#Mag Face Recognition | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maiamore · 1 month ago

Text

PASS THE SALT, MR MILLER

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak Rating: 18+ | W/C: 4.5k

Summary: Joel finds out the hard way that leaving a pretty girl with blue-balls isn’t the smartest.

Or, Joel fucks you in his garage.

Tags: christmas-y vibes, fucking on Joel’s car, implied age gap,unprotected p in v, grumpy!joel, lots of yearning, squirting, sexual games, brat taming, outdoor sex, creampie

A/N: merry christmas folks! tbh this is just a game of how many fics can I write that has to do with (a) joel's truck or (b) joel yearning. side note, looped Disease - Lady Gaga track on repeat while writing this oops

MASTERLIST | MAIN STORY

Holidays have never really been something you celebrated. Fuck it, your own birthday even. It just wasn’t a priority you considered worth fussing over. Admittedly, your lack of enthusiasm for these events was probably why you ended up avoiding them. You would do the most for the people you loved but never for yourself.

Take Halloween for example. Your friends from Columbia were begging you for a slutty girls' night out, but you’d opted to stay home to help chaperone your younger brother Oscar’s party. Even so far as to set everything up, you’d made sure Oscar had a shot at being the coolest damn guy in his school. Fret not, jobless big sis is there to help ya.

Of course, it hadn’t gone unrewarded, to put it loosely. All that really happened was some broody hot middle-aged dad jerking off in front of your face. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You found yourself staring at the pale green piece of paper your younger brother, Oscar, handed you when he came home from school that evening. Eyeing the morbidly cliche design that screamed of some bored old receptionists' handiwork, you tilt it to get a better read.

Oak Ridge High School Annual Christmas Potluck.

Great. Another one. You were often the stand-in for his PTA Meetings in place of your ever so busy parents. While you had your fun with the free buffets and whatnot, you were getting tired of people asking how old you were when you “had” Oscar.

*Calling all Parent Volunteers. Please Contact Joel Miller at +1 (512) 555 XXX for details.

Now that got your attention.

Joel Miller. The man who, after that night, weaseled his way into your glorious collection of mental spank bank. Evident in the plethora of stolen nudie mags your mom stashed underneath her mattress—you’d gone as far to dog-ear pages of men who had the slightest resemblance to him.

You couldn’t get him out of your mind. By him, his dick. All eight fuckin’ inches of pent-up old man dick.

The desperation in the way he thumbed his slit, coaxing his milky cum into your waiting mouth in your bedroom flashed in your mind like post-traumatic-sex-disorder. You were robbed of a good fuck.

The beeps of your dial-pad echoed embarrassingly loud while you dialled the number on the flyer before fully seeing the idiocy in this move. The line connects after a few rings.

“Miller. Who’s callin’?”

A shudder runs down your spine. His voice hit you like a freight train, low and gravelly, cutting through the faint clatter of what sounded like construction work on the other end.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. Hang up. Hang–

“Hi.” You blurt out, forcing a higher register in your voice in a desperate attempt to disguise yourself. “I’d like to register. For the Christmas…thing.” There was a pause, followed by the clunk of something heavy and the sound of boots against a hard floor.

“Right. You’re the parent of…?”

You clutched your phone tighter when Joel’s voice rang clearer than ever, throat dry as you scrambled to speak. “Oscar.”

He repeats your last name when you offer it, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to place it–a flicker of recognition almost.

“Alright then,” he finally says, the faintest edge of suspicion still lingering.

“Guess I’ll see ya there.”

—

Impulsiveness was something that fucked Joel over most times.

Messing around with someone he’d consider uncomfortably closer to his daughter's age than his own settled within him like poison.

It’d been two whole months since the incident at halloween and he was still hung up over you. He was certain that a pretty girl like you had far better prospects than a washed up crotchety shit like him.

You plagued his mind every time his fist wrapped around his cock. Every time he’d tried to fuck the stress of working long hours of grunt work at the site. Your soft and sweet expression offered him instantaneous, sticky reprieve.

Guilt, or something he should’ve been feeling over using your face as masturbation material didn’t quite blare the alarms in his head through post-nut clarities.

He knew he had fucked up the second he had you on your knees that night.

You parked your sedan in front of a navy chevrolet in the driveway. Hopping out of the car as you looked up at the quaint home, clean white siding, neatly trimmed lawn.

You figured by the bustling noise from the backyard that a volunteer offered up their home and all. Generous, you thought. And then you catch it. The worn down navy mailbox that sprawled the letters–

M I L L E R

The swirl that was now your mind dragged painful throbs in your head. To be in his own backyard felt stalker-ish even for you.

With a weary exhale, you click open the boot of your car. Worrying had to come later, you had to formulate a game plan for the boxes of fairy lights you somehow had to haul into Joel’s backyard.

With a heaving effort, you propped up two boxes into your arms when the shuffle of footsteps catches your attention, coming from beside the opening garage.

“Hey! Sorry, could use a little help...” You call out instinctively.

Only managing to catch a glimpse of a hand bracing against the rickety garage door to shove it all the way up with a loud metallic clang.

The sound startles you, but not as much as the sight when one of the boxes lifts from your hold, revealing your apparent savior.

The both of you pause, staring at each other in slight shock. Well–for him at least. You had ulterior motives that came delivered to you all wrapped up in worn-out denim.

Joel’s expression was less than welcoming, which in his defense—he wasn’t quite expecting to see his ghost in his own yard.

“What are you doin’ here?”

The curtness of his voice throws you, but it’s too late to think of turning tail and driving off.

“I’m…one of the volunteers.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel begins, lifting the last box out of your arms like they weighed nothing. “You signin’ up under your mama’s name just to come sniffin’ round’ me? That it?”

“What? No. She couldn’t make it,” you shoot back, a little too quick, a little too defensive. Joel wasn’t buying it, his unimpressed stare making you shift on your feet.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, already stepping over to your car. With a grunt, he hefted another box from your trunk, the effort drawing a low sound from his chest.

The bitterness (and arousal) pools in your mouth at the noise he makes.

Yes. You’d admit. You sniffed out Joel’s trail like some stray, chasing after the smallest crumb of him. It wasn’t irrational for you to think that you deserved some sort of closure.

His voice cuts clean through your spiraling thoughts. “If you’re expectin’ somethin’, you best stop right there. I ain’t messin’ around.” You grimaced, fumbling for words.

“I’m just here to help—”

“S’enough outta you. Stay out of trouble.” He interrupts, not quite looking at you.

Joel wills himself to flick his gaze anywhere but at you, one look at your face was enough to remind him of the fact, one look was probably enough to pop a damn boner. He sets the boxes down by the patio, knees cracking as he stretches back up with a grunt.

“Get someone to hang ‘em up. ‘Cause clearly,” he says, eyeing your sweater and skirt, “you ain’t dressed to actually help.”

He gives you a short, dismissive nod before turning away, leaving you standing there. Warmth pools your cheeks, feeling foolish to have gone this far for the attention of a man who made it clear that he didn’t seem to give a fuck whether you were here or not.

—

Joel spends the better half of the afternoon hovering around you.

Approaching you normally was out of the question now that Sarah and the other kids began to flitter into his backyard to help with preparation. His daughter’s presence acted like a highly effective cock-block. Not that he had any business entertaining those kinds of thoughts in the first place.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Risky didn’t begin to describe it, so he kept his distance. That resolve went straight out the window when he spotted you, half-balanced on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights along the edge of his roof. With candy cane printed panties peeking out from under your skirt—god almighty, Joel nearly doubled over.

You could feel Joel's eyes on you while attempting to hang the lights over the siding. Purposefully going against what he said, purposefully giving everyone a goddamn show.

"You ever learn how to listen?"

“I can do it myself.” You shot back. Coyly soothing the back of your skirt. A proper fuck you to him at his insinuation that you’d been here just to man-trap him. Not that the notion did much.

You felt the ladder steady with Joel’s hold. Effectively blocking everyone else from seeing what you were flaunting.

"For the love of christ, darlin’, get down."

“For the love of christ, I’m almost fuckin’ done.” You parroted his words back to him with an annoyed huff. It was hard not to let Joel infiltrate your mind but lack of his attention was eating you up–making you do crazy things, evidently.

With a satisfied huff at the placements, you brought your arms down.

Why did that…feel heavy?

A sharp crackle and metallic clatter fills the air before you fully completed your thought, the chains of lights comes tumbling down. You froze. Lowering your gaze to see the single goddamn twine snagged onto your sweater that you’d effectively yanked down with you.

The bulbs burst into chaotic pops as they hit the ground, shards of glass scattering like tiny fireworks across the patio, drawing everyone’s attention.

Joel doesn’t hesitate, his hands found your waist as he lifted you off the ladder and set you firmly on the ground to safety with a grunt, his eyes snaps to the shards of glass glinting in the light and the fresh scratches marring his freshly varnished patio.

"You gotta be shittin' me..." He mutters, the irritation sharp in his drawl.

“Mr Miller…”

Joel held up his palm as a sign to get you to be quiet so he could speak. Damn if you calling him Mr Miller now of all times didn’t make him want to haul your ass up to his bedroom.

Which he might add, seemed conveniently close.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "D’you think before you do anythin’ at all? Or do you just act on impulse?" He asks in a sharp and biting tone, looking directly at you as he spoke.

You cock your brow at his words. Surely he wasn’t seriously reacting this way to a couple of broken lights. To mention, your lights.

“What? Think about being a decent person to help?”

"A decent person would've listened the first time when I told you to leave it the hell alone," he snapped, stepping closer. "A decent person wouldn’t have shot me attitude n’ thrown a damn temper tantrum when I told you to get down."

“What are you getting so bent out of shape for?”

“For starters, you wrecked my patio, darlin’.” He grumbles. Rubbing the back of his neck in the slightest amount of awareness that he’d overreacted, though he’d rather chew rocks than admit it.

You don’t answer him. Humiliated as is. Your pouty-ness showed in the way you stomped over to get the broom that lay in the corner. He watches you regardless, arms folded taut.

“Goddamned train-wreck.” He mutters under his breath after a long pause, not even giving you the chance to let an apology leave your lips before he turns his heel to leave.

—

You didn’t take it well when people spoke to you like you were stupid.

An Ivy League degree hung the walls of your room for fucks sake. Who the hell did Joel think he was? As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you’d tucked your tail between your legs to sweep it all up without a word. The embers that lay dormant were further fanned as time passed. You were pissed.

Joel, on the other hand, begins to feel guilt at the way he’d reacted. Even in the corner of his eyes, he sees you helping set up with the rest of the parents. It wasn’t the behaviour of some reckless nympho he imagined you to be when you stepped foot into his yard.

You didn’t have to stand there to stand under the sun in the unforgiving Texas heat, refilling lemonade for the parent’s committee. Or entertain Sarah and the rest of the kids. You’d turned his backyard into a damned Christmas Wonderland by the end of the night.

You were a good girl, he figures after a long while of brooding.

And he tries. He tries to approach you to apologize but you didn’t seem to be having it. Going out of your way to swerve at the slightest sight of him near you. Which he gets.

You were over it, really. Chalked it up to his personality being generally the way it was. But what really helped you get over your humiliation? Seeing Joel Miller fucking grovel.

Which you were acutely aware of with the way he lingered around you, waiting for an opening that you deprived of him.

—

The skies grew to a dusky violet, the backyard gently lit up with the soft twinkle of the fairy lights you’d painstakingly hung up (and re-hung). Lull of familiar Christmas classics playing by the speakers.

The warmth of the chatter and laughter surrounding the table tugged at your edges, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips. You weren’t ready to admit it, but the festive mood was infectious.

You sat near the end of the committee’s table, the seat next to you conspicuously empty. The kids–Oscar, Sarah, and their friends were huddled at their own table. You briefly wondered if you should join them instead, given that the current hot topic at your table being mortgage rates.

The thud of a melamine crystal glass landing next to your plate broke your train of thought. You flick your gaze up, your expression hardening the moment you caught sight of Joel dragging the empty chair over next to you and lowering himself into it with a creak.

Without a word, he slides the glass closer to you, taking a sip from his own. His movements were deliberate, careful, like a man trying not to step on a landmine.

Joel wasn’t quite well-versed in apologies, as evident by Sarah’s constant reminders that one of these days he was going to piss a woman he actually fancied. His hand stretches over your lap, unfurling the napkin on the other side of you to drape it over your thighs.

“Could you pass over the salt, sweetheart?”

You tilt your head, arching a brow, not moving a muscle. Instead, you shot him a pointed look.

With a heavy sigh and a muttered curse under his breath, Joel stands up, his knees popping audibly as he leaned across the table to grab the salt himself. He slumps back into his chair, setting it down with a huff. How could a little thing like you hold so much anger?

“Done torturin’ me yet?”

A scoff leaves your lips.

“Who said I was?”

“I’m tryin’ to apologise, sweetheart.” You shudder at the manner he whispers the words out. As though it was a secret reserved for just you and him.

You rest your cheeks on your palms, shooting him an uninterested look. Joel’s eyes darts down to your plate that you were pushing to him. He doesn’t hesitate, reaching over and starts loading your plate up again with generous portions of the dishes spread across the table. The sight of him doing so, quiet and almost reverent, made your chest sing.

Oh this. This you could get used to.

For the next twenty minutes, you’d milked Joel’s newfound contrition for all it was worth. Needed a refill? Joel was already reaching for your glass. Running low on napkins? He was up and grabbing a fresh one before you even asked. You’d even braced yourself for him to snap when you made a fuss over your creaky chair, but to your delight, he stood up and swapped it out without so much as a grumble.

Unfortunately for you, your luck does runs out.

The flutter of your napkin onto the makeshift mat spread across the lawn catches his attention, his eyes darting to the rogue square of fabric before slowly flicking back up to meet your gaze. You leaned back in your chair, looking at him expectantly, lips quirking just enough to toe the line between innocent and insufferable.

Joel’s jaw twitches.

“Fuckin’ pick it up on your own, sweetheart.” his voice was laced with just enough irritation to make your smirk widen. Still, you couldn’t resist one last little prod.

Your legs shifted, one crossing over the other, the toe of your shoe brushing lightly against the denim of his jeans. His eyes darted down to the motion before snapping back up, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to apologise?”

Joel shifts in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Think I settled my debts, crackles.”

You roll your eyes at his taunt, the warning laced in it only served to burn in your gut like uncontrollable lust. You felt yourself grow bored now that he’d ruthlessly cut you off from your only source of entertainment.

The thrill begins to wane, you’d grown impatient at Joel’s lack of well, giving in. Though the idea, a possibly stupid one, that you might’ve needed to give him a little push crosses your mind.

With a deliberate stretch, you rose from your seat, leaning over the table to reach for the salt shaker resting comfortably on Joel’s side with a hand placed on his thigh. It was perfectly positioned for him to hand it over to you–if you’d bothered to ask. But that wasn’t the point.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the faint tick of his pulse. Slowly, you eased back into your seat, dragging your fingers in a slow deliberate curve as you went.

The sharp grip of his hand on your wrist came next, firm enough to make you gasp. Joel’s dark eyes locked on yours, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep whatever storm was brewing behind them at bay.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He’d taken the bait all right. The unmistakable rise against where your hand was placed told you what you needed to know. Hook, line, and sinker.

It doesn’t quite matter to him whether you’d forgiven him anymore.

With a sharp tug, Joel pulls you up with him. “S’cuse me. This one isn’t feeling too well.”

The protest dies in your throat when Joel practically hauls you across his yard, away from the nosy glances from the rest of the parents.

You frown at the dusty old garage he leads you to up front where you’d parked your car. A hand comes up the back of your head to force you to duck underneath the half opened door, cringing at the loud sound it draws.

You tip your head up to watch Joel grab the edge of the half-opened garage door to full slam it down shut.

Fuck. You felt your cunt clench with the way his sleeves tightened around his forearms, wetting your lips subconsciously at the sight.

“This where you murder me, Mr Miller?”

His jaw ticks at that. There it was again. Mr Miller.

“Shut up.”

You mouthed the words wow as you looked to the side. As though there was a camera you were monologuing to. Joel approaches you tentatively. Backing you up until you feel sturdy metal stop your path.

A firm slam against the hood you were backed up against causes you to jolt.

“You’re fuckin’ with me.” He begins. Shifting closer until he had you snug against him and the truck. “You’ve been fuckin’ with me.”

You tilt your head up. Neck stretched uncomfortably to its limit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel sighs. Looking towards the side, as though he might back off and run away again.

“This ain’t right.”

You frown. Why was he getting cold feet now? You gaze darts to the side, following his line of vision. A frilly pink bicycle parked in the midst of the dusty old boxes stacked up against concrete walls. Some labelled with years of mementos of his daughter growing up.

Joel groans when he feels a much smaller, soft hand cup against the growing strain on his jeans. “Judging by this, I think you’re full of shit.”

His restraint teeters on the edge. “Don’t.” He grasps around your wrists to stop you, though, he half asses it, barely with the amount of strength he could’ve used if he’d really wanted you to stop.

You palm against his erection, feeling it quickly harden beneath. You suck in your breath at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the slight twitch of his lips. A whimper leaves your lips at how receptive he’d been to your touch.

“You’re trouble.” He manages. Finally meeting your gaze. You can tell he’s conflicted, but the way you cupped around his balls through the denim has him keeling over with a rough exhale.

He finally gathers enough strength in him to force your hand away from his cock. Just as you were about to whine about it, he flips you over. You steady your palms against the hood of his truck.

“Gotta be quiet. You understand me?” You nod quickly. Not daring to speak considering how his voice already echoed in the garage even at its softest.

Your elbows move to rest against the dirtied metal. Folding it so you could comfortably rest your head on it.

Joel lets out a low whistle at the way you bend your hips. Hiking your skirt up slowly. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart.” He mutters. Thumb swiping against the growing dampness of your panties.

A dull noise from his zipper is the only other thing you hear when you feel him grind his clothed cock against you.

“Mr Miller—please.” You breathed out. Your thighs tenses, wiggling your hips higher to relieve the ache you felt. Feeling his hardness prod against your folds.

Joel sighs softly, thumbing against your clit before you curl into yourself. “Don’t need it.” You breathe out quickly. There’s a pause in his movements before you feel a thumb hook around the waistband of your panties. Dragging it down to your ankles.

The sound Joel makes at the sight of your slick stringing down the gusset of it makes him wince out audibly. Two fingers gather the slick of your folds, messily dragging it up and down your clit in a repeated notion. His fingers dipping in and out of you with a squelch. You groan out. Hips stuttering at the sensation.

“Hurry.” You urged.

You feel his other palm carefully twirl around the back of your hair. The breath knocks out of you when he heaves you backwards into his chest with a sharp tug. Fingertips entwined with your locks.

“Been patient with ya all fuckin’ day and ya think you got the right t’rush me now?”

Tears threaten to prick in the corners of your eyes at his tone. You grip around his wrist where he holds your hair. “…hurts” , you whisper, guiding his other hand back to your clit, “..here.”

Joel swallows thickly. He clenched his jaw so damn tight you audibly heard just how hard he ground them. How could he deprive you further when you were begging so sweetly?

He shucks his jeans down further, guiding his twitching cock out from his boxers. A drawn out groan leaves your lips when he nudges the head of his cock against your soaking pussy. Your moan echoes loudly into the space around you both.

He growls into your ears. Before you could apologise, your voice gets muffled around the heavy palm that comes to cover your mouth. You whine against it. “Told t’be fuckin’ quiet.” He grits, voice hushed against the side of your head.

Your eyes nearly roll back at the way he begins to thrust into you with the tip in an effort to get you used to his size. But it didn’t matter. The way his cockhead stretched your pussy out stung. But it was quickly replaced by the nauseating need to be fucked full.

Joel leans down to trace kisses up your neck before he fully sheathes himself into you. The muffle around your mouth grows tighter to suppress the loud moan. “Shh shh…you’ve got it.” He praises, breathing heavily into your ears.

The tears trickle directly over his knuckles. He releases the grip he had on your hair, looping around your abdomen. Snapping his hips into you at a punishing pace. You babble incoherently, practically slobbering into his palms, whining about how deep his cock was pounding into you.

The obscene slaps of where the two of you connected fills the garage, only spurring his need to fill you deep with his come.

Joel lets out a groan when you clench around his dick like vice. “Fuck. Pussy’s chokin’ me.” His head drops to the dip of your neck. Pressing kisses onto your pulse point.

“Don’t think I can last much longer.” He admits, dragging his hand–slick with your saliva down to your throat. His head flush against your shoulder blade. He takes a moment to breathe you in. Joel isn’t quite the man he used to be and coming this embarrassingly fast wasn’t on his docket. Least of all tonight.

You squirm a little at the sensation of Joel’s stubble against your shoulder. A deep exhale leaving your lips.

“M…me too..” You pant out heavily. Resting your head back against his chest. Joel’s free hand slides underneath your sweater, yanking your bra down.

A rough palm kneads the softness, tweaking your hardened nipples in a circular motion. “Shit. Mr—…Miller.” You manage. Squirming at how his palm gropes your tits clumsily. You give yourself the final push you needed, your fingers coming down to rub against your clit.

Joel’s hips stutter at the sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock, following your orgasm soon after. But he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Both his hands firm around your hips.

Your hands hastily come up to grab around his wrists. “Wait—stop—…stop.” You gasp out. Joel doesn’t quite register your pleas with how his mind was whirring around wanting to fuck his come deep into you until he feels a warm splatter of your release trickle down his thighs.

Your bated breaths fill the garage. Mortified, you watch the liquid drip from the radiator grill of Joel’s truck.

“I’ll be damned.” He muses, earning a warning look from you. Joel shakes his head, a low rumble from his chest makes you feel a little less embarrassed about squirting onto his truck. He turns you around to press a kiss onto the apple of your cheeks.

“Been meanin’ to get er’ washed. Guess I don’t gotta anymore.”

#joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #joel the last of us

412 notes · View notes

feuillesss · 2 months ago

Note

2025 career reading on hybe company? thank you!

2025 Hybe Reading

***DISCLAIMER***

I do not know these idols personally! This is just my interpretation of the cards that I pulled, please take this reading with a grain of salt. For entertainment purposes only.

( day/month/year - 2/12/24 )

Hybe in 2025

(thetower/theworld/7osw/3oc/aoc/thestar/4ow)

It looks like 2025 will be a year of rebuilding Hybe's reputation, they're on their redemption arc. They're going to work hard to return from all of the struggles that 2024 has brought them, however, they'll most likely face more legal battles and rumours. We might be getting some new groups and collaborations next year, possibly a new boy group, or a concert similar to SM town, there's a general sense of collaboration and harmony. I think they'll go through some legal issues, possibly with newjeans, and they might end up leaving Hybe. The company will lose money, and then gain it back, so I do believe that if Newjeans decides to take it to court, Hybe will win the case. There's deception and deceit here, the company will be doing things behind the scenes as we've seen, likely without good intentions. I'm definitely getting a focus on global expansion. There will definitely be some lingering feelings from the general public about everything that's happened this year, it will take them a while to regain any kind of public favour. For Newjeans, I don't think they fully comprehend the consequences that leaving Hybe will bring, however, I still think that they'll separate from the company, and it will cost them a lot. Ador won't be willing to let them go easily, I don't see them reaching an agreement. Hybe seems to be looking hopeful in regards to Enhypen going to coachella, they want to further push Ehypen globally. But unfortunately, I don't see rest any time soon for them, especially before coachella, I see them being pushed even harder. I definitely think that Hybe will continue overworking their groups, maybe giving them a few days off for good press, or to sway public opinion, but ultimately pushing them very hard behind the scenes.

Groups:

Enhypen's 2025: (7opent/pgosw/5ocrev/kow/9oprev/emperor/moon)

2025 is looking like a very successful year for Enhypen, I see them bringing in a lot of financial gain. However, I think it will be very difficult for them emotionally, physically, and mentally. They'll essentially be pushed even harder, Hybe might even neglect other groups to further push Enhypen globally. Coachella is looking good as of right now, the group will gain a lot of interest from the general public, especially Heeseung. They might be going into a sexier concept, but they'll be kept in the dark a lot in regards to their creative decisions. With this added success, they'll be facing harsher control from the company, and added pressure to perform well. There will be challenges for Enhypen leading up to coachella and after, they could be facing some rumours or something being leaked about one of the members.

Le sserafim's 2025: (thestar/10ocrev/mag/6ow/9ow)

Le sserafim might have a difficult time next year. There will be stagnation and a lack of direction with their concept, which will frustrate the members. There might be some disharmony and fights within the group, a possible hiatus for one of the members tbh. They'll be focused on improving their skills and working hard. The group could miss out on an opportunity, but it won't have much of an impact on their career, I see them gaining even more recognition and success.

ILLIT's 2025: (5osw/2osw/5ow/9oswrev/justice)

ILLIT definitely received a lot of hate this year, and it took quite a toll on them mentally, more than we've seen. This has made the members want to protect their peace, it's made them more resilient in the face of struggles. Tbh the public might lack interest in their concept, might find it too repetitive and lacking originality. They want to move on from the entire plagiarism scandal, however, I see it following them for a while, with more rumours and things being brought to light. There's going to be a lot of conflict for Illit next year, possibly with the company, within the group, or third parties, I just don't see people leaving them alone. I believe if the entire newjeans situation goes to court, Illit will be brought into it and it will cause more turmoil for the members.

TXT's 2025: (thehangedman/koc/highpriestess/kisow/10op)

I don't see TXT having a lot of creative control in their decisions and concepts, this could frustrate some members. Honestly, the group might go on a period of hiatus or rest and get some time to reflect and recover. I think after this, the group will come back stronger, they seem to have quite a close bond with each other.

Seventeen's 2025: (3oc/hermit/2opent/10ow/the sun)

Military time lmfao. I do believe that more Seventeen members will be enlisting next year, they might not have a group comeback for a while. The other members might be releasing solo albums and doing solo activities, while others might take a step back from the public eye. There might be some collaborations next year, just a general sense of happiness, friendship, and community, it's looking like a good year for seventeen.

BTS's 2025: (aosw/pgoc//3osw/qosw)

We'll most likely be getting more solo albums next year, more solo activities, and a new album when all of the members return from the military. Honestly, a relationship might get revealed and people will not take it well at all, I can see it causing quite a controversy.

&team's 2025: (6ocrev/7oswrev/3ow/8opent/6osw)

Honestly, I don't think &team is very well managed. 2025 will be a year of working hard for the group, they might promote more in Korea, or there'll be a change in the way that they promote.

74 notes · View notes

ratridingaskateboard · 1 year ago

Text

Always See Your Face

Chapter Two

Link to Chapter One here

Summary: Eddie is beginning to find solace in an unfamiliar face.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos, mentions of drugs, Y/N is described!

Tag list: @daisyridleyyyy @silky-luxe @bl00d-puppy @ttsbaby01 @kennedy-brooke @sadbitchfangirl @abzzz3 @josephquinnschesthair @aislinnclifton

A/N: OMG I was not expecting the amount of feedback I got from Chapter 1 thank you so so much!! Like in Chapter 1, different character perspectives will be marked with: --. I know y'all will like this chapter since Eddie's pov is in it :)

The days have seemed to be dragging out longer these past weeks for Eddie. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t jerk off, couldn’t play his guitar. Even the campaign had several hiccups because he couldn’t focus. He would think about possible reasons for this feeling: repeating senior year, not having a girlfriend, and not being able to secure a job. Out of all the reasons he had conjured in his head he seemed to find that the best definition for this feeling was loneliness. His parents were not in the picture and his uncle Wayne wasn’t exactly the best company. Don’t get him wrong he was a great guy and a better man than Eddie’s father ever was but Eddie wouldn’t consider him close to Wayne by any means.

‘86 was supposed to be Eddie’s year and he had begun to lose hope.

Today was no different than any other day. Eddie had found himself stuck in trying to figure out tricks for his Hellfire campaign that would be able to mess up friends. His mind still couldn’t focus and he noticed himself repeating familiar tactics that he had done in the past. He rubbed his palms against his face, trying to drown out the laughter and conversation of his friends around him.

“You okay, Eddie?” Dustin asked.

Suddenly, there was silence. Eddie placed his hands down and looked over at Dustin until a voice rang out.

“Hey, I know you showed me around and I might be asking for too much but is it alright if I sit with you?”

It was such a sweet voice. Not an inkling of insincerity, pity, or ill intent. It seemed so warm. He had been wanting to hear a voice like that for a long time.

He looked up to see her. Was he in a dream? Had he been looking at that picture of Demi Moore in the swimsuit he had cut out and pasted in his makeshift porn mag for too long? She looked so similar to her yet she adorned the clothes Eddie would wear except for the skirt, of course. Her hair was a dark brown, long and straight which went down to her mid-back. Her bangs were whispy and thinner than many of the other girls who had teased theirs beyond recognition. Her big brown eyes stared so kindly at Dustin as if she was seeing an old friend again.

Eddie went stiff. His friends around him looked to her then back at Eddie then back at her. They were amazed to see their lord and savior Eddie Munson be so frigid around a girl. Normally, he was as boisterous as usual with a touch of chivalry for the ladies. But he was never noticeably nervous like he was now.

Eddie wondered to himself; Was some divine being sending him this girl so he could get through his last senior year? Was she an angel? He needed to take advantage of her sitting at their table before she left. This could be his only chance to speak to his dream girl.

She had looked over at Eddie and he gulped. Her lips were so plump and red they were practically begging him to kiss her. Stop it, Eddie! Fuck, He needed to get laid. She seemed to be analyzing his face and he let her. He would let her do anything as long as he got to keep staring at those eyes. Her eyes quickly shifted over to Mike once he entered the table. He felt his body relax once her gaze had changed.

"Jesus, that line was long!"

Mike's exclamation had broken the silence and Hellfire erupted into an uproar of questions.

"What's your name?"

"So where are you from originally?"

"How are you liking it here?"

"Are you single?"

Eddie was silent, watching her like a hawk to see what information his friends could attain from her. But she didn't answer any of the questions, she just started to laugh.

"I'm sorry! I laugh when I'm overwhelmed." She smiled. "All of you are so sweet for wondering about me."

Well, Eddie wasn't expecting that response but he had a feeling she would continue to surprise him. Dustin's once bewildered face began to soften as everyone spoke. He still seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet but at ease nonetheless. Eddie could tell he was plotting something since Dustin was not one to stay silent at the lunch table.

"Oh!" Gareth seemed to remember something as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a Geometry textbook and began to flip through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Do any of you guys- Oh, sorry, I mean guys and lady- understand how to do this? I can't figure any of this out and if I fail another test, I'll fail the class."

"Hey man, I don't know anything about Geometry. I barely passed Geometry when I took it."

"Yeah dude, no one at this table would be the right person to ask."

"Can I see?"

Gareth stared wide-eyed at Y/N as she began to walk over to him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the question. Eddie had sat right beside Gareth and he couldn't be happier with their current seating arrangements.

She was so close to Gareth and he could tell that Gareth had stopped breathing the second he felt her warmth. They could both smell her; She smelled like clove cigarettes and vanilla. Suddenly, Eddie started to care about Geometry.

"Alright, lemme see here..." She leaned further into Gareth, her breasts accidentally touching his shoulder. Gareth's face began to turn bright red. Eddie swiftly moved the book over to his side of the table.

"Oh Gareth, this is super easy!" Eddie exclaimed. "All you have to do is- uh... umm..." Eddie flipped through the pages trying to understand the math his mind was beginning to read as a foreign language. His friends began to laugh at his confusion.

She put her hand on Eddie's shoulder and he felt a bolt of lightning crawl down his spine.

"Hey, you guys didn't know how to do it either." She scolded. Eddie's hands still rested on the book and she put one of her hands over his left hand. Her other hand she used to flip through the pages.

Eddie had to stop every muscle in his body from kissing her at that moment. He barely knew this girl, yet, he felt as if she was doing these things to get a rise out of him. Whether innocent or guilty of this, it was working. He imagined turning her face with his hand on her chin to face him. Tucking the piece of hair out of her face and feeling the softness of her lips. What did she taste like? Vanilla like her perfume? Clove like her cigarettes? Whatever it was he wanted to taste her, every inch of her.

He silently adjusted himself in his pants, trying to make sure no one had noticed. Thankfully, no one had. Eddie's presence had been upstaged by the girl, bending over the table to look at Gareth's Geometry book.

"Fuck baby, why don't you tutor me after school?"

A football player's voice rang out as he passed behind her. Before Eddie had the chance to get up and teach this douchebag a lesson, he heard a loud thud behind him. He turned to see her standing above said football player, Eddie couldn't give two shits about remembering the guy's name, her knuckles bruised and a red imprint forming on his face.

"What the fuck, bitch!"

She surprised him again.

A/N: sorry this was kinda short but I felt like this was a good place to end. Please lemme know if you have any suggestions and I will keep you guys updated on new chapters :)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things

358 notes · View notes

odestasocean · 7 months ago

Text

may i present to you, a rant that no one asked for about the bond between annie cresta & mrs. everdeen:

so awhile ago i had sent in an ask to @the-sun-and-the-sea talking about the implied friendship that forms between annie & mrs. everdeen post-war. now that i'm no longer just a lurker on here, i wanted to delve into my thoughts on this friendship because it is one that is sooo interesting to me and one that is hardly brought up in the fandom !!

to start, mrs. everdeen is a character that i wholeheartedly believe does not get the recognition she deserves. i mean, she leaves nearly everything about the only life she had ever known to start a new life with the man she fell in love with and have two children with him only for him to die tragically, leaving her with these two young girls who need her more than anything, but her own mind becomes a prison, keeping her locked away from being the mother that katniss and prim need her to be??? or idk maybe i just have a knack for loving the grieving widowed characters in media for some reason. anyway, i digress. her story, in a way, goes hand in hand with annie's story.

now, as we know, suzanne collins' mind is an incredibly intricate and complex place so i don't think that her specifically choosing district four to be where mrs. everdeen ends up was a coincidence. which just alludes to the fact that she has now become this personified cautionary tale for annie. since she's a doctor and she's familiar with the victors by being an extension of katniss, i'm just going to assume that she was one of finnick's doctors when he was in and out of the hospital. and that she became annie's doctor after she was rescued from the capitol. i'm also just going to go ahead and assume that if this was the case, she would've remained as annie's doctor once she found out she was pregnant. this could very well be implied to have contributed to her moving to d4 and helping to build a hospital there.

annie's story is honestly just as equally familiar and unfamiliar to us as mrs. everdeen's is. we don't know how her and finnick's relationship began or what the details of her games are or what her personality was like before her games or how she grieved after finnick was gone. but with this implication of mrs. everdeen moving to annie's home district, i can only imagine that she offered a great deal of support to her. mrs. everdeen met this woman who had just endured something so insanely traumatic and was there to offer her help and witness her heal with the happiness of her new marriage, only for her to end up on the same exact path as she herself had been on for the past seven (??) years: a widowed mother with a mind who only ever seemed to experience grief.

we don't know anything about what the weeks and months were like for annie after finnick's death. but to me, it is perfectly rational to view this as a period of time where she was so shut down from wanting help from anyone and everyone and felt entirely unsure of how she was going to raise a child in this state of mind. and it wasn't until she started to talk with mrs. everdeen, who had been enduring her own grief of losing her youngest daughter, that she found someone who finally understood. someone who didn't make her feel like she was crazy for being unwilling to do anything but lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. someone who didn't view her as the Mad Girl who was now the Pregnant Mad Girl Whose Husband is Dead, but rather as an incredibly strong individual who had to fight against the enemy of her own head. someone who offered her a shoulder to cry on rather than a judgemental stare. no one could replace prim for mrs. everdeen and no one could replace annie's mother or mags in annie's case. but after all of the hardships that they had both faced up until that point, they had a shared understanding of how they could never truly move on from their grief. but they would continue on and live their lives to the best of their abilities for themselves, their children, and those they had lost.

alas, the similarities do not end there, my friends. katniss constantly talks about how much her father loved being out in nature so the wicked sense of irony of him dying so far away from that nature he loved so much is just heartbreaking. and who else do we know of that died in a place so far underground and so far away from the element of nature that he had been surrounded by his whole life?? bing, bing, bing, you guessed it! finnick odair! there's one line toward the beginning of hunger games that has always stood out to me: "it reminds me of the mines and my father, trapped, unable to reach sunlight, buried forever in darkness." replace mines with sewer and my father with finnick and boom, you've got the exact events of page 312 in mockingjay. and, of course, i can't forget the obvious-- an explosion was involved in both of their deaths. so this again just adds to my point earlier of how it feels a little too eerily similar that these four characters all share some level of commonalities for it to have been a coincidence.

anyway, not really sure what the point of me rambling about all of this was. i guess to see if anyone else has ever put that much thought into it?? or am i just looking way too far into something that's not as connected as i think it is?? idk, let me know your thoughts if you have anything to add because i could talk about this forever and ever and ever !!!

#i have put way too much thought into this i'm fully aware of that #but it is literally all i can think about whenever katniss talks about her mom #idk i just feel like these two would be widowed besties #and i just know finnick and mr. everdeen are best buds in the afterlife #annie cresta #mrs. everdeen #thg #headcanon #rant #thg headcanons #finnick odair #mr. everdeen

65 notes · View notes

thisuserislilsilly · 2 months ago

Text

Summary: A man truly does care for them, even if they don't want to admit it

Genre: Drama/fluff/wholesome/angst

TW: Foul language, blood, mentions of gore, angst, a bit wholesome

Pairing: Commissar Gallius x Cardrean Penal Regiment (found family dynamic)

Goblin tag squad: @cardinalcanis @finchly-tintinnabulation @artemisareia

@echo-of-damnation @meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock

@druidwolf21

Names and faces (pt. 3)

Dormath was never a fan of sharing objectives with other Imperial regiments; he found them too preachy, too cowardly to accomplish something without the need of asking if it was "according to their orders" or if the Emperor would allow it.

Yet, they were his best bet to getting that blasted war to end. The battle on this planet had gone bad almost as soon as the Leman Russ and Basilisks landed. The air superiority had been in the hands of the enemy, who had managed to destroy a majority of the dropships carrying the tanks, only to be destroyed themselves by the last two. The Xenos discipline at the hour of shooting them down with the utmost proficiency did not helped Gallius protests against collaborating with other regiments either.

After some more strategies and plannings that honestly flew above the man's head, Dormath was dismissed with his orders; the man took them, gave the commissar a simple nod in recognition. As Dormath walked out into the chaotic camp, he saw a group of Cardrean troopers, their distinctive grey cloaks a stark contrast against the olive drab of the other regiments. They were huddled around a makeshift table, playing triple-eight with grim determination, the clink of coins and the scrape of cards the only sounds they made while waging their luck on their bets.

One of the Cardrean troopers, a woman with a scar running down her cheek, looked up to her officer, smiling. She nudged her comrade, a burly man with a cyborg arm, who followed her gaze. He rose an eyebrow and spoke in a raspy voice "Cap'n Dormath, care to join us?" he asked, gesturing to the only empty seat at their table.

With a smile, Dormath sat down, thinking the orders could wait just a bit longer before they needed to be executed, "What the hell, give me the cards", he extended a hand to the card dealer.

Dormath's grin broadens as he plops down onto the empty seat, his metal-studded glove slapping against the rough wooden table. He glanced at the woman with the scar, who returned the gesture, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Deal me in, Lynia" he said, his voice a low rumble.

The scarred Sister smirked and began to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. She flipped the top card, a Queen of Guns, and deals it to Dormath.

"Playing with the high rollers now, Cap'n?" she asked, her voice laced with jest. The scarred Sister smirked and began to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. She flipped the top card, a Queen of Guns, and deals it to Dormath.

The Captain laughed, "Just a short hand, baby stealer, we have to get movin' in five"

The burly man sitting next to him, whose nameplate read "Gren", snorted, "You're not sweatin', Cap'n. You sure you ain't got a secret up your sleeve?"

The officer rolled his eyes, licking his lips "Perhaps I have Gren, or perhaps you're such a bad fucking Axe that you can't count anything that isn't how many mags are left on your pouch"

The eyes of Dormath flickered back to the scattered coins in the center of the table, then to the almost imperceptible tiny mirror on the table right next to it, belonging to the Sister playing with him. He had seen Lynia cheat before, her sleight of hand subtle yet effective. But to shove a sweet victory in her face, the Tech Lunatic played along.

Lynia dealt the final card, a Three of Thunder, face down. Dormath quickly took it, a smirk appearing on his lips. The officer showed his cards to the rest, the combination making a pair.

Lynia's smile faltered a little bit. The burly man, Gren, sighed and showed his own cards, the Ace of Thunder and the Seven of Flames. A three of a kind.

Dormath showed his teeth, "Looks like I got lucky, huh boys?"

The rest of the card players grumbled, and Gren reached for his pocket, taking out a few coins. Dormath took all of the spoils of his winning and shoved it on his pocket, then rise up to his feet and made them a signal to pack everything up; there was a order they needed to fulfill now on the frontlines.

As the men moved out, the woman with the scar, Lynia, approached Dormath and leaned close to him, "I know what you did" she said, her voice a whisper. Dormath's face was blank for a moment, but it soon morphed into a shit eating grin, "Yeah, and I know you cheated" he responded, a smug look on his face.

The three Cardreans soon rejoined the rest of the regiment, with Dormath stepping in front of everyone and detailing the plans Commissar Gallius had been discussing with the other regiment officers but in a much simpler and broad vocabulary, one the men would actually understand.

They moved towards the trenches, with Dormath taking out his binoculars and looking ahead at the battlefield.

It was a mess of mud and barbed wire, all crisscrossing and intersecting with each other in an intricate pattern. A maze that could be navigated if you knew the way, but the enemy could also use that against you and get the jump on you. And the enemy was not playing around.

From their positions, Dormath could see the enemy artillery pounding the Imperial positions. Explosions were ringing out, sending geysers of dirt and rock into the air.

Dormath turned and called to one of the men behind him, "Sparks, how far do you think the range of the enemy artillery is?"

The Tech Lunatic was quiet for a moment, calculating the answer. "At least a mile, sir."

Dormath frowned, "Then we're fucked."

The Cardreans giggled at the raw reaction of their commander, trying to alleviate the tension before it got the best of them. Being the tip of the last push against the positions of the T'au was a harsh task on it's own and Dormath knew it, he hadn't been the second in command of the Legion for so long by playing dumb after all; but the lack of a decent support and the heavy losses they suffered the first days after arriving in the planet were not a good start to their task.

Their orders were simple enough though; hold the line, kill the Xenos, and push forward as the reinforcement from the other regiment trailed behind them and took out the enemies technologies and destroyed them. But the problem was not the orders, it was the enemy itself. The T'au were proving to be a challenge, their tactics and strategies were unorthodox for what they were used to. They were smart, cunning, and had an uncanny ability to adapt.

Dormath's frown deepened. He didn't want to admit it, but the Cardreans were fucked.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. Raising his cybernetic limb as high as he could and taking oxygen until his lungs were filled to the brim, Dormath yelled and charged ahead, leaving the trenches; the Legion followed him close, all with their warcries on their lips, ready to fight.

Dormath's eyes were wide open, his mouth forming a vicious snarl as his teeth were bared. He ran like a madman, the rest of the Cardreans hot on his heels. The T'au, surprised at the sudden movement, tried to respond by firing at the charging Imperials.

The bullets whizzed past Dormath, and the officer ignored the shards that flew everywhere and hit the men behind him, their objective was to tear the walls down and that was all that mattered.

"Kill the fuckers!" he yelled, and the rest of the Cardreans answered with a chorus of war cries.

The Imperials reached the trench line, and immediately began fighting the T'au.

Dormath grabbed a T'au Fire Warrior and slammed his head into the trench wall, crushing his skull, with his cybernetic arm he lifted another up to use it as a meat shield and advanced blasting away any enemy that he could see and praying to the Emperor the Xeno he was using was sturdy enough to soak up the bullets aimed at him.

The battle was fast and bloody. Dormath was able to reach a vantage point and waved his hand to signal his men to follow him; some High Axes patted his back and began shooting with their sniper plasma rifles from there, making easy targets out of the T'au. With that position secured, Dormath kept charging ahead, sometimes giving strategic positions to Axes, other's to the unhinged Raging Mutes as well as telling the Eternal Sisters to "kill like if Arbiters were chasing them".

A few minutes had passed and Dormath had lost track of how many Xenos he had killed, and the number of times he had ordered a retreat because they had reached an area that was too hot for them to advance, the Tech Lunatic noticed they were simply not capable of breaching through everything, they simply lacked numbers. Not willing to give up terrain, but neither wanting the regiment to be slaughtered, Dormath ordered a retreat; it was better to lose ground than lose men.

As the Cardreans began their retreat, a barrage of missiles fell from the sky and landed among the trenches, exploding and causing the Imperials to fall back even further. Dormath cursed as he watched the explosions, "The hell was that?"

He turned to a nearby Raging Mute, and the man quickly scanned the skies with his visor, making the sign of the Imperial Aquila as he relayed the information. Dormath cursed, the other regiment had begun firing upon them, maybe thinking they were the enemy.

"Lynia! Lynia get me a fucking Vox!" The officer tried to yell over the war around them

"Want a cup of recaff too!?!? I'M BLOODY BUSY!" The Sister replied, sarcastically

"Fuck…who the hell has one!!?!?!" Dormath asked, desperation clear in his voice

The Raging Mute next to him raised his hand, the cybernetic limb holding a portable Voxcaster.

"Good, now give me the fucking thing"

Dormath grabbed the caster, and began screaming into it.

"GALLIUS! GALLIUS YOU FUCKING HEAR ME? FUCKING BASTARDS, THE SHITTING LEMANS ARE SHOOTING AT US! WE'RE FUCKING IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR BLOODY BLAST ZONE!!"

"Dormath? That you?"

"FUCK YEAH IT'S ME YOU STUPID GIT, WHO THE FUCK ELSE WOULD CALL YOU LIKE THIS FROM A FUCKING WARZONE!?" Dormath forgot for a second to whom he was speaking to, adrenaline taking over his rational brain

"Dormath. Watch yourself." the Commissar's voice was calm and steady, the opposite of the officer's own.

Dormath gritted his teeth and breathed deeply. He didn't like being scolded like this, and he especially didn't like being talked down to. But the man's tone snapped the officer back into his senses, inhaling deeply and trying to calm down, Dormath repeated with a nicer vocabulary the situation on the frontlines.

The Commissar was silent for a moment, thinking. Finally, he spoke.

"Dormath, listen to me, leave the strongest men you have there, the Tech Lunatics will do it well, you know as well as I do they can resist more than ten of any other"

"Okay…." Dormath nodded, his voice slightly faltering

"Atta lad. Keep your cool and get back here, I will resolve this" Gallius voice raised "I want my people alive, you understand me?"

"Yeah…"

"Good, now go"

With that, the transmission ended, and Dormath threw the voxcaster aside, sighing. He looked at the rest of the Cardreans, and yelled the orders the commissar had given him, not listening to anyone about anything else, just focusing in getting everyone as alive as he could out of the bombardment zone.

The rest of the men, the ones who could move, began the retreat. Dormath stayed in the back, giving them cover with the few weapons he had left, picking up plasma rifles or energy charges; the officer did not retreat until he was sure every single Cardrean he could save was returning back to the Imperial trenches. Throughout all the way back, Dormath kept the communication links to the Tech Lunatics left behind open, repeating as much as he could that help would arrive shortly; that would be a good lie if it turned out to be true.

When the rest of the Cardreans had reached their initial trenches, Dormath could hear the sounds of battle behind him. He dragged his feet through the mud and the filth, his arms were tired, his Implants needed repairs and the man needed to report as soon as possible to Gallius what had happened.

He could see the man's face already, and his own expression darkened; the commissar was not going to like this.

"Sir, the men are back and accounted for" Aldo reported, his voice strained.

Dormath grunted, and nodded his head. "Thank you, tend to the wounded, then give that information to Gallius."

The officer sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day, and it wasn't close to being over.

He trudged over to the communications tent and sat down in front of the hololithic projector, the image flickering into view. Numbers, some raising and others falling, but those were just numbers, no names nor dates, no faces; all of what they were at a strategic level.

The officer made his slow way towards the same tent he had gone out of in the morning, so cheerful and willing to unite again with the troops; he scoffed now at his thoughts of maybe playing cards again when they returned from the field, it sounded so stupid now. The tent cloth flapping around as he got through it.

Gallius was not on his chair, where Dormath would usually find him after a deployment; by the left corner there was a small shrine, candles were arranged around a large picture taken the day Gallius had officially entered the regiment, their first deployment together, one Dormath had not been part of yet. A younger commissar was at the center, he couldn't had been older than thirty on the picture, with some strands of hair sticking out from his well worn hat that gave it a even younger semblance, he was too accompanied by the veterans of the Regiment, two of the five were still alive today, the most loyal of all in the entire Legion next to Dormath. Gallius wasn't smiling in the picture, his serious expression was very well known by Dormath, which made a tiny smile appear on his lips; the picture as a whole had been well taken care of, not a single scratch or dirt particle in the entire frame, speaking of how treasured it had been for the owner.

Outside of the shrine, surrounding it in fact, portraits and more portraits of officers, common soldiers and even tanks were visible, arranged as so the light of the candles still shun on all of them. It was truly a little place distinct from all the others in his commander tent. The man was knelt in front of the shrine, in silence; on that position Dormath couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not, although he suspected it was the latter as the officer had entered loudly enough for Gallius to hear him.

"Who" Gallius muttered

"Two hundred dead, forty five injured as far as I saw with my own eyes, five officers will have to be repla-" Dormath straightened up, starting a practiced speech on the way there

"I said who" Gallius glanced at his second in command, Dormath almost saw a tear "Names, not numbers"

"I...uh" The order took a second for the officer to actually register, then he mumbled the names "Asphret, Vorn, Jent, Horrst, Pask, Nyms, Egoryn"

"Stop..." Gallius raised a hand, never turning to face Dormath "That'll be all, go back to your post"

"Sir-"

"I said go back to your sonin post! Now!" Gallius cursed in Cardrean language

Dormath nodded, looking to the ground, making the Aquila sign and leaving the tent. On the way out he tripped over the other regiment's commander; he looked so pristine, with those clean boots, his beard well washed, having an eye implant seemed the only thing that ruined that pretty face. Dormath wanted to smash it into pieces, but managed to resist the impulse just in time.

"Well earned victory out there, my congratulations" The man said, smiling

"Victory is what you call it, I call it trying to cover my ass from your fuck-up" The Cardrean spit on the boots of the other

"We managed to contain the T'au and made them retreat, your men did not die in-"

"If you're off to see Commissar Gallius, sir, he's in his tent" Dormath interrupted the man, watching his own implants

"Right..." The commander said between his teeth

"You'll need this sir" Dormath washed the blood off from his augmented hands on the face of the man, specially targeting that fucking beard "Now you look like you've gone through a battlefield"

Smiling sarcastically, Dormath didn't wait for the reprimands and threats of the man, just leaving in a hurry to check on anyone else but that specific commander. The Colchan officer yelled a few times, his cheeks red from the insubordination he had just witnessed, it only served to fuel his anger once he barged into the quarters of the commissar, seeing the man on his knees and apparently praying to something, the Colchan didn't had time or the patience to guess what to.

"From all the regiments I have worked with, this is surely a special one, Gallius" The men hid his anger behind a pompous sarcastic remark

"Commander Shem, my apologies for any inconvenience you had coming over here" Gallius stood up and approached his chair on the desk, pointing to the other at the end of the table

"There was no problem at all, I am in fact honored that my artillery section was of use to the Emperor's cause in this zone"

"Yes, it was, for that I thank you, Shem. Now...my intentions weren't purely to call you here for celebrations" Gallius opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of amasec and two glasses

"Then let's hear the rest" The Colchan arched an eyebrow, intrigued

"You see, I have been receiving orders from the Warmaster for quite some time now, four years to be exact-" Gallius spoke offering a full glass to Shem "And I am already getting tired of all this, of this front, of this war"

"The feeling is tragically mutual, Gallius." Shem shrugged, chugging all of his drink at once "Lord Elard is many things, but a strategy men is not one of his strengths"

"So why not select a new one? My sources tell me the Colchan's have acquaintances close to the Warmaster, why not we propose one of them and see if the other fronts agree with our selection?" Gallius serious demeanor didn't change

"That is a very appetizing offer, my good commissar" The Colchan nodded slowly "But who could fill the position?"

Gallius rose from his chair, going to one of the drawers and pulling out a data slate, handing it over to Shem as he walked around the room. It had a list of names, all of them important people of the campaign, there were some additional notes on some of the more interesting of characters,

"We could pool some of those to be chosen, I don't see why not" Gallius waved his hand

"You have done your homework, dear commissar! I cannot even begin to imagine how long could it had taken you to compile all of this"

"I am a very patient man..and have eyes everywhere" Gallius said, putting his hands on the Colchan arms

"That is good to kno-"

"Let me finish" Gallius tightened his grip on the man's shoulder's "I have eyes everywhere, or did you think I wouldn't know about your and the Colchan's plan to take my regiment out?"

Gallius pointed to the portrait in the far end of the room, there was a little camera positioned on the eyes of the painted Gallius, Shem could see it too. The officer opened his eyes widely, gasping as he looked back to Gallius, the man was grinning sinisterly, his sharp teeth resembling those of a predator that has just caught his prey.

"I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if this is accidentally leaked to the Warmaster Elard. How far down you will fall down the chain of command...I guess you could even form part of my Penal Regiment if luck is not on your side..." Gallius whispered on the Colchan ear

"Wh-wh-what do you want? Please, I can give you-"

"Nothing you do can bring my men back from the dead, you pathetic excuse for a whimpering fuck" There was venom in every syllable "You did not have the authority to decide their deaths, I do! I have been with them since the moment their lives had officially ended for the Imperium. You think these are just a bunch of murderers and thieves, well they are my people! The last face they see before their souls leave their eyes is me! The last hand they see telling them all is going to end soon is mine! Do you know their names!?!?! Do you know what they eat, where do they sleep, what songs do the Cardreans listen to in the moments their nightmares are too much to bare? I do...I do every single time I can...I...they are my soldiers, I bare their deaths in my mind. I am the only one that can send them to their deaths and be proud...of what they have done for me" Gallius grip was so strong Shem felt the nails digging into his skin

"Oh Emperor have merc-"

Gallius yanked the chair, throwing it to the ground as fast as he could, giving Shem no time to brace for the impact. Both furniture and men crashed into the cold mud, the commissar putting one of his dirty boots on the chest of Shem and drawing his pistol, aiming directly at the commander face. Gallius wished more than ever he could had pulled that trigger once and for all with no consequences, but he knew his duties, knew this wasn't about them.

"For as long as this blasted war continues, if I see your face one more time I will pull the trigger, so Emperor help me" Gallius spit the words out

"I-I-I-I" Shem was shaking

"Do you understand Commander Shem?!?" Gallius raised his voice

"Yes! Yes!"

"Good! Now, for morale sake you will swallow that fear, attempt to not shit yourself and will walk back to your regiment like if we all had a good time here, because that is the truth, right?!?!"

"Commissar please I think-" Shem began stuttering

"Right!?!?"

"Right...!" Shem nodded

As soon as Gallius had removed his boot from the chest of the commander, Shem had rushed to stand up, hastily cleaning himself up and saluting the commissar, fleeing the room as soon as he could. Gallius watched the scene without saying one more word, just glaring in judgment at the man, knowing he had scared Shem enough to not pull a stunt like that on the Cardreans never again.

Gallius collapsed on his chair, feeling the old wound on his chest aching, he hadn't noticed how much emotion the whole situation had taken out of him; his hand scrambled through the table for the pills that helped with it and swallowed it without any water to smoothing it out. He gasped for air as the pain subsided, not entirely but it should do for now; the monthly pains were coming sooner than later much for his dismay. Gallius knew he would had to leave Dormath with more responsibilities for the time being, at least until the pain stabilized and the commissar could resume his duties; it was his most hated time of the month, but every and any doctor he had gone to, both in the field and outside of it, didn't had a cure for it yet, and how could they?.

There were no cures for a Genestealer infection, after all. There weren't twenty years ago when it happened, and there would never be one.

#fanfiction #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #fanfic writing #wh40k oc #custom warhammer regiment #oc guardsman #oc commissar #Cardrean 958TH

18 notes · View notes

shizucheese · 8 months ago

Text

Hey y'all, new chapter of A Lovely Pair of Eyes is finally out! Sorry it took so long, I ended up being a big of a perfectionist with it and it gave me some troubles. But it's here now so read on! :D You can find the new chapter on AO3 here: Chapter 1

If you're new to the story and want to start from the beginning, you can check it out here: Prolog

Fic description: John and Martin survived the events of Mag 200 and ended up Somewhere Else, but now Martin has become an Avatar of the Eye. Now the two of them must navigate all of the complications of their still-new relationship now that they don't have a fear apocalypse distracting them, AND being in a relationship where both people involved are Eye Avatars, AND Martin's struggles as a baby Eye Avatar.

This story isn't going to have a cohesive plot so much as this is where I'm posting all of my stories set in a post-Mag200 continuity where John and Martin are Eye Avatar boyfriends together. Chapter description: Martin Wakes up. Full chapter can also be found under the cut.

Chapter 1

It took Martin a moment to realize where he was when he came to. But as his senses came back to him, he recognized the antiseptic smell and beeping sounds of a hospital room. He had spent enough time by John’s side when he was in his coma, how could he not?

At the thought of John, his memories flooded back to him. The Panopticon. The plan to kill Elias…Jonah…whatever…and release the Fears into other worlds. And John going ahead and killing him himself and becoming the new Pupil of the Eye, and then the horrifying realization that he couldn’t control it.

The knife.

The promise. The kiss. John. Oh God John.

Fear and worry spiked through him and he was distantly aware of the sound of the heart monitor in the room beeping faster. He tried to sit up, but found that he was too weak to do so, and the most he could manage was a weak moan and a flex of his fingers.

It was then he became aware of the hand that was holding one of his; long, cool, familiar fingers intertwined with his own. He rolled his head to the side and sure enough he saw a familiar head of black hair, streaked with grey. He seemed to be asleep, slumped over the bed with his head pillowed on one arm, but he was here, and he was safe.

“John…?” His voice came out weak and raspy and he coughed from the effort of it. He wiggled his fingers in a weak attempt at grasping at John’s hand.

John jolted awake, and Martin watched as one emotion after another flashed across his face as he blinked rapidly. Confusion, recognition, realization….

“Martin.” He said it as a complete sentence. This was Martin. He was Martin. Martin was here.

“John” Martin answered back.

“Oh God Martin!” John stood up and leaned over, cupping Martin’s face with both hands and examining him, as if searching for something, before stepping away. “I’m uh…I need to go tell the doctor you’re awake…” John backed away, his gaze never leaving Martin’s face, until finally he had no choice but to turn around and leave the room.

“Well, Mr. Blackwood, I’m happy to say that, all things considered, you’re in remarkably good shape. We’d like to keep you here for a few more days for observation but if all seems well, I see no reason why we would need to keep you longer than that,” the doctor said as he finished his examination. Somehow John had convinced the man to let him stay in the room during the whole thing and now he stood fretting in the corner.

“Now, I just need to ask you a few questions as part of the evaluation. Tell me, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Well, he most certainly couldn’t tell the truth about that, now, could he? He doubted the doctor would believe him; it was more likely he’d think he was completely crazy and would try to have him committed.

“J-John.” Martin’s voice was still raspy from months of disuse, although the longer he was awake, the stronger he felt. “I was with John. Th-there was an accident….” he trailed off, not sure what else to say. The doctor nodded and wrote something down on his clipboard.

“I don’t expect you to know the exact date, of course, but could you tell me what year it is?”

“2010.” The doctor nodded again and continued to write on his clipboard.

“And could you tell me who the current monarch of England is?” “Queen Elizabeth.” The doctor added a few more notes on his clipboard, and then stood up from where he had been sitting by the side of the bed.

“Well, that should be all for now. When you’re feeling a bit more recovered, we’ll go over your treatment and rehabilitation plan. Let a nurse know if you have any questions or if anything about your condition changes.” And with that, the doctor left the room, giving John a nod of acknowledgement as he passed him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, John was across the room and by the side of the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Martin could practically physically feel John’s eyes roaming over his face again. He took a moment to take John in himself, now that they were alone and had a moment. John was pale even in the best of times, and Martin would have thought, after four months of living in a world not in the middle of a fear apocalypse, that’s how John would look, but instead he was the same haggard kind of pale that Martin had grown used to seeing over the past few years, with the same bruise-like circles under his eyes. Martin wondered how well John had been taking care of himself while he had been in his coma. “Fine? You were there while the doctor was looking me over and asking me all those questions…”

“Yes, but you and I both know there are things that we can talk about between us that we can’t talk about to or around other people.” “Fair enough.” Martin closed his eyes and took a moment before answering. “I’m still a bit thirsty.” At that, John reached over for the cup of ice water a nurse had brought him earlier and held the straw up to Martin’s lips, and he drank from it gratefully. “I’m still tired, too. You would think after four months in a coma I wouldn’t be. Is that normal? And my head hurts…” “You should get some rest then.” “Tell me what happened first.” “We can talk about that later. You need to rest.” “John, I’m not going to be able to rest properly until I know what’s going on. Just…please, tell me.” “Right then…” John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “When we released the Fears into the other worlds, it seems they took us with them, and we ended up here. The land where the Institute and the Panopticon were is a construction site in this world. That’s where we wound up…” John’s mouth quirked into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I told the paramedics and the police officers that you and I had wanted to take advantage of the construction do some urban exploration in the old Millbank Prison tunnels. There was an accident and we both fell. You wouldn’t wake up….” The smile fell. His voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” “No, it’s not your fault. You were…” John trailed off and stared into the middle distance, his sentence left incomplete.

“So what are we going to do about like…our identities? We’re not from here so…wait, is there, like, another us here? Like the us from this world…? We aren’t using their IDs, are we?” John laughed ruefully at that.

“No, we’re not using their IDs. Let’s just say we weren’t the only ones who made it here.” “Who…?” It took a moment before Martin caught on. “Annabelle.” “Precisely. It seems the Web doesn’t like being indebted, particularly not to agents of one of the other fears. Her helping us is supposed to ‘balance the ledger,’ or so she says.”

“Right…and what are the chances that she’s going to balance it a little too much and we’ll end up being the ones indebted to her?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Getting someone to owe you can be a form of manipulation…” They were both quiet for a moment as they considered the implications of the situation they found themselves in. “What else?” Martin asked, finally breaking the silence. John looked up at him in surprise. “What else is there? What aren’t you telling me?” “I don’t…”

“John, please. I can tell when you’re hiding something from me. Please, just tell me.” The pain that had been pulsing behind his eyes since he woke up grew stronger. John closed his eyes, and his posture, which Martin had only ever seen him lose at the worst of times, slumped.

“You haven’t noticed yet, have you?” “Noticed what?”

“Martin…when the doctor asked you what year it was, you told him 2010. I never told you what year it was in this world.” “What…? Of course you did. You…” “No, Martin, I didn’t.” John’s face was full of…sorrow? Guilt? “Then I…I must have seen it on the—” Martin trailed off as he realized there was no calendar in sight. “Without your glasses? Although it appears you no longer need them...” Martin unconsciously reached a hand up to the side of his face, as if to adjust the glasses that, yes, he realized now, were not there. And yet…

“John, what’s going on?” And there was that pain again, flaring up as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening to him. “When you were in your coma, you didn’t have a heartbeat.” John paused, and swallowed. “I thought you were dead. I thought I had lost you…” His voice cracked. “The only reason you weren’t pronounced dead is because Annabelle did…something and the doctors realized you still had brain activity. You were like that for four months…”

John looked at him straight in the eye, then, and…yes, there was sorrow and guilt and grief and pity in those eyes. “I’m so sorry, Martin. You’re like me now. You’ve become an Avatar of the Eye.”

#the magnus archives #tma #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #jonmartin #jmart #teaholding #tma spoilers #the magnus archives spoilers #eye!avatar Martin #no beta we die like men #no beta we kyak like Tim

8 notes · View notes

baronmpontmercy · 9 months ago

Note

14 or 36 for whomever suits :3 ??

36 …to give up control (~700 words)

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

Amadeus is trained. Disciplined. He has dedicated hours, weeks, years of his life to schooling every sinew, drilling every muscle in his body to be strong, precise, and powerful. And controlled. Amadeus will not let himself lose control, he can’t.

In his mind's eye he still sees Quil's sweet face, torn near beyond recognition, eyes glassy in death, her scales dulled with thick drying blood. In his ear he still hears a voice, sometimes with Fel's sicklysweet sycophantic rasp and sometimes the cutglass cold of his own, urging him to rip out Isobel Thorm's throat with his bare hands.

Amadeus will not let himself lose control. For the sake of his friends, his loved ones. He must stay controlled. And so he drills himself, again and again, loses himself in discipline and rigour. Control, always control. He’s loath to admit it, but it’s exhausting. But the fear of what he could do if he lets his control slip, even for a heartbeat, it’s enough to keep him in line.

As Wyll's practice rapier clatters against Amadeus' own sparring sword one evening, he thinks this. As he sees the shining, breathless joy on Wyll's face at each lunge and parry, the bright mix of concentration, determination, and thrill in his eyes, he thinks this. And Amadeus' heart swells.

After dinner, most of them have laid their weapons aside to make the most of the evening. Mags plays through a reel or two, Shadowheart prays, Lae’zel whets her sword, Karlach and Gale chat by the fire. And Amadeus’ heart aches.

He picks up Phalar Aluve and Cruel Sting, sequesters himself away, and drills. Goes over and over til each step is sure, each swing will hit true. His arms begin to ache. His swings become clumsy. He raises his eyes to where Selûne has begun to make her ascent across the sky, implores the Moonmaiden to grant him just that bit more strength, just enough to- His chest heaves with effort, he stumbles, loses his footing, turns himself haphazardly around; no divine strength seems to touch him.

The warmth of a living hand does, firm yet gentle on his arm. He turns and Wyll is before him, cast in soft silver, Selûne framed between his horns.

“Come away,” he says, “you’ll be no use to anyone spent.”

“I must-”

Protect you. Save you. Stop myself. Save myself. Stay in control. Always control.

“Perhaps you must. But come the morn.”

The moon, crowning Wyll, glimmers. Amadeus acquiesces, lays the swords aside.

His hands, now empty, feel weak and useless, clumsy and lumbering. Pick up your swords again, lest your control slip through your worthless fingers like oil. Wyll takes them, (trembling, from exertion, from fear, from guilt) and draws him in. Something changes. Amadeus wraps his arms around him, and finds when his hands arc around Wyll’s back that he longs to cling to him, nails and fingers clutching purchase but not to tear now, not to rip. To hold, be held, be held.

You must keep control, says the voice in his ear, warningly. Control, always control.

He lets himself be held. Lets his strength melt into Wyll’s. When Wyll’s lips find his, Amadeus breathes him in like a drowning man who at last has broken the water’s surface; his shuddering lungs calm. Amadeus kisses him, revels in the sweet taste of him, his taught limbs soften. Each gentle press of lips, each soft sigh ghosted featherlight over tender skin, all unravel the tension twined around his muscles.

They part for air, and Amadeus buries his head in Wyll’s shoulder. He hears the delicate smile in Wyll’s voice, feels the rumble of his fond chuckle,

“Let’s call it a night, my heart.”

“Another moment here. Please,” Amadeus’ voice is muffled, words buried in the column of neck under his mouth; he is loath to lift his head. A hand comes up to cradle the back of his skull, fingers weaving through bone-white hair. Wyll’s cheek rests atop his.

Amadeus will not let himself lose control, yet Amadeus relinquishes control. He realises he is not out of control, quite the opposite. There is, he can see, can feel, a difference between those antipodean states.

A surrendering. Wyll kisses his forehead.

A partaking. Wyll kisses his cheek.

Trust. Wyll returns to his lips.

Willingly given, willingly shared. Amadeus kisses him back.

Selûne crowns them both.

#thank you :') sorry this took ages #bg3 #wyll #amadeus tenebral #jules sucks at bg3 #my fic #cw gore #cw blood #(just in case)

9 notes · View notes

bluemidnightmelody · 1 year ago

Text

lover/fighter - my favorite moments

[Little snippets from my Finnick/OC longfic that are stuck in my head]

From Chapter 44 - Neptune in 4th house

Finnick leans against the old wooden desk in the small improvised office and watches her as she purposefully stows all kinds of things in the designated place. "Isn't that too much for you sometimes? After you keep starting arguments with Donna because of me, so that I can get some peace and quiet at home, all you ever do yourself is work," he replies.

Rhea pauses and looks at him. "Those are two things you can't compare," she says seriously. "I love my work. I don't do it because someone else tells me to or because I have to. I never wanted anything other than this. This is where I grew up and taking care of the people around could never be too much."

It's exhausting and sometimes very draining but just as fulfilling for her. She could never imagine stopping. "We both know that you would also rather be at home looking after your people. If you could decide for yourself, you would never have come back here after your Games, would you? You'd be sitting at home in District 4 now, taking the boat out every day, going fishing with the boys, lying in the sun by the sea, eating dinner with Mags and Annie. You probably would have started working as a fisherman after all, like you wanted to, not because you had to, but because you are someone who gets bored easily when you have nothing to do. Maybe you could have become a teacher. I think at least that would really suit you, you're good at it and good with children."

"You think children should take me as an example? I think many at home would disagree," he replies with a smile, but there is a trace of sadness behind it. It's hard to listen to her talk about what his life could have been like, and he likes the picture she paints. Very much so and he has to realize that his comparison was really more than inappropriate.

"I think everyone should take an example from you," she replies seriously. "But we both know that what you do here in the Capitol is nothing but slave labor for Snow to get the most out of the Games. It's not work, it's exploitation, something completely different to my situation."

Not even the victors dare say that out loud, not here in the Capitol. Nevertheless, she simply says it as if it were the most natural thing of all, openly expressing her rejection of the president without a trace of fear. That alone calls for recognition, but in the same breath she is one of the few people who still sincerely believe in his respectable character even after the Capitol has distorted his image so much. He gets a warm tingle in his fingertips as his gaze rests on the floor.

When he looks up again, he has a gentle smile on his face that looks like it wants to become something more. But he doesn't say a word, he just looks at her with this unreadable expression on his face.

"What?" Rhea asks, a little flustered, her embarrassment rising to her head along with the heat. It's as if his eyes have some kind of magical power that allows him to do all sorts of things to you just by looking at you.

His smile widens a little. "Nothing," he then says casually, pauses for a few more seconds, then pushes himself off the edge of the desk and strolls leisurely back into the hallway.

Rhea can hear his footsteps as he descends the old wooden steps of the staircase, presses her hands against her cheeks and sighs. Why is this guy so intense? There's no other way to describe it, everything about him just seems too much to handle. She wonders if he's always like this by nature, or if it's also a bit intentional because he knows exactly what effect he has on others. Probably a mixture of both.

It's like a damn strong drink and when she's around him, she sometimes feels like she's in a daze. But because of the sweetness, you only notice the effect when it's too late and then you just want more and more. She's worried that she might do something foolish while she's under the influence or even end up becoming an alcoholic, so to speak.

She quickly returns to the task at hand to distract herself from these thoughts. Since she knows what's really going on in Finnick's life, that warm tingling feeling in her chest always leaves a tinge of guilt behind, because something in her subconscious says that it's taboo to feel these things, that he would reject having this kind of affection directed at him.

Links to all the chapters: lover/fighter - Chapter Index

fanfiction on ao3 and wattpad

#finnick odair #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #the hunger games x oc #hunger games #the hunger games #fanfiction #ao3 #thg finnick #thg fanfiction #hunger games fanfiction #ao3 fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

hazelwords · 2 years ago

Text

So I have some thoughts on the celebrity casting choices for season 2 of The Bear. I haven’t seen many takes (what I have seen were general critiques), but I think I know why the creators had such big names on the show.

Seeing a familiar face triggers a specific part to our brain (don’t ask me which one, I’m not a brain scientist), and this happens whether we see an old classmate in CVS or a famous actor on a TV show. There’s a feeling of, “Oh, I know this person,” and, depending on the actor and your knowledge of the gossip mags, you will start remembering little details and facts about them.

Each character played by a famous person in season 2 was meant to be someone we “know.” Our brains were supposed to light up in recognition as a part of the storytelling.

From my memory (having just finished the season), the celebrity appearances are divided into two: chefs Carmy knew/worked with, and Carmy’s family. The chefs are big-name chefs, headliners and front-page people. So yes, we recognize Will Poulter and Olivia Colman from previous roles, but within the world of the show, we should recognize them. They are famous chefs!

Similarly, when we see Sarah Paulson, John Mulaney, Bob Odenkirk, Gillian Jacobs, and Jamie Lee Curtis, we get to see them through Carmy’s eyes: as familiar faces and voices, people we have seen before. We are immersed in the scene, not taken out of it, since we are surrounded by people we “know”.

That’s my theory, at least. All’s to say - I liked this season and didn’t mind the famous faces!

(The only time I felt “taken out” was when Rene Gube was on the scene! I was like, “Hey! That’s Rene Gube! He’s one of the producers and writers for the show! Man, why is Father Brah so cranky and mean right now?”)

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear season 2

21 notes · View notes

ashandkatiewrite · 1 year ago

Text

Somewhere a Clock is Ticking | Chapter 10

FIC SYNOPSIS: This is not the way Maggie thought her life would go after the Blip. This was not the life she was meant to be living. The man in front of her, who had the same face as Bucky, was not her husband — he was his killer.

WRITTEN BY: @if-you-onlyknew & @katiekinswrites

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes/OFC

RATING: M (Mature) & E (Explicit)

The final installment of the Bucky Barnes/Maggie Hastings "What If...?" AU Series: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

chapter preview…

Once they were in the street, Bucky felt panic rising in his throat, but tried to remain as calm as possible. “Mags,” he said, gripping her shoulders, “I think he’s more than he seems. I think—” he said as he looked up at one of the illuminated windows to see the silhouette of a person looking out. “I think I’m gonna regret not killing him. This isn’t over.”

There had been a flicker of recognition in Tommy Medrano’s eyes as Bucky gripped his throat.

Bucky looked down at his left arm as he held onto Maggie‘s shoulders like she was the one holding him up. His metal arm was showing above the glove and below the sleeve of his ripped suit jacket.

Tommy knew more than he appeared to know.

TAGLIST: @acabecca • @arrthurpendragon • @cas-verse • @cjand10 • @darkwolf76 • @darylandbethfanforever9 • @eddysocs • @jewishbarbies • @ocappreciationtag • @sassysophiabush • @scarletwidoww • @seb-soph • @starcrossedjedis • @thatmagickjuju

#ocapp #fic: somewhere a clock is ticking #oc: maggie hastings #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #sophia bush #mcu oc #bucky barnes/oc #marvel oc #bucky barnes fanfic #what if au

9 notes · View notes

our-favourite-orcs · 1 year ago

Text

REVIVAL ROUND

The three candidates that get the most votes will get to move on to round 2!

Propaganda under the cut!

Propaganda for The Orc from Enclave:

Honestly, dude's just got a nice set of back muscles.

Propaganda for The Return of the King (Rankin-Bass):

They sing a silly lil song what more do u want

youtube

Propaganda for Natalie Armpits, Dodge Duranga, and Canyonera - Rude Tales of Magic:

They love riddles

Propaganda for Ghazkull Mag Uruk Thraka from Warhammer 40,000:

- Ork technology works because they believe it does. Otherwise it’s just a pile of scrap metal. - They are humanoid fungi that reproduce by releasing spores when they die. - Their society’s currency is teeth. Mostly their own, since they grow back like shark teeth do. - Ghazkull got his head chopped off. Somebody decided to staple it to a robot body. This worked, somehow, and now he’s alive again. - Ghazkull’s full name may be a dig at Margaret Thatcher. - Ghazkull has a human nemesis that he enjoys fighting with. Even when he captured him, Ghaz let him go, saying “Good enemies is hard to find.”

Propaganda for Grumsh One Eye from Dungeons And Dragons:

Dude fought the Elf God, lost an eye, scared the rest of the orcs into being dicks and killing elves like him, leads an entire goddamn orc pantheon.

Propaganda for Arti from Tumblr:

He is my friend and I'm mostly just submitting this for a bit and think it'll make him happy

Propaganda for Dungeons & Dragons (Cartoon):

honestly have no propaganda for them specifically, theyre villain henchmen really, i just think the cartoon should get more recognition and its was the first piece of media i thought of when i saw someone reblog your tournament intro

Propaganda for Clarisse Vorak from Arcanum: Of Steamworks and Magick Obscura:

She might not look very orcish and she's a potential player character and therefore she's what you make her, but she's a half-orc scientist facing racism. And I read a fanfic about her that made me fascinated with her, I swear.

Propaganda for Flerbish from Tumblr:

Flerbish can photosynthesise

Propaganda for Stunkbug from Not Another DnD Podcast:

He’s Orc Frasier

Propaganda for Gallarush from The Demon Prince Goes to the Academy:

Gallarush from DPA is an orc who became a vampire before the story started. He's the second oldest of the Vampire Council, a group of Vampire Lords with factions relating to days of the week & elements (Gallarush is the Lord of Friday, which correlates to metal) that aided the MC and eventually became an Elder Council for a newly reconstructed Darklands / Demon Kingdom that was composed of demons and humans. He often teases the oldest member of the council, Luruien/Luvien, an Elf-Vampire who erases most of her memories every ~200 years, and is highly protective of the second youngest of the Council - a Homunculus-Vampire who wants a soul named Lucinil. He's just a good guy / old man

#orc showdown #survival round #enclave #rankin bass #rude tales of magic #warhammer 40000 #dungeons and dragons #arcanum of steamworks and magick obscura #not another dnd podcast #the demon prince goes to the academy #Youtube

4 notes · View notes

timelesskaleidoscope · 5 months ago

Text

"TINY BABY BUDS"

A familiar face and voice welcomes the little one in this beautiful world. The birth of a child is another step towards a lifelong journey of motherhood and welcoming of a new life.

On a really hot Monday afternoon, September 2, 2024 , we have the opportunity to interview and have a sneak peak on the life of Blessie, a mother of an infant, about her life long journey of being a mother to 2 beautiful children and a happily married wife.

Blessie’s youngest baby, Keonna, had a rocky and overwhelming start on this world. After she was born, she was in and out of hospital for nearly a month due to blood infection, cough and runny nose. “Lisod ug hadlok kay sulod gawas siya sa hospital tas akoang lawas garecover pa gikan panganak kay gi cesarian ko” Blessie shared. Thankfully after multiple vaccines and medicines, the brave little Keonna recovered, discharged and was ready to go home. For the last 8 months, Keonna fully recovered and grew, receiving love from her mother, father, older sister, family members and friends, and neighbors. When asked about the development and skills of her baby, “ Kabalo na siya mag close open sa iyahang kamot ug kabalo na siya muligid ug kamang” Blessie replied with a proud look on her face, looking at her little Keonna at the floor crawling and enjoying the company of her neighbors.

When it comes to Keonna’s cognitive and socioemotional development, Blessie notices that Keonna is curious and interested about the things around her. “Masigi siyag lingi lingi sa palibot, ug tawagon siya mura pug siyag naminaw. Ganahan pud ni siya mutan aw sa kanang mga dulaan na nagbitay bitay iyahang tan-awon tas kab-oton” Blessie stated sweetly. “Muila pud ni si Keonna kay ug dili familiar ang nawong na iyahang makita kay muhilak siya” Blessie added as she watches Keonna crying while being held by one of her neighbors. Baby Keonna’s cognitive and socioemotional development such as her recognition and thinking skills can be observed when it comes to her interaction with unfamiliar and familiar faces, her actions towards toys, and towards the people calling her name. It is also noticeable that Keonna does not cry when being held by people she often sees and recognizes. In terms of Keonna’s physical development, Blessie stated that Keonna’s weight and body is normal for her month.” Nistop na siyag breastfeed pagka 2 months niya mao gigatas na namo siya tas ginapakaon pud nako siyag lugaw” Blessie stated.”Si Keonna kay mas active ug gabie kay dili siya katulog mao pulaw ko ug gabie kay muhilak man siya ug lihokan”. It is noticeable that baby Keonna is well fed and is receiving enough nutrients through drinking formula milk. Keonna easily cries and becomes irritated due to her teeth growing and hot weather yet overall Keonna is a healthy and cute little baby.

Blessie faces challenges throughout her journey in motherhood as well as being a wife yet she manages it with grace, strength, determination and love. “Naa guy times na lisod kay kailangan man namo palitan ug gatas ug mga needs si Keonna. Ga eskwela pud iyahang ate ug highschool mao daghan ug gasto. Dako sila ug gap, 13 years ilahang gap ni Keonna ug iyahang ate” Blessie shared. “Pero mamanage man pud kay todo supporta ug ga provide pud akoang bana mao makaya ra mao gapasalamat pud ko. Akoa pud magulang na anak kay siya na muatiman sa iyahang sarili pag mu eskwela” Blessie added as she smiles and faces the challenges with bravery and gratefulness.

Despite her share of struggles and challenges in life, she manages to balance it. “Lisod gud pero kayanon para nila, akoa nalang ikatulog ug hilak kung kapoy na kaayo. Dako pud katabang akoa Bana kay siya may mulihok ug sakit akoang tahi, likod ug akoang lawas. Naa guy times na kapoy na kaayo ko kay kulang tulog” Blessie shared with a hint of sadness and tears in her eyes. .

Even with those struggles and challenges of being a mother especially having an infant, Blessie was full of joy and love towards her family. The strength, gratefulness, and God-fearing attitudes of Blessie enlightens their home, giving it a warm feeling of love, laughter and togetherness. She is always positive and excited about the future development of her children.

“Akong wish lang gud sa ilaha na mudako sila na maka-diyos ug good health pirmente ug malipayon sila” Blessie wishes from the bottom of her motherly heart towards her children. “ Bahala nag walay akoa basta mahatag nako tanan sa ilaha mahappy na pud ko” Blessie stated. A sentence that can stand against all the challenges and storms in life, showcasing the sacrifices, strength, happiness and never ending love of a mother.

#mother #baby #developmental psychology #life #interview #narrative #family love #timelesskaleidoscope #life journey

1 note · View note

abcdevvv · 5 months ago

Text

Milk, Giggles, and Midnight Cuddles

At the beginning of the Christmas season, we had the chance to interview a mother of an infant about her experiences raising 5 children who are currently residing in Davao City. For Marilou, this season is a time of happiness and gratitude as she looks back on the challenges and triumphs of raising her youngest child, who will turn nine months old this November 8, 2023.

Marilou’s youngest daughter faced a rocky start to life, spending her first month in the hospital due to a blood infection that led to Marilou stopping the baby's immunizations. "Ingon sa Doctor na apektuhan iyang ugat sa mata maong wala na gipadayon ang mga injection na para sa baby," Marilou shared. Despite this challenge, the baby is slowly adapting as days go by and healthy growing with lots of love from her parents. When asked about her child’s skills, Marilou explained that her daughter has started crawling and enjoys spinning around on her bed, this allows Marilou to manage household chores while keeping an eye on her. “Dili siya pala hilak ibutang ra nako na siya diha mag dula ra na ug iyaha,” Marilou said with a smile. “Dira na siya mo hilak ug gigutom ug kung gi samokan na sa iyang igsuon” she added.

The baby has already begun to hold objects within her reach and can say simple words like “mama” and “papa,” although, she seems to prefer calling her father. Marilou noted that her daughter is now being fed breast milk and occasionally Cerelac as an alternative.

In terms of cognitive development, Marilou has noticed her daughter’s growing curiosity about the world around her. “Sige siya ug kab ot sa mga butang sa iyang palibot, ug tawagon nimo iyang pangaln mo lingi na siya, samot na ug iyang papa ang manawag,” Marilou stated. The baby’s memory and recognition skills are also noticed as she responds to familiar faces, especially those of her siblings. As the baby’s attention span slowly increases, Marilou finds joy in watching her daughter focus on toys and simple activities. "Oh mao to mag sige ra na siyag tuyok ug mag kamang draa sa higdaanan, unya mag hilabot sa palibot bisan unsa ray gunitan taman sa iyang magunitan," she laughed. Marilou has observed strong attachment behaviors in her daughter, particularly towards her father, who she often seeks out for comfort. "Papa’s girl jud na siya," Marilou noted.

Despite the challenges of raising five children, when asked about her ability to manage their whims and needs. “Dili man ko mamunal, pero ginakasab-an nako sila pag sobraan na,” she explained. Marilou’s calm and patience have established a strong bond between her and her children making her household a place of love and laughter. Like many mothers, Marilou has faced her share of challenges. Balancing the demands of her children while taking care wiith other responsibilities can be too much to handle, especially when sleep deprivation kicks in. “Naay usahay na kapoyon kay daghag buhaton, pero makaya ra para sa ilaha,” Marilou shared.

"Naa pud usahay maglisod mi, tama ra ang 3k sa semana namo usahay makulang pa gani," she said. “Pero ug paiguon jud siya, kaya man” she added. Financial problems has also been a constant challenge, particularly when the family needed to purchase antibiotics for the baby’s recovery. However, Marilou is grateful for the support they received from Lingap, which helped cover their hospital bills.

“Lalo na sa kay baby na sa karon sa iyaha ko ga focus kay syempre baby pa pero pantay-pantay silang lima sakoa” she said, as her eyes reach to her children. Despite these difficulties, the joy of watching her children grow, their laughter, and the quiet moments of midnight snuggles bring her satisfaction. As the baby approaches her 9-month birthday, Marilou looks forward to more milestones and memories. "Kada adlaw kay blessing para samoa na," she said, her voice filled with the quiet strength and love that only a mother can know.

#psychology #infancy #motherhood #abcedevvv

0 notes

plungermusic · 1 year ago

Text

We give you the very best… of the worst of 2023

Every mag and website on the planet exploits the year-end to have the carefully culled darlings of the big PR firms listed in their Top 10s (or Top Fives if the field is barrel-scrapingly narrow), or awarded various accolades of Best This That or The Other of the year just gone. Boring isn’t it?

So Plunger have instead collected some of the more memorably bad, ridiculous or eye-brow-poppingly unbelievable events of the year.

The ‘“Either you’re utterly clueless about your own scene or money’s changed hands here”’ prize:

The WhoAMAUK awards (for the nth year running).

Astonishing levels of one or the other on display here as the nominated four best acts include one who are (by their own admission) ‘alt-rock’ and another who is apparently also among the very best blues, classic rock, folk and prog acts this country has to offer.

Honourable mention: Classy Crock, and Henri Hoffbrauhaus: Despite being published in a whole magazine devoted almost entirely to rock music, the top spot in their supposedly specalist niche ‘Top 5 blues albums of the year’ went to an act who are basically a rock act not rocky enough to make it in the rock scene. Good effort, Henri.

The ‘“How can we put you off coming even more than you already were?”’ prize.

The organisers of Smegness Redux.

Stunning achievement in giving you the same experience you could have enjoyed had Maplins not decided that a blues festival was beneath even them, but in a wetter windier scuzzier location.

The ‘“We’re all one big happy family…” said Mr and Mrs Borden’ prize:

Steam Butlers v the rest of the blues scene.

A truly engrossing, where’s-the-popcorn, 10 round, knock-down-drag-out spat over who took some photos many years ago.

The ‘“Abroad is bloody”international incident of the year’ prize:

European boules oignon.

Breathtaking turn around from their usual stance of “Les rosbifs, zey always play ze rock not ze blurz, hur hur hur” when, faced with a UK act of unquestionable blues pedigree and talent, they picked basically a heavy rock act as winners instead this year.

Honourable mention: Cannelloni Cousins US tour. Flying the band over the pond at great expense (those artist visas alone would bankrupt a small country) to escape the ageing blues crowds here only to play to an enthusiastic crowd of… Florida Snowbirds (in what closely resembled a Tring drill hall, to boot).

The ‘“I found it in a skip, but I saw you coming” Crowdfunder’ prize:

Shaved Bivalve.

Exciting new entrants, beating the perennial suspiciously-faster-than-a-speeding-bullet winners from previous years, with a truly fabulous list of ‘stretch gains’ beyond the usual ‘mix the album, press the album, distribute the album’ targets. Including individual Tahitian foot massages, chocolates from Prestat and a new yacht. As well as being suspiciously faster-than-a-speeding-bullet.

Honourable mention: Riff ‘Lucky’ Raff. After being stuck by lightning, attacked by a shark and hit by a speeding roadroller traction engine (on the same afternoon, mark you), the fresh-faced Wile E Coyote-alike snapper had a Crowdfunder arranged for him, ostensibly to raise the princely sum of the price of a Nikon lens hood (and definitely NOT to raise his name-recognition amongst lower-echelon budget-conscious tog-hunters on the scene… that’s just ‘lucky’ happenstance).

And remember, the year isn't actually finished yet so there's plenty of time for more 'lucky' winners!

#you what?#no really you what?#you cannot be serious #you couldn't make it up #and once again we didn't have to

0 notes

bitterarcs · 1 year ago

Text

Had the pilot laughed, or was that simply the captive audience of the voices inside Reno's head. The very sane voices and clearly the only one with taste. Stay out of HIS way. The dog walker deserved a crack of the Turk's electro-mag rod for even formulating such insulting words much less allow them to fall out of mouth. Had the mission of tracking the rogue golden boy not been so imperrastive, Reno would have risked a reprimand by giving the restrictor a taste of mag rod and the heel of his shoe; the Turk could have done with a good scraping of all the gunk which accumulated from walking through Midgar. The image of heel stomping down to see teeth flinging out of mouth was insight to how utterly pissed he was over the mission.

What IF the two of them managed to track down Sephiroth? As capable as Reno was, the two men would stand like candles against a hurricane. It was punishment for Reno and, perhaps, obedience training for the freak show. Patience was gathered. The god damn patience of a saint and lips best suited to be curled in a grin were set tight to restrict the flow of opinions and frustrations. If there was one thing Reno could not tolerate was a blatant lack of respect and recognition of authority. The egomania of a man who often spat in the face of authority, but at least he had the balls to back it up — clawing his way from the slums to the Turk division and all the successful missions thereafter.

Inside the helicopter, Reno felt him . . smelled him . . breath and body disgustingly close that it very nearly triggered his instinct to fire an elbow backwards.

Seat opposite and across to Nero was taken, back pressed against the backing of the empty co-pilot seat, as far away as possible without looking like he was tucking himself away. If anything, it gave him room to spread his thighs out and don an extremely casual seated position even if the narrow bench did not provide the most ample of seating. Forearms rested on spread apart thighs, back curled, and hunched over position dominated his posture to observe the suited anomaly. Even giving IT a suit was an insult . . not that the attire was a patent of the Turks.

( ❛ Whatever, man. I've heard worse things from people who didn't look like burn victims entering a bondage dungeon. Why do you look like that. Easy way to control you, shove your head into your fool bowl when you've been acting up? ❜ )

Words were laced strongly with humour, but none of it was displayed on face sharpened with dislike.

it was a mistake to allow a product to think it was a person. when it eventually found the serial number grafted into its skin, its mind rarely survived the revelation.

the tsviets had been born knowing what they were. experiments. what-ifs. prototypes for an army shinra intended to build to crush all who opposed them - they were born to be weapons and knew it, anything more was theirs to claim. theirs to earn, theirs to own. hopes, dreams, love, family - a sense of identity beyond abilities and threat scores, held closely to keep them sane in the hell they were raised in.

retired to, really, once their makers found that those on the surface would sacrifice their bodies and minds in pursuit of glory.

yet the never told the good general what he was. never allowed him to know he was anything more than human, anything less than god. how crushing it must have been for him - for all three of them - to find their glory was not theirs to claim. that they were made things allowed to pretend that their accomplishments were all theirs, all earned under their own merits.

and these new recruits chased after an unattainable dream. easily controlled and molded, forgoing their sense of identity to chase power that would never be theirs to claim.

it was ingenious, really.

it was little wonder general sephiroth lost his mind. little wonder that he was not truly dead. the tsviets would have been all too content to let him run amok, to carve their way to freedom for them - had scarlet and heidegger not let it slip to the new president that he had his own army of forgotten monsters. perhaps if nero had been less showy when he was playing distraction, jangling keys while shelke worked to integrate their ticket out of deepground into the systems, he would have been recaptured and allowed to sleep through this nonsense.

instead, the young president had ordered one of these beasts be brought out to subdue their wayward showdog. weiss had been ruled out - if weiss was gone, nero would follow shortly thereafter and they would have the upper hand in whatever rebellion they waged. there was every chance the brothers would side with sephiroth if given half a chance, and that was not a risk shinra was willing to take. rosso was too far gone, too likely to carve a bloody path across the planet before reaching her target.

so that left nero. the youngest, the one with the fewest field missions but the highest body count. who also did not bother to discriminate between friend and foe when it did not suit him, but could be collared with a reminder that his brother's life was on the line. nero, who had been brought to heel by the turk standing before him less than a month before, looking every bit as disgusted as he felt.

he's still coming off of the sedation. groggy and sluggish, but none-the-less delighted to be let loose on a hunt.

it, like the rampage beforehand, is a nice distraction. shinra will be too distracted preparing for war with their greatest known monster to pay attention to the army coming together beneath their feet.

squinting against the searing sun and smiling at the sight of his unwilling partner for this mission, he follows a step or two behind his handler. the restrictor - black cloaked, black armored, and radiating a foul mood - grunts at reno's snide comment. nero himself is dressed in the standard turk uniform, unmodified in any way - though the blue-glow of restrictive body suit is visible even through the dark fabric. the mask on his face remains firmly in place - no one dared to get close enough to try to remove that.

the arm restraints have been replaced with a set of glowing rings, holding his arms stiffly in front of him, the backs of his hands pressed together.

"just stay out of his way," restrictor says coldly, handing over the remote meant to control the restraints. "we have arranged the circumstances for his co-operate already, just ensure you provide the phone."

nero himself does not move, head cocked slightly to the side. it's easier to pretend like he doesn't understand, that he's so far gone in his own madness that he does not hear them speak of him like he's not even there.

the restrictor turns to him and says something low and glutteral - the language of deepground, half-code and half forgotten dialect - and nero merely nods. then flickers out of existence.

in an instant he's behind reno, rising from his shadow itself. showing off. breezing past him without a second look. a predator flexing its claws, showing the mouse that it can close its jaws at any time. it's by the mercy of a higher power that it does not

only the doors close and the blades behind to whir, and nero is made comfortable (as one can be, with their arms so painfully twisted and bound) does he fully face his new handler, those sharp eyes dancing with delight.

"if they are sending you with me," he says, his voice dripping with a cruel amusement. "then how i handle heights is the least of your concerns."

#[ ⁰⁰⁷ ; a little bit of reno to spice up life ]#stagnantmako

10 notes · View notes