sitting at a table with a bunch of other Spider-People. Laughing, giggling as you dished out jokes like a chef on a line, and whenever you caught him, you'd call him over to say hello and which he'd always reply to get back to work otherwise leave.

Not to mention that you were all the gossip too, people would acclaim you for your impressive displays of strength and cleverness during missions and which Miguel would always walk the other way before his cheeks got too red.

Even in the sanctity of his own home, he wasn't safe. After making himself a cup of coffee, he'd get a peek of the cityscape before him and watch idly as the sun rises over the skyscrapers and buildings. It's radiance shone on whatever it could find, making everything in Miguel's apartment look a pretty golden including himself. To which Miguel would occassionally close the blinds and plunge himself in the gloom once more.

It only really caused him to despise you even more, he couldn't catch a moment of peace when a piece of you was bursting from every corner. Your tenacity, your energy, your preciousness, it was the breeze in the air and the blood in his veins. He hated it.

He hated you.

By this point, he'd run out of words to describe you. There were only so many words in the dictionary yet an endless amount of your spark.

You weakened him, you truly did. His subtlety was passable at most before, but the moment that you entered his life, it was like you reset all of his stats back to zero. Whenever you came striding in now, the littlest details on his face gave him away, the smallest of grins tugging at his lips, the slight relaxation of his brows, and the slacking of his shoulders.

Not to forget Lyla either, the moment you left the room, she'd be pulling up monitor after monitor of how alarmingly high his heart rate is going that he has to chase after her like moth to a flame.

As he slept at night, when he was able to sleep anyway, he knew that she was right. That everyone was right. No matter how hard he pouts, no matter how long he stood still in his chambers all day, the way his heart sang for you was all too much.

He knew he couldn't take it much longer, he could barely stand being in your presence. Each day he's tempted by the melodious sound of your voice, to just grab you by the shoulders, and skip the logic for once but he knows that he can't.

"Miguel," the sing-song sound of Lyla's voice breaks through the eerie silence of the room like hammer to glass. "You've got a priority call."

He practically sags against his desk, his coffee growing cold each passing second. He turns to her, squinting at the brightness of her hologramic body. God, it was too early for this.

"Who is it?"

Lyla doesn't say anything, her cheeky smirk creeps Miguel out for a bit before another screen pops up before his very eyes and he sees your contact vibrating with the options to accept or decline.

No unhealthy amount of caffeine could have energized Miguel as much as right now, he straightens his posture (for once), looking into the reflection of one of his monitors before smoothing his ruffled hair over with his palm. Lyla all but giggles at it.

His talons almost scrape the screen as he presses the accept button, trying to bring his expression to something more down to earth. He was cool, he was fine, he was okay.

Once the feed opens up, the camera isn't even focused on you. Instead on the crook of your shoulder as it shakes violently, judging from the way the wind blows into the microphone, you're in the middle of a scuffle right now.

"Hi, vamps!" Your voice is barely comprehensible among the sounds of monstrous roaring and debris falling, he's about to scold you for being so reckless during a fight but he finds it hard to do so. He just resorts to scowling at you through the camera.

"You know there's always time to contact me after your duties, I'll still be here." That's a lie. He knows damn well that at any given moment, the gates of hell will break lose and he'll have to put out all the fires, but he'll make time for you. Like he always does.

"Jeez, glad to know that you're so excited to me." you grunt, before delivering another punch to whatever beast you're fighting. Miguel has to fight back the amazement that seeps into the muscles in his face when he doesn't hear any more roaring, all from one blow.

"I'm just really excited, okay? I have something for you, I'll be in HQ in five." you beam at him, but the call comes to an abrupt end and Miguel is left pouty once more.

However, you're not the type to go back on your word and it gives him even more reason to be attracted to you when you come striding into his office with your hands behind your back. You're scheming.

He doesn't lower his platform for you, there's no point because you'd just go swinging up anyway and that you do. A long strand of your webbing sticks to the ceiling as you pull yourself up, you tip over the edge a little and Miguel immediately moves to stabilize you with two hands on each side of your waist.

"Careful," He doesn't scold you this time either. When he says it, it's not to reprimand you. He says it as if you're an art display, the magnum opus of someone's fruitful work that he adores. His touch lingers for a moment before he backs off and takes a step back.

"Sorry, post-battle adrenaline is still doing its thing." You chuckle, your smile really is contagious. "Anyway, are you excited for my gift?"

"If it's a gun to end my misery then I'm absolutely ecstatic for it," Miguel scoffs, his fingers go for his holographic to pretend that he's actually doing something and definitely not admiring your voice.

"Don't be like that, vamps. I promise it's good," You slide over to him still keeping your hands behind your back as your smile widens. "I just need you to close your eyes for me."

"If you actually did bring a gun, I swear to god, I'm going to—"

You shake your head frantically, trying to stifle your thunderous laughter. "No, no! It's totally innocent, I swear."

All he really does is look at you for a few moments, even tilting to the side a little to see if he could get the slightest peek of what you're holding but you don't allow him that. He rolls his eyes and relents. "Fine, don't do anything destructive please."

He's lucky he closes his eyes before he gets to see you smile, it's hazardous, bright enough to blind him as you clap your hands softly before taking a step closer to him.

Gently, you reach for his forearm, fingers brushing lightly against his wrist and he wants to shiver. Like he did earlier, your touch stays for a while, burning into his skin and it'll keep him up at night later. He'll think about what he could've done, how badly he wanted to touch you back.

"You can open them again," Angelic. He wants to say. You could tell him to jump off a cliff and he'd listen but opening his eyes would do.

His gaze flickers down to his wrist where it's lined with beads, red and blue. Not just the classic Spider-Man red and blue, his red and blue. He turns the bracelet a little and there's lettered beads that spell out his name too, he doesn't know what to say.

You hold your wrist next to his, you have the exact same bracelet, but it's your colors and your name. "Now, we match. I impulsively bought a bracelet making kit last weekend and it just arrived last night."

Which meant that you were up with the moon fully out, bruising your fingers over making a bracelet. For him. His bracelet.

You tilt your head to the side, "Earth 928 to Miguel?"

"Don't keep your hopes up, this thing might break in a week."

"Ah, there he is."

You cross your arms over your chest, mimicking the frown that trademarks his face. "So I don't get a thank you for making you such a beautifully handcrafted gift? With beads from trees I planted and chopped down myself? Miguel, you have no manners."

It takes him a moment. Maybe two. He keeps switching between the accessory and then you, the accessory and then you. How could he think? Let alone speak right now?

"... Thank you." was all he could pathetically muster, letting his hand drop to his side as his eyes shifted around the room uncomfortably.

"You're welcome, vamps. Besides if your bracelet breaks, I ordered a shit ton of beads. Just ask, okay?" You don't say it like how you usally do, teasing and confident. It's gentle and reassuring and Miguel knows that he doesn't deserve it but he can't help but be selfish.

He gives you a curt nod and the both of you stand in silence for a few seconds before you cut in saying that brooding wasn't really your style, you leave his place once more but not the place in his mind. You will never leave the place in his mind.

Lyla pops up, above the screen of his gizmo where she coos. "You know I'd ask if they could make me one too but this kinda feels like a Miguel exclusive, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he huffs dejectedly, twiddling the beads between his fingers. His screens long discarded, enabling your role as workplace disturbance again.

"It is."

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #lyla #x reader #x gn!reader #x gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #fluff #romance #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fanfiction

627 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 2 months

Text

I Am the Kiwi

Rating: General CW: None Apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post Season 4, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insecure Eddie Munson, Negative Self Talk, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Calls Eddie Munson Pet Names, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson

🥝—————🥝

Maybe he shouldn’t bother their tentative relationship by asking insecure questions.

But that’s not how Eddie’s mind works. He’s never known peace unless there’s been an answer. If he senses the beginning of a question like the itchy fur of a kiwi on his tongue, he has to spit it out. And only then, even if the answer is bleak and even if the answer is negative, he’s at peace with it. He’ll just remember to cut the skin off later, taste the fruit for what it is, find something else about it to savor. Because not everything is sweet. And most of the world is bitter like the skin of that kiwi.

He peels the skin off, hair and all, offering it out to Steve to ponder. In the quiet space of his living room, surrounded by warm love in the shape of Wayne’s mug and hat collection, the five year old instruction manuals for appliances they don’t even have anymore, and amber lightbulbs stained with the broken limbs and melted corpses of stink bugs. Maybe he is an unfortunate bug, drawn to Steve’s light. Maybe he is willing to give himself, all of himself, the ugly parts and disgusting parts to something warm and savoring and bright inside Steve. He knows he is. He always has been.

In the quiet, Steve hot under his arm, droopy with fatigue, chuckling low at the sitcom on the television set, Eddie prickles with unanswered unease. He drags his rough palm down Steve’s soft right arm, fingernails dully scratching from mole to mole, pressing into his loose muscles. Eddie leans his head down, cheek laid atop Steve’s voluminous hair, and he breathes him in. Fruity sweetness, floral undertones, some sort of professional salon shampoo. He kisses tender.

“Why do you love somebody like me?” He breathes. And in the quiet, he startles himself, no matter how much that question begged to break free. Steve tenses in his hold, but Eddie can only force him in tighter. Fingers pressing harsh into his fatty parts. Nails mean and sharp and jagged. He buries himself farther into Steve’s beautiful hair.

His boyfriend is gorgeous. And he’s self-sufficient. Kind in a way Eddie seems to have forgotten to be. How can somebody like Steve love him?

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His breaths falter in the room. Like he’s trying to catch his breath after being scared in a haunted house. Maybe, if Eddie allows himself to marinate in it, maybe it’s exactly like that. There’s something rippling, haunted, venturing lonely and howling under Eddie’s skin. He thinks it started with his mom’s death, percolated when his dad went to prison, came full bloom like a crumpled flower on Wayne’s doorstep so many years ago. In a way, Steve is scared. Not scared of Eddie. Or the truth. But this third thing, of answering the question. Of finding the right words, to which Eddie knows he struggles with—so in all aspects, asking something partially insecure and partially selfish is demeaning. It’s, if Eddie thinks about it, challenging Steve’s love.

There is no response, not yet. But what does fill between them is the live studio audience laughter. The laughter of people who probably didn’t find the joke particularly funny or even clever. They’re just there to laugh. To see behind the scenes of some TV show. To be recognized among the crowd.

Sitcom laughter. And Eddie refuses to let Steve see him.

He hears Steve take a tentative deep breath. The back of his hand touched by the softness of Steve’s palm. And he’s reminded, even in the simplest interactions such as this, that they come from two different worlds. Of all those biases he held onto for years. Unable to get over himself or get with the program. Steve is nothing of what Eddie thought. He’s a jock, sure. And he’s got the better life in some ways; nothing to really label him as other and a status that seems to override him, but it’s not negative. He isn’t a bully. He’s soft and kind and sweet and loving, not a douchebag. A good person. Where, sometimes, Eddie feels as though he lacks all the qualities that Steve seems to be plentiful in.

“Eddie—“

“No, sorry,” he apologizes immediately. His voice small and childlike. “Sorry, that’s not okay to ask. You love me and that needs to be enough.”

Then, Steve shifts. Pulling himself away, sitting on the edge of the cushion, turning to be face to face. And Eddie’s ashamed. He’s mad at himself, too. If the heartbreaking soft sadness in Steve’s eyes is anything. His little frown, pulling down his pretty lips and furrowing his eyebrows and making him wrinkle in all the bad ways. He tilts his head and peers at Eddie.

“I love you because I just do,” he murmurs, “I don’t know how to explain why I do. You’re unlike anybody I’ve ever loved.”

Eddie swallows, takes a breath, and asks, “In a good way or a bad way?”

Steve’s gaze softens. The sadness still lingering, but replaced by determination, even the lightest form of it. “Always in a good way,” he whispers. He reaches out, takes Eddie’s right hand in his left and squeezes. He’s so soft. “You know who you are. And you’re loud about it. I admire that about you.” He closes his eyes, thinking. When he’s gathered, his voice is enamored and murmuring, “And, baby, you’re gentle even if you don’t realize it. You know how and when to take care of the people around you. I’ve never—I’ve always been the one to do that in relationships. You make me feel…Complete.”

Eyes back on him, Eddie swallows most of this insecurity. “Really? You think I complete you?” He questions meekly.

Then, Steve nods, not even taking a moment to consider. Because he just knows. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I know we just started this whole…thing—“ he swings their tangled hands back and forth between them. Eddie chuckles, earning him the most earnest smile he’s probably ever seen. “But, I have a feeling that we’ve got something special. Plus, we’ve got all the free time in the world, y’know, now that it’s not ending. We’ll be okay. I love loving you.”

“I love loving you, too,” Eddie murmurs in turn. He brings his free hand up and brushes some stray strands of Steve’s hair back. Thumb tickling down his temple, swiping under his eye where it’s heavy and blue. “I’m sorry for doubting your love.”

“Honey,” Steve sighs. “It’s really okay. I get it, you know? Everybody has their insecurities. Hell, I have some deeply awful ones.” He leans into Eddie. His warmth radiating once more. Breath ghosting over his cheek, words soft, “I will always reassure you. Because I know you’d do the same for me.” And then, Steve presses a tacky, sweet kiss to his cheek. The tip of his nose crumpling with the soft plunge he gives into Eddie’s skin. He is cracked open raw and for once, instead of being turned away or shunned, somebody is there to enjoy him. Steve is there to savor. “You’re special,” he whispers, “my special one.”

Eddie can only melt in his hands. He’s content with this answer. Fulfilled.

This relationship may be new, but Eddie knows it’ll soon be something sacred. Like the sticky, sugary green insides of a ripe kiwi.

🥝—————🥝 Fun fact, I'm allergic to kiwis. Found this out after my tongue got itchy from the skin of a kiwi. That was a scarring thing to discover in the middle of my kindergarten snack time, tell you that much. Haven't had one since.

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt/comfort

122 notes · View notes

ladykinrannoch · 2 months

Text

Reading - the photo is real, exposes the Harkles...The Tower is here.

I used the Luna Sol Tarot early this morning on my yoga mat. It is fast becoming a favorite for these early morning readings.

My topic was that photograph. I read from Catherine's energy since I seem to connect very easily with her.

Note it is New Moon in Pisces right now. Deeply connected to intuition and compassion. Also shedding old habits cutting ties (disposing toxic relationships and situatiins) and setting new intentions for being. This energy has been around for a few days pre the New Moon.

Situation: King of Swords

Powerful male energy, mastery and usually professionals. This has been a tricky situation for Catherine and KP. Damned if they do and damned if they don't. And I think they are well aware of how tricky its been to manage her privacy while C recovers. I get a strong feeling it is also a very very clever strategy. A well thought out one. That has been planned possibly as a trap. Are their lawyers and investigators involved? Will the House of Wales sue the House of Sussex for harassment, will the media be sued for feeding the Harkle conspiracies?

Is the photo real and unmanipulated?

Knight of Pentacles - yes the photograph is real and not photshopped. This knight is slow moving energy which means they gave a lot of thought to this. It is also the reliable knight. So I can reliably say the photo is real. I am not getting H energy here at all. Except for the fact that the intention may have been to trap him?

Why did KP and William release the photograph for mothers day?

Ace of Disc's - another earth energy. Remember Catherine is Capricorn an earth sign. She planned this, she wanted to be reliable and respond to the tradition of releasing a picture for Mothering Sunday. This is fresh start too. I feel like Catherine took this decision on her own. This is her way of speaking for herself. I think she is making herself heard. She wants to approach things her way now. As I have said before Catherine has accepted and embraced her path to Queen. Aces are a new beginning. I think the Catherine we see after Easter will be more firm, more vocal and much much stronger. I don't think she will give in anymore to old fashioned rules. She intends to take control of things around her and build her image how she wants to be seen. This is no walkover. It is strong and yet the card suggests she will execute this with grace and dignity.

Did someone influence the Kill Notice with the agencies.

The Fool - I am interpreting this as a yes, but it is naive and foolish to think it won't come out. This cards warning is look before you leap. In fact it could have been a smart and deliberate trap to flush out the squad bots. And they were foolish enough to leap! I wonder where this road will lead?

Outcome for Catherine?

King of Disc's - She is in control. She has proved her point. Catherine is in her personal power at the moment. It is masculine energy, so this is not a side of Catherine we have seen before. I have an image of a chess board. Again I get the sense that Catherine is winning this game.

Underlying energy from Catherine's point of view

Four of Discs - I feel this is saying be reliable, stick to traditions. Fours are about stability. Catherine wanted to reassure the public about her health. Discs or pentacles can represent the physical body as well. But she also did not want to let people down. It has proved that even in her absence the people and the nation trust and love her.

I wanted to know more about the fool to know who started this nonsense about this photo. I was drawn to the next two cards at the bottom of the deck...

Unsurprisingly Five wands Pentacles (author correction) the poor poverty stricken duo in exile showed up. But this time one of them acted alone.

How does it turn out for the Fool who should looked before leaping? The Tower very very badly. If you thought every thing they do backfires, this wrong move out does every mean thing they've done. Notice the card. Its her and him. This is their tower moment. The evidence has been gathered. The proof is there. Something will be done. It is over for the Harkles this time. Expect that big bang this Spring!

#brf #british royal family #tarot by ladykinrannoch #tarot #royal reading #prince william #princess of wales #prince harry

112 notes · View notes

tundrakatiebean · 2 years

Text

Judging from the Daily Dracula tag a lot of people don’t know how copies were made with a typewriter - which is totally fair but is something I know so it’s grating at me.

Carbon copy paper existed and was used to make copies. The letters from a typewriter hit the paper hard enough to transfer the letters to another paper beneath and it was common to do two layers so you’d make three copies in one go. Mina, being a modern and clever woman with professional level typing skills, was most likely implementing this to make three copies at once while typing all of the information. One copy with ink letters directly from the typewriter and two copies made with carbon paper.

Fun aside the CC on emails comes from ‘carbon copy’ which stems from this practice of making immediate copies of handwritten or typed documents and giving someone a copy.

#dracula daily #I’ve seen more than one post saying Mina typed everything three whole times #so just here you go fun little tidbit

2K notes · View notes

coochiequeens · 11 months

Text

"She lied to a military police officer down by a hospital ship, said she was going to interview nurses about the 'woman’s angle,' and they let her on, because, as she said, no one gave a hoot about the woman’s angle. It served as the perfect forged passport for her," said Somerville. She resorted to those measures because her husband, Ernest Hemingway, tried to take over her journalist career.

This Saturday, June 6, will be the 76th anniversary of D-Day, the battle that would come to represent the beginning of the end of World War II.

There was just one woman, a war correspondent, on the beaches at Normandy that day the allied forces liberated Western Europe from Nazi Germany: the singular Martha Gellhorn. Author Janet Somerville traces Gellhorn’s extraordinary life in her book Yours, For Probably Always: Martha Gellhorn’s Letters of Love and War.

"Since 1937, Martha had been a war correspondent for Collier’s magazine. She knew about the Allied invasion, that there was a plan to cover the Allied invasion of Normandy, and she was determined to cover that," Somerville said.

The problem was, her very famous husband at the time, Ernest Hemingway, pulled the rug out from under her professionally.

"Hemingway had gone to New York, introduced himself to her editor at Collier’s and said ‘I’ll be your war correspondent.’ And he took her accreditation papers. Which was a bit of a problem," said Somerville.

Each publication could send just one correspondent. But Gellhorn was resourceful and clever. She found herself passage on a munitions ship from New York that would get her to Europe. She was the only woman and the only civilian aboard that ship, which landed in Liverpool. Then, she just needed to get to Normandy.

Once on board the hospital ship, Gellhorn locked herself into a bathroom until they sailed. When the ship docked in Normandy, she waded ashore through waist-deep water with some of the medical officers.

"She became the only woman and the only war correspondent to be actually on the beaches at Normandy, evacuating the wounded."

Though she was there as a journalist to write about the event, she couldn’t help but tend to the wounded soldiers. She had an uncanny ability, Somerville says, to focus on what needed to be done. So when she saw that the wounded were hungry and thirsty, she set to work.

"She just took it in her stride and found somebody who could bring teapots to tip into their mouths,if they couldn't hold a glass. She just took charge and made sure that they got something," Somerville said.

She also managed to be one of many correspondents who wrote about D Day.

"The incredible thing about D-Day is that accredited correspondents produced 700,000 words of text, just about D-Day," Somerville said. "Martha was one of them. She had a piece called 'Over and Back' that Collier’s published."

Gellhorn went on to report into her old age, from all corners of the globe. She filed her last piece, about the murdered street children of Salvador, Brazil, more than 50 years after D-Day, when she was 87 years old.

Yours, For Probably Always: Martha Gellhorn’s Letters of Love and War, 1930-1949 by Janet Somerville is available at the link above, or wherever you buy your books.

#Women in history #Women in World War II #D-Day #women in journalism #Martha Gellhorn #janet Somerville #Yours #For Probably Always: Martha Gellhorn’s Letters of Love and War #Books by women #books about women #Fuck Ernest Hemingway

606 notes · View notes

weirdmarioenemies · 1 year

Photo

Name: The face from Minesweeper

Debut: from Minesweeper

Minesweeper is a pretty cool game! I like it. I went through my entire life not knowing how to play it, and then a few months ago decided “I will learn how Minesweeper works” and now I like it well enough. But even before I liked it as a game, there was something about it that was always charming! Even as a silly baby, I felt positive energy radiating from this game with an honestly horrific premise, because this grid of squares and numbers was Smiling at me!

The Face From Minesweeper may register as an Emoji to you, but it actually predates them! This strange creature is a Smiley. More than a mere smiling face, a Smiley is like a sort of animal. Everyone loved Smiley! You can think of it on the level of other fan-favorite animal, Dog. Just like Dog, Smiley got all sorts of merchandise! Toys, decoration, even smiling French Fries! One day, however, the magic day finally came when world leaders agreed it was time to domesticate Smiley.

Though many would have loved to have a pet Smiley of their own, it was decided that they were unfit for such a lifestyle. Instead, they would become beasts of burden... they would be Used. The selective breeding began! Over time, they became smaller, cuter. They gained a wider range of readable facial expression. Most importantly, they were now hardy enough to be sent all over the world countless times per day. And that is how Emojis came to be! Linked gene shenanigans also led to some shaped like animals, plants, objects, even symbols! Don’t worry about it. But if you are interested, I think they released a documentary about this in 2017.

After this section in which I deliberately transitioned away from smileys and toward emojis, I would like to immediately return to smileys if that’s okay. Thank you. The face from Minesweeper is always watching... but not in a scary way! In a nice way. The face is your buddy. If it ever feels too hard, you can click the face, and its square will be pressed in, and the puzzle will be reset! No shame in that.

I wonder, where does the face end, and its platform begin? Is the face even the extent of the entity? Maybe the entire Minesweeper board is just a guy, and that’s where its face is! Minesweeper is a whole character!

In that case, then, it is even funnier that the face goes :O whenever you click a space. It COULD be that it is in suspense, since any wrong move can end in disaster, but maybe it’s just because you are poking its body! And that’s a little Weird. Evidence: it does this even if you click a cleared, safe square! It is reacting to touch, not anticipation! There we have it, Minesweeper is a creature. Also, I like to use the ease of activating this face like a little digital puppet! It is fun.

Like any creature, sadly, it can Die. However, it is at least functionally immortal and only ever in danger of explosions! Unfortunately, it contains land mines. I am becoming slightly convinced that Minesweeper (game) is, in fact, a bizarre sort of medical procedure where you help to isolate the explosives embedded in this grid-based life-form’s body. The only way to save it, sadly. And sadly, if you are not a professional, Minesweeper and its precious Face will die... but it’s okay. We have more! Just press the face and reset the game and don’t tell anyone!

If you win Minesweeper, then congratulations! You don’t get anything yourself, really. But that’s not what it’s all about. Minesweeper isn’t about YOU, the player. It’s about Minesweeper’s Face, the main character here! And after achieving victory, it is Cool. And you helped it get here! It turns out Minesweeper is all about helping another person become their best self, the story of an average schmuck who, with the help of a clever stranger, can become the coolest in town!

Lastly, I would like to show you Minesweeper as it appears as a character, in the Roblox game Databrawl! I don’t know anything else about this game! Don’t ask me about it please! I just think this design is really fun and cool!

#minesweeper #smiley #minesweeper face #minesweeper character #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

926 notes · View notes

suggs444 · 6 months

Text

Snitch: Mark Hoffman x gnReader.

Synopsis: You’re Mark Hoffman’s partner in work. He’s a closed book. Till you find out his darkest secret. You abide by the law, and seek to confront him. but the one problem? You and the detective have romantic tension. He’s your crush.

TW: swearing, degrading, sexual tension (???), manipulation, guns, kissing & hair pulling.

Gif by evilvvithin

…

You and Peter Strahm had been good friends. Distant but, there was trust. So much trust that he mailed you something before he disappeared. Everyone said he was the accomplice. But the package he left you? Well, it implied otherwise.

It was full of old newspapers, articles and police records. And it all pointed to one man. The last man you expected. Your work partner,

“Hoffman.” You muttered to yourself, slamming the folders shut, only praying this was wrong. Hoping that strahm’s lead on the case was nothing more than a delusion. Your feelings for Mark didn’t help this. It only fed the dread as your stomach stirs.

You and Mark had been assigned as partners for many years. And in those years had you not once let your feelings get in the way. You were professional. So was he. Almost too professional. A very closed man. Sharp, and clever.

Too clever.

You gulp, reluctantly reopening the files Strahm sent you.

“Boyfriend kills Detectives sister.”

You read, finger tips brushing the old article. Your head buzzing, thinking - till your eyes snap upward. Everything clicked. It made sense. But how could you guarantee it? Maybe Strahm was chasing a delusional. Or maybe he wasn’t, and your feelings for Mark were automatically defending him.

Your head throbs. You wince, and slam the folders shut, huffing.

This was ridiculous.

You slide the folders into your draw, intent on forgetting them.

Tomorrow was another day.

…

You hadn’t forgot Strahm’s folders like you had hoped. In fact, it’s all you could think about. Even now, at your work desk as you stare at the wall. So focused that you completely drowned out the sound of the office. It was busy today. Phone lines ringing, typing, chatter and the terrible hum over the overhead lights blaring down on you.

You thought about Seth Baxter. What the odds were of John Kramer targeting him of all people. You decided it was slim. It didn’t make sense.

“Look alive, y/n.”

You’re pulled from your thoughts instantly, head whirling to Mark, who stood over your desk. A hot coffee in his hand.

“You looked like you needed this.” He says.

Your throat runs dry.

Mark raises his brow at you. You can only stare at him. A sense of worry raising the hairs on your neck.

You couldn’t deny Strahm’s theory.

Mark pulls a face at your silence,

“Okay.” He says to himself, putting your coffee on your desk. You look at it, forcing yourself to snap out of it and offer a weary smile.

“Sorry,” You begin, faking a breathy laugh.

“Long night.”

“I bet.” Mark replies, his tone dryer than ever as he looks at you questionably.

“You still up for lunch?” He says, nodding at the clock. Almost twelve. Almost lunch. which meant being alone with him. You swallow, hard.

“Sorry - I think I’ll stay behind. I was running late this morning so,” You pause, your brain stirring for a proper excuse. He’s not buying it. You can tell by his expression. It makes your breath hitch, and you look back to your computer. His eyes, far too piercing. Too intimidating. All knowing. He knew you well. Too well. Especially well to know when something wasn’t right. But he dropped it, side eyeing you as he turned to leave.

“Right.” Is all he says, his tone almost mocking you as he leaves.

A relief lifts, and you exhale, squeezing your eyes shut.

…

5 p.m rolls around. Then 6 p.m. It was getting late. But you were fully intent on staying behind. You wanted to go through police files. Just to find anything that would debunk Strahm’s theory.

You were desperate.

Mainly because despite your newfound anxiety toward Mark, your heart still leaped when you saw him. Your cheeks warmed. Your legs, unconsciously squeezing together in anticipation. It made you feel sick. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if Strahm was right.

You haven’t seen Mark since lunch. And the office was empty now. You took that as your opportunity.

Cautious, you stand. Your legs like jelly, you’d been sat for most of the day. Too head wrecked to move. Too worried to bump into Mark. Your coffee was un touched too. You had let it go cold.

Exhaustion hits you once you stand.

“Fuck,” You mutter, stretching. Your hand kneading your neck as you walk toward the office door.

You push through, looking left and right as you check the halls before stepping out. It was empty. You relaxed.

You reached the files room and entered, flicking the lights on. It was dimly lit. You walked through the isles looking for ‘B’. You decided to read more into the Seth Baxter case. Maybe you could find something. Anything. You reached the isle alphabetically listed ‘B’ and walked down it slowly, pointing your finger at the folders as you scanned for Seth’s name.

“Baxter, Baxter, Baxter …”

You whispered to yourself, reaching the folder finally.

Bingo.

“Gotcha.” You say triumphant, as you slip the file from the folder.

You lean against the shelving as you opened the file. Disappointed to find nothing but things you already knew. You huff, flicking through. The page lands on an image of Mark’s sister. You can’t help the guilt stirring in your stomach. You’d only met her once. But it was enough to know she was lovely.

“Working overtime?”

You gasp, spinning around in shock to see Mark standing there. You slam the file shut, pulling it close to your chest.

“God, Mark!” You exclaim, your heart battering.

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Marks smiling. Only slightly, but it’s not a smile of amusement. It’s proud. As if he’s figured you out. It makes you gulp.

You don’t like the growing silence. The tension. You calm your breathing and your mind. Forcing a smile,

“I thought you went home.” You say, trying to compose yourself despite your legs telling you to run.

“I did. I forgot my phone,” He shrugs his shoulders, pulling a face.

“Just didn’t expect to find you still here. What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.” You reply, quick.

His eyes shoot down to the folder in your grasp. You follow his gaze.

“Doesn’t look like nothing, l/n.” He takes a few steps close, towering over you. Your dry lips part over his height. His broad chest. The way it rises and falls. He goes to take the file, but you’re clutching it still. His eyes snap to yours.

Defeated, you let go.

He sighs through his nose, his expression warning you to back down as he opens the folder. You feel your heart pounding against your chest - thrumming in your ears. Heat rising to your cheeks due to the closeness of his chest despite being petrified. You can’t find your words. No defence, no explanation. You practically accept your fate as you watch his expression harden at the folder.

“Well,” He says, harshly closing the folder over as he lifts his gaze. His lips, pouting as ever. His eyes, sharp and investigating.

Your mouth parts to speak, he cuts you off,

“You avoid me all day. And now this?” He says, shaking the file in his grip. You can’t look at him. Your eyes downward at your feet.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” He says again.

You stare at the ground.

You hear him huff as he puts the file back. “Go home, y/n. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

You hear him turn and begin to walk away. The space from him allows you to breathe, as you watch him begin to leave. Something in you clicks. A confidence. You remember your job. A server of the law. You push away your feelings for him and take two steps after him.

“I know who you are, Mark.” You announce boldly. His shoes scuff as he halts, his back still to you.

You straighten your back in some attempt to feel in charge.

His head whips over his shoulder, “Huh?”

You point your chin at him. “You heard me, Mark.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he turns to you, “Really?” His voice is low and smooth, like honey. You found it hard to dislike.

“Enlighten me then.” He says, putting his hands out to express his words as if offering you the stage before putting them on his hips.

You glare at him.

“You’re a detective aren’t you? Do your job. Detect.” He pushes, his tone mocking you. You tried not to feel small or discouraged.

“You’re an accomplice to Jigsaw.” You state.

“Oh yeah? How’d you reach that conclusion? We’ve been partners for -”

“Stop, Mark. Strahm left me everything. All the evidence. You killed Seth, you blamed Jigsaw and now he’s got you wrapped around his finger.”

He’s quiet, his expression fierce as he watches you unravel.

“Hasn’t he?”

“You trust Peter Strahm over me?”

“I trust my instincts.”

“Well your instincts are wrong.”

“They’ve got me this far.” You snap.

He shakes his head, visibly clenching his jaw as his cheek flexes.

“You’ve crossed a line, y/n.” He bites, turning on his heel to leave, “I’m taking this up with Erikson.”

You pull your gun.

“Stop.”

You don’t know what came over you. You didn’t want this. At all. It hurt to even point your gun at him. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. Your hand shakes.

You hear him sigh and turn back to you yet again, “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

You swallow hard. You’re shaking. He notices. His eyes racking over you. He takes it as an opportunity to step closer.

You adjust your grip on the gun.

Closer, he creeps before his chest is pressing against the gun.

You look at him with glossy eyes. You can’t do it.

“The safety’s on.” He says.

You unleash a breath. Shit.

His hand comes to the gun. You let him take it,

“There you go.” He hums, shoving the gun into his belt.

Your eyes close. You’re exhausted as you heave a heavy sigh.

“You’re very clever, detective.” You hear, opening your eyes upward to him.

He’s confessing?

But ..

“I’m right?” You softly say.

He takes another step, backing you up until your back hits the wall. You feel tiny. Helpless. So close you can smell his cologne. The coffee on his breath. One of his arms cages you as he splays his hand on the wall behind you.

“Mhm. And you’re not gonna say a word, are you?”

You gawk at him. He tilts his head, “Are you?”

You want to push him away. But you can’t help it. You can’t help how your legs waver - the rising heat in your face. You’re trembling.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, Mark.”

He hums, satisfied. He can see the lust in your eyes.

“You’re gonna have to prove it, sweetheart.”

You blink at him as his free hand comes to clutch your jaw - slowly tilting your head backward.

“Open up now, C’mon. Be good.”

You press your legs together, and you can’t help a whine as it slips out as you open your mouth. God.

You felt helpless in all the best ways.

He sneers, edging close till he’s inches from your open mouth. Softly, he dips his tongue into your mouth. You moan, melting into him as you both press into an open mouthed kiss.

Your hands find his broad chest - clutching his blazer and pulling him closer to you. He obliges, groaning as a hand tangles tight into your hair - curling then pulling you away from the kiss.

You gasp, keeping close to him. Wanting more as you push up against him. He chuckles.

“You were ready to shoot me a few minutes ago. Look at you now, huh.” He mutters against your lips, snarling. His tone harsh and degrading. He gives your hair another yank. You whimper sweetly against his lips.

“You’re mine.” He growls. “Say it,” He demands.

“I’m yours.”

…

AUTHORS NOTE: i LOVED writing this ?????? lmk if you want more mark fics or a part two ???? 🙈🙈

#saw 10 #saw x #mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #saw franchise #saw #costas mandylor

298 notes · View notes

darkcornerwanda · 8 months

Text

IN NEED OF TOTURING

Student!Wanda Maximoff x Professor Reader

This is smut between G!P Reader and younger Wanda, if that's not something you'd enjoy, please leave and don't flag this post.

Warnings: Older Reader - Reader has a penis - G!P Reader - NSFW - This is smut.

_________________________________________

Wanda’s not like the rest of your students, at least not in any way that matters. She’s twenty one, like most of them are but your observations go beyond her age.

She’s a quiet girl, delicate when she speaks and even more so, when she laughs. She’s soft in a way that makes you want to break her, but that shall come later.

With everyone focused on their tests, you take the opportunity to indulge in this secret obsession of yours---at least that’s what you believe it’s become, this desire to observe her, to drink her in and daydream about what it’d be like to actually have her.

She sits in the front row of your class, just like she’s been doing since the semester started and she began to drive you mad with want.

You scan the room with your eyes, but no one seems to be cheating, everyone’s focused on their own tests, even her. Especially her.

She’s your best student after all, the one with the easy answers and clever arguments that always made your days more enjoyable. You don’t think you’ve ever been sad about a semester ending, but here you are.

To say that you’ll miss seeing her pretty face three times a week would be a gross understatement, and that’s not all that you’ll miss.

You’ll miss seeing what new sinful little outfit she’s chosen to torture you for the day, and the cute and provocative way in which she always bites her lips when you catch her staring at you.

But the thing you’ll miss the most is hearing her voice, and pretend you can touch her skin when she’s looking at you.

Time’s up too quickly, and you watch your students eagerly leave.

“Miss Maximoff? A moment please.” You speak before you can stop yourself. You can’t let her go, you have to do something before she’s gone.

“Is there something wrong with my test?” She asks, moving closer to your desk as the last of her classmates leave.

You look up from your desk to find her hazel eyes worriedly waiting for you to speak, and you take in a deep breath in a weak attempt to try to control yourself. The things you want to do to her---the things you have to do to her.

“Would you mind stopping by my office this evening? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you in private.” She twitches when you speak, her right hand nervously touches her hair as her eyes meet yours in hesitation.

“There’s nothing wrong with your test, I assure you. You’re my best student.” You smile, winking at her and to your personal delight, you get to watch her blushing under your attention.

She’s not so innocent, you’ve always known it if you’re being honest.

…

Waiting for the day to come to an end is by far the hardest thing you’ve done in a while, but when you hear a knock on the other side of your door after seven, you reel it all in.

“Come in.” You speak and Wanda peeks her head inside first, before you invite her in.

“Good evening, Professor.” She says, as you notice that she’s changed her outfit. She’s wearing that black little skirt that has been taunting your dreams ever since she bought it a couple of months ago.

It’s one of her favorites to wear to your classes.

“How are you, Wanda?” You ask as you lock your door and guide her towards the large couch you keep in your office.

Your clothes feel incredibly uncomfortable already, you can’t wait to touch her and it’s all you can think about. It’s the only goal in your mind, and you’re going to get there.

“I’m okay.” She smiles, although her confusion is very much present.

“The semester is about to end.” You begin, she nods. “Can I be honest with you, Wanda?”

“Of course.” She nods again, and sets her backpack on the floor before she meets your eyes again.

“This is not a professional meeting, if you will.” You smile, and she blushes.

You’re not oblivious to her stares, or that much of a prude to deny that you’re easy on the eyes either. You know how to work with what you have, you’ve always known how to get what you want.

“Is not?” She asks, her voice catching.

“Or perhaps it is.” You say as you stand up and go for the cabinet behind your desk. “I asked you here to give you this.”

“Oh.” She smiles, standing up as well and taking the bottle of wine you’re offering. “But why?”

“Because you’re my best student.” You tell her. “And I think you deserve to drink fancy wine after excelling at a subject most people suck at. Don’t tell anyone I said that last part though.”

She laughs at your joke, and when she looks at you again a part of you knows that you’re in, even before she speaks her next words.

“I adore history.” She tells you. “And you’re the best teacher I’ve ever had, so why don’t we toast to that?”

“Deal.”

It takes two glasses of wine to have her laughing on your couch, and letting loose the slightest bit.

You’re not entirely sure of what the line of conversation is anymore, but you do know that she’s staring at your lips far more than she usually allows herself to.

She’s so soft, fragile in a sense. God, you want her lips around your cock desperately.

You sit closer when you serve her a third glass, and she smiles when her thigh presses against yours. The air is electrifying, you begin to ache and if you were to put your hand between her legs right now, you know you’d find a pool of want soaking her inner thighs.

For all intents and purposes, she’s the one who places her trembling hand on your knee. She’s nervous, perhaps terrified of what will happen next but that’s okay, you can easily take the reins of the rest of the evening now that she’s given you a green light.

Looking into her eyes, you take the glass from her hands first and set it aside right along with yours. You're trembling too, but not because you’re afraid but because you want her too much.

You turn to her, the couch squeaking as you move to place a hand in the back of her neck, never breaking eye contact as your right hand moves to her knee and begins a slow ascend into the apex of her smooth thighs.

Her breath hitches when your hand disappears under her skirt, she’s shaking, her body tensing as you lean forward to finally kiss her.

She gasps against your lips and moans when you finally press your fingertips against her soaked underwear. She tastes sweet, her lips feel like liquid velvet and she kisses you so softly that it makes you want to scream.

Your fingers are trembling when you push her underwear to the side and finally touch her bare dripping cunt. Her hips cant against your hands, she wants to break your kiss but you hold her in place as you run your fingers up and down her slit.

She groans and her hands squeeze your forearm, as she tries to fuck herself on your hand. You think about it for less than a second, but soon enough you shove two fingers inside of her without warning.

She pulls back from your lips, her hips searching for more and you give her more. Grabbing a hold of her long hair, you pull her head back as you squeeze in a third finger inside of her. Her back arches as you fuck her hard and good, no words are spoken.

Your office fills with the sounds of her little moans of pleasure and slight pain, her panted breaths and her broken voice as she cums around your fingers. You’ve never been harder.

You kiss her quickly after she cums and push her to the floor without preamble. She kneels in front of you, ravished and confused as you undo your pants and free your rock hard cock for her to suck.

You’re breathless, more than a bit desperate but as soon as her tiny hands touch your painfully hard cock, you let out a relieved groan that makes her smile in return.

Her mouth is so warm, her lips softer than you could have ever imagined and your cock fills her mouth completely.

You don’t want to cum yet, but she’s making that almost impossible with the way she bobs her head, almost choking on your dick as she stubbornly tries to take your entire length in her little mouth.

There’s a part of you that wants to fuck her mouth silly, grab her hair and force your cock down her throat, make her choke on it until she cries, but you’d much rather see tears run down her cheeks for a very different reason.

You push her head away, her puffy wet lips making your cock throb and twitch as they’re separated from you.

“Come here.” You grab her arms and pull her on your lap, your lips finding hers in a messy, dirty kiss that she reciprocates in earnest.

Her clothed cunt rubs against your cock but you don’t want to fuck her this way, no. You want her legs spread for you, your hips pushing her thighs apart as your cock destroys her tiny pussy with its length.

She fists your shirt as you stand up and sit her on the edge of your desk, pushing away your belongings for her to take up the space. She’s panting now, her fists holding onto your shirt for dear life, her doe eyes staring at you with desire and fear.

You take off her panties, never breaking eye contact even as she lets go of your shirt and plants her hands on the desk, leaning backwards just the slightest bit.

Pushing your briefs down to your thighs you grab a hold of your hard on, stroke it twice to calm yourself a little. She’s holding your stare as you push her left leg to the side and step forward between her legs.

You move your hips, bringing the tip of your cock to rub against her slit. She moans, her eyes flutter shut but she refuses to look away.

It’s painful, how much you want her makes you ache but you imagine, by the way she screams, it is more painful to have a cock like yours shoved inside such a tight hole.

It feels suffocating, the way she’s squeezing you while she refuses to look anywhere else.

Her chest rises and falls with each trying breath that she takes, while trying to feel comfortable with you inside of her, although you remain still.

You lean forward, your nose comes to touch hers but there are still no words, and you prefer it this way.

Your lips are ghosting over hers when you push your hips forward with force, making her yelp and grab at your shirt again.

You begin to fuck her hard, just like you’ve dreamt of doing it for the past six months and she takes it without uttering a single word.

She takes off your shirt and you pull at the fabric of her yellow sweater, only to discover that she’s bare from the waist up, no bra or shirt.

Her moans become raw, mixing with groans that scape her as you fuck her harder just to make her breasts jump higher and relish in the way her skin turns red because of how good she’s taking you.

None of your fantasies make justice to what it actually feels like to be inside of her, hearing her moan and have her warm cunt wrapped around your dick so deliciously.

Pulling out of her, you give her no room to think before you grab her hips and turn her around. When her ass is presented for you, something animalistic curses through you.

You kiss her shoulder blade as you spread her legs with your hands and rub yourself against her. She’s panting, pressing her cheek on your desk and holding onto the edges as if it were a lifesaver.

When you enter her from behind, she calls out your name but that’s the last word she can speak for the next following minutes.

Grabbing a firm hold of her hips, you fuck her so hard that she can’t even breathe properly and your thighs begin to sting by the constant slapping of her skin.

When she cums, you show her no mercy, on the contrary. Feeling her cunt tremble and squeeze you in, makes you fuck her harder and deeper, so deep in fact that she can’t stop cumming even after you’ve painted her walls white with your release.

You know she’ll be sore after this and the thought of her feeling you days after today, makes you smile wickedly to yourself.

“How was that for a proper good-bye?” You ask, pulling out of her and watching her legs shake as your cum leaks out of her abused hole.

She takes a moment to collect herself, seeming as her entire body is trembling and her hair's a mess. You zip up your pants quickly and give her a little space.

“I think I might need tutoring next semester.” She says, her voice hoarse and her lips looking so kissable. “From you. Just from you.”

“We’ll see.” You tell her as you button your shirt and pick up your phone from the couch. “Be a darling and lock up when you leave, yeah?”

She nods and you run your thumb on her bottom lip, already thinking of the next time you get to stretch those lips with your cock, and you leave.

…

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine

369 notes · View notes

lieutenantism · 27 days

Text

i'm currently thinking about how jean loses himself completely to harry. just dissolves entirely. very little sense of identity left outside his partnership with him, which i find so intriguing. i mean, it's the definition of codependency, but that doesn't make it any less interesting (long post, again).

"i won't let my life unravel because of this." is just so insane and melodramatic to me because WHO is that man to you, jean? and why is his alcoholism the reason for your life unraveling? jean takes on harry's drinking problem as a problem of his own, a threat to his life before harry's, even though the drinking doesn't affect harry's ability to do his job, and jean acknowledges that as well as everyone else in the major crimes unit.

but why does he have such a big problem with harry's alcoholism? why's he the only one out of the task force who seems to care obsessively? because the one before him failed to save him, and he feels as though it's his responsibility now. to jean, harry's life is divided to three parts; before him, during him, and tragically, after him.

the fact jean puts himself in the same position as dora, harry's ex, tells you enough. almost as if he considers them to be the same, in terms of responsibility for harry's wellbeing. he's cleaning up her mess, he seems to think. she was way before my time, as though they hold the same significance to harry. of course, this isn't entirely jean's fault. both him and harry share the guilt of their twisted relationship; harry's guilty of getting too personal with anybody within arm's reach.

and jean's guilty for wanting to clean up a mess that he didn't make, and losing sight of himself and his true professional duties in the process. so it goes like this; they partner up, harry's bad at drawing the line between personal and professional relationships and jean's even worse, harry goes on benders every week and jean witnesses them and tries to pull him out of them relentlessly, which then leads to whatever fucked up partnership they had, right before martinaise. the question is why did jean feel the need to save him? because he projected onto him severely.

they're both broken men; mirrors of each other, though jean will never say it out loud. he sees himself in harry, and since he can't save himself and everyone's given up on him, even the professionals, he decides not to give up on harry. in a way, jean's trying to prove to himself that he's not a lost cause through sticking by harry's side through it all, because if even the most lost of causes manages to have at least one person who's there for them at all times, who says he can't have one too? why must he be labelled as the anomaly? if harry du bois could be saved, so can he. he maintains this "i have my shit together, i'm better than you." persona during the entire confrontation, when he isn't. like i said, harry is everything jean works hard in order not to become, yet he still manages to lose his sense of identity while "saving" him and only becomes "harry's partner". that's all he is. nothing but a safety net, there to catch him at all times.

that's why he becomes extremely defensive when you choose the "kim's cooler than you." option, because you're practically robbing him of his identity. throughout the entirety of the game, he keeps repeating: "i'm your partner", to reassure himself more so than anything else, and what the game does here is very clever. you first hear him say that on a call, so distant and away from you; he cannot convince you that he's your partner even if he tried. then, he says it when he's in an idiotic disguise that you didn't recognize, and quite frankly it's making you uncomfortable, it's hard to take him seriously when he looks so stupid so you don't believe him, again. then at last, when he confronts you, and he's himself. then you think it sticks.

but it doesn't, and you dismiss him again to ask about the others. i've always found it perplexing how there's no "how can you be my partner?" option during the confrontation. you can ask about mikael heidelstam for fuck's sake, but not your partner. simply because you don't believe he is, at least not anymore. he's just a very angry man who was in a stupid disguise, and that's all you can ask him about. isn't that so insanely tragic? when you think about how dismissive the "confrontation" is? and jean's lashing out that way because his whole identity is hanging in the balance? no matter what jean tells harry, there's no click, no lightbulb flickering moment, nothing. jean tries everything, it's painful to see, really. the "i didn't lie to you. no one lies to you." and his lines to judit and trant where he's like "i told you, it's typical harry behavior. it's our shitkid." and so on are all attempts to prove that he, jean, knows him, harry, better than anyone else, even himself. he KNOWS him, which is why harry has to need him. he has to keep him. as his partner or whatever the hell it was, because nobody else knows him or will ever get to know him that way.

jean's response to harry telling them "i don't wanna be in your unit." only further proves it. "i'm your partner, i answer for you when you're not there." considering the fact harry and jean had begun to blur ever since their partnership came into being makes the line funnier lol. jean had locked himself up in a prison of his own making, of course with harry giving him all the means necessary to build his own cage beforehand. it was a matter of time and conditioning, and severe loneliness. every crime of harry's feels like one jean is guilty of.

#lav thinks #of course all of this is what the game gives you since its from harry's pov #who knows if jean has a self outside harry #ig we'll never know!#i love you jean. *proceeds to dissect him for the millionth time* i love you.#woahhhhh this is long... enjoy lol #jean vicquemare #disco elysium

81 notes · View notes

bestygogirl · 2 months

Text

BEST YGO GIRL: FINAL ROUND

please use this as an opportunity to say why you like a character, not why you don't.

Propaganda under the cut!

Isis Ishtar

gorgeous, very caring sister, strong duelist, and the only woman to ever make Seto Kaiba squirm

anyways. not only as mentioned above is she the first woman to make kaiba squirm, but she was by all means going to beat him if not for the millennium rod's millennium interference. yami marik admits that she's a strong duelist with a strategy that's been working for literal years-- and given that she's not like, a professional duelist, thats pretty impressive

she also recently got some really cool meta bumps and let me point out that an "ishizu deck" now includes obelisk the tormentor-- which we knew she had prior to giving it to kaiba, but i think it only solidifies my opinion that she very much could wield an Egyptian God Card, an exclusive little club for top tier duelists

as a character she presents herself with an amazing amount of poise and grace, shes compassionate and kind and stays with mai and serenity even though she only just met them. shes struggling through living the past 5 years of her life drowning in guilt for her family's tragedy just because she wanted to make her little brother happy and shadi is a fucking liar. shes foretold her own death and marches towards it grimly but with so much love in her heart. and even then shes 20 years old and holds an important position in the egyptian government that typically requires a doctorate degree AND has been dealing with mariks off-and-on bullshit entirely by her lonesome. she also likes to flex her fortunetelling a little which is awesome i think she should do that more that scene where she tells the guy exactly how the stele is being transported was so everything

speaking of shes got such an attitude. "is it your destiny to waste my time?" iconic. never seen before will never be seen again. watch the duel between her va and joeys its so fucking funny

shes excult. shes doesnt flinch in the face of god nor death. seto kaiba and yami marik respect her. shes so sad and so sweet and battle city couldnt have happened without her.

also her parallels with kaiba are what motivate kaiba to give yugi the card he needed to beat marik.

kaiba, in duelist kingdom, was ready to jump off a ledge if yugi didnt let him through to face pegasus while trying to save mokuba out of sheer desperation to save his little brother. he KNOWS what that dedication feels like and the iron kind of will you need to have to make that kind of gamble. isis is being so fucking legit with what shes saying and he respects that and her judgement enough to change his mind and not only watch the duel, but give yugi a card that eventually helps him win, even if he has no real confidence in the odds. but theres a CHANCE, which is the same thing he taught her when he beat her in a duel. the layers its her faith that moves him to act. which is so crazy

anyway vote isis shes my best friend forever and a real rep for all the 20 year olds who honest to god did not sign up for this bullshit

Yuzu Hiragi

The entire show would not work if the cast wasn't obsessed with her, and they're all right to stan her, literally gets Sora and Serena to defect from Academia with her sheer charisma, beat Masumi at their gay little rivalry, Yugo spends a few days with her and is ready to die for her, Yuya is simply just the loudest about adoring her And why not? She is so clever and determined, doing the most work out of anyone to figure out the myth plot. Actively trains to keep up with the rest of cast. Even when the universe is conspiring against her and trying to keep her down, she fucking headbutts Roger and tells him off or manifests to help save the world in the ultimate girlboss team-up that was the Arc V finale. Truly any dimension without her is worth upending.

The mysterious magical bracelet that isekai's her to different worlds, the Can-Do attitude, the cool poses (fusion summoning), the ADORABLE character design, AND she was 1/4 of a world-saving hero in the past?? If it weren't for the meddling writers, she would have been the main character

yuzu is everything. literally the plot of arc v hinges on the fact everyone who meets her become just as obsessed with her. and they are totally right to do so

#best ygo girl poll #final round #yugioh duel monsters #isis ishtar #ishizu ishtar #yugioh arc v #yuzu hiiragi #zuzu boyle

93 notes · View notes