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munsonluhvr · 7 days

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♡ august | steve harrington x reader (summer fling) (record player series #3) word count - 1.9k

author's note: sorry for the delay in finishing out this little project. back to writing I go!

August.

The air between you and Steve is bittersweet; all at once, your heart is heavy with sadness, yet peaceful and warm sitting beside him. You lean into Steve, your body crumpling against the strength of his arm that is placed around you. With ease, he lifts his hand up, his palm grazing the back of your head in a gentle, comforting stroke. You look forward, the rough sea stretching out for miles in front of you; you dig your feet into the sand, the gritty, cool feeling overwhelming your toes.

“I can come back,” Steve says, sensing the dissatisfaction that radiates off of you. “Maybe over winter break, and we can write letters to each other in the meantime.” Steve searches for anything to say, anything within him to make you happy, to put the smile he loves so much back on your face.

At the mere suggestion of having to wait several months just to catch a glimpse of him again, to write letters to pass the time and close the distance between you, makes tears begin to collect in your eyes. You make a poor attempt to sniff them away quietly. “I’ll miss you too much,” you say, your voice cracking.

You and Steve had been tied to the hip since the beginning of the summer. It had been fate that you two met, just two people in a crowd on the beach. Steve had been on vacation with his parents, a tourist in the little beachside community you call home. It’s nothing new to you to see visitors that catch your eye, only to stay for a few days or weeks and then return back to their own home. For that exact reason, you made sure you would never become intertwined with a tourist, someone who will leave in a matter of time. But Steve was different.

End of May. It had been a warm summer evening, the sun setting minutes before. Nonetheless, the boardwalk was crowded, the action showing no signs of slowing down. Though the ocean was only a few feet away, the scent of the saltwater thickening the air, there was a dense smell of cotton candy, the distinct scent of boardwalk food that could only make your mouth water.

Minutes before you had said farewell to your friends, separating for the first time that day. You and a group of your friends spent the day on the beach, letting the sun drench your skin and tan it just right. Now, however, you were tired, your eyes threatening to close on you as you made your way through the crowded street.

Your bag that was looped over your shoulder weighed down heavily, your towel spilling out the top of the bag. You sighed pathetically, shrugging your bag back up onto your sunburnt shoulder; you wince from the friction between your skin and the handle of your bag. You look down at the ground, getting peaks of peoples bare feet and shoes shuffling passed you in all different directions. You’re so caught up in your thoughts, caught up in the way your body is exhausted, that you don’t notice a brown-haired boy coming your direction.

In an instant, you’re tossed to the side, landing with a thud on the ground. Your sandals, beach towel, and sunscreen scramble out of your bag and onto the sidewalk, each object getting kicked into different directions by people who are too oblivious to notice you sail to the ground.

“Holy shit-“ a voice says somewhere above you, though you’re too caught up in the sharp feeling coming from your knee to see who curses in your direction. Drips of blood dribble from your knee and you sigh once more. “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

You wipe the blood from your knee with the heel of your hand, shaking your head without looking up. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” It’s only when the boy kneels in front of you do you look at him, catching sight of his big, brown eyes and his messy brown hair, laced with salt from the ocean. His skin is lightly tanned, the smell of sunshine and sunscreen radiating off of him.

He shakes his head. “And you’re bleeding. Let me at least help you find a Band-Aid.” You’re exhausted, annoyed, and now in slight pain, and you relinquish control over the situation and let the nameless boy help you up by his outstretched hand. You reach out, his hand clasping around yours. You’re pulled back onto your feet, and you make an attempt to brush off debris from your clothes. You mutter a soft ‘thanks’ and begin to finish crossing the street, the boy trailing a few steps behind you.

Replaying the fall in your mind as you walk, the light heat from embarrassment creeps across your cheeks. There’s a light sting coming from your knee, and you wonder where you’ll find a band-aid. Your eyes graze the front of the shops that line the beach, all filled with people buying food or sweatshirts with the name of the beach branded across the chest. You sigh softly to yourself, glancing at the stream of blood that dribbles down your shin.

“Here,” you hear a voice say beside you, and you turn to see it’s the same boy. He’s holding a white slip of paper, clearly a band-aid. “Let me help,” he says before you can object. He kneels in front of you, peeling back the paper and placing the band-aid on your split skin. In the process, he wipes the blood with a paper towel he holds in his other hand.

“Where’d you find a band-aid?” You ask, trying to break the silence.

He stands up, shrugging. “I just asked the lady behind the counter. I’m Steve by the way.”

You offer a small smile, his kind gesture beginning to make your hostility slip away. You look up from looking at your knee to look at his face again. “I’m y/n.”

At the time, you never thought at how heartbreaking a summer romance could be. In every novel you’ve read, it’s warm and soothing, something you crave for yourself – someone to see and understand you so deeply, even if it’s temporary. Now that you’ve experienced this, you know the books make it seem like something it’s not.

After Steve put the band-aid on you, you didn’t say thank you and continue on with your night. You stood there, as if your feet were glued to the sidewalk. You held Steve’s eye-contact, the world around you seeming like it slowed to a halt. You didn’t even notice people had to maneuver around you as they walked along the boardwalk. You were in a trance, immediately smitten by Steve.

“Are you visiting?” Steve asks.

You shake your head. “No, I live here. Are you?”

Steve nods, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, but for the whole summer. My grandmother has a house here.”

You nod slowly, knowing there was no chance a good-looking guy like Steve would live in your town. “Nice.”

Steve chews on his bottom lip, thinking of something else to say. Little do you know, Steve’s heart thumps rapidly against his chest, being in your presence proving to be intimidating. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, his eyes glued to your face and body. “Yeah, I don’t really know anybody here though.”

You shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “It’s easy to make friends.”

“Would you want to be friends then?” As Steve says this, he realizes how juvenile it sounds and he knows he’ll beat himself up for saying that later.

You laugh, folding your arms across your chest. “Sure, I’ll be your friend.”

From there, you and Steve were inseparable. It was a slow burn at first, the tension between you growing over time. You both knew it was there, but who was going to acknowledge it first was the question.

You and Steve spent nearly every day together, meeting up at the beach, the pier, and eventually, at each other’s houses. It was easy to spend time with Steve, his charisma and sense of humor keeping you on the tip of your toes, his kindness, and flirtatious ways roping you in further and further. You found yourself laying on your bed into the early morning, replaying the time spent with Steve over in your head. Despite enjoying your time with Steve, you dreaded every day that passed by, an internal countdown clock until the end of summer and when Steve would return to Indiana playing in the back of your mind.

Months into hanging out with Steve, you sit on the edge of the pier, feet dangling off the side, arms placed behind you to prop you up. It was July 4th, and you had managed to find the best spot to watch the fireworks. When Steve had sat down, he made sure to sit close beside you, leaving your thighs and swinging feet to brush against each other. You chat with each other, waiting for the firework show to start. You both jolt, laughing softly, when the fireworks begin out of nowhere. While the fireworks were bright and beautiful, Steve couldn’t help but watch you instead. He watches as the colored fireworks reflect of your face, your face watching intently, a small smile decorating your face. His stomach twists with anticipation.

You look over to your right, seeing Steve’s eyes trained on you. You smile, a little laughing escaping your lips. “What?”

It’s then that Steve leans forward, his large hand cupping the side of your face. His lips are warm and soft, entangling with yours. You lean forward too, letting your mouth move against his. You sigh happily, all your dreams coming true. His lips taste lightly of red wine, knowing he must have had some over dinner with his parents. Though the fireworks echo off the ocean, the world is silent to you.

Thinking about this moment now, nearly two months later when Steve is leaving for Indiana the next day, your heart aches. Where had the time gone?

Standing on the beach with Steve, tears in your eyes, your heart pangs with sadness. You glance up at Steve. He breaks his glance at the beach to look down at you. He offers you a small, half-smile, letting his fingertips guide strands of your hair away from your face. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you. “In the beginning,” Steve begins to say, resting his chin softly on your head. “I thought you weren’t mine to lose, that this was just for the summer. But now, saying good-bye to you feels like the greatest loss.”

You clench your jaw, wishing all your emotions away. You can’t think of anything to say.

“-But I want to make this work. When you think about it, Indiana isn’t that far away. Throw some weekends trips in there, winter break will come in no time, and I can be here for a month.” You smile thinking about that, but it seems so far away.

Steve notices your mind drifting away. He turns towards you, loosening his arms around you to cup your face between your hands. “Hey,” Steve says, leaning his forehead onto yours. The tip of his nose brushes yours, your eyes staring into his. “We will make this work, okay?”

You hesitate, and Steve wiggles you. “Okay?” he repeats. You can't help but smile at Steve showcasing his commitment, the feeling of anticipation of missing someone you've spent everyday with for the last few months and hope for the future beginning to fill you up.

You laugh, nodding. “Okay.”

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic

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dazieswrites · 11 months

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Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warning: Mentions of sunburn, Miguel being a helpful boyfriend, soft Miguel, weird ending (idk how to end stories)

A/n: So I went to the beach and got severely sunburnt, and I am in pain as I write this. So, I'm writing this from my experience and indulging myself. I'm out of ideas now.

Caring

When you left the house to go with friends to the beach, Miguel was only concerned with you getting hit on while he wasn't around. The bikini you wore to achieve your tan was sure to attract attention.

He didn't expect you to come home a completely different shade and hissing in pain.

Instead of rushing to hug him like usual, you stood at the door, trying not to move. Miguel stares at you, concerned, as he takes the red tint to the skin surrounding your nose and cheeks.

"You alright?" Miguel takes the bag off your shoulder, watching you groan. "Too much sun."

"Way too much." You look up at him. "We were out there for like 8 hours. I think I got sun sickness."

Miguel smiles at you, moving you both toward the bathroom. "But you had fun, right?"

"A lot. I didn't want to get in the ocean, but Bee dragged me in." You let out a sigh that hurt from the seawater you'd accidentally consumed earlier.

With your boyfriend's help, you take the t-shirt dropped over your torso off, the feeling of the material so uncomfortable you stop breathing to help the pain.

Miguel's eyes widened at how red your entire back and chest were. It's times like this, he was pleased he had faster healing. It looked painful; the abnormal shade of your skin made him cringe. He could only imagine what you felt like. Gently, he places a hand on your shoulder, feeling the heat that remains under the skin.

Your shoulders reminded him of a heating pad.

"Come on, amor. Let's get you in that shower." Miguel helps you take off your shorts and bikini as gently as possible before making you go to the shower.

He turns on the shower inside, ensuring the water is cold to battle the heat lingering under your skin. Reaching up, Miguel puts the nozzle on the softest setting while holding it over your shoulders and back. A hum of relief escapes your throat as the cold water washes down your body.

"Thank you, Miggy." An exhausted smile takes over your lips, enjoying the tender loving Miguel offers, and you take it without hesitation. It always made your heart soar when he took care of you when you could not do it yourself. "I appreciate you beyond words."

"It's what I'm here for." A loving smile graces his face as he stares at your content expression. "Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something?"

Opening your eyes, you nod your head. "Can I have a sandwich or something?"

Miguel hums and hands you the shower nozzle. "Mhm. I'll see you out there, yeah" Receiving a small 'yeah' back in response, Miguel leaves the bathroom, letting you finish your shower.

Staying in the bathroom, rinsing your body with the ice cold water until the hunger and exhaustion of your day start eating at you. Turning off the water and soon stepping out of the tub, you dab yourself with the soft towel, not wanting to aggravate your burning skin. Quietly walking to your and Miguel's shared bedroom, you grab a pair of loose boxers and roam shirtless.

It hurt too much to have a shirt over your sick skin.

Peering out of the bedroom, you spot Miguel slowly making the sandwiches. A tired smile makes it to your lips as you creep up behind the mountain of a man.

It's times like this; you're glad he lacks the famous spidey sense.

Behind your boyfriend, you softly place your hands on his hips, lazily linking your arms around him, embracing your love.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

An airy laugh escapes Miguel, and he peeks over his shoulder, seeing your half-lidded eyes staring straight at him. "I'll do it anytime. Now, cielo, why are you basically naked?"

"Don't act like you don't enjoy the view." You place a kiss in the middle of his back. "The shirt's material hurts, so we go nakey until further notice."

"Maybe you should get sunburnt more often." Miguel turns around and smiles down at your fatigued and red face.

"Har har." You position your hands behind him and lay him on his butt, giving him a squeeze. "Only if I get to enjoy the view too."

"You're such a dork."

#across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv #miguel o'hara fluff

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zipzappers · 8 months

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listen to me. tf2 OCs

god I want to talk about them for hours I am in love with them😭

Today's doodles because I felt motivated mm yummy. MAKE ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT THEM THAT IS AN ORDER

First draft for them

Meet "Dr." Krantz (wanted across Germany for several felonies) and Leo Callaweigh. Last name is very important do NOT call him by the name on his birth certificate

Medic never gets any sunlight and Engie gets too much of it

tanned like a blonde in a 2000's commercial and sunburnt to a crisp (almost)

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #orkaa art #oc #original character #medic #engineer #science party #tf2 au

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mynameismckenziemae · 5 months

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She's a Fire-Chapter XIX

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

I like ‘em hot

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

Warnings: 18+, semi-public p in v, oral, exhibitionism, handjobs, etc.

Bob pulls into the hotel near the wedding venue around 1 AM; 45 or so minutes after the performance in the car.

You’ve been teasing Bradley the entire time, alternating between teasing brushes and rough palming over his erection. While Bob and Sunny are distracted by choosing a new playlist, you kiss your way up his neck to his ear to whisper all the dirty things you want to get up to with him over the next few days.

You barely have the door to your room closed before Bradley’s turning and crowding you against it, grinding his erection into your stomach. He pulls you for a deep bruising kiss.

You bite his bottom lip as you fight for dominance and he grunts before lifting you. He walks you further into the room and drops you on the bed, ripping your leggings off, and drops his sweats. He climbs over you, thrusting into you with ease; the last hour of the car ride was all the foreplay you need.

You fail to stifle your gasp as he bottoms out, his hips pumping into you at a punishing pace, panting into your neck.

“Wha—what’s gotten into you? Did you like that? Spying on our friends?” You breathe against his shoulder.

He nods, so you continue.

“Me too,” you whisper, “What did you like the best? Was it when he called Sunny a good girl? Would you like it if he called you a good boy?”

A choked groan leaves him at your words. You drag your nails down his back, smiling at his hiss when you dig them into his still-sensitive ass from the night before. “Answer me.”

He mumbles something into your neck. Your right-hand leaves his ass just to come back down in a harsh, loud spank. “I can’t hear you when you mumble. Do I need to spank you again? I bet they can hear it from their room. Now, would you like it if Bob called you a good boy?”

He whimpers, his back stiffens, and his hips still as he cums without warning. “Yeah-I…I think I’d like it,” he pants.

You laugh, “I’d say so.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

He pulls out when he catches his breath, and pumps his cum back into you with his fingers as he laves your clit.

“Shhhh,” He shushes and slaps his hand over your mouth when you cry out from your first orgasm.

Bradley brings you off several more times until you’re shaking and pushing his head away from the overstimulation.

You finally fall asleep wrapped up in each other around 3.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Rowan, are you up? Nat texted that she’ll be here in 20 minutes.” Sunny knocks from the shared door between your rooms.

“Yeah, just let me get dressed and brush my teeth.” You reply with a yawn. You start to rise but Bradley’s arm tightens around your waist.

“Mmm not yet. We don’t get nearly enough mornings to cuddle together like this,” he murmurs.

You laugh and kiss his forehead before wiggling out of his hold. “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t want to make the bride wait on me for her spa day though. You should probably get up too, I’m guessing Jake is picking you up at the same time.”

He groans but rolls over and walks to the bathroom and the shower turns on.

You pull on your bikini and coverup and make your way to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.

“What are you guys up to today?” You ask after spitting out your toothpaste.

“Not sure exactly. Jake just said he was gonna show us around his old stomping grounds and then meet up with you all later.” He replies turning off the shower.

“I’m a little nervous about this surprise,” you laugh, “Oh, make sure you guys wear sunscreen if you’re outside, I don’t think Nat will appreciate sunburnt faces in the photos.”

“Yes, Mother,” he rolls his eyes and yelps when you swat his bare cheek.

“That’s what you get for sassin’ me,” you say, giving him a look.

“That’s what you try for sassin’ me,” he mocks as he walks out of the bathroom, rubbing the handprint you left.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Row, will you get ready with us at the venue? I meant to ask you sooner but with the training, briefings, deployments…I really wish I would’ve asked you to be a bridesmaid instead of my cousin, but my mom would’ve had a fit.” Natasha sighs, sipping her drink.

You three are sitting at the pool after your massages, mani/pedis, facials, and all other kinds of wonderful pampering.

“No worries, I’d love to! And it’s okay, I get it. Plus we didn’t know each other that well when you got engaged,” you squeeze her knee.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Sunny asks.

“We’re going line-dancing at the honky-tonk,” Nat smiles, “it was Jake’s idea, but I think it’ll be fun. That’s why we told you to bring your western wear.”

You laugh and Sunny groans dramatically.

“Rowan’s a pro at line dancing. She tried to teach me in college but I barely could get the basic steps.” She says.

“Oh whatever, liar! You did fine!” You argue.

“They’ll teach you, and they play other songs that everyone knows,” Nat assures her.

“I’ll just need some liquid confidence. Promise you won’t laugh too hard?” Sunny jokes, as if she isn’t a natural at everything she does.

The three of you head back to the rooms to shower and get ready.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Girl, look at that dump truck!” Sunny exclaims, turning you around to look at your butt in the mirror. “Bradley isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off you,” she breathes, cupping a cheek herself.

You’re dressed in cowboy boots, form-fitting flared jeans, and a black lace tank.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” you laugh, wiggling your brows. “Bob’s gonna feel the same when he sees you in those shorts.”

Sunny smiles and does a once over on herself; cut-off shorts look great paired with a black top and her own pair of boots.

“I’m glad you both are wearing black,” Nat says as she places a new cowboy hat on each of your heads.

“Oh Nat, thank you! They definitely complete the look—Oh my God, look at you!” Sunny gasps.

Natasha’s in all white—hat, fringe dress, and boots.

“You look stunning!” You agree.

“Thanks! I figured I’d go for the bridal look since the bachelorette weekend was canceled,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

You and Sun had a weekend planned but she ended up deployed so it ended up just being a night on the town.

“Ready? The guys are on their way there,” Sunny asks, checking her phone.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

20 minutes later you and Sunny stroll in the bar behind Natasha.

“Jake said they have a corner booth reserved,” Nat nods to the corner of the bar. “Want to get a drink first and head over?”

You nod and look around, spotting Bradley but not Jake or Bob. Bradley’s leaning against the booth table, clad in a black tee, fitted jeans, and his own boot and hat. He looks good enough to eat.

His eyes meet yours and then darken as he does his own perusal. You give him a sly smile as you turn to give the bartender your order.

You feel his presence behind you before his fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him.

“You look so fucking hot right now,” he says lowly, grinding his erection into your ass.

“Thank you, so do you,” you reply as you turn your head to kiss him, hats bumping. You bite his bottom lip before pulling away, “Think you can make it through dancing with me tonight without cumming in your pants again?”

He chuckles. “No promises with how good your ass looks in these jeans.”

You snort and take your drink from the bartender.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

It’s starting to get busier as you make your way over to the booth. Bob and Jake are back too.

You sit with Jake as everyone else heads to the dance floor while the DJ gives a quick rundown.

Laughing as everyone gets the hang of it, you lean over to Jake. “How ya feeling about the wedding? Nervous?”

“Nah, not really. Just excited, for the wedding; to start our lives together, all that…ya know?”

You smile and nod, squeezing his shoulder before you both join the rest of the group waving you over.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The first hour consists of mostly line dancing. After though, more modern dance music is strewn in and you lose track of the other couples as the night goes on.

You’re hot and bothered from Bradley’s hands all over you, hips grinding into your ass and the way he’s been kissing your neck and panting into your ear. “Wanna step outside for some fresh air?”

He nods and leads you outside into the slightly cooler night air and pulls you around to the quiet, dark side of the building. He pushes you against the brick wall and takes your lips in a bruising kiss.

His hand unbuttons your jeans and dips in, gathering your wetness to circle your bundle of nerves while the other teases your nipple through the lace of your top.

You gasp as he pushes his fingers in and uses the heel of his palm to rub your clit. “I’m close already,” you whine against his lips, hands weaving into his hair, knocking his hat off.

“Mmmm,” he hums and curls his fingers, pressing your g-spot. You cry into his mouth as your release pulses through you, he grunts as you pull his hair almost to the point of pain.

He pulls his fingers from you and you grab his wrist, bringing his hand to your mouth. You moan around his fingers as you suck your arousal from them.

“Christ, Row,” he sighs, hips grinding into you.

You turn him, his back now against the wall, kissing him again as you unbutton his fly. He shutters when your thumb smears his precum over his head and fingers circle his cock. You stroke him a few times and you can tell he’s already close.

You break the kiss and just as you’re about to drop to your knees, the door swings open and you hear Sunny. “Over here, I bet no one’s around.”

Bradley grabs your wrist just as you’re about to pull away. He pumps himself with your hand, and he cums with a low groan just as you hear Sunny’s gasp as she turns the corner.

“Uhhh, we’ll…uhmm, wait over here,” she stammers before she disappears, dragging Bob with her.

“So you’re into exhibitionism?” You laugh breathlessly as you pull your hand out of his pants. You caught the majority of his cum in your hand and take a few steps to wipe it on the grass.

His cheeks turn red and he chuckles while he buttons his fly. “I think I might be, with those two at least.”

Unexpected arousal shoots down your spine. Maybe you’re into it too.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sunny smiles sheepishly as you both round the corner. “I’m so sor-“

“It’s okay, now we’re even,” you say nonchalantly.

“Even? For what?” Bob asks, confused.

“The show you gave us last night in the car…” you reply with a wink, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go wash my hands and get a drink.”

Bob groans in embarrassment and Sunny laughs as you open the door and walk inside.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A/N: another time jump. There’s probably going to be a few more time jumps because I feel like this story (sex scenes especially) is getting repetitive. I’m sorry if you feel the same way.

Tagging:

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@ingoaliesitrust

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #robert bob floyd #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #bob floyd #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw x reader

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doonarose · 5 months

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Merry Christmas from the Future (aka Australia where it is already Christmas Day)!!!!!

I've suffered through complementary tantrums by both parents (directed at each other, at least), three and a half hours of the TV spectacular that is Carols By Candlelight, and now I am sequestered in my room, wrapping all my last minute gifts which have cost me too much time, energy and money and will likely be received with only mild approval.

All well worn Christmas traditions. Plus I think I managed to get a touch sunburnt today. And I am barreling towards being rather sleep deprived for tomorrow's festivities.

Honestly feeling pretty good, though. Like, this is what it is every year and I get better at coping every year and at least tomorrow's food and drink will be exceptional. And the extended family will have cleared off by 4 or 5 and I can just food coma and read fic for several days (admittedly while still having to cohabitate with my parents but beggars can't be choosers).

I do hope you are all having a lovely holiday season and your circumstances are not too much worse than mine!

#doonas rambling

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evilwriter37 · 4 months

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I would love to hear more of your Vigcup ideas! Maybe even some Vigcup brat taming scenarios. I got severely sunburnt yesterday because of a stupid decision. This would make me feel so much better.

Oh my gosh, I am so sorry I’m getting to this late. I’m so sorry about your sunburn! I burn incredibly easily and badly because of some meds I’m on, so I completely get it. I hope that heals soon. Ouch!

And hm… I’ve written quite a lot of my Vigcup ideas.

Though I love the idea of Viggo introducing Hiccup to kink, I also like the idea of Hiccup already knowing about kink and what he likes when he comes into the relationship. He leads Viggo on into thinking he’s inexperienced and innocent, and reveals at some point during a scene or play that he actually understands this and understands his own masochism. Viggo is taken aback, but also quite pleased to have a sub who knows what’s up from the start. That means he can escalate what kinds of things they do much faster than “starting from scratch”, so to speak.

Another idea that’s growing on me is Viggo allowing Hiccup to tie him up and ride him. It would be super gentle and more like lovemaking than anything else. Viggo has never trusted anyone with this before, as he wants to be the one in control. I really do think Viggo likes control to a fault while doing anything sexual, so this idea is just enticing to me.

As for brat taming? I do love Hiccup having Viggo wrapped around his little finger with that, but I also adore the idea of Viggo very sincerely taming him after Hiccup does something against their usual set rules in bed or a scene. It’s genuine punishment. There is aftercare in this scenario, of course, and Hiccup is a little humiliated coming out the other side of this, but it worked. Gotta teach your brats some respect! (I can see he and Viggo talking it out in this kind of thing if it really does bother Hiccup, especially since it’s consensual here.)

Thanks for asking! This was fun to think about!

#asks #vigcup #nsft #writing ideas

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mariana-oconnor · 1 year

Text

The Cardboard Box pt 2

Last time we had two severed ears from two different people, an old lady who probably wasn't a criminal mastermind, and a poorly addressed parcel. Lestrade still looked like a ferret and it was a blazing hot August.

“I am convinced, sir,” she said, “that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me."

Okay Lestrade, I like you, but laughing at old ladies who have received human body parts in the post isn't cool. Especially not for having a perfectly reasonable opinion about the situation. I, too, if presented with a parcel of freshly severed ears would be rather insistent that they were sent to the wrong person. After I'd finished shouting profanity, washing my hands, and contacting every person I knew to make sure they still had both ears firmly attached to their heads.

I'd probably also be washing the floor, because there's no way I wouldn't have immediately dropped them on the floor.

Miss Cushing is very composed. But I suppose she is channelling her feelings into her anitmacassar in a productive manner. Good for her. Either that or she is involved. Honestly, her saying she's not involved does make me more suspicious of her, but as we have previously discussed, I am a naturally suspicious person.

Still, fingers crossed for pirates.

“I think that it is more than probable—” He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever.

Oh, did he catch a microexpression? Is she involved? But I just don't see why she'd call the police and say she didn't know what was going on if she was, unless she's a lot more cunning or arrogant than most of the villains we have seen.

“Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary.”

Ah, another Miss S. Cushing has entered the tale.

“And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform."

Liverpool, renowned port city. Knots, tarred string, sunburnt ears and earrings. My sailor theory gains steam.

“No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are going with them.”

I was going to ask what pledge, but this appears to be a temperance thing. And to get the family dynamics worked out in my head: Mary is the youngest, married to Jim Browner. and both members of the couple stopped talking to both Susan and Sarah, and now no one knows where they are.

Which gives us a sailor and his wife, both missing, and two ears that seem to have come from a man and woman (according to Holmes, I'm still not convinced he can tell, but for the conceit of the tale, let's say he's right) the 'male' ear being sunburnt and with a hole for an earring.

I'm sure there's absolutely no connection between these things.

Also, your sister's husband has a drinking problem that makes him 'stark, staring mad' and then he and your sister drop off the planet? That seems like a thing to be distinctly more concerned about. Miss Susan Cushing is losing sibling points rapidly.

She told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals.

Wow, she really doesn't want those medical students getting any patients, does she? I dread to think what Victorian medical students were like. But they probably weren't as bad as Victor Frankenstein. Although that would be a hilarious crossover. These ears were actually intended for him to work on his 'project' but he forgot to change the forwarding address. Only seventy years or so too late, but still.

“Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part."

So you're saying the other Miss S Cushing also lived at this address until two months ago. So it's not even a case of mistaken identity, it's just that she forgot to send out change of address cards. Also, she has a temper. So my theory about pirates might be right? Although probably no illegitimate children. But it seems like Sarah might know what the ears mean. Whether she wants the couple dead or she's being threatened is a different question.

“Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner."

Oooh, family drama! Spill the tea, please. What did Jim Browner do? Did she find out he was having an affair? Is the second ear that of his lover?

"Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do.”

Apart from the fact that one of the ears might belong to your little sister, but whatever, I guess.

"We must strike while the iron is hot."

Either the victims aren't dead or he's worried the murderer is going to get back on a ship and vanish into the briny mists. Given how often that has happened, he probably should be worried. Although it seems like if they do get on a ship to run away, karma will catch them pretty fast in the form of a terrible shipwreck.

I wonder what's in the telegram he's writing. To the docks? To Liverpool to ask about the May Day? To Lestrade?

I didn't mention before how weird the name May Day for a ship is. That's got to be confusing, hasn't it? How do you know if they're sending out a distress call or just saying their name? Terrible name for a ship. Who in earth calls their ship May Day?

A grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step.

Watson does like to comment on how shiny men's hats are. Can you see your face in it? Is he wearing a crown?But why is this man wearing a hat indoors in the first place? I thought that was impolite? Was he just on his way out? On his way in?

“Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill,” said he. “She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days.” He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street.

On his way out, it seems. And another brain fever. But this one appears to be less severe, only eleven days in severity. Percy Phelps beats her hands down.

Were these brain symptoms possibly from learning of the dreadful fate of her sister and her brother-in-law? Is she being blackmailed? Did she try to blackmail someone else. Her sister Susan did say she liked to meddle. Or are these symptoms from a more malicious cause?

“I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her."

Little bit of a creepy thing to say, but I'll allow it. I assume that he wanted to see if she was in distress at all, and she clearly is.

We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings.

OK, Maths time.

So 20 shillings in a pound, a guinea was 1 pound and 1 shilling. so 500 guineas was £500 plus 500 shillings, 500 shillings is £25, so 500 guineas is £525. The equivalent of almost £54,500. Fifty five shillings is £2.75 old money or roughly £284. So yes that is a bargain. Or another way of looking at it, Sherlock cheated that broker out of a hell of a lot of money.

It's weird how people have Sherlock as this single minded crime-solving machine, when in reality we've seen him on numerous occasions when there's nothing actively to be done on a case, enjoying his leisure time. He and Watson went to that concert in The Red-Headed League, he went to have tea in a nice little pub in The Naval Treaty. He actually seems to have quite a reasonable work life balance.

Here, he and Watson are having so much fun that they don't even get back to the case until sunset.

“That is the name,” he said. “You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution."

Ow. That was a burn. Also, if that's the case, why is Watson publishing it? Seems a little rude.

"That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do..."

At least he's not a ferret this time? Lestrade must love Watson's stories being published. I bet he finds little passages cut out and stuck on his door in Scotland Yard.

“It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions.” “I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?” “Oh! it is more than a suspicion.”

I was assuming he was one of the victims. But I suppose I should have put more credence in him being a terrible drunk. Did his wife have an affair? Is there an illegitimate child involved? Or did he just think his wife was having an affair.

Which means that there's another sailor caught up in all of this. So far no pirates, but I can still hope, right?

"We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories."

I feel called out. 😅 ACD and Sherlock Holmes are reaching through time and reality to give me shade on jumping to conclusions based on vibes.

“The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes."

But this time I have actually put together the evidence. Though I feel like most knots are popular with sailors. Aren't they all good for different things? My grandma used to have a thing on her wall with all the different kinds of knots that were used on sailing ships.

“As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones."

Oh, he was looking at her ear. And it looked like the severed one.

I assume that ear similarities are hereditary, much like facial features are, that does make sense. They won't be identical, because we know earprints are unique, but I can accept they would be similar. Of course Holmes has written monographs on ears.

Very disappointed the tobacco doesn't seem to have come into things, though.

"And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy."

This is a really fucking dumb move on his part, though. Why send someone the evidence of your crime? Just weight the bodies down and throw them into the sea. By the time they come up again, no one will be able to recognise them and DNA isn't exactly known at this time.

Just... bad idea. Be better at committing crimes. This is just embarrassing.

"An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force..."

Alright, I don't feel foolish for thinking that the ear belonged to him, because strangely enough, I wasn't able to telegraph my friend in Liverpool to find out.

"If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already."

What the fuck happened in Liverpool that she didn't want to see her sister's murderer arrested? What did she do? Poor Mary Browner had terrible sisters. They should be ashamed of themselves.

"When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in.”

This is a really sad story. Poor Mary Browner stuck in what seems to have been a very abusive relationship with an alcoholic. Her sisters just let her disappear, and she ended up dead with no one reporting her missing and the only person who knew not willing to tell anyone. Or, I suppose, we could charitably say that maybe the brain fever took hold of Sarah before she was able to communicate with anyone about it.

Just... kind of tragic all around.

#The Cardboard Box #Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #long post #Well this took a sharp turn into the tragic #Poor woman #And poor random guy who may or may not have been having an affair with her #Imagine if he just happened to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time #We're too late for the golden age of piracy so there never was any hope really #but it would have been fun #Maybe Mary and her lover faked their deaths and cut off their own ears #then ran off into the night to pursue their dreams #We can hope

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satellite-runner · 1 year

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the girl and jet star headcanons?? spitting image? 👀👀

I AM SO HAPPY SOMEONE ASKED

I think young Jet Star and The Girl look virtually the EXACT SAME other then The Girls eye color

When Ghoul finds the Girl, she's just on that edge of being between a baby and a toddler that none of them quite know how to handle. Ghoul, of course, gets dogged on for bringing a whole child home despite them all knowing that had it been any of them out on that scouting run, that'd have scooped her up and bought her home too. Absently, they all come to the conclusion she looks a bit like Jet other then her shockingly white eyes, which Cherri seems to be wary of.

As she grows, it becomes abundantly clear that she's Jets spitting image. Rich skin and coily hair, even her flat nose and tooth gap match Jets. It's something they joke about, not bothered by it. Quietly, their all happy she has someone she can see herself in, even if nowadays one of Jets eyes is covered by a eyepatch because of a thick scar running over it and their hair has a few streaks of color through it.

When the Girl gets around the age Jet was when they met the venom siblings, the resemblance is uncanny.

When Jet was a teenager, the innate calmness they have now hadn't developed yet. They were a rough n tumble starborn, fighting the world alongside their small and scrappy best friend. They were less than happy when two banged up cityborns stumbled into Dr. D's radio shack. As far as Jet was concerned, Ghoul was the only bat outta hell worth telling the time to.

Kobra could tell you in detail just how his heart jumped when he first Jet. Jet was something lethal, something with a edge. Their looks were striking, to say the least. Kobra had never seen someone with hair like that, coiled tight and poofy. In the city, anybody with hair textured like that had neat braids or straightened their hair.

Kobra is hurt, sunburnt to all hell, half sure he's hallucinating the gorgeous stranger, kobra doesn't mention them until well after he's passed out and been treated for his severe dehydration and sun stroke. As it turns out, Jet had been the one to treat him, as much as they didn't want to.

Now Jet and the rest of the crew is older, the Girl is the same age Jet was (at least, they think the same age. Neither Jet or the Girl are 100% sure on their ages) when the fabulous four came to be and even the personality is matching. The Girl is rough n tumble, stubborn as all hell with a fire burning in her eyes.

If their being honest, sometimes the fab four or their extended crew will catch glimpses of Jet in the Girl. A mannerism, a phrase, a smile, a laugh, a stubborn refusal, a knack for anything medical. They don't mention it to her, not often, least they teach her that she isn't a individual of her own, just a mini me of Jet. They know better then to compare them, but they'd be lying if they said the resemblance didn't catch them off guard.

years after the crew rescued the Girl from battery city, years after they all met the Witch (for kobra, it wasn't the first time. A race at the crash track ended in him skidding down the track was the first time, but comme ci comme ca) and they all understand why Cherri had such a aversion to looking the Girl in the eye her whole life. Her white eyes, that they all were so sure meant she was born blind until she proved them wrong, bore a striking resemblance to the Witches eyes. They had all figured her white eyes were something unique when she was little, something that sets her apart from the rest of the zones. They hadn't ever thought that ever thought they'd be the spitting image of thr Witches eyes. Puzzle pieces start to click into place.

Now, sometimes it isn't Jet they catch a glimpse of in the Girl. Sometimes, when it's dark and the heat of the dessert has chilled into below freezing, they see the Girls eyes in the dark of the dinner and freeze, for a moment believing they had passed in their sleep and the Witch was going to take them quietly.

#-andrew #ttlotfk hcs #ttlotfk #ttlotfkj #the girl #jet star #danger days #danger days hcs

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poll-ventures · 1 year

Text

Perdition 1.4

< >

I hung up. I stared at the phone in my hand, its screen showing an old rotary telephone slamming into its receiver.

Numbly, I watched it repeat several times before it faded away into the black of the dead screen. Why had I done that?

What am I doing?

I broke into a sprint down the road, running as fast as I could to the woods.

*****

The woods of Old Hill were untouched. Serene, tranquil, and still easing itself awake from the dusty silence of early morning. I tore through the trees at a sprint, thin vines and branches tearing at my coat as I sped over the cold packed dirt and gnarled forest roots.

I was following a creek, and I was relatively sure it was the same one that Noel meant. I’d seen the maps of the land in the museums, but those had never held much truth when it came to small details like a small creek in the heavy western woods. Noel's parent's mansion had been built only a few decades ago, so I was guessing at a ghost.

I slowed as I approached a large fallen basswood tree, leaning on it as I caught my breath. I really wasn’t made for running, and my lungs screamed with the icy air pulling and pushing out of them. As I sat on the cool bark, I faced the way I’d come, and recognized it.

I’d been here before, with Noel, when she needed a break from her homework, or life in general. This was near the right spot.

“Noel!” I shouted, turning around on the tree to search for her. The quiet, yet alive chatter of the woods slowed as my voice rung out, then returned as it died.

A woodpecker stabbed a rhythm into a far away tree, and the forest all together went on uncaring. I swore under my breath, and moved my legs to straddle the cold dead tree like a horse.

The felled basswood spanned the creek, and I stared down its length as I caught my breath. Moving my gloved hand down the trunk, I found my glove was sticking to something.

It was a carved heart. The injured wood was green and fresh, sap building up and out at the edges of the cut.

The letters in the heart read N + J, then a date. 2-3-23. Very fresh. I stared at the ‘N’, brushing the older sap aside with my thick gloved digits.

Natalie.

The name still burned painfully in my heart, incorrect and shameful in the memories it wrought. One word from a well meaning stranger, one reminder of the date of the accident, that’s all it took.

February 15th, 2020. The night was alive in my mind again, without my asking. I turned my head up, to face the woods.

The woods, as many dark and cold nights on the road had taught me, could be very dangerous. Refusing to drive or even be driven after the accident, I had backpacked my way down from New York.

I’d thought the trip would be quick; Google Maps said ten days, and I thought I'd be in Old Hill in nine, maybe eight days, easy.

After the money for inns and motels had run out, I had realized that walking worked on the same kind of time that hospitals and classes right before lunch did: Slow time.

Time that stretches on until you're sunburnt and dehydrated, until you want to turn back, but that would make things even worse, and everyone back home doesn’t want you there anyway, so just keep on heading down I-81 counting the mile markers.

Slow time traps you in this until your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and you’re willing to sleep on a pile of rusty nails because at least they don’t fucking honk at you for having the gall to walk on the shoulder instead of in the gluttonous mud trench that sucks your falling-apart-shoes down its shit-coated-throat.

So, after a long day of trudging, the sun would go down, sometimes obligingly slow, sometimes slipping right out of slow time and into blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time, diving below the horizon and leaving you soaking wet, struggling with two damp sticks to make a fire.

This, however, was preferable to the perils of the interstate’s shoulder and its many bored, cloying cops and just-like-me vagrants.

If I had to choose, though, it’d be the vagrants. I’d shared a few kind fires with a number of them, sometimes learning their names and their stories, sometimes sitting in uneasy silence until we wandered off to sleep in private.

As the weeks wore on, I had been moving into a cold front, and not sleeping in front of the fire had become impossible.

More often than not, I’d made camp in a thin layer of trees that lined a highway-side property. Sometimes you’d need to hop a fence, which started out hard, but by the second week was routine.

This was technically and legally trespassing, but a camo sleeping bag and a good spot usually got you through the night without disturbance. Usually.

More than once, I’d been woken by something rummaging through my belongings, sometimes even the coat I’d been sleeping in. Sometimes it’d be curious and annoyed animals, but most times it had been people. The cops had always been the worst.

“What you’re doing is illegal,” they’d say, then look at me confused and finish either with “Sir,” or, more often, “Ma’am.” Always with disapproval in their voice and always using more force than needed.

Sometimes they’d let me move on, or I’d get a ride to their office, where they called my father, confirmed he knew where I was, then bewilderedly let me go, usually with a stern warning.

Most cops, when they understood, had offered food and drink for my trip. Some had even offered rides, which I graciously denied. Some offered neither, and just let me go.

One, the worst, had left me locked up in the little town’s singular cell for three days and three nights. It was just outside of West Virginia, right after I’d crossed the Kentucky border.

Jessup, as the nothing little two-road town was called, apparently had trouble keeping folk around. Or so I was told by Jessup’s top boozer, who said his name was Jesse. He’d already been in the cell when I was thrown in.

The officer who’d found me on the side of the road, a mean mugging ugly woman, had given Jesse her meanest mug as she walked away with a clipboard securely tucked beneath one arm.

Jesse of Jessup played harmonica, and drank like a fish. In the morning he was always set free, but at night, he was brought to the cell, what he lovingly and drunkenly called ‘Jesse’s Little Corner of Jessup’.

On my last night in his town, he’d snuck in a small bottle of Fireball, a deck of cards, and his dirty harmonica, still wet from its play in the bar. After the mean-mugger had left for the night, Jesse showed me how to play Hearts, Bullshit, Garbage, and the 'ca.

He was good, and I told him as much. In his jovial way, he corrected me: “I’m not good,” I remembered him slurring, “I’m mean. ‘Jesse,’ you should say. ‘You play a meaaaaan har-moan-i-cah,’ you should be saying.”

So I did, and he cheered. We shared no campfire, but did huddle and did dance around the rattling radiator, him blowing sharply into the ‘cah and me stomping my boots and clapping my hands.

He’d thanked me for my company, and kissed me gently on the cheek. He’d reeked of alcohol and worse, but I thanked him for his good humor, and let him sleep.

After the mean-mugger had exhausted all of her attempts to find me guilty of various crimes, she’d let me go. She had demanded I shower first, staring me down with a disappointed grandmotherly glare. So, thanks to her, I walked out of Jessup and up the highway on-ramp cleaner than I’d been in weeks.

The memory of the mean-faced officer set a worry ablaze in my stomach as I stared down the creek. Again, the stab of the woodpecker cut through the wood’s idle chatter. Why was I out here?

Why in the world had I ignored direct orders from an officer of the law, when they knew my name and phone number? It gnawed at me. I’d never done anything like this.

I finally crossed the log, and stepped off of it onto the other side of the creek. “Noel!” I shouted out again, this time more of a bark. A quick check of the woods revealed nothing but the quiet apathy that suffused the trees. Wasting my time, when she could be in danger. What the fuck am I do-

“Hands up,” a thin, scared voice said from behind me. I recognized the slight southern accent.

“Noel,” I said, half turning my head. “I-”

“I said hands up!” She was shouting now, and I turned to face her with my hands up.

Noel, almost thirteen and dressed in stained Hello Kitty pijamas, held a rifle aimed at my chest. The lever action rifle was almost comically large in her arms, and I laughed nervously, falling, then stepping backwards as she approached me slowly, gun held level against her shoulder. She was trying not to cry.

“Where is my father,” she asked in a broken voice, screwing up her face in a grimace.

“I-I don’t know, Noel, what are you doing? I came here to help you,” I blurted out, still holding my hands in the air carefully. “Please, put the gun down.”

She shook her head. “Answer me,” she said, waving it in the air. She stood on the basswood I had crossed the creek on, and faced me, searching my face for a clue.

“I don’t know,” I repeated, feeling the cold press of a tree against my back. The creek babbled quietly next to us, and I stared at her. We both stood, unmoving.

Carefully, she stared at me, then raised the gun to point at my head. “Stop fucking lying!” she barked at me. I flinched, closing my eyes.

“I’m not! The cops said you were missing, nothing about your dad! I don’t know what the hell is going on, I just want you to stop pointing that thing at me,” I said, breathing heavily.

“Bullshit,” she spat, the curse sounding foreign in her light voice. “Don’t move,” she said, and braced the rifle against her with one arm as she dug in her pocket for something. Then she threw it at me, and adjusted her grip on the gun.

Her phone landed next to me in the leaves, the screen lighting up to show a picture of Noel and her mother, smiling happily in a selfie. I looked up at her, facing the glare of the rifle’s blackened metal barrel. She stared at me, raw anger in her eyes.

“You know the passcode,” she growled. “Open it. Watch the video.” I blinked, then nodded, crouching slowly and taking my right hand down to put in the numbers. 9-2-1-2. Her birthday.

The phone opened, showing a paused recording of a computer monitor. The woodpecker stabbed his staccato into a nearby tree. I tapped on the screen, then pressed play.

The video was a recording of the security system in the house I’d lived in until yesterday, portrayed in black and white. It was a view from the top of the grand staircase, watching the front door and most of the upstairs balcony, and the time in the bottom left corner read 2:03 A.M..

Noel, holding the camera in the video, was quietly and carefully breathing, the view slowly moving with her breath. The time in security footage flipped to 2:04 A.M.. The real Noel’s breathing suddenly broke out in a gentle shaking wheeze, I wasn’t sure if she was sobbing, or laughing. “Keep watching,” she choked, seeing I was looking up at her.

Car headlights streamed through the front door’s windows, casting shadows on the wall of the balcony floor. The balustrade’s shadows fled quickly across the wall, then slowly melted away as the headlights died. A moment passed, and then the door opened. Noel’s father walked in.

Kyle Montgomery was a tall man, ambiguously young but mature and well kept. Grey was seeping in at the top of his scalp, peppering his blond, jaw length hair. Carefully hanging his keys on a hook near the door, he stared at himself in the full length mirror next to the door, straightening out his thin mustache and checking his jawline.

He mussed up his hair, then turned his head back and forth to check if it was correctly incorrect. Nodding in approval, he shrugged off his heavy business coat, and let it drop to the floor as he walked up the stairs. He shed his suit and loosened his tie, leaving him with just a tailored pinstripe button up tucked into perfect black slacks.

As he rose to the top of the stairs, he stopped and carefully undid the highest button of his shirt, the tie hanging loosely about his chest like an ascot.

Then, he paused, staring down at the mess of his coat on the ground, the stairs, then the hall the opposite way, where his wife and child were asleep. He looked small in the video, and suddenly very tired. Still facing his bedroom, he raised his hand gently to his mouth, and bit down softly on it.

He turned to face my bedroom, biting down on his own flesh hard enough to draw a bead of blood. He walked to my door, then knocked on it, drawing his wounded hand to his side, near his hip. He looked as if he were going to draw a sword, though nothing was there, just his right hand hovering a few inches away from his left hip.

The door opened, and I was standing in the crack. I was dressed in pijamas, and looked at him confused. He said something, the recording silent. In the past, I nodded, widening the door.

My brain felt like it was dropped in a bath of ice water, pure confusion washing over me. “What the fuck?” I said aloud, watching myself open the door further, letting him step in. I walked away, disappearing into the room as he slipped through the doorway, then closed it.

I stared at my door in the video, nauseated. “Noel,” I said, staring up at her from the floor of the forest. “I don’t remember this.” My voice was cracking, confusion and fear seeping into my words from my core.

“Bullshit,” she croaked. She readjusted the grip on the rifle. “I’ve literally seen you do it. I watched you open that door for him! I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but it’s got to be why he’s gone. Where is he?”

“Noel,” I pleaded, “That’s not me. There’s no way, I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that to you, or your mom,” I said. “Beli-”

“I don’t believe you,” she shouted, almost sobbing now. “You’re a liar. You stole my dad, or killed him, or something, ‘cause you knew it wasn’t right. Almost every night at two A.M., since you got here. Look!” She gestured towards her phone with the rifle.

I looked down carefully, cringing away from the gun as it came back up to point at me. Noel in the video was shaking, watching as her father left my room, five minutes after he had entered it.

He looked the same as when he’d entered, save for the blood and bite mark on his hand. They were gone. He walked calmly down the stairs, grabbed his coat, and left the house. The car’s headlights cast the familliar shadows in reverse.

The camera spun, and the mouse on the desktop shakily moved to a new folder, reading 2/13/23. Two days ago. The mouse maneuvered to the video file labeled 200, the second file in the folder, and opened it.

Almost on the dot at 2:03 A.M., Mr. Montgomery stepped into the foyer, shrugged his coat onto the floor, then climbed the stairs.

This time, he didn’t pause on the way to my door to bite his hand, stopping only to knock, clearly hover his hand over his empty hip, then enter my room.

I hadn’t even looked up at him. I’d just let him in.

“What the fuck,” I whispered hoarsely.

The mouse skimmed the video to five minutes later, when Kyle exited punctually, closing the door after him carefully, then taking the stairs two at a time to leave the mansion.

The video then clicked through random nights at two A.M., watching the same process occur many times over, sped up.

Sometimes he bit his hand, sometimes he just knocked. Always, his hand reached for the empty space at his left hip. I watched, silently, until the video ended suddenly in the middle of a night.

Noel had been staring at me the entire time, burning with silent rage. “Just tell me.”

I took a deep breath, and sat on the cold, packed dirt. “I don’t know, Noel. That’s not me. There’s no way…”

I wasn’t one to repress memories. My worst traumatic memories, I could remember in painful detail, burned into the fabric of my being. It could be an actor, but no, I’d been there at two A.M., almost every weeknight for a year. I could very distinctly remember my nights, they were usually taken up with studying and listening to music.

A coldly horrible idea formed in my head. He could have been drugging me to make me forget. Something in a drink, or something in food. He hadn’t been carrying anything in with him…

But it could’ve been in his pocket. I writhed in disgust, and I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling my breath hitch inside me as I stared emptily at the phone.

“What the fuck was he doing to me,” I said, hollow, not really there, not really meaning to. What had he done to me? Why couldn’t I remember? If he was drugging me inside of my room, how had I let him in? Would I let that man in my room if he knocked? No. Definitely no. “What the fuck,” I whispered, rocking slightly.

“Parker?” Noel asked softly.

“No,” I stated, almost to myself. “It’s a fake, a fake video or a fake set that he made to set me up. It’s just an actor, just…” Noel was staring at me, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” She asked, lowering the rifle a little, stepping towards me.

“He was never home, he could’ve been, I don’t know, setting this up? There’s no way I’d let him into my room. I don’t even like your father as a person, let alone,” I stopped, feeling bile rise in my chest. “No. This isn’t real.” I stated firmly, and felt like I was coming back to myself, at least a little.

“No, Parker,” she said, stepping back again and raising the rifle. “I watched you do it. After I recorded this, I stayed up to watch you. He knocked, you let him in.”

“No,” I pleaded.

“Please, don’t lie,” Noel whispered.

“Stop calling me a fucking liar! I don’t remember any of this!” I was shouting now, on my knees in front of her.

"Just tell me the truth!" She cried, matching my intensity.

"I am!" I screamed I picked up the phone, throwing it back to her harder than I needed to. She staggered backward, shocked.

"Liar." Noel almost growled the word, dripping with resentment.

She bent to pick up her phone, momentarily hugging the rifle against her chest, hand still on the trigger guard. It was pointed at me. My eyes darted up to Noel's. She wasn’t looking at me.

What do you do?

< >

#Perdition 1.4 #Perdition #tw deadnaming #tw gun mention #tw implied abuse #tw offscreen abuse #tw cops #interactive game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive writing #choose your own adventure #cyoa #poll #polls #adventure prep #tw alcohol #tw unsanitary #tw gaslighting

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leggerefiore · 2 years

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I don't think I ever saw anyone talking about Emmet with the ditto Emmet from Pokemon Masters. It's cute and funny until Emmet's spouse accidentally gives Dittommet his lunch, claiming that the fact it didn't talk wasn't much different from Emmet's less wordy nature. Even worse when Dittommet likes the lunch so much it tries to kidnap his s/o... Hijinks ensue.

that's a rude thing to call Ingo

Pasio was a lovely place for a vacation. It varied heavily based off where you chose to visit, so it was almost an all-in-one place. You had come originally on your own to get away from the hustle and bustle of Unova. Your home was lovely, and you had a sweet boyfriend who was there for you, But… Well, you wanted to get out for a while. What you hadn't expected between all the battling and random vacation activities was for your boyfriend and his twin to get pulled to the island by Hoopa. They were pretty confused at first, looking around aimlessly, but ultimately, they decided to create their own sort of Battle Subway and do other battles around the island.

You wondered if he would even realise you were there for the longest time. Emmet tended to get pretty invested in whatever he and his brother decided to put their minds to, so it didn't surprise you when your lovely boyfriend failed to find you. Of course, you ran into each other in the pokemon center. His silver eyes shot wide while he clung to you excitedly. “Darling! You are here! I am verrrry happy,” he cooed and rubbed his cheek against yours. You laughed and hugged him back. Then, naturally, he wanted to battle you. Which you did. Your annoyance was barely masked when he beat you. Though, he made up for it by spending a day with you. Some relaxing beach time with Emmet was a surprisingly wanted thing.

(You quite enjoyed how easily he got sunburnt. He was slathered in sun block and yet, it still happened. The poor thing is a fragile ecosystem.)

Now, when Hoopa summoned several Dittos who immediately transformed into trainers, you admittedly were a bit confused. You had got lunch for you and him, and the ditto looked just like him (even more so than Ingo, his literal twin). “Emmy, hey,” you smiled, standing close to your presumed boyfriend, “I got us lunch! Let's eat together.” He nodded with a sweet grin and followed you to some open tables outside. You watched as he devoured the burger with a strange ferocity. Had he not eaten all day? That wasn't good! Hopefully, he wasn't picking up some of Ingo's habits. His smile seemed to grow as he tilted his head at you. Was he confused? “You feeling less talkative today, Em? That's alright,” you reassured him.

Leaning into his shoulder, you rested comfortably against him. People around you either enjoyed their meals or chatted languidly about things. The sun was high above you both, warming your skin. Greenery was tall and abundant alongside the housing for those living and visiting the island. It was remarkable what man can do. His arm came around your waist while his head rested a top of yours. Then, suddenly, you were lifted up and carried away. “STOP!” A yell echoed out loudly somewhere. You turned your head to see who yelled while Emmet ran off with you. Except, well, see – That's where it got confusing. Another Emmet – Not, Ingo – staring at you both with a horrified expression. He took off after you both, yelling for his apparent look-alike to stop once more. You were lost. “Ingo?” you tried on the one carrying you. He tilted his head, but didn't speak.

That wasn't exactly an Ingo reaction, nor was him lifting you and running away. However, the brother chasing you seemed to be more like Emmet, too. His facial expressions were easily shown, and his words were short and direct. A loud pokemon cry echoed out as Archeops flew in front of you. The pokemon glared at whoever was carrying you, signifying the Emmet running after you was likely the real Emmet. Who was carrying you if not Ingo, though? A moment of struggling and help from Archeops freedom you from his grip. You crashed to the ground in a somewhat painful manner. The concrete scraped you a little, which caused a hiss to escape you, but otherwise you were uninjured.

Emmet knelt beside you, huffing in air greedily. “Darling! I'm offended!” he whined, “How long until you greet Ingo as me! That's a ditto.” You stared at him with a neutral expression. That was a what? Your head whipped to the other Emmet, who was trying to ward off Archeops badly. Eventually, they turned their face to you to show a Ditto expression. “Why is a there a Ditto pretending to be you?” you asked him. He shrugged. The Ditto started crying from the harassment from Emmet's bird, and you felt bad. Despite its odd actions, it was still a pokemon. You gently got up and pet the pokemon's head. It looked up at you with big eyes, just like Emmet would give you. Too cute! “Hey, buddy, why don't you become my pokemon? I'll give you a burger whenever then,” you joked. It let out an excited cry and gave up its transformation. The gooey creature hugged your leg excitedly. You tossed out a pokeball and caught it with ease.

Emmet watched you with hands on his hips, “Why?” You snickered. “They're cute in their own little way,” you explained, “Plus, they're great for breeding.” He nodded, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you headed back to the sitting area. It was there you saw another clone of Emmet. This one, however, held a frown and an annoyed expression. A loud Emmet boomed when you both entered his line of sight.

Perhaps this one wasn't a Ditto.

#emmet.ima

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lottiecrabie · 9 months

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also what would be the song titles of the other songs on the album 🤨 i am very curious abt make believe celebrity world

other than galatea, we know of two other songs in the text, circe circus and sunburnt. the first one is apparently an overly grand love song, and sunburnt a summer-y thing. those two titles were chosen specifically because of what i assume are the general Themes of the album, or at least the song titles, ie. greek myth-inspired and galatea, take one text-inspired.

circe circus is mostly because i liked the alliteration, but also because i think it could be a very tongue-in-cheek song about the artifices and masquerade of love (which i think is why matty would see it as this mockery of love songs instead of genuineness). circus is generally considered a grand farce, and circe is an enchantress who would seduce men and then turn them into pigs.

i picked sunburnt because of how, in the ice cream scene, she covers her blush and therefore her growing attraction/feelings with the lie that she must be getting sunburnt. i assume that would have been the subject of the song, though she also describes her fans as sunburnt, so maybe it’s an ode to them instead.

following those two ideas, i can absolutely see her covering the myth of medea (my fav greek myth Yay). if you’re not familiar, medea marries jason and commits several war crimes and vile, insurmontable acts for him, and then he abandons her and their children for a princess. scorned and betrayed and Unhinged, she ends up killing the princess, the king, and then her children (with regrets<3). anyway i think it would absolutely be a piece she delves into when she realizes that matty is Not gonna leave delilah for her, and she starts relating to the betrayal and pain of medea. definitely a female rage anthem.

(side note pls read medea by euripide it’s such a good play and it talks with so much empathy and understanding about objectively a Bad woman and a Bad mother in ways that had not been done before, especially not in ancient greece. the phrase ‘what other creatures are bred so exquisitely and purposefully for mistreatment as women are?’ makes me go feral the whole monologue is insane and you’re telling me ancient greek man WROTE THIS?? what 20 years old teenage girl possessed him wtf)

i could also see a song touching on beauty with a title about aphrodite. she does say that her ex-boyfriend didn’t, from her understanding, find her beautiful, but instead raw and unfinished and he aimed to complete her. i think that must fuck with her vision of her and her beauty, and she would write a song unpacking it. or maybe talking about the running youth and beauty and if she is not pretty and young, if she cannot be a muse anymore, what will she be. once again touching on her qualms about musedom.

the second category is, again, words or sentences from prose /i/ would pick from the writing to represent her own emotions. i guess it’s quite meta lol, though i assume if i wrote it she could have thought it. there probably would have been something called too sweet about her just being too nice for her own good, which would be a very biased and unreliable song (she is, once again, deceiving and hurting a very kind woman. not too sweet not to fuck her man!).

i think something about coffee too since it’s a running theme to represent the failings of love (meeting her ex in a coffee shop, the espresso martini matty makes her tasting like a ‘mature café day in new york, but coffee just the same’, kissing him and she’s glad it doesn’t taste like coffee, etc etc). uncertainty and doomed fate and patterns and Loss of love would be its subject.

there is, on top of that, an unnamed break up song about her ex. i think that one would go more in the second category, maybe something like watercolors since she quite literally says ‘fuck watercolors’ about her ex and his treatment of her.

i did not know i had this much to say on the subject wow. this was so fun to think about Thank you!

#my followers sending me on creativity prompts lmao #galatea take one #ask

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