WIP Wednesday
(gonna start preparing myself every wednesday for these i swear lol)
i was tagged by @nightcxty 💚🖤💚 got you a snippet from the next chapter of bermuda locket since i don’t think we’re allowed to share any of our moxtoberfest stuff yet.
it’s mostly sft? i hid it anyway just to be safe
“So, you didn’t like school?” Valerie switched subjects quickly, and Johnny gave her an aggravated sigh.
“No. Got tired of people telling me I was stupid instead of hyperactive and dyslexic. So I told the whole system to fuck off,” he explained in the most Johnny Silverhand way possible.
“Hyperactive and dyslexic, huh?” Valerie raised an eyebrow at him before sitting further up so that she was looking down at him. “You’re saying you have ADHD, Dyslexia, you’re lactose intolerant, you’re color blind, and you’re left-handed?”
“Mhm,” Johnny nodded and exhaled more cigarette smoke. “God fuckin’ hates me.”
“Oh no, now you’re religious too?” Valerie asked, causing Johnny to laugh.
“That’s the deal-breaker, huh? Religion?”
“You– of all people– believe in God?” Valerie asked, and Johnny leaned over to snuff out his cigarette in the overfilled ashtray on the nightstand. When he sat back to face her, he was grinning mischievously.
“Found God between your legs, ’member? Your pussy turned me into a holy man.” Johnny couldn’t keep a straight face with what he was saying, so Valerie didn’t feel bad about rolling onto her back and openly laughing at his ridiculous words.
“You’re too much, you know that?” Valerie gasped to catch her breath.
“Nah,” Johnny disagreed, “You think I’m perfect.”
Valerie turned her head to face Johnny before she propped herself up on her elbow to look down at him, her head cocked like she was thinking. Johnny most definitely wasn’t perfect, but as he lay there with his crooked smile, it was hard for her to think of any of his imperfections. “I think you’re mistaking me for one of your groupie fangirls.”
“What? You don’t like my music? I’ll write you a love song, change your mind.”
aaand then the moment is ruined lol 😈
not tagging anyone again (since its not wednesday for half the world at this point) but if anyone sees this and wants to share do it and tag me so i can read 👀 especially if its cyberpunk or better call saul related
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Tav, using their Pet Owner Voice: What have you got in your mouth? What are you eating? Drop it! Drop it right now!
Scratch: [whines and drops Wyll's boot]
Owlbear Cub: [guiltily spits out Boo, alive and unharmed]
Halsin, currently a bear: [drops a half-eaten salmon and makes an indignant noise]
Astarion: [startles at the raised voice, lets go of Tav's wrist, reclaims it and goes back to his breakfast once he realises they're not talking to him]
Gale: [chewing faster]
Tav, sternly: Gale...
Gale: [reluctantly spits out a powerful magical artefact into Tav's outstretched hand]
Tav, muttering under their breath: Can't have shit in the Gate.
Gale, ruefully rubbing the back of his neck, also under his breath: Gods forbid a wizard do anything
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I was rolling around this post in my brain, considering the manhole cover-shield scene and I had this...thought about a fun, semi-angsty off-screen scenario after the general hullabaloo from Bowser's incursion into Brooklyn has calmed down.
We know from the movie that Mario is injured during the final fight with Bowser, that he had a plethora of cuts and nasty bruises that would need attention. We also know from the movie that Luigi, our unhinged king, picked up a metal manhole cover to block fire.
Basic science would tell us that this manhole cover likely reached some excruciating temperatures rather quickly, and that Luigi's gloves/outfit (which, considering their junked-up van), were probably not the highest quality. Meaning, I have a feeling our green hero might have accumulated a few burn injuries and, given what we know about his character, might have neglected to say anything about this.
Anyway, cue Mario and Luigi getting ready for bed after the whole crazy day, and Luigi, who is so tired he isn't even thinking about what he's doing at this point, absently changing into his sleeping shirt. That's when Mario notices the burn marks. That's when Mario freaks out like the highly protective older brother he is.
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Okay so I have a lot of thoughts about the whole thing of the Gerudo being a race of entirely women, with the only exception being one man born every hundred years, and that man automatically being their king. Now this worldbuilding comes from Ocarina of Time, and there's obviously a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications there, because it was 1998. And it seems that Tears of the Kingdom is sticking with the lore of Gerudo men being extremely rare and becoming the King of their people, which once again has a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications because it's 2023 and Nintendo has somehow gotten even worse about this shit.
But let's set aside the whole... everything, and look at this from just the in-universe perspective. How does it work? I mean, it's pretty clear that there is no overlap between the kings; the old ones are normally long gone by the time a new one is born, but the Gerudo manage to take care of themselves during the hangtime. So they must have an established system of government and leadership that doesn't involve a king, and somehow that system is set up in a way that does a smooth transfer of power once a new king is born and old enough to take the throne. But why bother always declaring a random guy to be your King when you already have a perfectly functional system in place?
I mean again, the whole thing has a lot of sexist implications, but we're not looking at this from a real world context, we're examining it in-universe. And we could just go the lazy route and say that their king is in charge just because he's the only man, but I don't like that. I mean come on, the Gerudo are a race of entirely women, and most of their outside problems come from Hylian men being creepy about it. They are entirely a matriarchy; there is literally no reason for their culture to have an inherent respect for men, even if the man in question is one of them. And they're desert people; they live in an extremely harsh and dangerous landscape, if they don't have their shit together, they will die. By sheer necessity, their culture needs to put a lot of value in being practical, because if they're stupid about things, people die. They really can't afford to have a shitty leader take over, and just letting some guy take the wheel doesn't really fit with the way their culture must otherwise work.
So again, why the fuck do they bother having a King?
I think it's mainly just a ceremonial position. Yes, if the guy is a good leader he'll be in charge, but if he isn't good at being a King or isn't interested in the job... fuck it, they've already got a functional government system that's been leading their people the whole time, why fix what isn't broken? The title of Gerudo King isn't about leadership or power. I think it's more about belonging. Because the Gerudo are a culture where every single one of them can be defined in the same way... and there is exactly one exception once a century. Men are considered to be inherently outsiders at the best of times, and more often they're enemies. A man born into this culture is a natural outsider; he is completely unique, and that means he doesn't really fit into his community. And well... when someone is fundamentally different from the rest of their community, they tend to be ostracized.
So I think that's why the position of Gerudo King exists. It isn't about them needing or even wanting a man to lead them. The title of King doesn't need to involve any leadership at all. It's about giving the man born every century a place in their society. It's a way of saying yes, you are one of us, you are a Gerudo, you belong here, you are wanted and you are loved.
The Gerudo know that every hundred years, one of their children will be fundamentally different from all of his peers. And so their society is built to ensure that a child who is completely different from them will still be loved and accepted. He will always have a place in their society. He doesn't need to earn their love, he has it just for existing. These are his people.
The title of Gerudo King isn't an inherent position of authority. It's a promise of acceptance.
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Hello i am requesting for Carmen from the Bear!! Something sweet and heart warming about Carmen being worried about the reader and just the whole kitchen seeing how in love he is ❤️ thank you
yes to heaven.
pairing(s); carmen “carmy” berzatto x gn!reader
fandom; the bear (fx on hulu)
w/c; 758 words
trigger/content warnings; brief sexual implications, brief mention of past injuries, language, richie (he’s a warning all by himself), tina n richie being mean to carmy lol, tina and reader chisme together, is this another fic with an ldr song title????, brief touches on carmy’s trauma (not in-depth cuz this is a fluff fic), not-proof read, lmk if i missed anything.
stella speaks! i need him biblically. at first, i was like “mmm, jeremy allen white” as a joke. but bro. i don’t think it’s a joke anymore…
Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto who’s always watching you. Who has his eye on you, if you will ;)
Carmy, whose eyes are trailing your figure when you first meet. Not in a sexual way, just taking in every detail. The way you stand, the way you move your hands when you talk. Any time you wear a shirt more than once, the nervous tics you have while he tries your food, if you have any visible tattoos, freckles, or birthmark. His eyes snag on every little thing you do for a split second.
Carmy, whose gaze is locked in your hands while you demonstrate your abilities. He’s taking in every scar, every cut, every tear, every burn that was once fresh in the skin of your hands and committing it to memory. He doesn’t know why, he just is.
Carmy, whose eyes will flicker to your face every so often as you cook, lingering in the scrunch of your brow, the purse of your lip, the muttering under you breath, every curve and divet on your cheeks.
Carmy, whose brain short-circuits the first time he sees you in anything other than your lose white tee, black pants and blue apron. Logically, he knows your body has always been shaped that way, so why is heat crawling up his neck in the biting Chicago air?
Carmy, whose new favorite thing is watching you cook. Especially the recipes you know by heart, when every lovely movement your body makes is muscle memory. Seamless and smooth.
Carmy who appreciates the habit you have of cleaning your station as you cook. Those pale blue eyes locked in you as he exits his office, watching you dumping veggies in a crock pot before scooping up the cutting board, knife, and any food waste and making short work of it.
Carmy who is personally offended by Richie watching you cook. Richie and his Richie-esque comments making him roll his eyes, or warning a scoff. “Makes you wanna know what other moves they can do, eh?” “Shut the fuck up, cousin.”
Carmy, whose habit of paying microscopically close attention to you has whispers from Marcus to Tina to Sydney to you. He appreciates the way you wave them off, using the new kid excuse.
Carmy, who’s been reduced to a stuttering mess when you confront him privately about it. He’s spilling out excuses, until you quietly ask him if he wants to grab coffee with you sometime.
Carmy who, the more and more he arrives to work either with you or with a dumb smile on his face, is getting endless teasing from Richie and Tina. Sydney quietly smiles at him, but mainly sticks to talking about the nature of y’all’s relationship with you.
Carmy, who admittedly fears anytime you let sitting with Tina, exchanging words that have her yelling curses or exclamations in Spanish.
Carmy, who has a retort ready for Richie when he asks you if that means he has a chance now, only to clamp his mouth shut when you wordlessly flip Richie off, bringing another soft look into Carmy’s eyes and a dumb grin on his lips.
Carmy who has to kiss every scar, every mark, every little thing in your body when given the chance. It’s a love language, remembering and worshipping every little thing about you.
Carmy who has his eyes on you so much, regulars at The Beef are silently questioning if there’s anything going on. (there is, but Carmy would sooner be Richie’s personal chef than admit it to customers.)
Carmy whose new greates comfort is you. Any fleeting fragment of you. Maybe you washed his clothes once and now they smell like you. Maybe you hugged him so much your scent lingers in his nose. Maybe he’s got a small piece of jewelry from you or reminiscent of you. Anything that has to do with you can bring him out of the deepest panic.
Carmy who swears up and down and to the ends of the Earth that he’s never gonna lose you. It’s not even an option anymore. He would actually just fall to pieces on the floor.
Carmy who shows the uglier parts of him slowly. You actually have to peel back the first layer and stare it directly in the face without fear before he shows you more. He’s just so scared.
Carmy who’s so so grateful you don’t try to fix him. You just leave him as he is, just giving extra love to those broken bits.
Carmy who used to hate love songs before you arrived.
Carmy who was losing faith in the very idea of love until you arrived.
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