#that neither of them remember what the other looks like

[vivwritesfics]

hi 🥹🥹 idk if this is okay but can i request a os ( or a series if you think it’s worthy, you decide ! ) where lando and yn are exes and they meet during a party after soooo many years and they are still super angry at each other (no cheating because i read your rules but idk, maybe they broke up because of distance?? or lando wanted to focus on his career ??). Despite that, tension builds up and they end up having sex all night and then they confess they never forget each other and idk a lil happy ending?

a right person wrong time ex lovers to enemies to lovers again sort of idk ahahahahahah

love youuuuuu

I've been pretty away from things for the last two days and I'm sorry, but hoping to get back on track real soon

Verstappen reader

Warnings: light smut, fingering

When you break up with someone you're still in love with, it sucks. It really fucking sucks. So much that it's easier to let yourself hate them than miss them.

It was years ago, but she still hated him. And seeing him on her television so often made her hate him more. It would have been easier if he hated her too, but he didn't. Her brother made sure she was aware of it.

She'd managed to avoid races, has done for years at this point. But Max was about to win his third championship, and he wanted her there for it.

So, he flew her out to Qatar.

For the entire race weekend, she ignored him. She ignored him with everything she had. Hiding out in the Red Bull garage, walking the other way whenever anybody dressed in orange came towards her.

But then Max won the goddamn championship. That wasn't what she was mad about. She was so fucking happy that her big brother had won the championship. She couldn't say no to going out partying with him.

Neither could Lando, either.

He didn't know she was going to be there, didn't know that she was even in the country. But, the moment his eyes met hers, fuck. He couldn't stop himself from striding over to her, drink in hand.

"Hey," he said, a little breathlessly. Well, she she looked incredibly fucking good.

Her hand reached out and struck his face. Lando held his cheek as he looked down at her. "What was that for?" He asked, but he knew. He knew how he had fucked up and he regretted it so much.

""Fuck you," she spat, stepping closer. But then she backed off to find her brother.

The night kept going on like this. They kept running into each other, dancing together for just a few minutes before she remembered who she was with and backed off.

Lando hadn't kissed her at the end of the night. He hadn't climbed into her lap as she sat in a booth (something she did to her). With her situated in his lap, hands on the back of his neck, she pressed her lips to his own.

"Fuck," he grunted against her lips as he grabbed her waist.

She whimpered and began trailing kisses down his neck. "Take me to your room, Lan," she whispered.

Her voice was so soft, how could he ever say no?

That was how she ended up in his hotel. Lando laid her on his bed, his hands touching her like he hadn't forgotten how. She moaned as he pulled down her underwear, his hands touching her thighs. Even this was better than anything she'd had in the years since they broke up.

"I've missed this," he whispered as his finger ran through her folds. She tossed her head back as he felt just how wet she was.

Fuck, he needed her now.

Lando dropped his trousers. He slowly and gently thrust his fingers into her, opening her up before he entered her.

It was like he was made to fill her. And he did, over and over again, until the sun shone through the window and light filled the room.

The new day came a new sense of clarity. She'd fucked her ex. Who the hell made the mistake of sleeping with their ex? She couldn't help but feel stupid as she looked at him, sleeping in the bed beside her. She'd missed him, so damn much.

But he was the one who didn't want her.

As she slipped out of the bed, a hand reached for her. "Don't go," he said. "Stay with me, please."

She couldn't stop herself from letting a sigh loose from her lips. "Why should I, Lan?" She couldn't stop the nickname from slipping out. "You don't want me, so why should I?"

He couldn't help but groan. "I do want you," he said.

She pulled away from him and gathered her clothes up from the floor. "Then start acting like it."

#f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader smut #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

It took 2 people to fully convince Crosshair to do a 180 on the Empire - but neither of those people were Bad Batch members.

They couldn't be. What would a squad of defective clones who had been disobeying orders since day 1 know about loyalty to an institution determined to establish order for the good of the galaxy? What would they know about finding purpose in being "good soldiers"?

Now, I DO think the seeds of Crosshair's eventual defection were planted by his brothers. Hunter pointing out that "Blind allegiance makes you a pawn" and then telling Crosshair "All you'll ever be to them is a number" are statements that are proven later to be true. But it takes Cody and Mayday to drive the lessons home.

Cody and Mayday share several characteristics that place them in unique positions to influence Crosshair:

Both are regs who accepted and befriended Crosshair - Cody says he specifically asked for Crosshair for the mission, and Mayday is upfront and friendly to Crosshair right from the start. (Contrast this to the other regs getting up to move tables when Crosshair sits to eat, or the other clone troopers who walk past Crosshair to get onto the shuttle without even sparing him a glance.)

Both are commanders. (I believe Crosshair ultimately respects authority for the most part: even when he was arguing with and challenging Hunter in "Aftermath," he still deferred to Hunter's orders until his inhibitor chip was intensified and he was then promoted to commander.)

Both are loyal soldiers who have served the Empire well - again, these regs are still commanders even under the new government. And we all know how important loyalty to the Empire is to Crosshair at this point.

Both save Crosshair's life during their missions.

In short, both are regs, but they are still soldiers Crosshair can quickly identify with and trust.

I think it's key that Crosshair encountered Cody before Mayday, though. And despite their similarities, both soldiers drive home different points.

CODY

Cody is one of the few regs we know Crosshair already respected - and still respects, given that Crosshair almost smiles when he recognizes him.

(Some proof in case it isn't apparent: Crosshair goes from frowny face...

...to relaxed almost-happy-if-you-squint-just-right face)

Anyway, while Cody does drop some hints early on that he has doubts about the Empire, he is willing to carry out the mission to rescue "Governor" Grotton, showing he will follow orders to a certain extent. However, he shows more restraint than Crosshair might have: he doesn't attack the civilians despite their obvious mistrust of the soldiers, he comes to an understanding with Tawni Ames, he's NOT willing to follow an order to execute her, and he is clearly dismayed and disappointed by her death.

And so, at the end of a "successful" mission, Cody more plainly reveals the depth of his dissatisfaction with following orders against one's own moral scruples:

Hunter had said "Blind allegiance makes you a pawn." And Cody, unwilling to blindly and unquestioningly be a pawn - or act like a battle droid - any longer, goes AWOL.

But that lesson alone isn't enough to make Crosshair turn on the Empire. Instead, he needs Mayday to give him the final push.

MAYDAY

First, Mayday indicates how appalled he is by the idea of anyone leaving their own behind - which we know is a sore spot for Crosshair. But most importantly, Mayday has demonstrated since he was first introduced that he strongly believes in soldiers being loyal to and looking out for each other (which is far different than just being loyal to the Empire).

Second, Mayday unknowingly challenges Crosshair's belief that serving the Empire provides meaningful purpose. (Remember that one of Crosshair's main arguments to his brothers about joining the Empire was so they could "find purpose again.")

Then, he unwittingly goes for the jugular and rips apart the motto Crosshair had adopted.

And then, in case Crosshair has any lingering doubts about the answer to Mayday's rhetorical question, Nolan decidedly answers the question for him.

Hunter had said "All you'll ever be to them is a number," and he is proven right in the most heartbreaking way.

Crosshair had accused his brothers of not being loyal to him; unfortunately, now he sees what true disloyalty looks like. And for Crosshair - severe and unyielding - realizing that he has misplaced his loyalty by giving it to an entity that mocks him and casts him AND those he cares about aside for doing so... this is the final straw.

Thankfully, Crosshair has now rediscovered the people who are worthy of his loyalty.

#the bad batch #tbb #clone force 99 #star wars #star wars the bad batch #tbb crosshair #commander mayday #tbb mayday #commander cody #tbb cody #lessons learned the hard way #tbb analysis #and now i'm crying #shouldn't have rewatched these episodes #but they are SOOO GOOD #save crosshair #amazing character development in only two episodes #this is longer than i intended it to be - again #but this is what happens when i have to wait four more days for the finale

[hbyrde36]

For my beloved @penny00dreadful 💜🖤

My fandom bestie, writing soulmate, and one of my absolute favorite people in the entire world.

Happy (early) Birthday 🌈👠💖

Huge thanks to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for all your help in making this story come to life!

WC: 3483 | Ch 1/4 | AO3 <-

Chapter 1: Over the Rainbow

To be perfectly honest, Steve always felt a little unsafe riding around in the van with Eddie. It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se, but he was definitely a distracted one, constantly needing to be reminded to keep his eyes on the road instead of the tape deck. He also tended to treat speed limits as more of a suggestion than something enforceable by law.

Tonight was no exception, the feeling of unease even worse than usual because of the storm raging outside. They shouldn’t have even been on the road in these conditions, a fact Steve had tried in vain to convince Eddie of. Hawkins was under a tornado warning for fuck’s sake! But the other boy wouldn’t hear it, their errand was too important.

They had plenty of beer, but they needed snacks. 

According to Eddie there was absolutely no way they could enjoy Friday the 13th part 27, or whatever ridiculous number sequel it was that he wanted to watch, properly without the three basic food groups: Pringles, Twizzlers, and some form of chocolate.

They were having a movie night, just him and Eddie. It was no big deal, really. Steve wasn’t nervous about it at all. They’d been getting along fine since Vecna had been defeated, better than fine! They just… hadn’t spent a lot of one-on-one time together. 

Typically, at least Robin, and some-or-all of the kids, would join them on a night like this, but the kids were set on going to the arcade, and Robin—who’d finally gotten over her fear of driving and managed to get her license on the first try—was taking Vickie out for what may or may not be a date, and borrowing Steve’s car to do it.

Therein lay the source of the problem, actually. It was usually Robin’s job to procure movie night snacks, and in her absence neither of them had thought to pick up the slack.

Which is what had led them to this moment. 

Flying down the road at 15 miles per hour over the posted speed limit, minimum, in a fucking downpour, at night. They were just asking for a deer or some shit to come bounding across the road and then—BAM!

As if on cue, just as Steve had the thought, something did indeed dart out from the side of the road to cross in front of them. Fortunately, for once, Eddie was actually paying attention. He slammed on the brakes, simultaneously jerking the wheel, allowing them to narrowly miss hitting the poor wild animal. 

Unfortunately, that combination of evasive maneuvers caused them to spin out, and sent the van careening into a ditch on the side of the road. The vehicle flipped, and Steve had just enough time to think how glad he was that they’d both been wearing their seatbelts, before something from the rear came flying up to smack him hard in the back of the head. 

-

Steve came to slowly, blinking awake, wincing as the bright light of day attacked his retinas. 

Day?

But it’d been night, hadn’t it? It was dark, and it was raining, and…

The evening before came back to him in a sudden rush. The van sliding across the road, the sickening crunch of metal as it rolled, gravity doing what gravity does. He didn't remember anything after that, but it looked like somehow they’d managed to land upright in the end at least.

He rubbed at the nape of his neck, pleasantly surprised to find no lumps, bumps, or blood, nor did he feel the telltale nausea that sometimes came with a really bad blow to the head. He wondered if Eddie– 

Oh my god, Eddie!

Steve looked to the left, finding the driver's seat empty and was instantly gripped by panic. He scrambled out of the car, nearly falling on his ass in his hurry.

“Eddie?” He called out, fear churning in his gut. “Eddie?!”

He spun a circle, relief washing over him as he found the other boy only a few feet away. 

Eddie was sitting on a large tree trunk, rocking ever-so-slightly back and forth, gnawing on his fingernails as he stared at the backside of the van.

“There you are! Dude, you scared the shit out of–” Steve trailed off as he rushed to Eddie’s side to see what he was looking at, and swallowed hard. It was a pair of legs in striped stockings wearing a killer pair of red heels, sticking out from under the rear tires. The shoes glittered cheerfully in the sunlight. “Oh, fuck.”

Eddie dropped his head into his hands. “I thought I swerved in time. I thought we missed it.”

“I thought it was a deer.” Steve mumbled.

Eddie cut him an annoyed glare. “Clearly not, Harrington.”

“Hey,” Steve said softly. He knew Eddie well enough by now to tell when he was scared—when he felt guilty, even if he was trying to act otherwise. “This isn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. “Tell that to the cops! They thought I was a murderer once already. It’s only been a few months where I can actually be seen in public without someone calling me a devil worshiper, or worse. Now they’ll think they have proof that I really am a killer!”

“You know Hop will go to bat for you again, and I’m here. I can be a witness.”

“That’s not all.” 

“It somehow gets worse than us accidentally killing some lady?”

Eddie sighed, raking a hand over his face as he rose from the stump. He turned, gesturing to something behind them, but Steve was still stuck on those legs. He couldn’t look away. 

“Why the hell was someone out in shoes like that in the middle of the night anyway?” Steve mused. “It was pouring.” 

“Steve, look.”

“What if we just said I was driving? Then we– “

“Steve!” Eddie gripped his upper arms, forcibly turning him around. 

Steve’s eyes went wide. They were standing right on the edge of a little town. Little, not only in the way that the town itself was small in, like, area, though it was that—about the size of one city block—but for the fact that all the colorful little buildings and bungalows were miniature. The whole thing was surrounded by gardens laden with all sorts of beautiful plants, shrubs, and trees, with flowers of every shade in bloom.

“What the fuck,” Steve breathed, taking a few tentative steps into the vivid village.

“Yeah.”

“Eddie, what the fuck?! Where are we? And why is everything in technicolor?”

Eddie stepped up from behind to clap him on the back. 

“I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, big boy.”

Steve shot him a look over his shoulder. “What was your first clue?”

“I see where Dustin gets his tone from.” Eddie mumbled.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “Do you… do you think it’s like the Upside Down?” 

“In the sense that it’s another dimension? Maybe, but I don't get the feeling this one has any terrifying monsters. It’s too clean. It even smells nice, like roses and shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. Eddie had a point, nothing about this place screamed danger. “The Upside Down always smelled like mold and rotting flesh.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“What do we do? How do we get back?” Steve asked, not really expecting Eddie to have all the answers, but he did his best thinking out loud with company. 

“No idea.”

“Should we start walking? Maybe try and find a payphone?”

Eddie scoffed. “A payphone?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

The other boy was quiet for a moment, a rare occurrence, but eventually threw his hands up in defeat. “No, actually. So, I guess walking it is.”

Steve turned back, intending on pilfering the van for things that might be useful, like water, weapons, or one of the many lighters that littered the floor, when something in the distance caught his eye.  

“What the hell is that?” He asked aloud, pointing up to the sky at a giant pink bubble that was headed straight for them. 

Eddie squinted up at it. “I think there's something inside.”

“Should we run?”

“Maybe we should pop it.”

“You just said there was something inside! Wouldn’t that let it out?”

Eddie shrugged.

In no time, the bubblegum colored sphere settled near them and faded away, leaving behind a woman with long dark wavy hair. She held a long scepter, and wore a tall crown and a poofy ball gown, of all things. There was also something very familiar about her face. 

“Wait.”

“No.”

“Is that?”

“It can’t be.”

“Joyce?!” They both said, in tandem.

The woman in the ballgown tilted her head. “Who’s Joyce?”

“You are.” Steve said. 

She shook her head, offering him a kind smile. “I’m afraid not. I’m Glinda, the Witch of the North, and who might you be?”

Eddie leaned in, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Is she serious?”

Steve snorted a laugh, quickly trying to hide it with a cough.

“What’s so funny?” Not-Joyce asked. 

“Nothing, uh, I’m Steve, and this is Eddie.”

She stepped carefully around them, pointing her sparkly stick at the half-a-dead-body that jutted out from under Eddie’s van. “What do you boys have to say for yourselves?”

“I’m sorry?” Eddie said, sobering quickly. At the same time Steve insisted, “It was an accident!”

“Stop giving them a hard time, Glinda. They did us a favor!” A strangely familiar voice called out from behind a nearby bush, and a moment later 6 small-ish figures came popping out of the surrounding foliage.

“They killed The Wicked Witch of the East!” The one with curly hair shouted, as the others cheered.

Eddie jumped. “Jesus H. Christ, where did all you little fuckers come from?!”

“Oh my god.” Steve muttered under his breath.

It was the kids, except they were actually kids. The 11-year-old versions of Dustin, Will, Lucas, Mike, Max, and El pushed and shoved their way past each other, all trying to be the first to approach.

“Who you calling little?” Baby-Lucas said.

“Okay, what the hell is going on here guys? Why are you so young, and what’s with the outfits?” Steve asked, completely dumbfounded.

Once he’d gotten over the initial shock of their appearance, Steve realized they were all wearing costumes or something. The girls wore pink frilly dresses and tall pointed bonnets, something he knew for a fact Max would never have agreed to, and the boys had these funny little shorts with long socks and matching tops—except for Dustin, who donned long pants and an even longer coat, along with a striped bow tie and a giant pocket watch hanging from his side. 

Eddie looked similarly stunned. “How did you get us here? And how did you get Joyce in on it?”

“Who’s Joyce?” Mini-Mike-Wheeler asked.

“I think they mean me.” Not-Joyce said.

Tiny Dustin’s face twisted up in confusion. “But that’s not your name.”

She shrugged. “I tried telling them that.”

Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Okay fine, she’s Glinda. Who are you?”

“Oh! I'm the mayor of Munchkinland.” A wide, gummy smile spread across tiny-Dustin’s face as he stuck his arm out, er, up, for a handshake. 

Steve stared down at him, unimpressed. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. I'm done playing whatever game this is. How do we–”

A sudden explosion went off in the middle of the town square only a few yards away, creating a thick cloud of red smoke. On instinct Steve and Eddie both moved to place themselves between the oncoming threat and the Munchkins. 

The air cleared quickly, revealing a woman in a long black dress and matching cloak, carrying a broom and wearing a hard scowl.

Steve blinked at her, then looked at Eddie for confirmation that they were seeing the same thing. 

“Mrs. Click?”

Eddie nodded.

Her complexion was all wrong but the resemblance was uncanny.

Steve leaned in, whispering, “If that’s Click, who do you think the one we hit was?” 

Eddie grinned. “O’Donnel.”

“I am the Wicked Witch of the West. You killed my sister. Prepare to die.” The newcomer declared loudly, sneering at the two of them.

Eddie rounded on her, pointing a finger right in her face. “Look lady, we’ve had just about enough–”

Steve grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back. “What my friend here means to say is, it was an accident and we’re very sorry.”

“I’ll show you an accident, young man,” The Wicked Witch said, raising her green hands and long pointy nails threateningly in their direction.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Glinda raised her voice, as she too moved to protect the little ones.

“The ruby slippers! Yes!” The Wicked Witch smiled gleefully and made a beeline for Eddie’s van. 

When her back was to them, Glinda winked at Steve and did some kind of wavy-woo with her stick, which, in hindsight he realized was a wand, and the red shoes disappeared from the dead body’s feet right before their eyes, reappearing in Steve’s hand a second later.

“They’re gone!” The Wicked Witch gasped, whirling on the spot and narrowing her eyes at him.

“Why is it always me?” Steve grumbled, resigned to the fight, only to find Eddie taking a protective step in front of him as she approached. 

“You! Give them back. I’m the only one who knows how to use them. They’re of no use to you!”

She wasn’t wrong, but Steve felt like maybe it wasn’t the best idea to give what he suspected was a powerful magical object to a woman whose sister they’d just murdered. All those months of spectating while the party played D&D were finally paying off. 

“Put them on and stay tight inside of them, Steve.” Glinda said, her tone grave. “Their magic must be very powerful, or she wouldn't want them so badly.”

Nailed it.

“You stay out of this, Glinda, or I'll fix you as well!”

The Good Witch waved her off. “You have no power here. Now be gone before someone drops a… a… a…” She stuttered, waffling as if searching for the right word.

“A van?” Eddie supplied.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Eddie dear.” She cleared her throat, pausing for what Steve could only assume was dramatic effect. “Now, be gone before someone drops a van on you, too!”

“Very well, but I'll be watching.” The Wicked Witch hissed, zeroing in on Steve once again. “I’ll get you my pretty-boy, and your little dog too!”

“Hey! Who are you calling a dog? You looked in the mirror lately?! Witch.” Eddie spat. 

She huffed, raising her broomstick high above her head and bringing it down hard against the road at her feet, sending more red smoke billowing up from the spot to quickly engulf her form. When it was gone, so was she.

“Little dog. Pfft.” Eddie muttered.

“It’s the hair.” Little-Max said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Tiny-Dustin agreed, nodding as he rubbed stubby fingers against his small chin. “The word scruffy does come to mind, to be fair.” 

“Watch it, Mayor.” Eddie warned.

“That, and the way you were guarding your friend there.” Little-Max spoke again.

Eddie glowered as she dissolved into giggles that quickly spread through the small crowd. Soon all the Munchkins, as well as Glinda, were clutching their sides with laughter.

Steve didn’t get what was so funny. 

“Don’t listen to them, Munson. I like your hair. It’s very… metal.” 

Eddie put on a show of rolling his eyes, but under it all was a shy pleased smile. “Thanks, Harrington.”

“That’s rough, boys. You’ve made quite the enemy. The sooner you get out of Oz the better I think.” Glinda said, when the laughter had finally faded. 

“And how do we do that exactly?” Eddie asked. “The van’s broken down, and even if it wasn't, I have no idea where the hell we are or how we even got here! Let alone how to get back to Hawkins.”

“The only person who might be able to help you would be The Great and Wonderful Wizard of Oz himself.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Okay, I'll bite. How do we find this Great Wizard?” It took all his strength not to put those last two words in air quotes.

“He lives in the Emerald city.” She said.

“And how do we get there?”

“Follow the yellow brick road, of course.”

Eddie shook his head. “Of course, she says.”

“Do you not have yellow brick roads where you come from?”

“No.” Steve snapped. He was already so tired of this shit, and somehow he knew that the end of, whatever this was, was nowhere in sight. 

“My, my, you two are grumpy.” Glinda muttered. Without another word she took a few steps away from them and waved her wand, conjuring a new pink bubble around herself. 

“Wait, you can’t just leave us here with these kids!” Steve shouted, but it was too late, The Good Witch had already started to float away. 

“We’re not kids, y’know.” Tiny-Dustin said.

“You look like kids.”

“Whatever.” The boy shrugged, taking one of their hands in each of his. “Come on, we’ll walk you to the edge of town.”

-

The edge of town turned out to be roughly 10 feet away from where the van had landed, which wasn’t a surprise given the compact nature of Munchkinland as a whole, but it did have Steve wondering why they even bothered. 

At least the kids—sorry, the Munchkins, had been helpful enough to point out the yellow brick road. 

As if they could have missed it.

Eddie let out a long whistle. “Wow, that is YELL-ow. Like, I know they said it, but I guess I expected it to be dull or dirty or something, not this bright sunshine color. Kinda reminds me of that sweater you used to wear.”

Steve tucked the pair of heels awkwardly under his arm and started down the path, wishing he had a bag or something to put them in. Holding onto them like this was going to get annoying fast. 

“Aren't you going to put those on first?” Eddie asked.

“Are you serious, Munson?” Steve slowed his pace, turning to gape at him.

Eddie grinned, bumping their elbows together when he caught up. “What, afraid you can’t walk in ‘em?”

“I wear a size 13 men’s shoe, they’re never gonna fit me!”

For a fraction of a second Eddie’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Jesus, guess I was onto something with that nickname, big boy.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving the shoes in Eddie’s direction. “Why don’t you put them on?”

“No, that Glinda lady gave them to you, expressly.”

“I'm telling you they’re not gonna fit.”

“Magic shoes, Steve.” Eddie wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “Magic shoes! Just try, I'm sure it’ll be fine.”

Steve glared as he toed his sneakers off, tying the laces together before throwing them over Eddie’s shoulder, and finally slipped his feet into the sequin adorned pumps. 

They fit like a glove.

He twisted at the waist, glancing behind his own back, sticking first one leg out, and then the other, as he looked down at himself. “Hmm, they do make my ass look nice, I guess.” 

He also just so happened to be wearing his date night jeans, the ones that hugged him in all the right places, and with the addition of the shoes? It was a good look, if he did say so himself. 

A high pitched noise escaped Eddie’s throat. “As if you needed any more help in that department.” He mumbled under his breath.

Steve swallowed hard. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

Eddie was always doing that—flirting, making little comments and then pretending he hadn’t. It drove Steve crazy, never sure if Eddie actually meant it, or if he just liked to tease—not quite sure which answer he hoped was the truth.

Steve turned on his heel, literally, and strode away, tired of wasting time. His first few steps were a bit wobbly, a little like a newborn calf learning to walk, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly. He wasn’t, like, swaying his hips side-to-side confident or anything—yet—but he was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to randomly fall over. It was good enough for now. 

“What are we looking for again?” He asked without turning around. 

“The Emerald city.” Eddie replied, falling into step beside him again, cheeks a little pink. “The little guy who looked like Will said we’d know it when we saw it.”

“Nicely vague, figures.” 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. They seem to take everything very literally around here, so my guess is if we see a place with a lot of big bright green buildings, that’ll be the one.”

Ch 2: Yellow Brick Road

Ch 3 (coming 4/27)

Ch 4 ( coming 4/28)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter(s)!

#steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie wizard of oz #post season 4 #eddie lives #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #gift fic #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #the party

[hypnoneghoul]

I know im not the person who sent the original ask but I would love to see more on the gills thing if you’re comfortable

i had dewzephfrit thoughts!!!

gills, anal ang vaginal sex, double penetration, overstimulation, kinda temperature play

Dewdrop is completely full.

He doesn’t remember much from the last hour beside Ifrit and Zephyr snatching him from the common room, stripping him and sitting him on their cocks before he’s even fully processed what was happening. He isn’t complaining—it’s an universal knowledge that he absolutely loves being stuffed full with anything and everything he can get.

What’s making his brain absolutely melt out of his ears, though, is Zephyr’s tongue in the gills on the left side of his neck and Ifrit’s fingers in the slits on the right.

“He’s so slick everywhere, Zeph,” the fire ghoul grunts and his hips twitch upwards, drilling his cock deep into Dewdrop’s sopping wet cunt. He moans sweetly and Zephyr uses that as an invitation to shove their tongue further into his gills.

They pull back after all but licking the inside of the water ghoul’s throat and they hum approvingly, “Such a wet little ghoul, aren’t you, droplet?”

He replies intelligently with yet another high, blissed out moan and both Zephyr and Ifrit chuckle. It’s the air ghoul’s turn to thrust into Dewdrop, slamming their cock into his tight asshole. The difference in temperatures between the three ghouls is another thing that makes Dewdrop absolutely mad; he feels like an ice cube shoved between a furnace that wants to absolutely melt him and a piece of cold glass desperately trying to keep him intact.

The water ghoul’s forehead thumps against Ifrit’s shoulder and he shudders, his claws digging further into his hips.

“Zeph,” Ifrit starts, “you think we can make him cum just like that?”

They scoff, “Obviously.”

If Dewdrop’s eyes wouldn’t be squeezed shut and if he’d look up, he’d see the two of them sharing a knowing look and a smirk over his head. He cries out when Ifrit and Zephyr stop all their movement. “N–No, please, gimme, gimme something.”

They only laugh at him.

Zephyr descends back and sucks the frills of his gill fins into their mouth, scrapes their fangs along the slits. The flesh there is so delicate that just a little bit more pressure and the air ghoul would make Dewdrop bleed. They have before, but now’s not the time.

Their tongue dips inside and they hum at the salty-sweet taste of the slick membrane covering the organ. Zephyr runs the very tip of the appendage along it and pretends to not notice Ifrit’s eyes burning through them as they do so, enjoying the feel of every single little ridge under their tongue.

They don’t care much for Dewdrop’s moaning and whining, not at all, and neither does Ifrit when he pushes his fingertips into the other set of his gills. They’re nothing like the air ghoul’s tongue—they’re hot and rough and hard and the feeling hovers on the line between pleasure and pain. Ifrit strokes inside and stretches the delicate slits and Dewdrop wails, clenching tightly around both their cocks.

“There we go,” Zephyr teases right into his throat. It starts to hurt, but neither of them pull back and the water ghoul’s pleasured cries do turn into ones of overstimulation.

“Break…I–I need…gimme a moment, please,” he begs, but he gets laughed at once again.

“Oh, but we’re not done, droplet. We’re far from done.”

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #ifrit ghoul #zephyr ghoul

[orangepanic]

Voices in the Night

Ikki couldn't sleep. The moon was too bright and there was a hummingbird moth that kept tap tap tapping at her window and her head was too full of thoughts. So up she went, using a cushion of air to glide down the hallways so her mother wouldn't hear her steps and be cross.

Once outside the moon was even brighter, like a big wheel of sky bison cheese. Ikki couldn't see the hummingbird moth though. What she did see was a butt. A butt with dangly legs hanging out of one of the open windows.

"Hello, Mr. Butt!" she chirped. There was a yelp and then a man tumbled out into the bush. When he stood he had sticks in his spiky brown hair. "Oh, hi Mako," she corrected.

"Shh!" Mako pressed his finger to his lips like a teacher. His face was all red and his shirt was unbuttoned. "I was only, um, looking for... yeah." Then he took off running across the grass.

"Bye Mako!" Ikki whispered, waving. He was funny. No wonder Korra liked him.

She turned and walked the other way around the residence. A lot of people had been staying on the island lately to help her dad with what to do after those scary Equalists and making a new council and stuff, so she wasn't surprised to see a flickering light on in one of the detached residences.

"I'd never leave you unsatisfied," said a low voice, followed by a wet sucking sound. "Until tomorrow then." The flickering light bounced a bit until it was outside, where it resolved into a tiny flame carried in the hand of a young man Ikki had known all her life.

"Hi, Iroh!" she called. "Can't sleep, too?"

Iroh jumped like someone had blown air up his pants. The flame in his hand winked out. When his eyes finally settled on her she saw him sag in apparent relief.

"What are you doing out of bed, munchkin?" he asked quietly, jogging over. "It's late."

"There was a moon and a hummingbird moth and Iroh, what are all those red smudges all over your mouth? Were you kissing? Oh it'd be so romantic! Who were you kissing, Iroh? Was it a princess? Are you gonna make her a princess? Where's your belt? Are---"

Iroh clapped a hand over her mouth and steered her back in the direction of the house. "I wasn't here," he whispered in her ear. "There's extra candy in it for you tomorrow if you can remember that."

"Mwhf frn nu---" Iroh released the hand over her mouth. "Okay, goodnight General Not Here, I like rock candy, the apple ones, and I hope it was good kissing and that you go home and have good dreams about your princess where you get married and I'm invited and you fly away on a dragon together into the sunset and have lots of babies."

Iroh rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, blushing. "Go to bed."

Ikki waved at his back and started back to the front door. The idea of candy made her remember there were leftover sweet buns in the kitchen which no one could tell her she couldn't have if they were asleep.

Suddenly a dark shape detached itself from the shadows of one of the far buildings. Ikki stopped in her tracks. There were no more Equalists, her father said, and no bad guys coming to get them. Still, something about the way this person moved screamed "bad guy" all the same. He wasn't walking so much as slinking. A slinky bad guy slinking away from who knew what badness.

Ikki opened herself and sent a jet of air at the man's back. He stumbled with a grunt and wheeled on her and he was old! Old like her daddy was old, with wrinkles and bushy eyebrows and a stripe of white down the middle of his gray hair like a skunk bear.

"What are you doing, kid?" he growled.

"We don't want any Equalists," Ikki said firmly, hands on her hips.

The big man's posture relaxed. Then, of all things, he laughed.

"Me, neither, kid," he said. "I hate those buggers."

Ikki snorted. Buggers. Like bugs. "So why are you slinking?"

"Visiting an old friend," he said. He rubbed at the corner of his mouth and smiled. "We're getting reacquainted. I like doing that on your island. It's fun for me. Do you know what irony is?"

Ikki did. "It's what auntie Lin bends."

A grin cracked across the man's craggy face. "She sure does bend alright," he said. Then he shook his head with a sharp laugh and started off in the direction of the ferry. Ikki wondered if he was going to meet Mako and Iroh for something. Maybe they were having a tea party.

#makorra #irosami #linzolt #ikki #i dunno i just thought this was funny #everyone gettin' some firebender tonight #secret relationships all around #tlok #iroh ii #mako #lin beifong #zolt #lightning bolt zolt #drabble #fanfic #korra #asami sato

[slaymitchabernathy]

Society Smiles

| this story was inspired by the song 'Good Luck Babe!' by Chappell Roan |

| “when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night, with your head in your hands, you’re nothing more than his wife” |

"The most attractive thing about a woman is her smile."

Those words have been engrained into Soarynn's mind since she heard them one day at school. One of her classmates had asked their male Professor what he deemed the most attractive quality of a woman. The room had filled with snickers as everyone prepared themselves for a somewhat sexist answer. He'd chuckled and paced the front of the room for a moment before coming to a conclusion and uttering those ten words that changed Soarynn's entire perspective.

She remembered looking over her shoulder at Coriolanus Snow who sat in the back of the classroom with his friends. He was slouched in his chair, his legs spread wide as he leaned back. He'd given her a smirk and she'd felt butterflies in her stomach.

Since she was sixteen all Soarynn had thought about was getting married. Some girls didn't. Some girls had large ambitions and wanted to be doctors or politicians, to really change the world.

But not Soarynn.

Her father always supported her dreams, he was pleased to find that his high society daughter had taken a liking to their customs that some deemed "old fashioned." She attended cotillion classes, and learned how to be the perfect upper-class wife, the society darling.

Eyes bright, chins up, smiles on.

Soarynn was quite possibly the most well-mannered girl under the age of twenty-five in the entire Capitol. She laughed at every joke, smiled for every photograph, dressed effortlessly for every occasion, and above all, she knew her place. She never strived to be an overachiever or to be neck and neck with her male classmates.

So it was no surprise when Coriolanus Snow chose her to be his wife.

They began their relationship after graduating from the Academy. That summer before University was the time when Soarynn got properly acquainted with the personality of Coriolanus Snow. She found out exactly how he liked his coffee, how he liked to be addressed, greeted, treated and, above all, respected.

He expected perfection from her in every way. Neither of them could afford to falter, not when they were at the top. They attended galas and banquets together and he proudly showed her off. Coriolanus became a constant source of stability for Soarynn. If she ever had any doubts about how to act, he was quick to correct them.

He was quick to mold her.

Sometimes she wondered what her life would be like if she chose to go in the other direction if she craved more independence. She didn't linger long with those thoughts though, she couldn't afford to, not when there was a husband to make happy and people to please.

Coriolanus proposed a month after they graduated from University. Their wedding had been a high society wedding with all the bells and whistles. Soarynn had been positively glowing at all the praise their wedding received. Several news outlets commented on their wedding and it only fed both of their egos.

'Coriolanus Snow swoops up the Perfect Bride' 'Soarynn Snow was the Picture Perfect Bride' 'The Perfect Example of Capitol Wealth' 'Snow Lands on Top as Coriolanus Snow secures the Perfect Wife'

That type of praise meant everything to Soarynn. She'd clipped out the headlines from the newspapers to frame in their penthouse. If society deemed her perfect then she had to be perfect, right?

Soarynn felt herself questioning that way of thinking as she slipped on her dress for tonight's party. The Heavensbees were throwing an extravagant party to celebrate another year of the Hunger Games so the Snows had of course been invited. Coriolanus was good friends with Hilarius Heavensbee which meant they were always guaranteed an invitation.

Appearances mattered at things like these events so Soarynn had spent the entire day preparing herself to be the perfect society wife she was always meant to be. Her soft blonde hair was perfectly styled, not a hair out of place thanks to her favorite hair stylist. Some might see her getting her hair professionally done once a month as an extravagant expense, one that was not required. But Coriolanus had certain standards that Soarynn had to live up to and he was more than happy to pay for all her beauty treatments as long as he was the one to reap their benefits.

Soarynn got her nails and hair done monthly, not to mention the clothes she had custom-made for her and all the skin treatments she did as well. She was perfect.

Once she sat down in front of her vanity, she carefully applied a bit more powder to her face as the finishing touch for her makeup, not wanting to look like she was trying too hard. Because she wasn't, obviously.

Coriolanus walked in and tore all her pestering thoughts of out her mind the second she laid eyes on her husband. He was entirely too handsome for his own good and he knew it too. He was charming, sophisticated, hard-working, and above all, he was a Snow.

Being a Snow came with certain privileges that not everyone was given. It elevated your status almost to the one that the President possessed. Soarynn had marveled at how differently she was treated once he slipped that wedding ring on her finger. Coriolanus was used to this type of treatment by now but thought it was adorable how she'd reacted at first.

Soarynn was more than used to her new status by now and always expected to be treated with the utmost respect.

He walks over to his side of the closet, pulling open the drawer that holds all of his neckties. Most men in the Capitol are limited to a certain wardrobe. A nice suit, black leather shoes, and a white button-up to go underneath. But Coriolanus managed to spice such a simple formula up with things like neckties and cufflinks and set off quite the trend amongst the elite men.

“What earrings are you wearing tonight darling?”

Soarynn hears him but doesn’t quite register his question as her thoughts begin to creep back into her mind. Why did they even go to these things? Who cared about things like flaunting one’s wealth?

“Darling?”

Soarynn looks up to find Coriolanus standing right in front of her, a concerned look on his face. “Oh. Um, my earrings? I’m not quite sure yet,” she says, turning to face her vanity mirror again, “is there a certain pair you’d like me to wear?”

Soarynn knew her husband all too well to know that he loved getting to decide what she wore. And it helped that he had relatively good fashion sense. “I was thinking…these,” he says, pulling out a red velvet box from his pocket. Soarynn eyes the box through the mirror and her heart beats a bit faster that premice of a gift. When they were dating Coriolanus showered her with gifts and that’s continued throughout their relationship and into their marriage.

Sometimes it was a new handbag, other times it was a shopping spree. Soarynn’s favorite gift had to be her darling cat, Petunia, who Coriolanus claimed looked just like her when he was choosing which kitten to take home. Petunia had been a gift for their one year wedding anniversary and Soarynn adored the cat with all her heart.

“I assume these earrings will match your cufflinks,” Soarynn says playfully, turning and gently taking the box from his large hand, into her small and dainty one. Coriolanus chuckles and scratches the back of his neck, “You know me too well.” She certainly did. Every moment, every breath, every smile and laugh was perfectly curated to please her husband and Soarynn’s husband was always pleased.

Soarynn smiles up at him before opening the box and she lets out a soft gasp. The earrings are beautiful. It looks as if a gold wire has been fashioned around itself over and over again until it was large enough to hold the large-looking pearl that hangs from the gold wiring. It’s stunning, really.

Soarynn runs her fingers over the jewelry, “Oh, it’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful.”

Coriolanus places his hand on the top of her head, smoothing her hair down, “Well I’ve been more than pleased with you lately, and good behavior ought to be rewarded where I’m concerned.” The comment isn’t lost on Soarynn, that she’s been well-behaved. He could’ve said that it was a token of his affection or that he simply thought of her when he saw the earrings but he didn’t.

He bought them because she was well-behaved.

And she knew that her husband loved her. He said it at the altar, in front of friends and family, and he said it when they were alone. But did he mean it? Did she mean it when she said it to him? Perhaps they were more in love with the ideas of each other rather than the actual person.

Still, she can't afford to linger in her pessimistic thoughts right now, not when they have somewhere to be. Coriolanus hates being late.

꧁ ꧂

"I honestly don't know what he expects," Livia says with a sigh, her red-colored lips turned down in a slight frown, "it's not like I don't want children. And yet Urban seems adamant on placing all the blame onto me." Soarynn nods as she listens to one of her good friends speak about her problems with getting pregnant. Livia Cardew married Ubran Canville two months before Soarynn married Coriolanus and they've been trying for a baby for quite some time.

Soarynn knows that Coriolanus wants children, expects children. But not right now. He'd even shut her down when she had asked about removing her birth control implant before their wedding day. "I can't afford any unwanted surprises," he had told her. Still, she'd love to have a child of her own someday and Livia does as well. "It's not your fault Liv," Soarynn says softly, "he's simply upset. You both are."

Her eyes travel along Heavensbee Hall until they settle on her husband, standing tall among the other Capitol elite men. It seems he's already been watching her because her blue-gray eyes meet his piercing blue ones for a moment before he looks back at Festus Creed, a close friend and associate of his.

"Well it's not about him, now is it?" Livia snaps, the alcohol making her tongue all too loose. Soarynn only drank socially and she made sure to keep a watchful eye on the level of her consumption through the night. She wouldn't want to embarrass her husband with a drunken scene.

Soarynn sighs and shakes her head, "No, I suppose it isn't about him. But do be patient, these things take time you know." Livia hummed but didn't seem too convinced, thankfully, the announcement was made that dinner was ready to be served. Soarynn was quick to find Coriolanus who placed a hand on the small of her back as they found their seats and then pulled out her chair for her. "Thank you," she says sweetly, watching as he takes his own seat.

He nods, "Of course darling. And have I told you how wonderful your hair looks tonight?" Soarynn is practically glowing from his words of praise. She'd gotten her hair done three days ago and it looked perfect. It was just the right length, color, and shine for a Capitol lady like her. "No, but you do seem keen on flattering me tonight," she teases, placing a hand on his knee. Coriolanus shoots her a grin before their attention is brought to Hilarius, their gracious host who is standing up to make a toast.

"Family and friends," he says, raising his glass, "tonight serves as another reminder of who we are. The best of Panem." A grumble of agreement passes through the room, everyone in this room is here for a reason. Because they're the elite, on top. "There's no other way I would want to celebrate another successful year of the Hunger Games than with the best company Panem can provide. To the Hunger Games." Soarynn repeats the phrase as she lifts her own glass up although the sentiment is slightly lost on her. She doesn't really care for the Games the way that others do.

Dinner is brought out in several courses and Soarynn remains ever delightful and polite whilst talking to those around her. "Did you see the girl Tribute from District Three?" Clemensia asks Soarynn as she cuts into her food. Soarynn shakes her head, "I don't believe I caught a good glimpse of her. Why? Was she offputting?" Most children from the Districts came to the Capitol covered in dirt and ridden with diseases. That's why they were kept in the money pen at the zoo.

Clemensia scoffs and puts down her fork and knife before she leans towards Soarynn from across the table, "Worse than that. She was actually somewhat attractive! If she was given the proper styling then she could've passed for a middle-class Capitol citizen." Soarynn furrows her eyebrows at that claim, and it's a rather bold claim in her opinion. Soarynn clears her throat, "Well, I'll have to watch back and see what she looked like."

The grin on Festus Creed's face lets Soarynn know that she's in for a rather vulgar set of words about this Tribute. "She made me want to hop into the arena for a few minutes," he jokes, pulling some laughs from the men around them. Including Coriolanus. Soarynn eyes him but says nothing, it's not the right place or time. "She was rather attractive," Coriolanus admits before taking a sip of his wine, "but looking like a heap of bones certainly wasn't helping her chances."

While Soarynn won't say anything, she can always count on Livia to speak up and she does without fail. "You do realize that you're talking about a child right? And one from the Districts no less." Festus rolls his eyes and shoots Urban a look, "Perhaps you aren't used to the way men talk when women aren't present Livia, but this is skimming the surface of the topics we discuss when we're alone." Soarynn frowns and sets down her cutlery, no longer hungry.

Does Coriolanus talk about her this way? Or other women for that matter?

She's done everything right to keep him interested, to keep him happy. Is it not enough?

꧁ ꧂

"You always know how to make my good nights a great night darling," Coriolanus grunts as he thrusts into her again. Soarynn gasps and her back arches off their bed, her nails digging into his shoulders, "Thank you," she whispers. He'd been in a great mood after the party, probably because he spent the majority of it talking about the attractive qualities of other women. Soarynn had smiled through the entire ordeal, her professor's words ringing through her head, "The most attractive thing about a woman is her smile."

She held onto those words like a lifeline tonight, desperately attempting to stay above the water. While the men openly discussed women's bodies, how they wanted them to look, to act, Soarynn was the quiet and obedient wife her husband always expected her to be. She was perfect even though it killed her inside.

She can feel his thrusts beginning to grow more erratic and she knows he's close, "Fuck," he grits out, his hands squeezing her hips tighter than before, "your cunt does it for me every time Soarynn." Soarynn lets out a whimper and it's not from pleasure as he husband finishes inside of her. Normally, she loves it when they have sex, when he finishes inside of her and says all sorts of things to her in the heat of the moment. But not tonight.

Coriolanus pants above her before pressing a kiss to her forehead, "Let me finish you off." Soarynn is quick to shake her head and plaster on another smile, "It's alright," she tells him, "I think I'd rather just wash off and go to bed." Coriolanus has always been a good lover in the bedroom, making sure that she always reached her peak as well but she's not in the mood to be touched and manipulated tonight by his fingers or his cock.

He frowns and gently cups her face in his hand, "Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?" Soarynn sighs and shakes her head again, "No, everything was perfect as always. I'm just a bit tired is all." That seems to be enough to convince him because he nods and helps her into the bathroom where they shower together, washing the day off of them. "Livia certainly has a mouth on her," Coriolanus mumbles as he wraps his arms around Soarynn, resting his head on her shoulder. Soarynn hums and watches the water wash down the drain, "She's just more outspoken than other women." She's dealt with enough beratement of women tonight and she won't see one of her good friends fall victim to it as well.

His hands splay out across her stomach, "Makes me glad you know how to behave. I bet Urban set her straight the second they got into the car. I can't imagine having to deal with that behavior on a daily basis." Soarynn pales at the words he so carelessly uses when talking about another human being. Rarely does Soarynn ever get snippy or bratty with Coriolanus, and when she does he's quick to put her back in her place. "Well it's a good thing we get along so well," Soarynn says softly, her stomach now in knots. Coriolanus presses a kiss to her neck, "My thoughts exactly darling."

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn dreams that she's a Tribute in the arena.

It's down to her and that girl from District Three that the men wouldn't stop talking about. Clemensia was right, she's quite pretty all things considered. Both girls are battered and bruised and Soarynn can hear the crowd screaming out for them to finish each other off. She looks up at the crowd and spots Coriolanus along with several of their friends, all their gazes scrutinizing as they look down at her and her current state. Her bottom lip quivers as she realizes that she's been reduced to the likes of a District citizen and all for their entertainment.

"Well," the girl calls out, a spear in her hand, covered in blood, "it's just you and me then." Soarynn frowns and looks back up at Coriolanus. Why isn't he helping her?

The girl notices him in the crowd as well and she laughs. She laughs so hard that she begins to cough up blood, "He...he doesn't care about you," she wheezes. Soarynn shakes her head, her fingers tightening around her own bloody spear, "You're lying. He's my husband." The girl tilts her head and a cruel smile spreads across her dirty face, "Then why are you in here and not up there with him?"

Soarynn feels her mouth drying as she searches for an answer and the girl nods, "See? You're just entertainment for him, something to show off and fuck whenever he's bored." Soarynn shakes her head fervently, "No I'm not. He loves me." The crowd grows louder and louder, eager for bloodshed. "Get on with it!" Someone shouts, "Prove your worth you dirty girl!" Soarynn doesn't know who they're talking to but it spurs her into action and she takes off running towards the girl. Their spears clash against each other as they fight to the death. Soarynn shoves her spear harder and throws the girl off balance.

"KILL HER!" The crowd screams.

Soarynn pulls her spear back and runs it through the girl's abdomen, watching her fall to her knees before she falls over. Soarynn pants as she looks up at the crowd, for Coriolanus and his nod of approval but instead finds him laughing, mocking her. "The winner of the Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow's wife," the announcer's voice booms throughout the arena as the crowd cheers.

Soarynn falls to her knees, was that all she was? His wife? She just won the Hunger Games and yet Coriolanus was given more credit than she was. The girl coughs up some more blood as the life slowly fades from her eyes, "I told you so," she whispers before she takes her last breath.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn wakes up with a gasp, clutching the sheets as she looks around the dark bedroom. Coriolanus is sound asleep next to her, not a care in the world. Soarynn feels sick like she might throw up. She hasn't had a dream like that ever in her life but she feels horrible. It felt so real.

She thinks about waking up Coriolanus, asking for words of comfort and kisses and hugs but she decides against it. He'd only tell her what she wants to hear before rolling over and going back to sleep.

A single tear falls down Soarynn's face as reality begins to hit her. Whether in the Capitol or the arena, she's only of value as long as she belongs to him. As long as she's his wife.

With her head in her hands, she's nothing more than his wife.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

#coriolanus fanfiction #slaymitchabernathy #coriolanus snow #hunger games #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #soarynn snow #coriolanus smut #staywithmealways #soarynn nightingale #coriolanus x soarynn #coriolanus imagine #original character #coriolanus fic #coriolanus oneshot #coriolanus x oc #oneshot #oc #stay with me always

[m3r1m4r5u333]

One very queer post to remind my fellow buddie truthers that patience is virtue...

Never forget that the show clearly called us clowns and crows...

And neither of those is an insult.

If you haven't, I recommend you read up on the history of clowns. Do you know where they evolved from?

Fools... What are fools, in story-telling?

They have always been the breakers of taboos, the ones who dare speak up and illuminate the truth.

That's repeatedly been the role of the "fool" in literature and theatre.

And remember the scene with these modern versions of fools, clowns, in 4x06? Bobby tells Eddie and Buck to be professionals!

...Much like when he has to cut off Buck from flirting with the tapework guy... In season one. The tapeworm guy? It's basically a scene of Buck being blatantly bisexual, totally flirting with a man... And Bobby going: Be a professional Buck, finish this conversation later!

And then that clown scene later on... There's a clown trapped under some (obviously quite phallic) helium tanks, and Bobby yelling about needing to "release the pressure"?

It's a parallel. Go rewatch Eddie's and Buck's first emergency together. They need to release the pressure to save that patient.

And the name of that first episode Eddie appears in? Under pressure. That's also in the season 2 promo, the first season with Eddie. And the songs in those promos... Under pressure by the Queen and David Bowie. And a version of Nowhere to run by Martha Reeves and The Vandellas. It's a love song, about a persistent, devastating love. Fitting for a slow-burn.

Also...

Eddie: "You're a badass under pressure, brother.

Buck: Me?

Eddie: Hell yeah. You can have my back any day.

Buck: "Yeah. Or you know... You could... You could have mine.

....

Then that emergency with the grenade when they first meet...

Everyone originally assumes it's not live. Oh but turns out, it very much is a live grenade, isn't it? We see it exploding. What's a grenade, going off?

Well, it's basically deathly amounts of pressure. Grenades injure and kill from a distance, the blast, the pressure is so powerful.

So the clowns watch that scene, watch Bobby urging Buck and Eddie to release the pressure... They look at Buck and Eddie working together...

And the clowns make their opinion known.

A clown starts choking, and coughs up rainbow colored string. That's the unsaid truth which this fool says out loud to the audience.

"This story is queer. I'm telling you, there are rainbows. I'm choking on them here!"

The combination of clowns, pressure, grenades... Again... Makes me think of the Batman movie Dark Knight, especially the clever bank robbery heist which

Joker - A famous fool type character, also related to fools and clowns... plans.

Btw, some of you may have noticed that I keep rambling about the Joker, and Dark Knight. Why? Because THAT MOVIE IS A CAPRICORN OF QUEERNESS!!!

And there's that clown theme which obviously comes up in 9-1-1, too. The clowns are the queer audience, it's quite clear. That clown scene was written as commentary, to us, freaking out about the queerness of buddie.

In The Dark Knight... Remember that whole conflict of the two freaks, a Batman and a Joker?

It's a battle against conformity. Diverting from the norm. Joker spends the entire movie trying to make Batman see and own his freakiness.

Honestly I think that we queers should worship that movie, it's a tale of us, the outcasts, the freaks, us against the world.

Because we are the clowns, the fools, the freaks that people fear. Who are always told to shut up, and hide. The ones who have always been the outlaws running from the police, still are. Who nobody believes, when we see our kind.

That bank heist in that movie, which the ultimate clown, fool, Joker, organizes?

They enter the bank dressed up as clowns. The Joker is among them, a twofold fool, a jester wearing a clown mask, his true identity unknown to the other clowns.

The bank robbery heist btw includes lots of stuff which make me go "is this intertextuality?, was 9-1-1 inspired by this?", because they remind me of memorable buddie scenes. A failed phone-call ("I couldn't even call you to bail me out of jail!"),

the bank vault with electricity ("What more proof do you need, Eddie! We are trapped in a death box, thousands of volts of electricity...")

the clowns, the queers, hiding from detection, from the gunfire,

then clowns, destroying each other, one by one.

A clown getting hurt because he's an idiot who cannot really count (Buck, Eddie, the embarrassing struggle to get to "bi"?),

This one clown who thinks it's his time to spring out of the box and stop waiting. This shotgun has no ammo...

and the Joker nods, which convinces the dumb math challenged clown that the bank manager's shotgun has no more bullets...

Here's another deathly nod from our favorite fool...

This backfires quickly, the math challenged clown who thinks the gun wasn't "live"... Dies.

A fool just fooled a fool. A third fool cries out in dismay.

In the end... it's the patient fool here who ends up outsmarting the manager, and winning the battle.

Clowns are clever. We see under the surface, we voice the truth, but also, sometimes we lie to save ourself. That's what being an outlaw, an outcast is.

The Joker bides his time, is smart about it, and when the right moment arrives... he does not hesitate. He robs that bank, proves himself to be the smart one. The ultimate fool. The cleverest clown.

So remember the history of us clowns. We are silly, scary, strange, queer, the annoying ones who won't shut up.

And we are the fools. And fools are the truth seers. Tellers. We aren't dumb, we are clever.

That's how the story goes. Ultimately the fools always realise and tell the truth. We clowns, like the Joker... We saw the potential for "aggressive expansion" in buddie. We were there from the start, we looked at that lurking grenade, and thought... I'm seeing something here. And they will keep laughing at us clowns... But they'll learn when it goes off. I do think it's a live one, darlings.

So, how does the heist and the movie end?

Joker survives the danger, ducks the gunfire... And leaves the manager alive.

He also leaves an impression that will forever change that survivor. The Joker sticks a grenade in his mouth. It doesn't kill him, but that grenade is live, it releases a strange, queer gas.

The Joker gently tells the manager that whatever doesn't kill you... Makes you stranger.

Then... The way the Joker spends the entire movie urging Batman to hit him, to kill him... He challenges Batman to make him realise that they are really the same. That they are both freaks, outsiders... Birds of a feather. Batman needs to stop pretending that he isn't a freak.

It's like Buck and Eddie. Take a swing at me.

Wanna go for the title?

And in the end, they both survive this (really quite queer-coded) stand-off. They prove each other wrong.

Joker finds that he's wrong, that Batman cannot bear to kill him. And Batman admits defeat.

He becomes an outlaw, too. He takes the blame for the chaos, falls out of favor. The bat signal is smashed. Batman knows he'll be hunted... but he can take it.

"...Because sometimes... the truth isn't good enough, sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded..."

And that's why Buck and Eddie, "Buddie" has really never been a tale of two buddies.

The "truth" is a lie. The fools have always seen it.

And so the Joker, the fool, the clown, actually... wins this battle. He is captured but creates another freak by turning Harvey Dent into the Two-Face.

He makes Batman realise who he really is, an outcast. Batman goes into hiding. But Batman creates another freak, Robin.

It's a lesson. Some of us freaks argue for chaos, some will argue for order. But to others we are still the strange ones. Outsiders, outlaws. Queers. Listen to the fool and realize it, own it. See that we are the same.

And they will hunt us, but the circus grows stronger. Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stranger.

Oh, and the crows I mentioned in the beginning? Well, they called the crows buddies, and told the audience that the crows always remember their tormentors, didn't they.

Do you think they're waiting for these boys to come out, the show asks?

Of course we were, are. And we've got one now. Waiting for another.

After all, sometimes the fool needs to wait and have patience to see the vision materialize. Doesn't mean the fool was wrong. In the end, the crows will feast.

Crows are smart. And the clowns see the hidden truth.

#911 buddie #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie 911 #911 on abc #evan buck buckley #911 abc #tv: 911 #eddie díaz #ca-caw motherfuckers #the silliest clown of this circus #let the freak flag fly #intertextuality #the dark knight #batman #queer fiction #queer subtext #roger that clown penis

[lightwise]

TBB S3 E12 Reaction

Alright, this was the last episode that was truly represented in the trailer. I can’t wait to see Hunter kick some Juggernaut butt (why does that sound so bad lol)

- Hemlock wipe that damn smirk off your face

- Again with the shoulder shoves dude

- No why is CX-2 just walking away? We need to follow him and find out who he is!! *low-key screaming in frustration* lol

- I love how Hemlock is so arrogantly confident and uncaring that he comes across as almost respectful in how he takes the time to explain things to other people

- Come on Emerie, you’ve come so far! Don’t keep playing into Hemlock’s hand! You know Omega isn’t safe here and neither are you

- Lol he’s too busy to even wait for the test results. Bitch

- I do wish they had given us Crosshair telling Hunter and Wrecker about Omega. BUT I was very much correct that Hunter would not waste time being angry

- Every time Crosshair says something more about Tantiss it just keeps getting worse and worse 🥺🥺 don’t make that man go back there! Dee’s vocal inflections and the way he talks about Nala Se and Tipoca City is so regretful

- The trust and vulnerability he’s willing to show though with his hand shaking and admitting he doesn’t want to go back he’s so traumatized 😭💔

- No WAY they are bringing back Admiral Rampart! Kudos to those who called that one

- PHEEEE and AZZZZ

- Cross goes from pointing his rifle in Phee’s face to straight up telling her they’re taking her ship 🤣

- Okay, it finally happened. I finally teared up. Phee and Crosshair immediately sass each other, then she drops the fact that she and Tech were close and talked a lot and he TOLD HER ABOUT CROSSHAIR (and in a good light) and we got a BROWN EYES 👁️ 👄 👁️. I was in a puddle on the floor 🥹🥹🥹

- The way she treats all of them like family and helps them and puts her life on the line for them. It is just so satisfying to see her relationship with the Batch continue to develop like this. Truly family to all of them.

- More Andor vibes with this labor camp

- Of course Rampart is still a dramatic bitchy asshole. Prison hasn’t changed him AT ALL (except for the beard. Sorry guys but I’m just not seeing it 😆)

- Aw Wrecker giving Mel a little pat. He’s so sweet

- “Oh relax. I expect you to know a stealth approach when you see one” 🤩🤩 TECH you need to come back and marry this woman RIGHT FREAKING NOW

- Gosh they were so made for each other 😭

- That entire maneuver was insane and incredible

- Hunter’s helmet float 😄 at least one of them was having fun

- As others have pointed out I also really appreciate that they animated Phee with so much aging and tiredness and lines and wrinkles showing on her face. She’s a real woman who’s seen and done a lot of things and she’s incredibly gorgeous and badass and caring and intelligent and she doesn’t need perfect skin or a youthful glow to be completely amazing

- When are we getting the “day in the life of a storm trooper” workplace comedy? I need it Star Wars!

- It’s so good to see the boys working together like this

- The textures and lighting in this episode are just so real looking

- Wow Wrecker really just sucker punched that guy

- And he actually remembers plan 55 😁 so proud of him

- The music when they saunter in 😂 and we got a “how touching” too?!

- Rampart’s face is in the dictionary next to the word offended

- “Hunter, they’re sealing off the bridge!” Hunter: drives faster

- And he was giving Phee a hard time for her flying?? Boy is approaching Evel Knievel levels!!

- I need to see Hunter in a dirt bike rally now 😧

- Pretty sure Hunter is firmly in his Joel Miller Era. He does not care what he has to do or who he has to kill at this point

- “Not exactly a stealth exit boys” such a great line

- “We’re all in this together” sure Rampart sure let’s see how chipper you are about that next episode

- Emerie and Omega’s glances at each other 🥺

- “This is your new home” yeahhh I don’t think so

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #star wars

[canisalbus]

you say machete has to be closeted then why's he always wearing them little heels

Maybe he thinks he's a tiny bit nicer looking in them.

#no in fact he's just a little ahead of the curve let me try to explain #again I'm not a historian I'm just sharing what I've read I might be misremembering stuff so don't quote me on this #high heels became extremely fashionable in the early 1600's probably just a few decades after Machete's time #and they were originally worn by men #because they were inspired by Persian riding boots #if your shoes had heels you'd have easier time keeping your feet in the stirrups (think of cowboy boots) #Europeans saw them thought they looked snazzy and they became wildly popular in noble circles fairly quickly #for some hundred years or so high heels were the epitome of class wealth power and status and they were essentially genderless #remember that concepts of masculinity and femininity are fluid and change over time #things that were seen as manly a few centuries ago may seem downright effeminate to a modern viewer #it's all matter of perspective neither is objectively more correct than the other #they started to separate into men's heels and women's heels around mid 1700's iirc but the changes weren't massive even then #and only truly went out of vogue when the French Revolution hit in 1789 #and people all across the continent were suddenly put off by everything that reminded them #of the frivolousness and extravagance of royalty and aristicracy #so in his canon timeline I don't think people are looking at him and going “hmmm that's pretty gay” #because heels hadn't become gendered yet #maybe he likes how they accentuate his already tiny paws and make his legs look even longer than they are #he's interested in fashion or at least likes to dress nicely in high quality garments #he tries very hard to look his best despite never really feeling comfortable in his skin #he was a real shrimp as a kid and even though he eventually grew up to be a beanpole he might still find the extra height appealing #no one's going to look down on him ever again #I admit the way I draw them is a lot more modern than the true historical style at the time but not outrageously so #artistic freedom and all that in the end I'm not aiming for 100% accuracy #modern au Machete has no excuses though he's just a little bit fruity #if the guy feels empowered by wearing little clip cloppers let him #answered #anonymous #Machete

[throttlegainwell]

Yeah, I'm finally gonna write a timeloop fic specifically because I'm entirely too pleased with the title I have picked out.

#writing tag #it's stonathan that i'm 99% sure is gonna end as stoncy #because jonathan and steve are stuck in the time loop so long that by the end they've spent decades hooking up #(because after the first few years they were like well why not) #but they weren't hooking up before the timeloop and neither remembers what happened when it ends or that the other was stuck with them #just that the timeloop happened to them personally #the thing is after you've spent decades fucking someone you kind of know them very intimately #and maybe you don't remember but hey look at that there's muscle memory there #and if your body remembers somebody and you are your body then doesn't that mean you remember them a little? #so they're very confused about this #and by the time they hook up outside the timeloop they're like well shit this feels awfully familiar... #should be a fun one #maybe i'll spin a wheel to pick a plotty one to tackle #put it up to vote i dunno

[pinkseas]

wondering how c!karl would feel if he were to remember quackity. wondering about everything coming back in bits and pieces as he learns more and more about the inbetween and other side and how to split his time between them.

at first there’s unease and a vague sense of horror because why is he remembering such sweet, loving moments with his murderer? and then he’s angrier (more afraid) than ever before because things were good. he has such incredible memories with quackity and quackity still somehow turned around and killed him, what the fuck? but the more that come back the less certain he is of that. because all of them are good. there are so many, coming back piece by piece, and only the memory of his death stands out as something truly awful. he stops being mad that quackity would betray him like that and starts wondering why.

and then one day he remembers agreeing to it, remembers the plan. quackity murdering him slots seamlessly into place with the context behind it and it’s terrifying because it makes perfect sense. he can remember the terror associated with seeing quackity that day and his murder but he cant feel it anymore. of course quackity killed him. that was the plan. they all agreed on it. hell, quackity was the one who was most vocally against it happening.

it still doesnt add up. because if they were engaged and things were so good and quackity didnt betray him, why arent they together? why isnt quackity in kinoko? what drove them apart, what has he still forgotten? he remembers building kinoko. he remembers planning to invite sapnap and george and quackity. he remembers weeks and then months spent with only one half of his heart.

no matter how much time goes by, he does not remember inviting quackity to kinoko. the pit in his stomach grows, and grows, and grows.

#i started typing way more than this but then realized no you have spoken enough girl be quiet #idk i just. mmmmm. how would it make him feel #realizing that the catalyst and the reason it all fell apart was Him. #miscommunication sure but karl was at the center of it #at the beginning forgetting to invite him and in the middle forgetting he existed altogether and at the end only knowing him as a murderer #he remembers when the inbetween would smile at him. he remembers how that smile looked so similar to quackity's. #he wonders if he forgot on his own or if the inbetween saw an opportunity to begin to isolate him and took it #hes smarter now he knows to split his time between them #to stay balanced and learn from both sides #but he didnt always know. he wasnt always careful. #i like to think that after the whole argument sapnap goes and visits quackity #and makes it a habit to see him frequently and split his time between the two of them #and he and q work out a lot of the miscommunication #both of them having assumed the other went and made a country without so much as thinking of them #when in reality both places were meant to house all four of them #neither of them knowing what the FUCK is going on with karl #ugh idk its all in my head somewhere #its not THE fix it au but its kinda sorta something i guess #alyalyoxenfree

[monty-glasses-roxy]

On another note since I can't find my Okami game and before my brain can keep blowing it out of proportion (who cares if the disk is gone is saves to the Wii console not the fucking disk calm your tits brain I can still be a Pomeranian for shits and giggles if I want fuck you) I've been thinking about the Staffbot situation again...

Fucking hell was the staff party actually to round them up and kill the human staff?? Why??? For what purpose??? Were the Staffbots essentially just overcomplicated remote control cars with no AI built in so they used these people as the AI??? Do they want revenge??? Freedom??? Death??? Will they ever get it??? Where did their bodies go??? How has no one noticed so many missing people??? How would you even free them??? Fire??? Some sort of master controller that's preventing their souls from moving on??? Can Roxy see them???

That whole situation is wild and it feels so over the top given everything else that's happening. Like, bro, do we really need more shit happening??? Come on...

#yes my brain has been cooking some spooky ghost shit where Roxy is fucking HAUNTED by these guys #why?? because she has special eyes. she can't actually see what's wrong but looking at them too long makes her whole head spin #but all they know is she can see SOMETHING please oh PLEASE remember them please set them free she's the only one that can see #and so her ass is HAUNTED and she's losing her god damn mind cause are you KIDDING??? #as if she doesn't have ENOUGH to deal with???? #first storyteller then glitchtrap now this?? ON TOP of mimic???? fucks sake she's NOT paid enough for this #it's WILD to me because like. it looks like I'm being all 'haha blorbo has to deal with EVERYTHING' but think about it #if anyone would know what's going on or that something's wrong or be able to see what Fazbear doesn't want them to... #it's gonna be Roxy. #canonically a part of the MXES security system. canonically can see through walls talks to herself and stares at people through them #has a 'fuck you I know what I'm doing' attitude too?? yeah she's burdened with knowledge. it makes sense! #AND there's Vanny I forgot about that I just sorta categorise her with Glitch but they're separate entities I keep forgetting #like come on no wonder she's obsessed with winning if she loses someone's probably gonna die #but the insane part is that not only did she not sign up for this #neither did fucking Fazbear who gave her this ability to see everything #they were like 'hurdurdurdur guard mimic wurrburdurrr' #and then gave her the ability to see all the other fucked up shit and they thought 'well that's not her job she won't care' #and then OBVIOUSLY she DOES care what the FUCK do you MEAN she WOULDN'T care about fucking DEAD BODIES #are you JOKING #ya know??? yeah #it's insane #ya girl is DROWNING

[uncanny-tranny]

so this is more of a personal ask than a public one and I want to make it 100% clear that you have No obligation to agree. anyways I saw your post about triggers and how you can react to them and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about it, since I am working on a novel where a character has ptsd and I want to be as accurate/respectful as possible. tbc I would Not ask anything about like…trauma or anything. just stuff like ‘are certain triggers associated with certain symptoms or do they seem to be random’ and how long it may last/tactics to deal with them.

again, not at all obligated to say yes

I'm not certainly not opposed to the idea, seeing as how conversations like these ones can benefit more than just writers or creatives

#ask #trauma #i do try to start conversations and i think that's a lot of what this blog is #it's like improv - learning to say 'yes and' #so if that's where the conversation goes then so long as it's respectful (which i trust it will be) then it's like... why not? #also i find that conversations like these can help not only creatives writing fiction but like... real people too #and additionally i think these conversations are most beneficial when we remember there isn't a true 'right' or 'wrong' #my dad and i have ptsd from two completely different things and neither of us are better or worse off than the other... #...because our conditions have severely impacted our ability to live our day-to-day lives in many instances... #...learning how to look at people with similar struggles and not applying a 'good' or 'bad' moral judgment on them is so important #anyway tangent over (the tangent is not over; it is simply asleep)

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #may allah protect them #may almighty allah see our pain #hopefully she'll message me tomorrow

[sexhaver]

i keep thinking about this NPR piece i listened to years ago about an adult autistic woman who had always had trouble reading social cues. and the example she used was that at summer camp as a kid, she saw a boy and a girl getting into a sailboat and trying to get the sails set up properly, only neither of them seemed to be doing a super fantastic job of it or getting it done quickly, so she asked if they wanted her to do it (since she had just learned how the other day) and they looked at her like she had three heads, and she was never able to figure out why. her entire life was like that: people treating her like an alien because of some missed cue that she was powerless to infer.

and then one day, decades later, she goes in for an experimental treatment where doctors blast her brain with magnets. and instantly, she thinks back to the boy and the girl on the sailboat and realizes that oh my god, they were on a date, that's why they looked at her like that, they were enjoying each other's company and not focused on efficiency. and it was like that with every event in her life: she could suddenly see behind the curtain, see what everyone else had been seeing the whole time.

and then 48 hours later it was gone. she could remember the conclusions she drew, but the thought process that led her there was totally alien. and of course she went back to the doctors to try the treatment again, and of course it didn't work.

she had gotten the fruit of knowledge beamed directly into her skull for two beautiful days and had to live with the aftertaste for the rest of her life. i think about her a lot.

[bruisedboys]

love drunk — miguel o’hara x reader

summary — while miguel deals with a drunk and clingy you, you accidentally let it slip that you love him. requested here

grumpy x sunshine!! spidergirl!reader, no pronouns used but implied fem!reader, grumpy miguel, kind of ditzy reader, drunk reader, established relationship, first ‘I love you’ trope, miguel being lovesick, fluff. so much fluff

nav

implied fem!reader 1.3k words

Miguel thinks he should never let you drink again in your whole life.

“Y/N,” he says through gritted teeth, irritated now. Actually, he was irritated ten minutes ago but was doing a better job at hiding it. “Come on. Get off me.”

You’re dead weight in his lap. He wouldn’t mind, he likes when you sit on him like this, only you’re in the middle of the bar and there are at least five Peter’s looking his way and smirking, and he can see Hobie Brown laughing at him behind his hand across the room.

“Whyyyyy?” You drawl, your lips slow and your tongue slower. You paw at his chest and give him a glare that’s about as menacing as a puppy. “You’re so mean.”

Miguel sighs heavily. He picks up his hands where they’d been hovering at your sides, unsure whether he should touch you or not when you’re like this, and gets a good grip on your hips.

“C’mon, get up,” he says. He lifts you off his lap with ease, fingers curling around your hips, and deposits you in the booth seat next to him.

To Miguel’s surprise, you don’t flop into his side or try to climb back onto him like he thought you would. Where seconds ago you were like a rag doll, you sit rigid straight.

“What?” He asks you, genuinely confused.

“Sorry,” you say quietly, frowning to yourself. “I didn’t mean that. You’re not mean.”

Miguel blinks at you. “Oh. No, that’s not why I made you get off, sweetheart. I know you don’t actually think I’m mean.”

Slowly, you brighten up like a wind up toy, springing back to life in slow motion with a big smile painting itself across your mouth, all teeth. “Oh, okay. Can I get back on you now?”

Miguel actually laughs. He’s very tempted to say yes, you can sit in his lap as long as you like. He doesn’t, mostly because you’re very obviously past your limit and you need a bed and some water. Neither of which he can get you here.

“You’re funny, cariño,” he tells you, chucking you under the chin with his knuckles. You beam up at him, eyes squinting so much they’re half closed. He indulges himself in a squeezing of your cheek before breaking the news, “No, you can’t get back on me—“ Your face falls, “—But I can take you to bed?”

Your smile comes back so quick it’s alarming, and you nod vehemently. “Yeah, please.”

Miguel manages to get you out of the Spider-Bar (nicknamed by one of the Peter’s, he can’t remember which but Miguel refuses to call it that. It’s just a section off the second floor of Headquarters where Spider-people migrate to drink.) without you tripping over your own feet. He’s discovering you’re a very clumsy, clingy drunk. That, and you really can’t hold your liquor. He’s only had a little less than you and he feels completely fine. Other than the burning in his chest, though he’s pretty sure that has more to do with you and your presence than the alcohol.

He gets you into an elevator and holds you up when you slouch into his side. His arm around your hip and both of your hands clinging like vines to his free arm, tight enough to ache but he can’t bring himself to ask you to loosen your grip a little. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy your apparent desperation to stick to him like glue.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. A gaggle of Spider-Women wait on the other side, Jess among them. The younger girls giggle amongst themselves when they see the predicament they’ve caught their haughty boss in.

“Hey, Miguel,” Jess drawls as she sidles past him, Miguel practically dragging you out of the elevator now and out of the way of the girls. “Hey, Y/N.” She grins at your inebriated state, then looks to Miguel, “Early night?”

It’s almost midnight. Miguel can’t tell if she’s teasing or not. She probably is. “Yeah.”

“Miguel’s taking me to bed,” you pipe up, a lustful tone to your sticky, slurry voice that Miguel winces at. He hadn’t meant it like that. Clearly, your drunk mind had taken it that way. He’ll be sure to set the record straight once you’re safe and alone in his room.

Jess laughs loud. “Right. Well, have fun with that.”

She’s still laughing as the elevator doors slide shut. Miguel sighs. He’s not gonna hear the end of that for at least a week. You tug on his arm and smile up at him sweetly, and he forgets all about it.

“What is it, cariño?” He hums.

“Can you carry me? My feet are sore.”

Miguel indulges you. Partly because you’d asked and he’s yet again been tasked with the challenge of saying no to you (which he fails at every time), and partly because you’re slowing him down and he really wants to get to his room before he meets anyone else. He scoops you up easily, one arm hooked beneath your thighs and the other under your back. You giggle dazedly and hook your arms around his neck tight enough that it’d hurt anyone but Miguel, burying your face in his neck, your flyaway hair tickling his skin.

By the time he gets you to his room you’re half asleep in his arms. He’d let you sleep but your suit is constricting. He deposits you on the bed in the dark and switches on the lamp. He only manages to turn on his heels before you’re grabbing his arm, warm hand wrapping around his wrist with a clumsy desperation.

“Don’t go,” you murmur, eyes half closed.

Miguel pries your hand away gently. “I’m not going anywhere. Just getting your pyjamas.”

You allow it but you make a grab for him as soon as he’s back, hands warm at his waist. He stands in front of you and undresses you out of your spidersuit, then redresses you into the pyjamas you keep in his room. You keep quiet other than the occasional hiccup and despite your amorous comment earlier you don’t try anything, even when you’re completely bare-chested and Miguel is standing over you. While he pulls your shirt over you head, your hands find his hips and grip them like somebody’s trying to take him away from you.

He gives you a glass of water which you skull back like you’re about to die of thirst. He refills the glass and when he comes back you’ve turned the light off and buried yourself under the covers. He thinks you’re asleep until he goes to put the glass on the bedside table and your hand sneaks out of the sheets, reaching for him.

“Miguel…” you murmur, fingers brushing his abdomen. You tilt your head up towards him, searching for him in the dark.

“You okay?” He asks, concerned you’re not feeling well. He hopes you’re not the kind of drunk who throws up everything they drank. Though he can’t say he’d mind looking after you even if you were.

“I’m fine,” you say softly. It’s dark and he can barely see your face but he hears your next words just fine. “Thank you for looking after me … I love you.”

Miguel is so shocked he almost drops the glass of water he’s holding. Sure, he knew you had feelings for him. He knew you care for him about as much as he does for you, which is an inordinate amount. To hear you say it is different. His fondness for you multiplies by about a million and the chasm in his chest feels, not for the first time since he met you, a little bit smaller.

He knows you probably won’t remember it in the morning, but it’s been said and his chest is aflame. He sets the cup down and then crouches next to your lovely, tired face, and cups your cheek. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, and then your lips. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes fall shut and you smile.

Miguel waits til he’s sure you’re asleep to say it back — vulnerability’s never really been his strong suit. He tucks hair away from your face, feeling a bit drunk himself. Just not from anything he drank. “I love you too, mi amor.”

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