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brigdh · 1 year ago

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I want to talk about Izzy's rant to Ed in episode 10, the one that brings out the Kraken. I've seen a lot of different descriptions of what is going on in this scene – death threat, homophobic slurs, etc – and I don't think either of those are what's actually what's happening.

Let's look at it closely, line by line, and the way Ed reacts, from the very beginning of the scene.

Ed: Well, feels nice to tidy up a little. Can't believe I was living like this. Can you, Iz? Izzy? Izzy: I'm going to speak plainly. Ed: Wonderful. You know we share our thoughts on this ship.

Izzy, cont: This, whatever it is that you've become... is a fate worse than death.

Okay. So there we've got what some have interpreted as a death threat. But does Ed seem threatened? He's startled, certainly, put on his back foot – literally – but he doesn't look afraid or alarmed to me. He draws in a slow breath, assessing the situation, but overall seems more confused than frightened.

In fact he laughs it off with his next line:

Izzy then escalates the level of aggression in the conversation:

But Ed, again, looks more confused than anything. Check out that furrowed brow, that head tilt! This is a man going "what is your deal?", not a man thinking "uh-oh, you might kill me!".

Extremely noticeably, even when Izzy storms right up into his face, Ed holds steady. He doesn't run, doesn't lean back, doesn't hunch his shoulders or drop eye contact – there is no vulnerability or defensiveness in Ed's body language at all. Ed is in supreme control of this confrontation – look at the slow way he deigns to turn back to the paper Izzy's holding! As though he's making the point that he chooses when to turn, not Izzy:

Then we have the "homophobic slur". But watch closely:

Ed does not react to "namby-pamby", "silk gown", or "pining" at all. He doesn't even blink. He barely seems like he's hearing Izzy. His entire attention is on the picture.

Ed's body language and behavior changes at one word and one word only, and that is "boyfriend". As soon as Izzy says it, Ed's furious:

(It's even easier to notice when you actually watch the scene instead of using gifs, because Izzy really draws out 'piiiiiiining', putting a lot of time between the first half of the sentence and 'boyfriend'.)

Why is the use of the word 'boyfriend' so important?

Well, what has Ed been doing all episode? He's been crying in a blanket fort and singing sad songs, yes, but he's been keeping a careful level of mystique about why he's doing it. Ed often uses distanced circumlocutions instead of directly acknowledging his emotions, but he's doing it in this episode even more so than usual:

Here are the lyrics to his song:

(Version one, with Lucius) Hanging on By a thread Hanging on Shouldn't let go If I let go, all will fall Fingers bleeding down to the bone now Can't let go Nothing makes sense Hold on Hold on Hold... on

(Version two, performed for the whole crew) Just let go Make yourself let go Make it go away Away, away today Life's a hard sad death And then you're Deaaad

Notice something? There is no mention of Stede, or love, or break-ups, or abandonments, or relationships in general. All Ed discusses is a vague life-sucks attitude, which could apply to basically anyone under any circumstances. He seems pretty okay with people knowing that Blackbeard is having some sort of weird emotional breakdown as long as he convinces himself that no one knows it's specifically from having his heart broken

This is true of everything Ed says and does for this entire episode. He never once even mentions Stede's name, unless "Farewell, Bonnet's playthings" at the very end counts. The only thing Ed openly admits to feeling bad about is a fictional character who's having a hard time "holding on" (holding on to what? he never says). There are no allusions to heartbreak or romance anywhere in his dialogue.

Now, Ed's not stupid. I'm sure he knows Izzy and Lucius and the rest of the crew can connect the dots and realize that something bad happened with Stede, even if Ed doesn't fill them in on the details. But Ed is also traumatized, and has a whole host of coping mechanisms set up to help him avoiding thinking about things that he doesn't want to think about. If he's not a murderer because "technically the fire killed those guys", then no one knows he's heartbroken because technically he hasn't acknowledged it.

Until Izzy says the word 'boyfriend'. Suddenly the secret is out, and Ed can't handle it. Izzy knows his weakness. That's why this word effects Ed more than anything else Izzy says in the whole scene.

At the end of the confrontation, he hears the crew calling for another song. Look at Ed here. He looks as haunted, as disturbed, in this moment as he does at any point in Izzy's rant.

This is an important part of the scene, not just a closing note. Because if Izzy (the Caribbean's most emotionally constipated man) can see through him, obviously the whole crew can too.

Obviously Lucius – who advised Ed on his and Stede's relationship, who played along with Ed's 'fictional character' claim, who wrote down Ed's lyrics – can do so most of all.

There's a direct emotional logic to Ed killing Lucius because he had a fight with Izzy, and it doesn't involve Ed having been threatened or hate crime'd at all. Ed doesn't deal well with his own feelings (from Stede), so he chooses to become Blackbeard/the Kraken and gets rid of all the witnesses who saw otherwise.

#meta #our flag means death #I've been thinking about writing this up for a while but finally got motivated to finish it before S2

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goodluckclove · 7 months ago

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I've been meaning to say something. (100 follower hot take)

Hey! Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've had a nice day. Why don't you rest with me for a while? I made some chocolate chip cookies - with shortening instead of butter, so they're very soft and very chocolatey. I made way too many and they aren't my wife's favorite, so I could use some help in eating them.

You're probably a writer, right? Or maybe you think about how you could be. Browse the tags here, or on other social media platforms. Maybe you used to write stories as a kid. I bet those were fun. Teachers might've thought they were impressive, or they dissected them line by line until the words didn't make sense in your head anymore. Either way, if you're here you're probably here for a reason.

(rant alert)

I dipped a toe in online writing communities on and off. My last attempt was forty-five minutes scrolling through the writing hashtag on Youtube Shorts (so TikTok, I guess? I don't know). I didn't like it. I really didn't. The thing that sticks out the strongest in my mind is one particular video where a woman claims that every story needs a second act plot twist.

Huh? Every story? All of them? Why? Since when? Who are you? What qualifications do you have to make a statement like that?

That's the common thread that makes a lot of writing spaces very uncomfortable for me. Successful writers are really only successful in their genre and for the given moment, so they don't have that much objective authority in the craft. And yet I see a lot of people deciding the things that you can't do in writing. Or the things you have to do, and how you have to do them. It was so much of Writeblr at first glance that I almost dipped out once again. I didn't, though, and I'm glad I didn't because now I get to watch some of the next great storytellers from across the world grow and examine and forge their way forward.

No one can teach you how to write. No, that's not true. Teachers teach literacy. Handwriting. Typing maybe - do schools still teach typing? Let me try saying it in a different way - no one, not one single person on this goddamned planet, has the right to tell you how to make a story.

I was supposed to get my MFA in creative writing before my first breakdown. My uncle stayed in the program I was meant to be in, and a few years after I dropped out he graduated. Recently I had the thought to look up his thesis novella, and as I searched I found myself regretting my decision to leave school. If I stayed and got to develop my writing in an actual class, with other writers and a knowledgeable professor, how much further along would I be than where I am right now?

It was bad. His novella was terrible. It was so bad I had a small existential crisis for, like, three days. He spent so much money on years and years of professional education and came out with a truly soulless story that read as if you prompted an AI to write the next Great American Novel. So if you think you need a writing degree to be a legitimate author, it could help connections-wise, but it ultimately won't be the thing that does the work for you.

Not all advice I see online on writing is bad. I find the people who are able to capture the "I" statements of therapy and phrase advice as things that have worked for them, or things that they personally enjoy, to be fine. Some writing advice can spark inspiration.

But if someone is the type of person to boil every story down to troupes and cliches, and then immediately say that every story that uses the trait they don't like is automatically bad for everyone? I'm dropping the kindness for a second - that's trash. That's a trash take and I see far too many writers use it as a reason to stop before they begin.

I don't like whump. I say my reasons in previous posts if you go back through my blog. But you will never hear me say that any story with whump in it is bad, because I don't know that. You might prove me wrong. I am an adult human being and I have the humility to admit that I can like something I didn't expect to. I genuinely enjoy the direction of The Human Centipede (only the first one) and if you cringed just now that probably means you haven't seen it.

There are so many types of books and movies and plays and comics out there. To enjoy a specific genre is fine, to ignore the existence of everything else is a really, really, really odd thing to do. Maybe someone will hate your story because they think everything should be Neil Gaiman, and therefore have no way to understand your epistolary high-Western. You are not the wrong end of that situation just for existing.

And at there is a definite threshold on how many writing tips you can gather before they stop being useful. If you find them interesting, that's one thing. That's fine. But if the culture of creativity online has made you feel like you need to educate yourself on every possible angle before you can write a story, you are actively harming yourself.

Imagine taking the level of structure you put on yourself in that way and putting it on children playing pretend in the backyard. Oh, Susie, don't you know that it's overdone for your Kitsune have dead parents? Xyler, shouldn't you ask someone else before you decide how Spiderman would react to this? It would make no sense and they do not need it. Kids will make a whole world out of nothing and it's the most fucked thing in my heart that at some point they get access to Reddit and dipshits start insisting that's wrong.

They aren't wrong and you aren't either. Your favorite creative influencer can't tell you your story, strangers on the internet can't tell you your story, your teachers and loved ones can't tell you your story. They can influence it, but they can't write it honestly the way you can.

You do that. That's the thing you do.

Man that makes me upset. I can't tell you how to make a story, either. If anyone sends me asks for writing advice the most I'll do is say what I've done before hopping into your DMs and starting a direct conversation. it's so personal to each individual artist, and I'd like to think that the people selling these classes and software and promoting these platforms haven't thought about that before. Otherwise it does feel manipulative. If you have a willingness to practice and imagine and really experiment with the possibilities, you are ready to write your story.

And if it doesn't work? Try again. That's what you do.

Stephen King has written roughly a thousand books and maybe five of them have decent endings. He is unimaginably successful.

I'm rambling now. I think I got that out of my system. I was really worried to say this out of fear of being too weird or somehow reverse-gatekeeping so hard that it circles back into also being a bad thing. I've just spoken to a lot of people who I still think of throughout my day, and I truly ache for them to get past the fear of creation. Because it's worth it. It's worth it and it's fun, even when it's messy and you're tired.

Let it Be just came on. Beatles. I haven't listened to The Beatles in a long time. Feels a little apropos.

I love you, reader. Reader, Writer, Colleague. Take care of yourself. Especially the little you, still sitting there in the backyard of your soul, bathing in the sun with their bare feet in the damp earth.

Consider joining them, maybe.

#writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #queer writers #authors of tumblr #on writing #writing #actually writing #writing resources #writing tips #writing help #writing advice #how to write #writing tips and tricks #writers supporting writers

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diedbrave · 1 year ago

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@riptozier continued from here.

"You look like you're wearing a fucking crop top." Eddie dead-panned, and okay maybe it wasn't that bad, truly, but it was bad enough that Eddie had to fight between being incredibly annoyed while also trying not to laugh. Richie had a good four inches on him, so it was no surprise that the shirt was going to be a little short - something Eddie didn't even want to think about because that meant a short joke was definitely on the horizon.

He didn't want to be late to work, even though he ran his own company at this point and therefore the only person he could get in trouble with was himself, but he couldn't pull himself out of being completely flabberghasted. "Why are you wearing one of my shirts, Richard?" He stressed, holding the new set of keys that, yup, he had definitely forgotten in his anxious rush out the door. He needed to get rid of the other car keys, but some paranoid sense told him he shouldn't.

"I literally did laundry for us both yesterday." Because he was living with Richie, and he didn't trust Richie to clean his clothes nearly as well as he probably should. "So there's no fucking way you're out of shirts and felt the need to, what, wear one of mine?"

#{i think you're headed for a breakdown - threads}#{he reaches in and grabs right hold of your heart - richie tozier}#riptozier

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diedbrave · 10 months ago

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"Well Dan, my name is Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak." He smiled softly, before laughing as he shook his head. "And don't worry, there aren't any benches dedicated to me either." Not unless there was a bench for his sacrifice of his life that he had made to a giant alien clown spider, but considering that was fairly hush hush information, he highly doubted it. "Guess we're just two average guys at the park. Good thing I don't really have a leaning towards celebrities." Even though a good chunk of his friends seemingly had that status.

He flipped the page of his paper again, not even noticing that the other was intruding on his thoughts. Even if that were possible - and maybe it was - Eddie had so many thoughts going a mile a minute that the last thing he would notice was someone in his brain. At the question, he lowered the paper, raising an eyebrow to look over the other with dark brown eyes. "Is there ever? I'm just trying to find something to kill time." Before he had to get to his divorce hearing. Not that he would bore this stranger with his personal life.

"What about you, did you just come here to people watch or feed the birds or something?"

@diedbrave

Dan laughed gently. ❝No, that's not me. My name's actually Dan Torrance.❞ He introduced himself as he sat down. ❝I don't think that there are any benches dedicated to me.❞ He joked as he settled next to the stranger.

He hadn't exactly meant to, but Dan had received some memory of the man next to him when he was a kid, under the greenery of some trees, not unlike the ones here. It was pleasant and made Dan smile a little. He didn't linger in the man's thoughts. That was rude. Even though Dan was an avid people-watcher these days. That's what he was doing at the park.

❝Anything good in that paper?❞ He asked.

#{i think you're headed for a breakdown - threads}#rayofsunshinc

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auncyen · 6 months ago

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what I meant to write: mIrabelle as the one looping having a crying breakdown in the equivalent of act 3 because I thought of it a few days ago and it's been stuck in my head (Panic! at the Dinner Table).

What actually got written: can you imagine how terrible it'd be for another looper to start suspecting Siffrin did something WELL

Siffrin has been suspicious for several days.

(Odile might say 'days' is inaccurate, but it's close enough, you think! You start in early afternoon on one day and then, when everything goes well, see Euphrasie in late afternoon of the next day, so it's around a day--sometimes over...many times under. Also, calling them days feels...better. Maybe it's a 'cycle' or 'loop' for everyone else caught up in this, with them always being reset to the same places, the same lines until you start changing things, but you are moving through time. You're Changing.)

(You're changing, aren't you?)

(For the better?)

--Siffrin has been suspicious for several of your days. They still act like their friendly self--they've even gifted you a flower sometimes! (You suppose other times you might have been too abrupt in waking them up. And sometimes you haven't woken them up at all, because you realize they'll come to the Clocktower anyway. They all will, it's where you're staying. You couldn't come up with anything more creative than a sleepover?) But...something's off.

You first realized something was strange about Siffrin--well, a lot of things are strange about Siffrin. You're more worried about his memory than ever now. Whenever you go into that secret room for the stash of tonics, Siffrin starts talking about a time he ran away from home, only to suddenly stop and look confused. You've tried encouraging him to continue by reminding him of everything he said up to that point (Isabeau applauded your thorough recitation with the most lightheartedness he could muster while still looking Siffrin over with his own concern), but it doesn't jog anything. You've tried guiding Siffrin to tell the story a different way with questions, but it seems like he loses the thread even faster that way. Lately you've just...cut him off from telling the story by laughing as soon as he brings it up and mentioning how mad his parents must have been when he returned. Siffrin still looks confused and lost for a terrible moment when you say that, but then he grins and agrees, and surely he's agreeing because that's what actually happened, isn't it? He said he was playing a prank. He played a silly prank for an hour or two, and then he went home, and probably he got a scolding for it but everything was fine.

...You still. Would like to avoid that room in the future. To not see that scared, lost look on Siffrin. Maybe you're strong enough now that you don't need the tonics?

But, but, you need to focus. Siffrin's memory problems are strange and worrying, and you really wished they'd said sooner how bad it is instead of letting you all tease them about it, but what's suspicious is their connection to the King.

You're not entirely sure what it is. When you go to the King, he always singles Siffrin out. "Bright One...do you remember?"

Obviously, with the already-mentioned memory problems, the answer is No. You've tried asking Siffrin if they know the King in any way, but of course he says no? Even if they knew each other once, Siffrin could have forgotten him the same way he can't remember what happened when he went out on the ocean in a boat to prank his parents? You imagined a tragically doomed romance between a villain and a hero with partial amnesia from an injury earned in one of their past scuffles (why is Siffrin's memory that bad???) for all of ten seconds before you realized that if Siffrin could forget the King, he'll surely forget boring, stagnant Mirabelle as soon as he leaves. After that you were too depressed to imagine anything between Siffrin and the King, which was probably for the better. Especially considering...

One time, the King singled out Siffrin in a different way. A terrible way. The first loop--the first day after you defeated the King and got to see Euphrasie for a glimpse of happiness before being sent back--you'd lost your temper a bit. You'd pushed everyone to go through the House faster than any time before, brought back to your senses at the end of the second floor by Odile dryly commenting on her tired feet while giving a pointed look at Bonnie, who was obviously getting worn out. You'd apologized over and over, and chewed your nails off at the second snack break to let them take all the time they needed to recover their energy, and went through the third floor without saying anything to rush Siffrin. You'd kept your temper in check until you saw the King again, and then you'd accused him of being a cheat, an unchanged loser who couldn't accept defeat, and he'd let your venting wash over him with a calm indifference ("I do not know what you speak of, Housemaiden") until you told him exactly what you were speaking of--the time that kept turning back, again and again, the days the loops the returns--

His face is mostly obscured by his long hair, but you could tell by the way his head turned that he'd directed his attention to Siffrin, and you knew it was with a glare by the cold fury in his voice. "What have you done, Bright One. The Universe's will is with me."

And then

the king struck

and Siffrin--

You don't speak to the King anymore. You don't let him talk either. You're pretty sure he told you everything you'd want to know from him. He can use Time Craft, but he isn't the one holding you in these endless days. He thinks Siffrin can use Time Craft, which sounds ridiculous, but since then you've talked with the Change God (you'd wanted reassurance you'd wanted a sign your statue was the only one unbroken in the whole House and you touched its face in reverence and the Change God spoke to you) and they'd told you three things:

you're their favorite!

they're put out by Dormont being stagnant and unchanging, but they're excited to see how exactly you change (maybe being their favorite isn't good. Your favorite characters go through some awful things, after all)

Siffrin isn't not responsible for this???

So it makes sense that Siffrin had a hand in this somehow! After a few more days which let you reach Euphrasie, you realized the time reset at the end only happens while Euphrasie is talking to Siffrin! That's suspicious! And, and, you've tried preventing it by keeping Euphrasie from talking to Siffrin, but she is so insistent she'd like to talk to them, and everyone starts looking at you strangely the more you protest, and you just...can't stop it.

You can't stop Siffrin from ruining things.

You hate that you're even suspicious of him, but he won't admit to using Time Craft when you ask, and surely even with his terrible memory, he'd remember that? He doesn't forget everything! But if he's lying, then...

Then you don't know what that means.

You don't know what to do.

...What Siffrin did: show Mirabelle how to wish and be an islander recognized by other islanders and not particularly liked by the Change God

#in stars and time #in stars and time spoilers #siffrin #mirabelle

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raapija · 6 months ago

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Xan we get anything slightly angsty from the pookie au 🥺 theyre too content

Thank you for the prompt <3 I'm sorry for the late response. The amount of times I've started to write something, deleted it, started again, deleted, started, deleted... ugh... But now I've finally settled for this. I struggle to write angsty stuff, but I hope you like this one. It became a lot sadder than I anticipated...

This is inspired by this post, so give it a quick glance before reading.

this is set in 2020

summary: Lance calls Fernando after a tough day and it turns even worse.

warnings: angst, self-doubt, lance having a breakdown and fernando not helping

Lance sat on the edge of his bed. The clock on his hotel room wall was too loud. It made his ears tingle with each tick, driving him mad. He got up, went to pick the clock off the wall and pulled the batteries out. He carefully laid them onto a small table and then returned to sit on the bed, now cross-legged and looking down at his phone.

The black screen of his iphone taunted him, begged for him to pick it up. It was beautifully laid on the red satin cover of the bed. Lance fought between calling and not calling. Maybe he should just go for a run to clear his mind, but the idea of hearing Fernando's voice... He needed it right now. The race had been a total fluke, finishing dead last and he had rushed through the media pen to get back to his hotel. Everyone was staring at him again.

Lance grabbed the phone, taking a while before unlocking the screen and going to find Fernando's number. It was under 'Nano ♥', like it had been for years. The emoji at the end pulled on his heartstrings.

"Cariño?"

Lance sighed when he heard Fernando pick up.

"Lancito? You okay?"

"Yeah, uh..." Lance hurried to answer. He picked on a loose thread on a seam on his joggers. The words were harder to find than usual.

"I miss you." he got out. He let his head hang down, gripping his hair and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I miss you too, baby."

"I love you." Lance added, his voice barely audible. Tears started to fall down, staining the satin under him a dark shade of burgundy. He gripped his hair tighter, so hard it hurt.

"Yo también te quiero, cariño."

Fernando's voice was so smooth, so calm. A stark contrast to Lance's sobbing, which became louder and he had to hold a hand over his mouth to keep them inside.

"Don't cry. I hate hearing you cry."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry either."

"I'm sorry..." Lance whispered. He was always apologizing. Whatever it was. Especially to Fernando.

"What is it, churri? What is making you sad?"

"I had a bad race. They're writing stories about me again."

"Don't look at those. They don't know you."

"I feel like everyone's staring at me. Like they hate me."

"That's not true."

Lance wiped the tears off his face, taking a couple deep breaths to calm down. He sniffled, and then continued: "I know it's not true, but everyone else doesn't. My family, my friends, the guys on the grid... To them that's real."

"No, don't think like that. Your family loves you, your friends love you. I love you."

The word 'love' was losing meaning over distant phone calls. Lance hated it, hated it to his core. He wished Fernando would just come back and hold him. Touch him. Even be there to just look at him.

"Where are you right now?" Lance asked. He knew Fernando was in the Middle-East, doing some sort of a rally raid. He had so many things going on, that Lance struggled to keep up. It felt like Fernando was grabbing at everything he possibly could, finding ways to keep himself occupied instead of coming home, instead of staying still.

"Somewhere, always somewhere."

"But never here."

Lance felt like choking again. He missed him. Missed him so much it was killing him, tearing him apart. If he had known love could hurt you this much, he would've never let himself fall for Fernando.

"I'm tired of being in love and being alone."

"It's okay, I'll find you again."

"But you're so far away from me. You're always away. And I'm always alone."

"I love you, I'm coming back, lo prometo. Te amo."

Again. Love, love, love, echoing in Lance's ears. Two years. Two years Fernando had been away. They saw each other maybe once a month.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to wait."

There was a pause in Fernando's end, then a sigh, and Lance felt the tears start to well up in his eyes again.

"I'm trying."

"I need you."

"Cariño, I'm sorry. I promise I find a way back."

Empty promises. Fernando's specialty. Lance wanted to stab at him, right in the heart. A new emotion took over, anger.

"You sons miss you, too. Lando, Oscar and Carlos."

Another pause. His kids were always a way in. Lance took it as a chance to take control.

"You were there for all their life and then you go away like this. Why? Why now? You hold everyone together and now it's all falling apart. You say you love me, but you're never here to love me. You're away so much, it doesn't even feel like we're together anymore. Why?"

"I don't know..."

"Figure it out!" Lance cried. What he was about to say next tortured him, it felt like his soul was being ripped out of him. "I can't live like this. I've given you three years and you've given me nothing. Every day you just go further and further away. Like you want me to leave you."

"No. Never."

"It's what it feels like..." Lance choked out. He didn't even try to keep the tears in anymore. He was too tired of it all.

"You can not leave me. I love you. I find a way, I promise. Lance, you can't."

Lance gave out a pained groan at Fernando's pleading voice. He wanted to throw his phone at the wall. Wanted to scream at Fernando, hit him, kick him, make him understand how much it hurt.

"It's killing me. I give you chance after fucking chance. I'm done with it. I'll only give you one more. One more fucking... -If you don't come back, that's it. I won't ruin my whole life for you."

"I will."

"One chance."

"I promise, I will come to you. Lance, I promise. I lo-"

Lance hung up on him, gripping his phone tight and swinging his arm back to throw it, but he didn't. He instead crumbled down onto the bed, crying into the sheets. He wrapped his arms around himself to imagine it was someone else holding him.

Lance wanted him to come back, to knock on his door in the morning and hug him and kiss him. But a small part of him also wanted Fernando to stay away. That small part ate at him, growing bigger and bigger. Lance wanted to kill it; burn it with fire and never think of it ever again. But it became stronger every day, almost enough that it could take over. Only Fernando could make it go away. If he'd only come back.

#pookie au #nando and his mcnuggets #fic #is this good? please tell me it's good...#strollonso #lance stroll #fernando alonso #pre-aston strollonso

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starlost-mochi-x · 23 days ago

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the fast lane : part 5 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, angst, chan isn't as much of a dick (yayyy), jisung is the best, lots of vroom vrooming, not proofread, brief mentions of injury, tiny bit suggestive if you squint, that's it i think 3.6 k wc

series masterlist

part 5 : white knight and black knight

"You ready?" Jisung asked.

Y/n nodded shakily, adjusting her leather jacket. The material felt foreign, unusually smooth and uncomfortable against her skin. Jisung had kindly lent it to her, since she didn't have a racing jacket of her own yet, and not for the first time, Y/n was truly grateful for his amiable nature and quick smile.

He was just so easy to be friends with.

Y/n had only spent several days in Jisung's company as he'd helped train her, but by the time Saturday's race came around, she felt as if she'd known him for years. It was a pleasant feeling, to have someone who was so willingly kind to her after experiencing Chan's confusing attitude towards her, and the other racers' nonchalance and ignorance of her presence entirely. Minho's absence still bitterly tugged at Y/n's heartstrings, but with Jisung's constant chattering, grinning, and spontaneous antics, the sadness and longing began to slowly fade away, and Y/n surprisingly found herself enjoying herself in and out of the arena for the first time since Minho's impromptu training sessions.

Jisung nudged her shoulder suddenly, chuckling as she blinked, having been so lost in her thoughts that she'd forgotten where she was. "You'll be fine, Y/n."

Y/n exhaled, nodding, glad that he'd mistaken her quietness for nerves. She liked Jisung, but being a naturally suspicious person, she was finding it truly difficult to open up and tell him things that might have come easy to someone else. She understood now, why Chan acted the way he did, how he might have been feeling the same way as she did, not knowing who to trust or open up to.

Y/n was surprised she currently even had the capacity to hear herself think. The arena was bright and bustling, trails of car exhaust smoke rising in wisping plumes against the night sky. The floodlights were slightly dimmed, their usual blinding, white glare toned down by the hundreds of coloured light bulbs threading through the grandstands, giving the arena and racetrack a garishly dramatic, multi-coloured aura of reds, pinks, blues, and yellows. The cars racing in the next heat were already lined up, decorated in flashy stripes and sheens of neon colours that made Y/n's head spin if she looked for too long. Minho's car, her car now, was there too, the neon green and chrome black cast sending a jolting, bittersweet pang through her heart. Jisung's neon red and candy-pink Mustang was positioned directly behind hers.

Someone brushed past her shoulder suddenly, smelling woodsy and spicy. Y/n knew that scent now.

Chan moved past her, walking into the crowds towards his car as if she'd conjured him there out of her thoughts. She hadn't seen him around much since their shared breakdown in the tuning shop, but she was relieved to at least see that he was okay. Yn subconsciously realised she'd been coming around to him, albeit extremely slowly and warily.

Not to say she had forgiven him for what he'd done to Minho.

Y/n considered going after him suddenly, feeling a strange urge to reconnect with him the way they'd done in the garage. But she knew in her heart Chan wouldn't want to talk about it, especially since he'd been crying. She had a feeling most of the racers here weren't really into shows of affection or vulnerability unless it was shoving their tongues down the throats of the grid girls, who were currently swarming flirtatiously around a blonde-haired racer clad in jet black and blue.

Not that there was any time to reconnect with Chan anyway.

Jisung clapped her on the back, giving her a final, million-watt smile before disappearing behind her to enter his own car in the lineup. Y/n took a shaky breath and opened the car door of her own, sliding smoothly into the driver's seat. Her fingers found their place on the wheel, the cool leather sending an involuntary shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus. Opening them again, trying to clear her head, Y/n glanced in her rearview mirror, noticing Jisung making his final adjustments in his seat. Y/n fought a tiny, fond laugh as he hit his elbow on the window frame, his lean top half temporarily disappearing as he keeled over dramatically at the pain.

Dragging her eyes away from her friend, Y/n glanced across to her left, noticing Chan clenching the wheel of his own car next to her. His sleek, dark Corvette was polished to an effortless shine, the red streamlining catching the multi-coloured lights sprinkled around the racetrack. He was wearing the exact same black and red racing suit he'd worn when she'd first ran into him, and Y/n cringed at the memory, remembering how she'd fallen straight onto her ass afterwards. She was also convinced that Chan probably slept in his racing suit at this point. She was about to smile at the thought, turning to look at him, when she realised he looked a lot more focused than usual.

No, not focused.

Tense.

Like he was worried about something.

Every single muscle was rigid and stiff. He kept shifting in his seat, his usual bravado disappearing completely as he fretted silently to himself, frowning every now and then. Y/n hastily redirected her gaze as Chan's eyes caught hers, her heart thudding at the unexpected glance.

A grating rev from her other side made Y/n jolt. Glaring at the racer to her left, Y/n's jaw dropped a little as she realised the racer who had been flirting with the grid girls was staring directly at her. Her glare disappeared as quickly as it had come, a sudden shyness and sense of inferiority crashing over her being. His car must have been the most expensive one on the track. The McLaren P1's sleek, deep blue body was decorated with vibrant, sky blue lightning strikes detailed in black and white. It was truly stunning.

So is the racer inside it, Y/n thought.

She promptly realised she'd been staring at the blonde-haired racer for some time now. He was doing the same, his dark, almost boyishly pretty eyes boring into Y/n's with an intensity that made her want to shrink into oblivion. His face was freckled, the blonde strands falling down over his forehead and nape in messy, loosely clustered strands. She could faintly see his roots growing out, the colour beneath the harsh dye a pleasant, dark, chocolatey brown.

Y/n watched, stupefied, as the racer smirked, a strand of pretty blonde hair falling into his face. He shook his head a little, shaking it out of the way, before cocking a confident eyebrow at her and smirking again, his tongue darting out to briefly touch his teeth. Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks at the expression, though she knew he was mocking her, nonverbally telling her to stay out of the way.

Out of his way, most likely.

She watched as he threw his head back and laughed, though she couldn't hear it from her car. It didn't seem like the friendly type of laugh, either. More derisive and taunting. Y/n's hands clenched involuntarily on the wheel and she looked straight ahead, trying to redirect her moral compass, and focus.

This would have been so much easier if Minho was here, she thought desperately. She leant forward a little and watched with hawk-like eyes as a grid girl sashayed onto the track, holding a single, black-and-white checkered flag. Y/n's heart thudded as she watched the girl raise the flag. Y/n glanced at Chan one more time before the flag dropped.

The instant the green signal flared, they were off.

Tires screeched against asphalt as the cars launched forward, engines roaring. The blonde-haired racer's car had already disappeared round a turn as soon as the signal flare had launched, and Y/n sputtered, faltering momentarily.

How had he gotten there so fast?

Recollecting herself, Y/n's heart leapt into her throat as she slammed her foot on the gas. The adrenaline surged through her veins as the world around her blurred, the car's momentum throwing her against the seat. Jisung's car sped past her, stuck in the middle between Chan's car and her own, but she strangely found she didn't mind. Jisung seemed to have enough skill to hold his own, and Y/n was far more focused and preoccupied on beating two particular cars.

Chan’s car surged ahead at first, taking an early lead like Y/n had always seen him do, with smooth confidence and practiced ease. Y/n glanced at her rearview mirror; she could already see the blonde racer's car coming up behind her. He was so incredibly fast that Y/n put him out of her mind, instead focusing on Chan's car beside her.

Forget about the hot blonde guy, she thought. I just have to place, and beat Chan.

Chan's car was faster, smoother, and Y/n could tell that he knew the track like the back of his hand. But Y/n stayed focused, her knuckles white against the wheel, refusing to be intimidated. She could feel the power beneath her, every turn and shift of the road pushing her to test her limits, and go beyond. She gritted her teeth and wrenched the wheel, eyes laser-focused on the track ahead and the cars vying to overtake her.

The cars whipped around tight corners, engines screaming, sparks flying as their bumpers almost brushed. Y/n inched closer, narrowing the gap between her car and Chan's. Her eyes flicked to the speedometer—she was pushing her car harder than ever.

Y/n saw Chan’s engine suddenly sputter, and his car jerking violently. The reckless revving dropped, and the smooth power that was seconds ago relied on faltered. His car slowed, losing speed, and within seconds, it was clear—his car was stalling.

Y/n's eyes instinctively flickered back and forth between the track ahead and Chan's car, now dropping behind her. She could see him beat his fist against the wheel, his expression wild and glaring. Her heart hammered against her chest as she grit her teeth, wondering if she should slow down. But regaining her rationality, she cast Chan one last glance and sped past, right behind Jisung and the blonde racer. Steeling her focus, she looked ahead at the finish line, the grid girl now standing on the side of the track, waving the checkered flag.

Her hands tightened on the wheel. This is it.

The finish line was in sight, the wind whipping past her, the crowd roaring as they saw her take the lead, directly behind the blonde. She sped ahead, leaving Chan and his stalling car behind.

Seconds later, Y/n crossed the line, the rush of her first placing victory flooding through her veins. She slammed on the brakes, coming to a hard stop, her heart pounding, barely believing what had just happened.

She turned the engine off and with clammy hands, opened the door, stumbling out. Her ankles and wrists ached with the exertion and her fingers hurt, like they had been molded to the steering wheel. She made a mental note to buy gloves and loosen her grip next time.

The thought flew out of Y/n's head as a large, lean figure tackled her in a hug, her hearing muffling temporarily along with the roars from the crowd. Jisung lifted her above the ground, his hair slick with sweat, eyes crinkled as he laughed. He shrieked, jumping up and down on the spot, Y/n jolting in his arms.

"You did it!" he cheered. "Even beat me and Chan. How's that for a proper race, uh?"

Y/n smiled, letting out a tentative, wheezy laugh, struggling in his grip.

"Thank you, Jisung, but I can't breathe-"

"Oh! Oh, sorry, sorry," he placed her back on the ground, readjusting the jacket from where he'd disheveled it. He grinned at her, running a gloved hand through his hair. The haphazardly neon, overexcited crowd bustled around them, jostling and shouting. "Better?"

Y/n nodded, relieved, just as she spotted a head of messy blonde hair. Peeking behind her friend, she noticed the blonde racer pushing and brushing his way through the crowd. She blurted out a half-hearted excuse to Jisung and disappeared into the mess of people, trying to keep him in her sight.

Finally making her way through to the other side of the crowd, Y/n inhaled in a much-needed breath of cold, slightly smoky air, and glanced around hastily, her eyes settling on the racer. He was a little way away, talking to a slim, well-dressed man with a stern face. Y/n stumbled past a crowd of flamboyantly dressed young women and came up beside him, panting slightly. The well-dressed man disappeared with a glance at her, just as the blonde racer turned to face her. Y/n's breath escaped her lungs in a low whoosh.

He was beautiful.

Stuttering slightly, and feeling like a common peasant in the presence of someone so ethereally charming, Y/n found she had temporarily lost the capacity for speech. Her words finally came out in a rather pathetic, stumbling mess of fragments.

"U-um, I just- wanted to say, that-"

The racer raised an eyebrow, his expression not unfriendly nor open. More... mildly irritated and hesitantly curious at the same time. Y/n was convinced she couldn't have pulled off the expression if she tried.

His voice broke through the charged, slightly smoky atmosphere, the tone and pitch of it deep and thick and smooth like honey.

"Yes?"

Y/n's knees almost buckled. His voice was rich and accented, like Chan's but just a little bit more so. Y/n noticed his freckles again, spotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks, his eyes veiled by long, dark lashes. There was a slighter larger freckle on the smooth curve of his cheekbone, shaped a little like a heart. She fought the sudden urge to smile at the cuteness of it and awkwardly cleared her throat.

"Um, congratulations. For winning the race."

Her words came out more composed than before. Y/n silently congratulated herself on being able to form a singular coherent sentence in front of this ethereal supermodel of a human being.

"Thank you."

Y/n fidgeted, unsure of what to do. She intertwined her fingers, trying not to make things awkward. The supermodel racer simply stared at her, tilting his head slightly, before reaching out and tugging lightly on the collar of her borrowed jacket. A jolt of fire seared through Y/n at the touch, though he had made no contact with her skin. Like a static shock.

"Stealing Jisung's things, hmm?"

Y/n stuttered. "He let me me borrow it. Uhm, for the race."

"I see. Congratulations to you too. Much better since your last try."

Y/n almost choked on her saliva, the humiliating memory of her first race resurfacing in her mind. Had he been watching her?

All this time?

The racer seemed to notice her assumption, because his eyes widened infinitesimally, his hands clenching into fists. Seemingly irritated, he huffed out a breath that felt more forced than genuine.

Must be to keep up an image, Y/n thought ruefully to herself. I bet he's a softie under all of it. Like Chan. I think.

The blonde's thick, velvety voice floated through the air to her again, this time tinted in clarity and begrudging respect.

"Don't get cocky, rookie."

"Okay."

The racer simply nodded, apparently deeming the conversation finished, and brushed past her into the crowd.

Y/n watched him go.

☆★☆

The crowd was like a human barrier; Y/n was pushing and stumbling her way through, trying to get back to Jisung. Suddenly turning around, she ran directly into someone, almost falling over backwards. Panic set in her chest as she stumbled, the jostling crowd around her doing nothing to help her regain her bearings or balance.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, bracing, just as a pair of strong arms coiled around her waist, warm and stable. Her feet caught themselves on the asphalt, and one foot hovered unsurely just above the ground. Y/n looked up at Chan.

He smiled ruefully. "Should have caught you the first time, uh?"

Y/n's heart dropped out from her ribcage, down her legs, and out of her ass. She flushed suddenly at the feeling of his arms around her waist, cheeks tingling with fire.

"Thanks," she managed to get out as Chan pulled her fully upright. He released his hold on her and Y/n's body almost followed him like a magnet, already feeling cold without his touch. A sense of bittersweet disappointment filled her stomach. She blinked, hard, before looking up at him, unsure of what to say. Was he upset he'd lost?

"Um, your car-"

"Don't worry about it," Chan's expression was unreadable.

Such a carefully constructed mask, Y/n thought. A lot like Minho's.

But where Minho's mask was gold and ivory, Chan's was silver and obsidian.

Opposites.

In every way, it seemed. Black and white. Light and dark. Like two knights from opposing kingdoms, standing for completely different things.

White knight and black knight.

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, opening her mouth to speak. Chan beat her to it.

"I'm sorry."

What?

Y/n's dumbfounded expression must have betrayed her surprise, because Chan rolled his eyes, tapping his foot on the asphalt. He huffed, seemingly trying to steel himself, or keep his irritation in check. Knowing Chan as little as she did, she went ahead and assumed it was probably the latter.

"Just- I'm sorry. That I shouted at Minho in front of you, that I left the tuning shop so suddenly. I didn't mean to get so sentimental, just- memories, y'know?"

Y/n blinked, her capacity for speech returning from its brief holiday.

"Oh. Um- it's okay."

Chan blinked back at her, expression mildly surprised. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, disbelieving. It was clear he hadn't been expecting to be forgiven.

"I thought you'd be pissed."

Y/n shrugged. "I was, but I let it go after a while. I forgive you. You know, if that's what you want to hear."

Chan's mouth formed a small, 'o' and Y/n's cheeks puffed up, trying to hold back a laugh.

"You look like a pufferfish," she snickered.

Chan flushed a light pink across his cheekbones and tutted once at her before hastily running a hand through his dark, sweat-slicked hair. Now that he was standing a little closer, Y/n could see the light bruising around his right eye showing through. She could see the light, careful smoothing of concealer over the sweat-sheened area and bit the inside of her cheek. A tiny patch of purple and green bloomed in faint patches at the corner of his eye, and to Y/n, it looked like it'd gotten worse since the last time they'd seen each other. Se glanced up at the racer, suddenly concerned, but decided not to say anything.

Chan suddenly opened his mouth to retort to her comment and was immediately tackled by a tornado with dirty blonde hair and a mesh shirt. He let out an oof and stumbled back a few steps, freezing as Jisung joyfully squeezed him around the middle. Chan exhaled before hesitantly patting Jisung on the back. Y/n chuckled.

"Y/n beat you," Jisung's voice was muffled, though it contained no small amount of glee.

Chan groaned. "Well spotted. Uh- you can let go now."

Jisung lifted his head from where it was buried in Chan's shoulder, and reluctantly let go, cheeks puffing out in a pout.

Y/n chuckled at her friend's antics and glanced at Chan. The crowd around her was beginning to feel suffocating.

"Let's go sit down."

☆★☆

Chan groaned as Jisung snatched his drink for the fourth time, laughing.

Y/n had dragged the both of them up into the bleachers, where they could watch the entire event without being crowded. The neon flashing lights and the screeching of the cars had dimmed, as if someone had draped a blanket over it, dulling the lights and colours and noises.

She dragged her gaze away from the arena below and turned her gaze to Jisung. He was busy scarfing down the rest of Chan's drink. Tossing it into a nearby bin, he turned to her with a cheeky grin. Chan groaned and shoved him lightly, displeased with the theft of his refreshment, sending Jisung into a fit of laughter.

Looking down at the arena again, Y/n replayed the events of the night. The blonde haired racer popped into her mind, and she turned to Jisung suddenly, curious.

"Jisung?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you, um- there's this blonde haired racer, he was next to me in the lineup. Do you maybe know who he is? He had the McLaren with the lightning strikes on it."

Jisung nodded thoughtfully. Chan was preoccupied, running calloused fingertips over the thick silver chain on his wrist. He looked up in interest just as Jisung spoke.

"Blonde hair, McLaren, lightning strikes... sounds like someone we know, huh, Chan?"

Chan rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. The night breeze blew his dark hair black, the wind running its cool fingers through the sweat-dried locks.

"Oh, we know him all right."

Jisung grinned cheekily, chuckling. "Chan hates him because he's a better racer."

"I do not. And he's not that good."

"Mhm, totally..."

"Oh, shut up, Jisung."

The younger boy laughed, holding up his hands in defence, leaning away from Chan. The shit-eating grin on Jisung's face was wiped away by a swift, sharp slap to the upside of his head. He groaned and flopped dramatically to the arena floor. Y/n, meanwhile, just blinked softly, unbothered by their antics.

"What's his name?" she asked inquisitively.

Chan huffed, stretching out his long legs in front of him before propping them up on the seat in front. His voice was gravelly.

"Lee Felix."

a/n: i planned to post this a month ago but oops. also felix introduction yay !

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diedbrave · 1 year ago

Text

"I mean, don't get me wrong, New York has its perks. I like musicals enough, I think that's cool. And Central Park is beautiful, especially for going running in the morning. But people can't drive there for shit, and it's loud as fuck, and smells like shit all the time." He laughed softly, though shook his head - he didn't want to smash her dreams of going to New York too quickly. "I'm sure it's a lovely place to visit. It was just a culture shock, moving there after a small town like this."

He gestured around them, before an eyebrow was raised at the mention of his wife. "Huh, well. Not too great, actually. She kind of likes to keep me on lock down, didn't want me to leave. She worries a lot for me. Almost like my mom used to, before she died." His nose wrinkled at this, realizing just how much Myra had truly been like his mom. Again, something he hadn't realized until he was back in this hellhole of a town. Like IT had taken all of their memories and kept them in a box, just to throw them back in their face.

Though, for what reason? That was something he still didn't understand. Why IT had felt the need to take their memories in the first place, make them forget everything. If it was because the clown had felt threatened, that made no sense - as far as the Losers had known, IT was dead, until Mike Hanlon had called that day. He blinked out of his own space of thoughts, glancing over with a slight, "Huh? Oh! Chicago!"

He imagined that Chicago and NYC were pretty similar, though he didn't know firsthand. "My friend Richie lives there now. He's this big comedian, does a lot of gigs there and stuff. I don't know much about it, but I heard the food is amazing."

"They're somewhere around here, though," she says, mostly to herself, but she perks up a little. "I've wanted to go to New York. I've gone recently, but I could never go when I was younger. My mom thought I'd get lost in the city." Somehow, Nica supposes her mother had been right in some regard. Tiff'll take us to Broadway soon, just watch. I think there's a poker tournament in Atlantic City within like a month, Chucky says in their shared space. A nicer warmth settles throughout Nica and she's realizing something feels a little more right.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a familiar red balloon. There's a small skitter of her heart in her chest, and then there's something that she can't fight. Some part of her wants to follow the balloon, but there's also a part of her that wants to stay with Eddie. Nica wanted to see how much of the town had changed, and she almost feels the textured stars that Pennywise had left on her wheelchair. D'you think IT would remember you after all these years? Chucky asked, bringing up the smallest part of doubt that had solidified itself in her mind.

No, IT has a good memory. There was something about ITs presence in the town, something that she couldn't really explain. She liked it, though.

"How did she take the news?" she asks, smiling a little at the mention of his wife. Nica looks him over, though, and there's a softening smile at the corners of her lips. She knows the look, and it was one that she had on her own face for a few years before she'd met both Tiffany and Jennifer. It had changed her life, honestly more than she thought it would. HEY. Give me some of the credit, kid, Chucky reminds, although there's no malice to his tone.

Her expression changes a little, and she gives a gentle nod. "I feel like that about Chicago, but I haven't been there in ... shit, its been years."

#{i think you're headed for a breakdown - threads}#fragmcntdstars #eddie just out here trying to be so nice #while meanwhile shes missing the clown that fucked his life #love that for him

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the-fluff-piece · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, I know you just filled in a request of mine, but I couldn't stop thinking abt this one scene from a book. Basically, it's where fem!reader sits on Ace's, Law, and Monsert Trio's lap while theh feed the fem!reader strawberries dipped in chocolate with whipped cream on top. (Pls. include ace, i'm a major simp for him)

The scene requested is meant like a mindfulness-exercise, so it's a lot about the sensory experience. So this will be 5 Scenes where I try not to be too repetitive about the strawberry and try to bring out what makes each of them unique and lovable. We are directly entering the scene, so don't ask me where the food comes from xD

Also look ar my stories and headcanon master lists

Since it took me AGES here's the first two scenes with extra Ace and I'll post monster three when finished

Here is

An exercise in mindfulness

Part 2 coming soon!

You're having a panic attack, a breakdown, you're hyperventilating and don't know what to do anymore. Good thing your one piece suitor knows how to deal with it

Law

As a doctor, he immediately saw what was going on. The cold sweat on your forehead, the quick breathing, the fear in your eyes. It pained him to see you like that, so his first instinct was to draw you close.

"I'm here baby" He breathed into your hair as his arms wrapped tightly around you. Being held felt good.

He gently lifted your shaking body to sit you down on his lap as he settled on his bed.

"I got you. Concentrate on breathing. That's it, slowly" He guided you to calm down a bit.

He sat with you for a while, just breathing, before reaching over to get something from the nightstand.

"Close your eyes, open your mouth" he ordered in a soft voice and you complied.

"Taste it" something cool and wet touched your tongue. It was sweet and creamy in your mouth.

"Open up and bite down" he said, and you closed your mouth around it and bit down. A stream of sweet and fruity juice filled your mouth, made sweeter by the cream and there were also chunks of something...

"Let it sit in your mouth, taste it" Law said in his soft, deep voice. It was always easy for you to listen to him. His voice was deep and dark, it sounded soft and rich, especially that close to your ear. It was like the chocolate you began to taste as it melted in your mouth and balanced the sourness of the strawberry and the sweet cream with its heavy chocolate flavour.

You swallowed.

"Can you tell me what it is?" you could feel his breath tickle your ear.

"A strawberry? With dark chocolate and cream" you said and felt a soft kiss to your forehead as focus returned to your world. You realised that he was holding your hand in his, fingers threaded, and that he was rocking you back and forth.

You opened your eyes and saw the rest of the strawberry in his long fingers. He dipped it deep in cream once again, getting some on his fingers as well.

When he offered it to you, you took the strawberry in your mouth but couldn't resist to get the cream from his fingers as well. As you kissed it from his fingers, there was a light shiver in his body.

Ace

As your commander, he was responsible for you and your wellbeing. Always there, always an open ear and an easy smile. So when fear clasped its hand around your throat, you ran to him, heaving and babbling nonsense.

"Woah, slow down" He put his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him.

"Did something happen?" He asked, suddenly very serious.

You told him what led to your panic attack. "It's just in my head, I'm so sorry" you gasped for air because you hadn't been breathing right.

Suddenly, Ace put something on your head. In the midst of your attack, you were confused.

"This is now your safety hat" he explained. As you watched his black, messy hair in the wind you realised- your wearing his signature hat now.

"Come here, I know what will calm you down. A little comfort food." He reached for a small Basket and sat cross legged on the floor. You sank to your knees and stayed there, unable to move.

"If you stay like that your knees will hurt" He tugged on your arms to draw you into his lap.

"You know what calmed my baby brother down everytime? Food." He smiled a broad, reassuring smile and gave you a strawberry. You swallowed it almost without chewing.

"Hey! Not so fast, concentrate a bit ok? It'll calm you down" He reached for another.

"Now slowly, one bite. Keep it in your mouth. Notice all those small seeds in its surface? And the texture inside?" His voice was calm, soothing, "very good. Now you can chew and swallow."

You gulped it down, your throat still narrow, but your heart was beating a little calmer.

"You're in luck I planned for some sweet dessert. I've prepared everything! Here's another" this time, he dipped it in cream.

"I like the cream, it somehow makes it more fruity!" He said as he took one himself.

"Not so fast" He reminded you and you concentrated really hard on being slow and patient.

"Good stuff, right?" Another strawberry vanished in his mouth.

"Want another?" He asked.

You nodded and opened your mouth for one more. It was so generously dipped in cream that a drop landed on your chin.

"My bad" Ace said and wiped the cream with his finger and licking it off. He watched you eat and gave you another, with an even bigger crown of cream.

As he moved it to your mouth, a big drop fell, right on your collarbone. You definitely were in the moment now, the cool drop was like a needle on your skin.

"Oopsie" He whispered with a broad smile and trailed his fingers down your collarbone, "I'm so sorry..."

"You don't sound sorry" you chuckled.

"There's that smile again" and gave you a soft kiss.

"You were very brave" He whispered into your ear.

----

I hope the first part was to your liking! If you want something tweaked for the last three let me know ❤️

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xythlia · 1 year ago

Text

𓏲 ࣪₊ ᴍɪꜱᴄᴏɴᴅᴜᴄᴛ

♡⃕ ࣪ nsfw content. minors do not interact, dark content ⸝⸝ fem reader, teacher/student, power imbalance, humiliation, oral (m receiving), abuse of power, swallowing, face fucking, masturbation

♡⃕ ࣪ word count : 1k+

a/n | i feel like i haven't written anything in a long time but since it's my birthday + luci's i feel inspired, im sorry i was in my dryspell era >.< this might be a lil rusty but hope you like it

feedback ⸝⸝ rbs are appreciated ♡

The tip of your nail swipes back and forth across your bottom lip. This last exam had been bad, beyond bad truly it crossed into breakdown territory the second he handed it to you face down. Only you. Shame had run hot beneath your skin, eyes scanning the page that looked so doused in red corrective ink it may as well have been used to mop up blood.

This would absolutely tank your average if you couldn't find a way to fix it, so you found yourself seated anxiously outside Lucifer's office, leg bouncing and trying not to cry before you even sat across from him.

Your bag almost goes flying from your lap, nearly vomiting its contents as you shoot up the moment that heavy oaken door swings open. He doesn't even get a word out before you're sweeping inside, shaking his head as he clicks the door shut and you feel fresh anxiety knowing he's sizing you up.

"Please there has to be some way to fix-"

"Save it," he says flatly. "That exam was a mess, did you even attempt to skim the text?"

You can feel yourself sweating, skin prickling as you try to keep your voice level and not betray the fact that your heart was beating out of your chest.

"I did read it, is there any way I could retake the exam? I know my grades in that class aren't the best but I do make an effort." Thankfully you at least sounded less anxious than you felt.

"I told everyone at the very beginning I don't allow retakes," his eyes flicked between yours and your lips. "Although maybe if you begged, convincingly, I'd reconsider."

For the first time your out of control train of thought was stuck, sputtering that he couldn't be asking for you think he's asking for, right? Your hands shook, steeling yourself.

"Please, Lucifer-"

He cuts you off with a tsk, making you wince. "Low effort."

After a beat it dawned on you what he was truly asking for. It felt scummy, lifting your sweatshirt off slowly, but at the same time an odd thrill fluttered in your gut as you felt his eyes burning into you. With shaky breaths you stood, undoing your bra as gooseflesh rose on your arms when the chilly office air brushed over your bare chest.

You made your way unsteadily in front of him, still seated behind the desk with a bemused smirk resting on his face. A stark contrast from how his crimson eyes devoured you. Gingerly you sank to your knees in front of him, trembling hands sliding along his thighs as you glanced up through your lashes. He stared down at you in such a distinct way you couldn't help but feel like you were lesser.

Strangely, it excited you.

"Make me believe you deserve that retake."

A shiver crawled down your spine as you watched him undo his trousers, tugging his cock out of his briefs and all you could do was watch with a sudden and unfamiliar lust working through your brain. Seeing the flushed tip beaded with precum had you overwhelmed by thoughts of what it would feel like to have him sinking deep inside you.

You whimpered as he guided your hand to wrap gently around his girth, feeling dizzy as precum smeared against your lips but the satisfied groan he let out as your lips parted for him and your tongue moved against the underside of his cock went straight to your cunt.

Lewd sounds quickly filled the office, only serving to make you wetter. When his hand came to thread through your hair it was surprisingly gentle, making you squirm and accidentally let his cock hit the back of your throat. A sound that could only be described as pornographic dripped from his lips, spurring you on as spit slid down your chin and neck with every bob of your head and twist of your hand.

"Drop your hands," he rasped.

Your eyes watered as his grip on your hair became firmer, hips pushing his thick cock further inside your mouth against your muffled gagging, nose resting against his pubic hair. Forgetting yourself you shifted on your knees, spit sticky hands fondling his balls and letting every moan go straight to your head. It was dizzying and quickly you'd forgotten all about the humiliation that led you here, the only thing anchoring you was the pulsing of your cunt.

One hand stayed against his thigh to keep your balance as he used your mouth all on his own, but you couldn't take it anymore. Your fingers deftly slipped past your waistband to stroke at your clit, which set him off on a stronger pace that left you barely able to see him through the tears crowding your vision.

The vibration from your gags and moans were sending him over the edge, evidenced by how recklessly he pushed to hit as deep as possible in your throat. Your thighs were screaming, muscles beyond sore from both supporting your position and with how tightly you clenched while rubbing rhythmic circles around your neglected clit.

As your own orgasm crested he gave a series of particularly mean thrusts, making you snort through the tears and spit before thick, salty cum filled your mouth. It was a superhuman effort to swallow around him, and as you pulled back you heaved for air, noticing the glimmering string of mixed cum and spit connecting your lips to his swollen tip before licking your lips to break it.

As he sat back against the chair fully again, you felt the mess of fluids clinging to your skin. Blinking away the leftover tears you saw him repositioning and collecting himself before resuming whatever papers he'd been working on before you got here.

It made you feel ashamed all over again, stained with cum, spit, and tears gasping like you'd just been pulled from an icy river and tossed on the office floor. Sniffling you rose, with difficulty thanks to your sore thighs and bruised knees. He never looked up as you pulled your sweatshirt back on, wiped your face on the sleeves as best you could, and hurriedly stuffing your bra into your bag.

In the rush to leave, to run back to your room, you'd forgotten why you even came in the first place before his voice halted your frantic movements.

"I don't have time to proctor a retake, check later you'll see an updated score in your course work." It was so blasé you could almost believe you'd just had a normal conversation in his office rather than being face fucked.

The door creaked as you slipped out, biting your lip and wondering if maybe you should let the next exam slip too. Maybe you could do something else to earn that extra credit...

#obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #om! lucifer #obey me imagine #obey me shall we date #om smut #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #obey me x female reader #obey me x y/n #꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ kita writes

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diedbrave · 1 year ago

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@hearsthephone continued from here.

He didn't know why Finn rounding it out, bringing up the other Losers, only stoked the fire more. Maybe he was protective of them. It wasn't like they weren't accustomed to bringing in new members - they'd done it with Ben, with Mike, with Beverly. Finn was just another member like them, who had a fucked up shitty life, and was kicked around by older kids who thought they were better than them. Maybe it was because Finn had brought their number to eight, and there was something about the number seven that felt right.

Whatever it was, he felt his blood boiling beneath the skin, and part of him worried that he was going to have an aneurysm. His chest was heaving a bit, voice strained and piqued as it often did when frustrated, and he quickly scrambled into his fanny pack to find his inhaler, bringing it to his lips and sucking on it like it was his only saving grace, feeling the mist go down his throat and open up his lungs until he was coughing slightly, heartrate decreasing.

"You're right. You're fucking right, and I hate that you're right." He huffed, kicking at the ground, glaring at it as if it had offended him. "All of our lives have been shit, there's no comparing. I just...it's frustrating, Finn. Why us? What the fuck did we do to deserve any of it? We're all just fucking kids!"

#{i think you're headed for a breakdown - threads}#hearsthephone

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diedbrave · 1 year ago

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"Nah man, Henry is actually one of the chillest of the group I think. He's a lot of bark and not a lot of bite. He likes to throw slurs and be a general dick, but he has his goons do all the heavy lifting. For the most part." He couldn't say that was true all the time, because he knew that Henry had carved into Ben's stomach like it was the Christmas turkey. Still, Henry had left them alone for the most part, unless they were alone. He figured it was because he still respected that Bill had lost his brother.

Eddie gave the other a deadpan look as he was talking, shaking his head in absolute shock. If his mother had heard that he had gotten into a fight, it would be worse than if he had made up another story. She would be showing up at the school and demanding they pay more attention to bullying, and probably pull him out and home school him. He didn't know much about Finney's dad, but if he was going to be fine with the other getting in a fight, he didn't seem all that bad.

"Yeah, well, guess it's good it's your left hand, like you said. You play baseball, don't you? Have a really good pitch. That's what Bill says, anyways." Because Bill was starting to get involved with sports, which made Eddie's stomach flip in a way he didn't understand. He shook his head, snapping out of it, before nodding towards the front of the school where all the bikes were locked up. "I can pedal you there. Think you're strong enough to hold onto me with one arm and not fall off the back of my bike? You can even sit in the front basket if you want, but I'm terrible at riding when I can't see for shit."

diedbrave

"Fuck, I hate that fucking dick." Eddie hissed, going immediately into nursing mode. He knew there wasn't much he could do with a broken hand, however. It was going to have to be checked out at the doctor, and definitely put into some sort of cast. He could easily bandage a wound, but a break was another fucking ballpark. "He's the creepiest of them all. Stay away from him, you got it?"

It wasn't like Finn had intentionally been trying to be on the receiving end of Bowers' and the gang, and he knew that, but he wanted to let the other know that Patrick especially wasn't one to be messed with. "That guy is seriously fucked up. I heard that he killed his baby sister, and that he has a fridge in the junkyard where he stores dead animals. Fucking sicko."

He frowned, lips pursed together, forehead wrinkled in a way that a thirteen year old shouldn't ever look, but Eddie had always come off as older than he was despite being the youngest of the Losers. "We have to go to the doctor, man. Are your parents going to totally flip their shit if you do?"

"Jesus. I figured he had some issues 'cause he's friends with Bowers, but that's another level of fucked." Every town had a few, he supposed; why couldn't they have been more like Vance and Moose had been? Hell, even Peter's gang was preferable. "Guess it's time to bust out the ol' cloaking device, huh?"

He kept his hand steady and held it to his chest. The less he moved it the better. "Least he got my left hand," the boy muttered. Probably because that was the hand he used to stand up to the older kids- it seemed like a good idea, practicing with both hands just in case and also because yes, he had recently seen The Princess Bride- but he was counting his blessings; apart from staying off of the swings and maybe being left out of team sports in gym there wouldn't be any significant changes in his life quality.

"As long as Dad knows it was a fight and only my hand is injured I don't see why he would." Finney tilted his head to the side, observing Eddie's expression. Gwen wore a similar look when she was concentrating on something important, or trying to remember the dreams she had. It aged her just like it was ageing the other boy. "i mean, he's gonna flip his shit learning I got in a fight but that's just a normal level of flipping." He looked down at his hand, which was already turning nasty bruise colors.

"Could you show me where to go from here? I can get to the clinic from home but Derry's still pretty new."

#{i think you're headed for a breakdown threads}#hearsthephone

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 7 months ago

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05/01/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Samba; Con; Rachel House; Gizmo Darby; Nathan; Vico; Leslie; Watch Party Reminders: Palm Royale tomorrow; Adopt Our Crew Breakdown of GLAAD Fan Spotlight; Love Notes; Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika

= Cast & Crew Sightings =

= Samba Schutte =

It's the last week to order this limited edition Crew For Life T-Shirt! All proceeds go to benefiting "EVERY MOTHER COUNTS". Order your Crew For Life shirt here!

Img Src: Samba Schutte's IG

= Con O'Neill =

Our dear Con O'Neill is encouraging everyone to get out and vote! #VoteTheFuckersOut

Img Src: Con O'Neill's IG

= Nathan Foad =

Quick peak of Nathan on his IG again <3

Img Src: Nathan Foad's IG

= Rachel House =

There's a new article out featuring Rachel House and her first time directing!

Rachel House on first-time directing and the power of mounga

Img Src: @temaungafilm Instagram

= Vico Ortiz =

Vico's posted a few updates, the first link relates to recent events. Check it out below.

Img Src: Vico Ortiz IG

In addition, there's a new episode of Date My Abuelita First Podcast! Date My Abuelita, First! Podcast Links

Img Src: Vico Ortiz IG

= Leslie Jones =

Reminder! Leslie is hosting "Netflix Is a Joke" Fest at the Hollywood Palladium in Los Angeles, CA! Want more info? Visit NetflixIsAJokeFest

= Gizmo Darby =

Samba must be out visiting the Darby Family because here's Gizmo taking residence in Samba's lap.

Img Src: Samba Schutte's IG

== Watch Party Reminders ==

= Palm Royale =

Palm Royale WP May 2 via @LCWebsXOXO with the lovely @/dominicburgess approx. 4pm EDT/9pm BST/1pm PST!

= Wrecked Season 1 =

Another week of Wrecked Season 1 is on the docket! Don't have access? Reach out to me on @gentlebeardsbarngrill on tumblr, or @aspirantabby42 on twitter.

Days: Apr 29 - May 3

Times: 3:30 pm PT / 6:30 pm ET / 11:30 pm BST

== Adopt Our Crew ==

You may have heard that GLAAD released their "Where We Are on TV" report. Well our fantastic crewmates over at @adoptourcrew were kind enough to do a thread on twitter breaking down the various aspects. @adoptourcrew's Twitter Thread Here. If you have access to twitter, please head over there and give their post some love. Thank you friends for putting this all together!

Full GLAAD Report

TV Line Article

The Wrap Article

Hollywood Reporter Article

Gay Times Article

= Fan Spotlight =

= Cast Cards =

Tonight we have the priest that officiated Stede and Mary's wedding, Benton Jennings! Thank you @melvisik for making sure he made it in with the rest of the cast!

= OFMD Colouring Pages =

Ooo @patchworkpiratebear has done it again! This one looks so cool! I can't wait to color this one myself! Thanks hon!

@patchworkpiratebear's Tumblr

= Pixel Art =

Our awesome @blueberreads started MerMay off strong with the SaveOFMD MerMay prompt of Spanish Jackie'z!

Source: @blueberreads Tumblr

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies. I know that there's a lot going on right now in the world and it's especially tense for those of you who are in Uni or in cities with Universities. This is a really tough time for you, and I want you to know we're thinking about you.

If you need to vent, or you need help getting access to something, please be sure to reach out to your crew. We care a lot about you, and we know these are scary times. Make sure to stay safe if you can, and if you're in a position to be out in harms way, make sure you've got emergency supplies and support in case things get hairy. There's a link above in the Vico section specifically regarding if things get really hairy where you can go for help (or how you can help those who need it).

You all are so very brave. Seriously, whether you're on the ground, or supporting financially, or bringing supplies, or just spreading the word online and keeping eyes and cameras on things to keep the situations honest, or even just staying put where it's safe and taking some self-care time-- you're doing everything you can.

Sometimes it feels like what we do doesn't make an impact. Sometimes it feels like these tiny ripples won't go anywhere. You're making the ripples, and those inspire others to make ripples as well.

You're making a difference no matter how big or how small, don't forget that lovelies. Please stay safe wherever you are, were thinking of you.

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Today's theme is "Zoom zoom zoom!"

Gifs courtesy of the fantastic @kiwistede and darling @meluli <3

#daily ofmd recap #daily ofmd recaps #ofmd daily recap #ofmd daily recaps #vico ortiz #rachel house #leslie jones #samba schutte #nathan foad #mermay #adopt our crew #con o neill #ofmd #our flag means death #save ofmd #adopt our crew team #gizmo darby

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