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23victoria · 5 months ago

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Father’s Day!!

f1 grid x reader

warnings: just fluff

authors note: today is Father’s Day so want to do something with the grid!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

f1 masterlist

Max

It's Father's Day, and you're determined to make it special for Max. The morning sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains as you gently wake up your little one, Oliver. You both tiptoe down the hall to the kitchen, where you've prepared a simple but heartfelt breakfast: Max's favorite pancakes, fresh fruit, and a steaming cup of coffee.

Oliver insists on carrying the tray, wobbling slightly but managing to keep everything balanced. You lead the way, quietly pushing open the bedroom door. Max is still asleep, a peaceful expression on his face. Oliver climbs onto the bed, and you can't help but smile as he places a messy kiss on Max's cheek.

"Daddy, wake up! Happy Father's Day!" Oliver's excitement is infectious, and Max stirs, a smile spreading across his face as he opens his eyes.

"Good morning, my babies," Max says, pulling Oliver into a hug and then reaching for you. "This is the best way to wake up."

After breakfast, you all head to the living room, where Oliver presents Max with a hand-painted picture. It's a portrait of your family, with a rainbow in the background and everyone holding hands. Max's eyes mist over as he looks at the painting, his heart swelling with love and pride.

"This is amazing, Oliver. Thank you so much," he says, kissing the top of his son's head. "And thank you, love, for making today so special."

The rest of the day is filled with laughter and joy. You all head to the park, where Max and Oliver play soccer while you watch, capturing every moment on your phone. In the afternoon, you return home for a barbecue, with Oliver helping to flip burgers and Max manning the grill.

As the sun sets, you all snuggle up on the couch to watch Max's favorite movie. Oliver falls asleep in Max's arms, and you rest your head on Max's shoulder, feeling content and happy.

"I couldn't have asked for a better Father's Day," Max whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you both so much."

Lewis

Father's Day morning comes gently, the sun's rays filtering through the curtains as you and your daughter, Amara, lie in bed, savoring the rare opportunity to sleep in. Last night had been a marathon movie night, with the three of you snuggled on the couch, laughing and enjoying each other's company until the wee hours. As the morning progresses, you and Amara tiptoe out of the bedroom, leaving Lewis to catch a few more minutes of sleep.

In the kitchen, you and Amara prepare a light and easy vegan lunch. The menu includes a vibrant quinoa salad with roasted vegetables, a fresh avocado and tomato sandwich, and a chilled fruit smoothie. Amara is excited, and you guide her hands as she slices veggies and blends the smoothie.

As the meal comes together, you set a tray with the food and a small vase holding a single flower that Amara picked from the garden. Together, you quietly walk back to the bedroom, the tray balanced carefully in your hands. Amara climbs onto the bed first, gently shaking Lewis's shoulder.

"Daddy, wake up! We've got a surprise for you!" she says, her voice filled with excitement.

Lewis stirs, opening his eyes to see Amara’s bright smile and your loving gaze. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, and grins as he sees the tray.

"Good morning, my beautiful girls," he says, pulling Amara into a hug and giving you a warm kiss. "This is an amazing way to wake up."

After savoring the delicious lunch, you and Amara present Lewis with his special gift. Amara hands him a small, wrapped box, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Lewis opens it to find a handcrafted bracelet, ring, and necklace, each piece intricately designed with tiny charms and beads that the two of you had spent weeks working on together.

"Wow, Amara, these are incredible," Lewis says, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you so much, sweetheart. And thank you, love, for helping her. These are truly special."

Amara beams with pride as Lewis puts on the bracelet and necklace, sliding the ring onto his finger. The rest of the day is spent in relaxed joy. You all lounge around the house, playing board games and sharing stories. In the afternoon, you take a walk in the park, where Lewis and Amara race each other along the path, their laughter echoing through the trees.

As evening falls, you all return home and cuddle up on the couch once more, this time to watch the sunset through the living room window. Amara eventually falls asleep in Lewis's arms, and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

"This has been the perfect Father's Day," Lewis whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you both so much. Thank you for making today unforgettable."

Charles

Father's Day morning begins with the sun gently illuminating your bedroom. You and your son, Lucas, had stayed up late the night before, giggling and making final preparations for Charles's special day. After catching a bit of extra sleep, you both decide to let Charles rest while you head to the kitchen to prepare his favorite breakfast: croissants, fresh fruit, and a strong espresso.

Lucas, eager to help, assists in arranging the food on a tray. You add a small vase with a single rose, a simple yet thoughtful touch. Together, you carry the tray to the bedroom, where Charles is still in a peaceful slumber. Lucas carefully climbs onto the bed, placing a soft kiss on his father's cheek.

"Happy Father's Day, Papa!" Lucas exclaims, his voice filled with excitement.

Charles stirs, opening his eyes to see Lucas's beaming face and your loving smile. He sits up, reaching out to pull Lucas into a warm hug and giving you a tender kiss.

"Good morning, my loves," Charles says, his eyes sparkling with happiness. "This is the best way to wake up."

After enjoying the delicious breakfast, Lucas announces that he has another surprise for Charles. He dashes out of the room and returns with a beautifully wrapped gift. Charles's curiosity is piqued as he carefully unwraps the present.

Inside, he finds a custom-made photo album. Each page is filled with pictures of the most cherished moments you've shared as a family: vacations, birthdays, holidays, and candid snapshots of everyday life. Lucas had painstakingly decorated the pages with stickers, drawings, and little notes, each one a testament to his love and creativity.

Charles's eyes well up with tears as he flips through the pages, reliving the memories. "Lucas, this is amazing. Thank you so much, my little artist. And thank you, love, for helping him put this together. It's perfect."

Lucas beams with pride, and you wrap your arms around both of them, feeling a wave of love and happiness. The rest of the day is filled with joyful activities. You take a family trip to the zoo, where Charles and Lucas marvel at the animals and share ice cream cones. In the afternoon, you return home for a barbecue, with Lucas eagerly helping to flip the burgers while Charles mans the grill.

As the sun sets, you all snuggle up on the couch to watch Charles's favorite movie. Lucas falls asleep in Charles's arms, and you rest your head on Charles's shoulder, feeling content and happy.

"I couldn't have asked for a better Father's Day," Charles whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you both so much."

Carlos

It's Father's Day, and you and your daughter, Sofia, have been planning a special surprise for Carlos for weeks. The morning starts with you both sneaking into the kitchen to prepare Carlos's favorite Spanish breakfast: churros with hot chocolate.

Sofia climbs onto the bed and places a kiss on Carlos's cheek. "Happy Father's Day, Papa!" she exclaims, her excitement waking Carlos with a start. He blinks a few times before his eyes focus on the two of you.

"Good morning, mi princesa," he says, pulling Sofia into a hug and reaching out to you. "This is the best surprise."

Sofia announces she has another surprise for her papa. Sofia dashes out of the room, returning with a large, colorfully wrapped box. Carlos, his curiosity piqued, smiles as he accepts the gift from his beaming daughter.

"Open it, Papa! I made it just for you!" Sofia exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement.

Carlos carefully unwraps the gift, revealing a beautifully handcrafted model of his race car. The model is made from wood, meticulously painted in his team's colors, with fine details that capture the essence of his real car. Sofia had spent weeks working on it, sanding and painting each piece with your help.

Carlos’s eyes widen in amazement as he examines the intricate model. "Sofia, this is incredible! You made this all by yourself?"

Sofia nods eagerly. "Well, Mommy helped a little, but I did most of it. Do you like it?"

"I love it," Carlos says, his voice filled with emotion. He pulls Sofia into a tight hug. "This is one of the best gifts I've ever received. Thank you, my little artist."

The rest of the day is spent in high spirits. You all head out to the park for a fun-filled day of activities. Carlos and Sofia race their remote-controlled cars, laughing and cheering as they navigate through makeshift tracks. Later, you enjoy a picnic under the shade of a large oak tree, savoring the simple pleasures of being together.

You rest your head on Carlos's shoulder, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Carlos looks at you with love and gratitude in his eyes.

"This has been the perfect Father's Day," he whispers, kissing your forehead. "Thank you for making it so special. I love you both so much."

Lando

Father's Day morning starts with you and your son, Theo, preparing a fun and easy breakfast for Lando: banana pancakes with maple syrup and a side of fresh berries. After breakfast in bed, Theo excitedly announces he has a special surprise for Lando.

Theo runs out of the room and returns with a small, neatly wrapped box. Lando's eyes light up as he takes the gift from Theo's eager hands.

"Daddy, open it! I made it just for you! But mommy help me as well!!" Theo exclaims, his excitement palpable.

Lando carefully unwraps the gift to reveal a handmade keychain. The keychain is crafted from colorful beads and charms, spelling out "Best Dad" along with tiny race car and helmet charms. Theo had put his heart into making it, with your help guiding his little hands.

"This is awesome, Theo! I love it," Lando says, his voice full of warmth. He pulls Theo into a hug. "Thank you, buddy. I'll keep this with me always."

The rest of the day is filled with activities at Lando's favorite amusement park, where he and Theo ride all the roller coasters and enjoy the day to its fullest. Back home, you all enjoy a cozy movie night, snuggled up together, cherishing every moment.

Oscar

Father's Day morning begins with you and your daughter, Ava, preparing a simple but delicious brunch for Oscar: an egg omelette with spinach bell peppers onions and bacon with waffles and some turkey sandwiches cut into half’s with a fresh fruit smoothie. After the brunch, Ava eagerly announces her special surprise for her daddy.

Ava rushes out of the room and returns with a beautifully decorated scrapbook. Oscar's curiosity is piqued as he accepts the gift from his daughter’s proud hands.

"Daddy, we made this for you!" Ava says, her eyes sparkling.

Oscar opens the scrapbook to find it filled with drawings, photos, and little notes. Each page captures special moments they've shared: trips to the beach, family game nights, and candid snapshots of daily life. Ava had worked tirelessly on it, with your help organizing the pages.

"This is amazing, Ava. I love it," Oscar says, his voice filled with emotion. He pulls Ava into a hug. "Thank you so much, sweetheart. This is a treasure."

The day continues with a visit to a botanical garden, where Oscar and Ava explore the vibrant plants and flowers and even go into the butterfly garden. After that you guys go to a nice restaurant for dinner and go home ending the day with a lots of cuddles.

Sebastian

Father's Day starts with you and your son, Max, preparing a nice breakfast for him: honey and cinnamon pancakes with eggs, turkey bacon and fresh fruit. After enjoying the meal in together, Max reveals his special surprise for his papa.

Max runs to his room and returns with a large, carefully wrapped package. Seb's eyes twinkle with anticipation as he accepts the gift from Max’s excited hands.

"Papa, open it! I made it for you!" Max exclaims, his excitement evident.

Sebastian unwraps the package to reveal a handmade birdhouse. The birdhouse is painted in bright colors and adorned with tiny flowers and leaves. Max had spent countless afternoons working on it, with your guidance and support.

"This is wonderful, Max! I love it," Sebastian says, his voice brimming with pride. He pulls Max into a warm hug. "Thank you, my little craftsman. We'll put this in the garden together."

The rest of the day is spent outdoors, visiting a local farm and feeding the animals. Back home, they set up the birdhouse in the garden, watching for birds to come. The day concludes with a cozy evening watching The Incredibles 2, Max falling asleep in Seb's arms.

Jenson Button

Father's Day morning begins with the sun shining through the curtains and the soft sound of paws padding around the house. You and your two kids, Lily and Jake, are up early, ready to surprise Jenson with a day filled with love, laughter, and a few surprises from the whole family, including the dogs.

First, you all head to the kitchen to prepare a hearty English breakfast: baked beans, toast, and a selection of fresh fruits. The dogs, Storm, Rogue and Bentley, are excitedly wagging their tails, sensing the fun to come. You prepare a special dog-friendly treat for them to deliver to Jenson as well.

Once breakfast is ready, you and the kids carry the trays up to the bedroom, with Storm, Rogue and Bentley following closely, each with a small, wrapped gift tied to their collars. Lily and Jake eagerly climb onto the bed, placing kisses on Jenson's cheeks to wake him up.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" they exclaim in unison.

Jenson groggily opens his eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he sees his excited kids and the delicious breakfast laid out before him. "Good morning, my little loves. This is the best wake-up call."

As he sits up, Storm, Rogue and Bentley jump onto the bed, tails wagging furiously. Jenson laughs as he notices the gifts tied to their collars.

"Looks like even the dogs have something for you, Daddy!" Jake says, grinning.

Jenson unties the first gift from Storm collar. Inside, he finds a personalized mug with "World's Best Dad" written on it and a picture of Jenson with Storm, Rogue and Bentley. "This is fantastic! Thank you, Storm," he says, patting the dog's head.

Next, he opens the gift from Rogue collar. It's a new set of golf balls with "Best Dad" engraved on each one. "Wow, Rogue, you know me so well," Jenson laughs, scratching Rogue behind the ears.

Jenson unties a gift from Bentley's collar. Inside, he finds sunglasses with "JB" engraved on it. Jenson smiles and gives Bentley a big hug. "Thank you, Bentley. This is so nice."

"Now for our gifts!" Lily says, handing Jenson a brightly wrapped package. Inside, Jenson finds a handmade photo frame decorated with seashells, featuring a picture of the whole family from their last beach vacation.

"This is beautiful, Lily. Thank you so much," Jenson says, giving her a big hug.

Jake hands over his gift next, a Lego set to build The Millennium Falcon. "We can build it together, Dad!" Jake says, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Awesome, Jake. I can't wait to get started on this," Jenson says, pulling Jake into a hug.

The rest of the day is filled with fun and adventure. You all head to the nearby park with the dogs, where Jenson and the kids play catch, run around, and even try their hands at flying a kite. Roscoe and Coco have the time of their lives chasing after the frisbee and each other.

In the afternoon, you return home to make a special dinner together. You gather in the kitchen, setting up a pizza-making station with various ingredients. Each of you gets a dough base to create your own unique pizza.

Lily goes for a classic margherita with lots of cheese, Jake opts for a pepperoni and olive combo, Jenson decides on a prosciutto and arugula pizza, and you make a buffalo chicken masterpiece. Storm, Rogue and Bentley are given their own special dog-friendly pizzas, which they eagerly gobble up.

As the pizzas bake, the kitchen fills with delicious aromas. You all sit around the table, enjoying your creations and sharing stories. The evening is filled with laughter, as you recount the day's adventures and enjoy the warmth of being together as a family.

After dinner, you all snuggle up on the couch with the dogs, watching one of Jenson's favorite movies. Lily and Jake eventually fall asleep, and Roscoe and Coco curl up at their feet. You lean against Jenson, feeling content and happy.

"This has been the perfect Father's Day," Jenson whispers, kissing your forehead. "I love you all so much. Thank you for making today unforgettable."

Daniel

Father's Day morning begins with a mischievous plan you and your son, Jack, concoct to wake Daniel up in a way he'll never forget. The two of you tiptoe around the house, preparing for the grand surprise. You and Jack decide that a good old-fashioned prank will be the perfect way to start the day.

You both set up downstairs, positioning yourselves in the kitchen with a delicious vegan lunch waiting to be served. On the count of three, you and Jack begin to scream and shout, creating a cacophony of pretend chaos.

"Dad! Help! There's a huge mess!" you yell, adding to the commotion.

From upstairs, you hear the sound of Daniel springing out of bed and rushing down the stairs. He bursts into the kitchen, his hair tousled and eyes wide with concern.

"What's going on? Is everyone okay?" Daniel exclaims, looking around frantically.

You and Jack burst into laughter, unable to keep up the act any longer. Daniel's confusion quickly turns to a smile as he realizes he's been pranked.

"Happy Father's Day!" you both shout, grinning widely.

Daniel shakes his head, chuckling. "You got me good! Whose idea was this?"

You and Jack exchange glances and remain silent, trying to stifle your laughter. Daniel raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Oh, so you're not going to tell me, huh?" he says, moving towards you both with a mischievous grin. "Well, I guess I'll have to get the truth out another way."

With that, Daniel starts chasing you around the house. Jack squeals and runs, but Daniel quickly catches him, lifting him up and starting to tickle him mercilessly.

"No, Mom! Save me from the tickle monster!" Jack cries out between fits of laughter.

You stand back, laughing as you watch the two of them. Daniel’s infectious laughter fills the room as Jack squirms and giggles uncontrollably.

"Alright, alright! I surrender!" Jack finally manages to say, still giggling as Daniel relents.

As things settle down, you guide Daniel to the dining table where the surprise lunch is laid out: a colorful spread of avocado toast, quinoa salad, and fresh fruit smoothies.

"Happy Father's Day, love," you say, kissing Daniel on the cheek. "We thought you deserved a fun wake-up call."

Daniel smiles, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in for a hug. "You two are the best. This is perfect."

The rest of the day is filled with laughter and love. You spend the afternoon playing games in the garden, enjoying the beautiful weather and each other's company. In the evening, you all snuggle up on the couch for a cozy movie night, feeling grateful for the special moments shared together.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

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Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

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ink-splotch · 1 year ago

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I ran across your reply in a post about Pippin’s version of Edge of Night, about how it was originally a happy song and he changed the lyrics and key to be sadder. Could you explain where he changed the lyrics? I can find plenty of sources for the changed version, but not for the original. Thanks!

Sure thing! In the book, the full version of the song goes like this. Frodo and his buds sing it as they hike across the Shire, before any of the bad stuff has really gone down at all:

Upon the hearth the fire is red, Beneath the roof there is a bed; But not yet weary are our feet, Still round the corner we may meet A sudden tree or standing stone That none have seen but we alone. Tree and flower and leaf and grass, Let them pass! Let them pass! Hill and water under sky, Pass them by! Pass them by!

Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gate, And though we pass them by today, Tomorrow we may come this way And take the hidden paths that run Towards the Moon or to the Sun. Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe, Let them go! Let them go! Sand and stone and pool and dell, Fare you well! Fare you well!

Home is behind, the world ahead, And there are many paths to tread Through shadows to the edge of night, Until the stars are all alight. Then world behind and home ahead, We'll wander back to home and bed. Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, Away shall fade! Away shall fade! Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, And then to bed! And then to bed!

In Denethor's hall, in the movie, Pippin sings an adaption of that song. In Doylian terms here, Peter Jackson chose to change the words and tone; in Watsonian terms, which I much prefer in this case, Pippin took this fairly cheerful walking song that Denethor demanded of him and turns it into something befitting the world that Denethor is creating, allowing, and abetting in his realm:

Home is behind, the world ahead, And there are many paths to tread Through shadow to the edge of night Until the stars are all alight. Mist and shadow, cloud and shade, All shall fade, all shall fade.

Pippin first removes the section "then world behind and home ahead/we'll wander back to home and bed," which denies Denethor the comfortable hope and domestic happy ending he was demanding of the hobbit.

Then, with that removal, the lines of "all shall fade, all shall fade" do a very changed duty in Denethor's hall than the "away shall fade! away shall fade!" in the original. Instead of mist and shade fading, pushed back by fire and bread, by the comforts of home and a warm bed, the rendition in Denethor's hall rings melancholy and tragic-- the fading of good things, the fading of life, of homes and paths and light, of good men like Faramir.

Knowing the original, it's made all the more rich in meaning by Denethor crunching through his bread and tomatoes, at home in the seat of his power. This place, its fire and lamps, its meat and bread, its good men (cut to Faramir riding toward certain doom) -- they will fade under the coming shadow (Pippin even exchanges "twilight" for "shadow" in his off-cuff rewrite). Pippin is mourning them and trying to rekindle some of that sorrow and that horror in Denethor's heart.

He's been ordered to sing the cheery songs of his people to please the cold echoing hall of his freezing-hearted, fallen man -- and so he does, and he makes the song instead about the foregone fading of Denethor's house. Love it! A+ Peregrin Took.

#lotr #pippin #peregrine took

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sunflowersandsapphires · 26 days ago

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What Goes Up

Small Creatures, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt Murdock always assumed he’d never meet his soulmate. After all, who would want to end up stuck with a blind vigilante carrying enough baggage for a whole jet? Unfortunately for you both, his cursed love is closer than ever and determined to support him as his paradoxical life falls apart.

warnings: swearing, Matt being a grump, Matt doubting himself, mentions of canon typical violence, one very brief mention of vomit, fluff

a/n: HI EVERYONE! I am so sorry for being so absent this month. I dislocated my knee, spent 2 months getting a doctor to agree to fix my dislocated knee, and also bought a house. What a time. ANYWAYS here are two of my loves for you all to enjoy. This chapter is mostly Matt.

w/c: 4.1k

A soft breeze waltzed over your skin, making a skipping sound as it hopped around you. It whirled toward him, carrying the subtle powdery scent of your skin, the aroma left behind from various soaps and lotions.

It mingled with the smell of freshly cooked pasta, tomatoes and salt, the taste of potatoes bursting across his tongue. A source of deadly comfort, like the magnetic pull of unconsciousness when one is bleeding out. Warm and tempting–with a jagged, perilous edge.

Thudding steadily, your pulse looped through his ears. Too quick for his liking, but solid and real nonetheless.

“...did you feel it?” Your heart thumped consistently, providing a ticking rhythm underneath your question.

“Yes.” He murmured, in awe of your ethereal presence. Something about you seemed intangible and hazy, as if you were made of mist.

“So, that means we're...” Your pulse grew louder, booming in his ears as your body flooded with adrenaline. Inhaling sharply, Matt grimaced as the acrid taste of cortisol slipped beneath the weight of carbs on his tongue.

Across from him, you began to fold in on yourself, breath coming in rapid pants. Panic flared in his own chest. A shrill whistle somersaulted in his ears, piercing the soft tissue of his ear drum. The mouthful of pasta he had yet to swallow dissipated into tiny, ashen granules. As he took a harsh breath, his throat constricted, his lungs fighting for air.

“We’re…” You repeated, your mellow voice distorted by the thundering in your rib cage. With each sprinting beat of your heart, you trembled, bones rattling together like chattering teeth.

Someone was choking. He couldn’t tell which of you it was–too distracted by the sound of crackling, gasping breaths.

Continuing to hunch over, you backed away from him, afraid. The muscles in your legs creaked as you tensed up, desperate to escape him. Your terror was palpable, sticking to him with invisible barbs, forcing distance between you.

Oh Matty, He flinched as a gnarled hand gripped his shoulder. His former mentor’s hoarse, mocking tone freezing him in place. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Love is a death sentence, nothin’ more.

Warmth spread over his fingers as a thick, crimson liquid seeped toward him. He scrambled away from the slick puddle, angling his head away from the metallic smell as it drew tears from his eyes. The blood wasn’t his. It wasn’t his.

With a jolt, Matt erupted out of bed, a gurgling echo repeating in his ears. His lungs ached as he fought to catch his breath. Clenching fistfuls of silk sheets, he rested his forehead atop his knees, exhales coasting over the goosebumps dotting his flesh. With a shudder, he ripped free of the tangled blankets, toppling out of bed.

Water. He needed water. Something to clear the charred taste of blood and flour from his throat.

Dragging himself into the kitchen, he fumbled for a glass with clammy hands, nearly dropping it in the process. Pull yourself together, kid.

His teeth ground together in frustration as Matt tossed back a mouthful of lukewarm tap water, ignoring the horridly familiar metallic taste. Carefully setting the cup on his counter, his pinky brushed against the edge of a scrap of paper before he recoiled guiltily.

Your business card. Rather, the card you’d given him “in case he needed to contact you.”

In a moment of overwhelming optimism, he’d scanned the sliver of cardstock with a screen reader, noting the number on his laptop. After a drink, or three, he’d mustered the nerve to call. It was possible the voices in his head were blowing your reaction out of proportion and you truly wanted him to reach out.

Or so he’d hoped, until reaching an automated “out of service” message instead of a politely nervous photographer. Twice.

Slamming a thumb down to end the call, he’d hurled the card across the room, where it had fluttered to a halt on his kitchen counter. He hadn’t been man enough to truly throw it away.

Of course it was a fake number. You didn’t want him. Who on earth would ever want him? You felt obligated to thank a stranger because he’d saved you from serious harm. Isn’t that exactly what you’d said?

“I just wanted to show my appreciation for the other night.”

Matt should’ve known better than to let his hopes run wild.

Murdock men weren’t destined for love. They had the Devil in them, just like his grandmother always said, and there was no way anyone out there would ever choose the Devil.

Turning his palms to the ceiling, Matt squeezed his eyelids shut, hoping the motion would clear the disgusting gritty feeling he’d been battling for hours after the dream. Losing sleep always dried his eyes out, every blink irritating them further. Add another night without rest, and he started suppressing migraines. He was in for a treat this week, no doubt.

The solution was less simple than it seemed. He wasn’t choosing to lay awake for hours on end thinking about you. He’d much rather lose consciousness than relive the horrific sound of your voice cracking, your anxious pulse when he’d grabbed your hand without thinking. You were terrified of him. Rightfully so, he supposed. You’d had the misfortune of meeting him as Daredevil.

If things were different, if you’d met him as Matt Murdock, maybe it would’ve worked out. Maybe he could’ve locked the suit away, pursued another path. But that wasn’t God’s plan.

With an aching arm, Matt stretched towards his nightstand as he blearily fumbled for the compact plastic clock residing on it. Grasping it with one hand, he pressed the button along its side, grimacing at the mechanical voice that screamed back at him.

“SIX OH TWO A.M.”

A more reasonable waking time than when he’d checked two hours ago. Digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, he groaned as the muscles in his abdomen bulged against bruised skin. Dozens of broken blood vessels stretched with his torso as he sat up, protesting the whole way. He’d be lucky if he could walk without constant wincing. Foggy was going to kill him.

The short walk between his loft and the office cemented his sour mood. Navigating the city with a cane was frustrating on a good day–the infamous New York City apathy leading to people tripping over the thing, ramming into him from every direction, and screaming at him for using a mobility aid. Heaven forbid disabled people live in urban areas. Didn’t they know random Wall Street broker number 7 had places to be?

Gritting his teeth against every jostling movement and snippy comment, Matt nearly howled back when a massive dog tackled him against a shop window, barking angrily at him and slobbering all over his tie as the owner tried to pull the creature off his hips.

“He’s friendly, I promise!” She yelled over the deafening roar of the dog, dragging him away by the scruff of his neck.

Matt said nothing, stalking the final few blocks to their building, failing to ignore the ringing in his ears and lingering musk of the dog hair littering his shirt. Shoving at the exterior door with his shoulder, Matt narrowly avoided breaking his nose on the musty glass panel when the entrance refused to budge. Guess it was too early for maintenance’s opening shift.

Growling under his breath, he dug out his keys, unlocking the door hastily and stomping up the stairs.

Most days, stepping foot into the office filled him with a sense of pride. The ramshackle space was a representation of everything he’d accomplished, the payoff of years of hard work courtesy of both himself and Foggy. It wasn’t overly spacious. There was barely enough room for their daily onslaught of new clients–the excess body heat making the sputtering AC tremble with exertion. The suite was perpetually dusty and home to more than a few pests, but it was theirs. Most days, that was enough for Matt.

Today though, all Matt could focus on was the scent of mildew wafting up from the ancient carpet and the aggressive scrabbling of tiny claws in the building’s walls. Prying his tie from around his neck, he rolled his shoulders, collapsing into his second-hand office chair with a groan. Rifling through the files in his bag, he withdrew the flimsy folder containing their firm’s notes on an ongoing guardianship case.

This specific file wouldn’t lighten his mood in the slightest, but it had been nagging at him for days. The client had requested their assistance only about a week ago, looking for someone to help him revoke his court appointed guardian–his mother.

After an accident on the highway left him nearly entirely paralyzed, Mr. Sandoval had endured years of reconstructive surgeries and other invasive medical practices, unable to properly advocate for himself when his only known form of communication was ripped away from him. Contrary to the story his mother had pitched to the judge, he was capable of making his own decisions, he just required certain technological accommodations to speak his mind.

While under the guardianship of his mother, he was intentionally kept from any text-to-speech tools and subjected to emotional, as well as financial, abuse that his parent claimed was punishment for driving under the influence. Mr. Sandoval had been stripped of his autonomy and dignity because of a rushed court order and blatant ableism from the court officials. Matt and Foggy had readily agreed to represent him when he challenged the existing ruling.

But the case was proving to be more frustrating than they’d first imagined. None of the judges within the jurisdiction were willing to sympathize with someone who had committed what they deemed as an immoral act. The fact that he was not simply the cause but the only survivor of the crash always sealed his fate. Yet Matt was determined to keep trying.

Persistence was one of his few remaining virtues.

He was so engrossed in the paperwork, fingers flying over the lines of braille repeatedly as he grew more enraged, that he didn’t hear the office door open.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Came Foggy’s cheerful greeting.

Matt groaned in response, earning him a laugh. “I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. If you ended up in bed at all last night. Geez, Matt, you’re carrying a family of suitcases under those eyes.”

“Good to know.” Matt muttered, not moving from his hunched position. “I’ll get right on that.”

“You know, for a professional liar, you need to step up your fibbing game, Murdock.” His friend exhaled forcefully, planting two palms on Matt’s desk as he leaned forward. “You look like microwaved crap.”

Chuckling in surprise, Matt flapped a hand over his chest in feigned gratitude. “You really know how to boost a guy’s ego, bud. Really lifting my spirits here.”

“Stop deflecting.” Foggy hissed, his glare surely intense enough to drill two parallel holes in Matt’s skull. “How late were you out last night?”

And that was the other half of the issue. After failing to reach you and properly introduce himself, he’d been too busy spiraling to fill his best friend in on recent events. Now, so much time had passed that the omission seemed deliberate. If he asked Foggy for advice now, would their firm survive another argument about honesty? Matt doubted it.

He could still hear Foggy’s trust being torn to bits in his living room, the other man’s voice quivering with hurt and thinly veiled fury as he interrogated Matt.

“What the hell do I know about Matt Murdock?”

Letting Foggy assume he’d been losing sleep over crime in the city seemed less harmful somehow.

Shuddering against the crowning mass of guilt in his abdomen, he shrugged.

“Late.” His reply was clipped, anything beyond curt would give away the battle raging within him. “Didn’t mean to be, it just happened.”

At least that much was true.

“For fuck’s sake, Matt, you’re going to kill yourself gallivanting around in those stupid pajamas–”

“Not pajamas.” Matt interrupted, not bothering to hide his smirk when Foggy grumbled over him.

“Getting stabbed by whatever low lives are lurking in the shadows. And I’m, what, supposed to pretend you aren’t scaring the shit out of me?” Skin chafed along denim as Foggy’s hands landed on his hips.

Fiddling with a torn corner of the case file, he swallowed the lump crawling up his throat. “Foggy, I’m–”

“You’re not, Matt!” His partner exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air with exasperation and worry.

“Not what?” A second voice asked, the question light and curious, rather than filled with weeks of resentment and strife.

Both men whirled towards the open door in surprise, no doubt giving Karen an amusing spectacle, jaws dropping to the floor as they stared toward her.

“Uh–” Foggy blurted out, head swishing between the pair of them indecisively.

“Well..” Matt grimaced, threading his fingers into his hair as he desperately sought out a response. Unfortunately for his quick wit, exhaustion had coated his brain–the metaphorical wheels within screeching to a halt. Before he could even close his gaping mouth, Foggy had come to his rescue.

“Not letting me pay for coffee! Seeing as he totally foiled my plan to get here before both of you and hold my diligence over your head for the rest of the day.” Foggy sighed wistfully, no doubt dreaming of the high horse he wasn’t able to hop on.

Hands stilling over a line of text, Matt gave an exasperated huff. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“It’s been mentioned.” Foggy smiled, grabbing Matt by the elbow and towing him out of the office. “Karen, hold down the fort, will ya?”

Karen scoffed, slightly miffed as the two men made their escape. Still being dragged by the fabric of his shirt, Matt dug his heels into the gritty carpet, yanking free of his friend’s grasp.

“She’s not gonna just let this go, Fog.” Hand fumbling for the bannister, he began his trek down the creaky stairs, Foggy hot on his heels.

“Well considering that someone has a certain illegal alter-ego she can’t know about, I’m not quite sure what I can do to remedy that.” Foggy griped, footsteps harsher than normal as the pair descended to the lobby.

Matt’s teeth clenched together as the stiffness in his jaw grew increasingly tight. “I’m sorry, Foggy. Truly, I–”

“Yah, yah, you’re sorry. I got it.” Foggy snapped, whisking past him to open the lobby door. With a sigh, he extended his arm for Matt to grasp. “Just…promise me you’ll rest tonight? You and I both know it’s been quieter this month, and I’m not kidding, dude. You’re like a walking Ambien ad.”

Accepting Foggy’s elbow, Matt hummed thoughtfully. “For you, buddy? I’ll try.”

Matt was trying. He was.

In the interest of keeping his promise to Foggy, he’d planned on executing a quick loop around the kitchen before heading back to his loft to crash. Somehow, after his third useless tussle with a criminal, he’d actually followed through. Heaving trembling breaths, he stood on the roof of his building, rivulets of blood trailing down his limbs and onto the concrete at his feet. He had no idea if the crimson liquid was his or someone else’s. Probably both.

Cool air coasted over the tip of his nose, making his nostrils flare with a sigh. The tiny reprieve from the sweltering heat made him sink to the ground, following the trail of air desperately. His knees collided with concrete, sending a tremor through his bones. Head swimming, he flattened his palms along the rough surface, clenching his jaw against the roiling nausea in his stomach.

The Kitchen hadn’t been too active tonight, his last wild goose chase ended with him landing a well-aimed punch into a drunk man’s uneasy stomach, causing the guy to spill his guts across the pavement and Matt’s shoes. He’d have to throw this pair out. No amount of detergent or vigorous scrubbing would remove the scent of partially digested alcohol from the tightly woven fabric. Letting his own bile escape his sealed mouth would certainly not help the issue.

Swallowing roughly, he inhaled a slow breath, the devil whirling amidst the chaos within him. Starving for a fight, for a chance to be set free. Every cell within him was wound too tight, the primal need to unleash something strangling him, exacerbating the pounding in his head and sloshing in his gut.

On days like these, he missed her. His other half. The only person to witness his rage and accept it wholly, not shying away or asking him to dampen it. In fact, she encouraged it. Taking him to Fogwell’s, begging him to throw a punch her way, to surprise her.

That night in the ring, he’d shown her his mark. After they’d sparred–and practically devoured each other–during the brief moment of peace, he’d revealed the one thing he managed to keep from his childhood. And, with a kiss, Elektra had told him they were soulmates.

She believed it, too. At least, that’s what her heart had told him–so Matt was willing to do anything to stay with her. Indulge her every whim. Fail his classes and abandon his future if he had to, anything for her.

But it wasn’t enough. She still left. They always did. Whatever demon the clergy had failed to exorcize when he was a child had matured, mutated. Dripping fangs and barbed claws whirling around within him. Insatiable. Pushing her away.

She’d abandoned him. Leaving him alone, like his mother had his father. It was almost poetic, the way he followed in his dad’s footsteps.

His mother. His father. Stick. Elektra. Foggy had returned for now, but Matt would inevitably lose him and Karen too. Everyone he’d ever loved, gone because he was too much to bear.

A monster, a martyr, a pariah.

Nobody feels sorry for you and nobody ever will. Stick’s nasally voice taunted him, dancing around his head when he desperately shook it. He was wrong. Foggy and Karen cared. They did.

You sure about that, kid?

With a deep growl, he drew back a fist, driving it into the pavement. Knuckles quivering upon impact, he curled his other hand, mirroring the motion. The noise of the city faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. Hit after hit landed on the stagnant target, scraping away layers of skin and testing the strength of his bones. Without realizing it, his mouth opened, a barbaric roar tumbling from his vocal chords until they ached.

Relationships are a luxury men like you and me can't afford.

Stick was wrong. He had to be.

Hazy memories flowed over him, like a shallow current of water he was face down in, seeping into his mouth and lungs–ridding them of breath. A brief glimpse of his father’s smile, the feeling of a hand vigorously ruffling his hair. The press of plush, warm lips against his as a whiff of jasmine perfume made heat coil in his gut. The cool, clammy exterior of a beer bottle in his grip as Foggy and Karen bickered good-naturedly across the table.

You’ll be the death of ‘em, Matty. Every one of ‘em.

His cry dwindled to a rasp as the scent of copper slid over his tongue, his blood staining the cement as the skin across his knuckles split. Heaving breaths shook his torso, pained whines shuddering through him as he crawled towards the half-wall, sinking against the cool brick.

It was all too much. The blaring horns and the stifling heat and the musty scent of half-charred cigarettes. The pulsating weight in his sinuses and the sharp tang of lingering vomit spilled over his shoes. The frustrations of a difficult case and a failing justice system, only made worse by sleep deprivation and overstimulation. He wanted it to stop, all of it. Just one moment where the world wasn’t turning and time wasn’t passing and he was allowed to catch his fucking breath. To exist without feeling like a goddamn burden. To love and be loved without it feeling wrong and full of tension.

His shoulders bumped against the stiff surface he had propped himself on, trembling with the movement of his lungs. He couldn’t quite tell if he was laughing or crying. Did it matter anymore?

The stern voice of his former mentor struck him like a branding rod.

Never were strong enough, were you?

His meaning was left unsaid, though Matt heard it anyway. Not strong enough to keep his mind from unraveling. Not strong enough to be a soldier for his war. Not strong enough to keep him around–not strong enough to keep anyone around.

Fists clenching against the despair building in his chest, he tilted his head up towards the heavens, silently begging for guidance. His prayer was rewarded by a pelting droplet smacking his forehead. Pure, untainted water began to weep from the sky, slinking through the seams of his suit and crawling over his skin. The moisture soaked into the suit, forcing the material to cling to him forcefully.

A hand flew up towards his chest as it clenched painfully, his breaths became shallow and quick, as if his body had forgotten how to process oxygen. He couldn’t do this anymore.

Staggering for the door to his loft, he heaved the slab of metal open, cringing as it slammed closed behind him. The suit was ripped off, piece by never-fucking-ending piece hitting the floor of his place with an echoing slap. Finding them all again would be tedious, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. As his thick-soled boots finally left the staircase, touching down on the floorboards below, his mind was buzzing as it tried to sort through the dozens of stimuli.

The static of a TV blaring through a busted speaker in an apartment down the hall.

The piercing scream of a baby being sleep trained a few blocks away, apparently not ready to self-soothe.

The patter of an anxious heartbeat darting past his window, the thrum mingling with the pounding rain. Familiar and absolutely haunting.

A pained cry escaped him, hands whipping over his ears as he tried to drown it out. He needed to focus on something else, anything else.

But it was too late. As if he’d been teleported back to that moment, he once again stood before his soulmate as she agonized over their bond. It didn’t matter that he was crumpled in a ball on the floor of his loft, he could still hear that same tuft of air careening toward him, carrying the scent of powdery soaps and saline. It mingled with the acidic smell of tomatoes draped over pasta, the taste of potatoes lingering on his tongue. Tantalizingly warm and comforting, but cursed all the same.

Your hesitant pulse looped through his ears, matching the one scurrying down the block. Too quick. Far too quick for his liking, but no longer solid or real. A figment of his imagination, taunting him with a life he’d never live.

“...did you feel it?”

This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t with you. Your heart wasn’t convulsing wildly, supplying a horrifying rhythm beneath your question.

“Yes.”

Only God could judge him for speaking the words aloud. He was too desperate to keep you near, to hold onto the last remaining sliver of your ethereal presence. You were fading from his grasp, falling through his outstretched fingers like grains of sand.

“So, that means we're...”

He braced himself for impact, for the booming stream of beats exiting your anxious heart. The same soundtrack that had been interrupting his sleep at night because he was practically sick from the crippling guilt and his own pathetic misfortune.

Instead of growing louder, saturating his brain until he could feel each contraction of your heart, your pulse began to fade–as if…

Gritting his teeth, Matt straightened his posture, trying to pinpoint the sound. It took a moment, his exhausted brain sorting through each stimuli like a slug sorting rocks, slowly and inaccurately. Eventually, he found it–a few blocks away now, accompanied by stifled sobs and shallow breaths as the person darted through an entryway.

This wasn’t a memory, this was real.

Unless Matt had lost the final ounce of sanity he’d managed to cling to all this time, it wasn’t some random woman barreling down the streets of Manhattan, just out of his reach. It was you. And every bone in his body was convinced that something was very, very wrong.

Taglist: @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @yarrystyleeza @sarahskywalker-amidala @lotrefcp @silas-aeiou @harleycao

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spicyclover · 7 months ago

Text

In a haze

Summary : In the car, there are millions of thoughts that pass one after the other. The brain accumulates and releases at hundredths of a second all the information we need to be good drivers. However, sometimes it happens that the information never comes back and we are lost in this infinite mist.

Request

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

WARNING : mention of crash | lose of consciousness

The humidity is at its peak. Singapore is really one of the most physical races. The overwhelming and stifling heat prevents the brain from accumulating air properly. I already regret leaving the refrigerated hospitality to join the garage. I meet some fans on my way and I stop to take some pictures.

I am quickly escorted out of the crowd. I run to join the others to start the parade. I regroup with the two Ferraris and Max who discuss qualifications. I am P8. I could have had more, but a moment of distraction made me lose seconds in a corner. I smile at Charles and shake Carlos’s hand. I'm sweating in my team gear, it's really the worst. The Ferraris boys are not better, Charles is red as a tomato and Carlos look like he's going faint any second.

In the distance, I see Daniel. He is in a corner, his headphones on his ears. He has his face of concentration. He's cute, makes him look more serious. Since the beginning of the year, he hasn’t smiled as much. He’s not the same as before. He gradually realizes that his days are numbered in this sport and it scares him. I understand that feeling. I am the only woman on the grid and at my first mistake, I have a horde of men wanting to replace me with their macho and sexist criticism. Daniel raises his head and crosses my eyes. A smile expands on my lips and he seems to relax.

With the parade over, I return to the garage for the final preparations. I visualize the race in my head. I review the turns, the areas of acceleration, the areas of deceleration. I calculate the pressure of my tires and I look at the temperature one last time during the race. Filling my brain with all this information helps me not to be overwhelmed by pressure. I relativize and focus on the fact by what can happen.

It’s already time to get in the car. As always, the pressure goes up and I feel like my head is going to explode. I get in the car. I put my helmet on. When the helmet goes on my head, I no longer calculate what’s around me. Everything around me gets foggy and only my car counts. I hear my engineer in my ear and listen to the instructions.

The journalists and the teams leave the track. The crowd is on fire. I allow myself to look around. Oscar is on my right at P7. Lando is P6 ahead of me. Behind me is Daniel P10. The light turns red and the formation round begins. Max starts the pace. I warm up my tires and check my brakes one last time. I barely have time to think that the finish line is in front of me again. I install the single-seater in my starting lines and I prepare myself.

One. My pulse begin to quicken. Two. I'll move faster and faster, the fan roaring beside me. Three. My thoughts begin to wash away in a cloud of wind and dust. Four. The crowd thunders. Five.

My hands release the brake and I press the accelerator. The first corner comes quickly. I find my line among all the cars and I concentrate. The first few cars slow down and I’m right behind. I start turning the wheel. The next few seconds freeze in time. My brain tries to interpret what is happening before my eyes, but I can’t. I feel the back of my car rising in the air. In a straight perpendicular line, all I see is black and white asphalt. I let go of the steering wheel and the barrels start. My body is wandered from left to right in the car and I try to maintain myself. All this happens in seconds before I crash into the security fence.

I hear his laugh. I look up and he is in front of me, his smile bigger than the sun. I chuckle before I tongue him. I get up and start running to the ocean. He rushes after me. I peek behind me and he’s already behind.

"It’s not fair," I said, with a sulky pout. "You’re faster than me." He grabs my face in his gigantic hands and kisses me. I try to resist, but these kisses are magical that I can’t keep acting. I surrender to these lips.

"I am a high performance athlete, athletes speed." I laugh and I push him away a little. He loses balance and leads me to his fall. The fine sand is quickly encountered and my eyes get lost in his. I remove some rebellious streaks from his face. He meddles his fingers between my hair and he passes them behind my ears. "You’re beautiful." I pouffe before I kiss his lips again to silence him.

I’m back in the car. I fainted. Oh no, I lost consciousness. My vision is blurry and my ears are ringing. I try to straighten my head to look around, but I can’t. I feel like my heart is in my brain. It’s pounding and I can barely breathe. I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I can’t react. Gradually my vision darkened again.

"I don’t want us to hide anymore," whispers Daniel.

The night is cool and we’re in our hotel room in Los Angeles. This is the first time that we meet after weeks of meeting at the bend of an evening or a race. We have been living in this secret relationship for a few months now and I must admit that it is happiness. I like to find it even for a few moments, but it is true that with each separation, they become harder. I smile as I relax my head.

"We have no choice." I say, slowly fading away in my sleep.

And it’s true, we are stuck in this spiral of PR. Being the only woman on the track, I have to be attractive to the male fans. A girl in a relationship is not interesting. I hate every day since this phrase came out of my manager’s mouth. What do I give a shit about male fans? I’m not there for them, or thanks to them. I long to make a big finger in all this, but the more I think about the consequence and the more it scares me.

I am transported out of my car, I distinguish the lights of paramedics who check the dilation of my pupils. I blink and red and white flashes pass in front of my eyes. The ambulance. My helmet was removed. I don’t remember much. They talk to me, but I can’t tell the words. Everything is confusing. Yet, this hand I know. It’s his. Daniel. My eyes are frantically searching around me and I finally see him. He too has crashed. I don’t have time to think more than the paramedic pulls it out of my hand and takes me in the ambulance to the nearest hospital.

The hours that follow are a perpetual blur. I get lost in the dozens of exams and questions I am asked. I answer as best I can, but I get tired and I ask him to be beside me. I whisper his name between my lips. Many hours have passed. My senses come back little by little and I hear again the noises that surround me. I hear the beep of the machines, I hear the nurses who pass by the door of my room. I hear the television on, but I can’t understand the words. Most importantly, I hear his voice. He’s there with me. I painfully open my eyes. In the first place, everything is blurred. I can only see the light, but very quickly my vision clears and I can look at his face.

"I am so sorry, my love. I am terribly sorry." He whispers repeatedly, my hand in his.

"Hey, stranger." I say in a hoarse voice. I feel like I’ve been smoking for forty years with that voice.

"Y/n!" He cries while looking up. "You are awake."

"You didn’t think you’d get rid of me like that." I said with a laugh. I try to move to get up, but my body hurts. I moan and Daniel looks at me worried. "What happened?"

"We crashed into each other… I ran into you by accident. The car behind me didn’t brake and I was right in your corner. You rolled, I thought I’d lose you." He chokes a sob before he takes over." You landed in the safety gate and the race was paused for a long time. I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t go on without knowing if you were okay." He caresses my hair tenderly. I feel the pain in his voice and it hurts me.

"You disqualified yourself for me?"

"For you? Always." I smile and reach for him. I grab the top of his neck and our lips meet. Our kiss lasts a few minutes. We enjoy the present moment and the presence of the other. "Just to let you know, but I may have told everyone about our relationship and the media is crazy about it."

"What?" I write to myself as I step aside. What did he do? He didn’t… Oh no!

"We’ll talk later." He kisses me again with a smile. "You need to rest and heal."

"Dan…" I try to argue, but he won’t let me continue.

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #car crash

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strawberrystepmom · 7 months ago

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umemiya and tv meteorologist f!reader are both in their mid to late twenties. cw food mentions. divider by cafekitsune, wc 2.2k

“And today’s skies are going to be sunny as ever, a little bit warmer than we usually see seasonally…”

Hajime raises his eyebrows at the TV, the sound of your voice gradually fading into nothing more than background static mixing with the sounds of cicadas indicating one hot summer is due to make its arrival sooner rather than later. He sighs and presses the back of his hand against his forehead, droplets of sweat soaked up by his gardening glove.

“A bit warmer?” He mutters to an audience of himself and his carefully cultivated plants he has spent years growing, most of the current crop shoots off of prior plants he painstakingly tended rather than from seeds.

It takes a long, long time and a lot of effort to build a community garden this elaborate but it has been time well spent as far as Umemiya is concerned. Tomatoes that are available for anyone who needs them will be abundant in approximately a month and so will cucumbers.

His official title in Makochi is Community Organizer though almost everyone knows the truth at this point - he’s still the man in charge of Bofurin. The young men who didn’t leave the town as soon as they graduated continued to follow Hajime’s lead to become upstanding members of the community, even if the means they keep themselves upstanding are a little questionable at times.

Your weather forecast ends and he flips the TV off, trimming the last of the small leaves sprouting off of the stem of his largest tomato plant and gently misting them to ward off this heat.

He’s still stuck on how you said it’s only slightly hotter than what tends to be seasonally normal, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. It clings to his body when he stands, emblazoned with the slogan of some bar he went to years ago in another prefecture, and looks around the garden with a smile. Inspecting each plant with careful precision, he notices the heat already scorching a few of his smaller plants and he simply cannot stand for it.

You say it’s warm when it’s hot, it’s gonna drizzle when it showers. It’s down right deceptive and for someone who takes his role as Community Organizer very seriously, he can’t stand for it.

When he gets home, he’ll send a letter to the local news station declaring his distaste with the inaccurate weather report.

—-

“You got another one.”

Fumi, one of the producers for the morning show, tosses an envelope on the corner of the newsroom that belongs to you. You have various charts and schedules you’re reviewing, glasses propped on your nose. You give the envelope a scant glance out of the corner of your eye until realizing that you recognize the tidy handwriting on the front of the letter.

“This is like the fourth one he’s sent,” you mumble to no one in particular and Fumi hums, pursing her lips.

The weather girl, as they’ve dubbed you despite your official title of a meteorologist, receives enough fan mail no one really fights for the job of delivering it. Sometimes it’s professions of love or letters expressing thankfulness for predicting good weather on an important day in someone’s life, other times the letters are less wholesome but you take it all surprisingly well.

This is just the fourth letter you’ve received from Hajime Umemiya and part of you is concerned it’s somewhere between love confession and threat of violence. You know nothing about the sender, a man you’ve never met before and likely never will, but his letters don’t carry the vaguely threatening aura some of the others you’ve received have. You simply haven’t had a chance to open them yet, the other three stuffed inside of your desk drawer.

“If we need to tell security, let someone know.”

Fumi’s words are half hearted in tone but you know she means them, walking off with a half wave and toward the producers booth. You glance at the letter again, plucking it off of your desk and slapping it against the palm of your opposite hand to make sure nothing is inside of it besides the letter itself.

When you’re satisfied that there is no mysterious, worrying rattle inside the envelope you slide your fingernail beneath the seal, loosening the paper. The letter inside is folded a little haphazardly, the edges lopsided instead of folded neatly and exact which makes you smile to yourself. Unfolding the paper, you scan over the opening.

“Dearest Weather Woman,

I hope that this letter finds you in good health.”

The formality makes you snort to yourself and you glance around the newsroom to make sure no one overheard you, uninterested in drawing a crowd, and you wonder if this guy read a book or searched for an article about writing formal letters before doing this. It’s so formal you’d be concerned where it came from if it weren’t from the slight smudges of ink dotting the paper in various locations.

“I am writing as a concerned member of the Makochi community who does not always find your reporting of the weather conditions to be accurate.”

Sighing, you drop the letter down on your desk and open the drawer beneath it to pull out the other three letters this concerned citizen has sent, following the same steps and smacking them against your palm to ensure nothing is inside of them. You unfold them quickly and far less carefully than the first one and smile when scanning and realizing they all say the same thing.

“My tomatoes are scorching this early in the season. This may gravely affect our output which may prevent our community from enjoying our garden.”

If the letters seemed less earnest, you’d laugh them off and scoff at the fact a stranger wants you to control the weather. That isn’t what he’s asking you to do but if it were, it’d be far from the first time someone has sent you psychobabble about the sun. There’s something distinctly responsible in the wording of these complaints despite their formality and you sigh, digging your own pen and paper out to respond.

What can you even say? “Sorry the planet is heating up” seems snarkier than you’d like to be so you twist back and forth in your chair, tapping the pen against your lower lip. An idea washes over you and you lean forward in your chair, bending over your desk and scribbling as quickly as you can to offer the stranger your solution.

If he wants to know more about how weather works, you’ll be glad to tell him more yourself if he can catch you at Café Pothos next week when you get one of your pre-show coffees. Scribbling down the date and time, you wonder for a moment if you are taking a risk by offering your time and location to a man you’ve never met but your gut tells you it’s okay. You’ve always trusted it and you stuff your response into an envelope, licking the seal and closing it while dashing off toward the mailroom to have it sent today.

——

Wednesday, 5:45 AM.

Hajime sits boredly at one of the small booths in the cafe, idly tearing bits of his straw wrapper into smaller bits and even smaller ones still.

“What if she’s lying to you and you’re going to get caught on camera being weird or something?” Kotoha shouts from behind the bar and the man sucks his teeth in response, blowing out air in a hiss. “I hope not. That wouldn’t be very nice after personally inviting me to meet.”

His words don’t belay his anxiety but he feels it, concerned his well meaning letters crossed a line though your response was kind and similar in tone to his own. Your letter is in his pocket, he likes your handwriting and has to fight the urge to keep from pulling it out to admire it.

“Good morning!”

He recognizes your voice from your broadcasts and his ears perk up, posture straightening as he looks over the back of the booth, surprised by how put together you look despite not being quite TV ready. Your face looks fresh and mostly makeup free, hair pulled off of your face with a clip. Kotoha looks up from the bar and smiles at you, clearly familiar.

“Morning. Your usual?”

Very familiar, obviously. Hajime raises a brow and looks at his own mug, filled to the brim with coffee he knew he wouldn’t drink when it was poured. He watches you and Kotoha exchange pleasantries, your cat shaped coin purse open as you fish out the last few needed to pay for your drink. Maybe he should have offered to do that for you? It’s too early in the morning for him to feel sure of himself so his eyes flit from your back to the table in front of him.

He isn’t much of a black coffee guy but it seemed right preparing for some kind of strange business meeting to have it. At least that's what he thought until you approached him, cup clanging against the plate beneath it and the brim of it overflowing with whipped cream. Shaking his head, Hajime picks up his own cup half heartedly and sips from it to make it seem like he is doing anything besides waiting.

You stop in your tracks just short of the booth and tilt your head, a smile far bigger than the one you wear on TV crossing your face.

“Oh, I didn’t recognize your name but now that I see your face I remember you. My colleague Jin interviewed you last year about the improvements to the school.”

Umemiya completes your sentence for you and smiles easily back at you, sitting back against the booth. You smile nervously all of a sudden, crowding into the side opposite him and bowing your head respectfully, the mountain of whipped cream on top of your coffee drooping when you set the cup down.

“Umemiya, right?”

The man nods, sipping the bitter coffee from the mug in his hand with a slight grimace that you politely do not mention.

“Hajime is my first name and you’re welcome to use it if you’d like.”

Giggling, you nod and reach for your own cup, delicately lifting it to your mouth and humming your approval as the taste officially starts your morning. He chuckles in response, blue eyes glancing across the table at you with a look you can’t quite name but you think it may be good old fashioned curiosity.

Truthfully, he’s just a little taken aback by how pretty you are up close but he sips his coffee again instead of opening his mouth. You finish your sip and clasp your fingers together on the table in front of you with a grin, easy and natural.

“Well, Hajime, before we begin I just want to let you know that while I am sorry about your tomato plants, I am not a witch and cannot control the weather.”

The sweet smile on your face lets him know you’re joking and he raises his brows, sighing and shaking his head. The corners of his mouth are upturned in a clever smile matching his own and he glances up at you through thick and long lashes, one of his brows remaining raised.

“With all due respect, tell that to my tomatoes.”

Snorting before bursting into laughter, you don’t bother to hide your face in your shoulder when he laughs along with you. You didn’t notice it when you first sat down but he’s extraordinarily handsome even for the predawn hour, white hair flopping over his eyes far more boyishly than it should be allowed to. His eyes are blue and lively, not unlike the skies you love to report on so much, smile big and bright.

“Anyway,” you finish laughing and clear your throat, still smiling. “Now that we have that out of the way, it’s really nice to meet you and I’m here for any questions you may have. We have thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes hardly seems like enough time to ask everything he wants to but he sits back, gently turning his wrist and making the coffee in his mug slosh gently. You giggle again, a very sweet sound that almost throws him off of his coffee twirling flow, lifting your own mug to your mouth.

“Why does it rain?”

Despite yourself, you laugh and rush to swallow your mouthful of coffee, wiping the corners of your lips free of any potentially embarrassing dribbles.

“I’ll need a lot longer than 30 minutes to explain that to you, Hajime.”

He wrinkles his nose, looking around the empty coffee shop.

“Then tell me what you can today and maybe we can meet again tomorrow?”

Mentally, you go over tomorrow’s schedule which coincidentally is the same as today and every day’s, and you nod at him with a loud exhale through your nose.

“Sure. Then maybe you can relay the info to your tomatoes so they can prepare?”

He grins at you, laughing from his chest. The depth of his laughter makes his shoulders gently shake, the long sleeved he wears shirt buckling over his chest.

“Yeah, I think they’d enjoy that.”

#umemiya x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #wind breaker x reader #kendall writes

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estrellami-1 · 1 year ago

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If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

Steve blinks at him like he’d forgotten he was there. He gestures at Steve’s head. “Concussions?”

“Oh,” Steve says, like it’s obvious. “Yeah. I got hit in the head, like, four times.” He tilts his head, thinking. “Was it?” He asks rhetorically. “Jon clocked me first, then the Russians and Billy. And I don’t think the last time counts as a concussion, really, but in Lover’s Lake? When the bats dragged me through? I definitely hit my head. And there was the choking happening too, which definitely didn’t help.”

He shrugs, like he’s counting something inconsequential, like sticks, instead of brain injuries he’s had. “So, like, three and a half.”

Again, what the fuck.

He says so out loud, and Steve just shrugs. “I mean, I’m okay. I was okay, even, I just had to learn how to do things differently.”

Eddie looks at Steve like he’s crazy. He’s starting to think he is. “You’re talking about brain injuries. Life-changing injuries that, if you didn’t take care of them, could be life-threatening.” He shakes his head. “How are you not wrapped in bubble wrap twenty-four seven?”

“I’m fine,” Steve stresses, “and it’s a moot point anyways, the concussions are gone, so it doesn’t matter.” He sighs, shakes his head. “Anyways, how far are you on the song?”

“Oh, right! I’m having a little bit of trouble on this one part, but I should have it mostly down by the end of the day.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Incredible.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly defensive. “What?”

Steve blinks at him. “What? I mean it. I think it’s really cool how you can do that. And to be able to learn an entire song in a day especially. Not to mention one that sounds as challenging as that one does.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, desperately hoping he’s not blushing. Based on past experiences, though, he thinks he’s probably about the shade of the tomatoes Steve’s slicing. “Thanks.”

Steve smiles at him, closed-lip but no less real, and Eddie escapes out to the living room.

“Eddie!” Dustin says, motioning him over. “Okay, look. The Upside Down, right? And Eleven’s basically got True Sight. She can see anything that’s happening down there. So why not use her as a lookout?”

Eddie raises a brow. “You mean besides the fact that using her powers drains her, and we might need her for the final boss?”

“Oh,” Dustin says, disappointed. “Right.”

Eddie ruffles Dustin’s hair and sits down, studying their papers. “I think you’ve got the right idea,” he tells Lucas. “They said these things are vulnerable to fire, right?”

“Right.”

“There’s this book I read called Fahrenheit 451 about firemen who actually started fires, instead of put them out. Think about the trucks you see, right? With the big hoses? Imagine fire instead of water. Or even just some kind of flammable liquid that we could light quickly. If we can concentrate the jet enough to not worry about spraying everything-”

“We spray what we want and light the suckers up,” Mike finishes, grinning.

“Exactly,” Eddie agrees, pointing at him. “The trouble comes when we start thinking about all the little drops that land everywhere, not where we want them. Water mists everywhere. If there’s a solid-enough line of mist from the fire back to us, we’re in trouble.”

“So hairspray,” Dustin says. “Aerosolize it. Put it on a long hose with a long tube, far away from us, and mist everything we want to mist.”

“And wind?” Eddie asks. “If it blows back in our faces…”

“Right,” Dustin nods.

Lucas looks between them and sighs. “Steve!”

“What?” Steve calls back from the kitchen.

“Is there wind in the Upside Down?”

Steve walks out, frowning. “Wind? Not that I can remember. Why?”

Lucas grins, first at him, then at the guys gathered around the table with him. “I think we have an idea.”

Steve catches Eddie’s eye. “You’re helping?”

“Trying to,” Eddie shrugs, stretching as he stands. “Trying to get them to think outside the box in a different way.”

Steve grins, nods, and disappears back into the kitchen, coming out less than a minute later with a platter of sandwiches. “The rest of planning can wait until after dinner,” he tells them. “And thank El, she helped.”

A chorus of “Thank you, El,” rang from the table, and Eddie snags a sandwich before stepping back to where Steve is. “Thanks,” he murmurs, taking a bite. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but whatever happened during those four years in the future… I think it might’ve changed you for the better.”

Steve grins at him. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy @paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #eventual steddie #if I should stay #yalllllll we’re about to get Into It 👀#eleven hopper #yall I love her #eleven and steve #starambles

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shiroi---kumo · 2 months ago

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☁️🌫️ + worst nightmare you've had?

"Ever since the ritual, I keep having this reoccurring dream about Pilvi falling into a coma again and not waking up. Even if the Celestial Mother did accept him, even if he's awake now and doing fine - that brainless puffball is still my little brother and I told them all Pilvi wasn't worth the risk of their stupid ritual. I don't care that it all went "well". Pilv' was out for three days and I thought I lost him. He's my best friend, what am I supposed to do without him?

I can't lose my little brother, I just can't. They're all too worried about the prophecy and their precious holy savior to see him for what he is. Yeah he's white as fucking snow but he's still a normal person like the rest of us. He's still my brother. So if Pilv' - if snowflake went down again .. I don't - I don't know what I'd do. It scares me to think about."

#v; the child of white || before the fall #guest muse: usva / kiri #ask || inquires of the mist #anon || voices on the wind #topic: a prince's life #topic: akai kiri #// thank you anon i need more usva in my life #// i love writing him so much #// he's one of my favorite people to write #// god i love him so much #// tomato brother how i adore you #// he's like 17 right now

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simpjaes · 1 year ago

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can I get some hyung line rimming…giving/receiving, I’ll take whatever u give me🫶🫠

the time has...cum

warning: fingers are put inside the hole sometimes too, mentions of anal penetration via cock. some members give, some receive >:D

note: omg look!!!! *points so you look somewhere else as I run very terribly out of the room and trip over my feet*

Heeseung: receiving & giving

based on my notes, if this man happened to run across a video accidentally of a man getting his ass ate........and if he accidentally paid very close attention to how much said porn man enjoyed it, he probably wouldn't be quiet for long about it. Not only does he want to see what all the fuss is about after the next accidental 38 videos he stumbled across, but he would also be interested to see if you would enjoy it too.

Given, Heeseung has never eaten ass nor had the hole eaten himself but the idea doesn't scare him in the slightest. After all, he prefers to have his face sat on, thighs blocking his ability to think or breathe. It was really just....natural for him to suggest it to you over a tuesday afternoon lunch at your local grocery store.

"Hey, I've been thinking," He starts, eyeing over shelves of misted red tomatoes and only avoiding eye contact because he knows the way you're gonna look at him will probably drive him up a fucking wall. He loves when you quirk a brow, smirk, and curiously inspect him. "Have you ever considered like, you know, rimming?"

You don't even pause, knowing well enough that when your boyfriend has a thought, he's gonna share it with you. How long he's been thinking of it is beyond you, but still.

"Hm?" You want him to repeat it as you feel the firmness of the tomatoes and choose to move forward down the line of vegetables. "Why?"

"Well--" He pauses, tucking his hands into both pockets and balancing on his heels before leaning forward again. "It looked...nice."

"You want me to eat you out?" You ask, glancing to him and noting how warm and cozy he looks in that huge sweater.

"I'd return the favor, you know?" He chuckles when he says it, pretending that a woman didn't just stroll by with four kids in tow, knowing that if he isn't careful that might end up being you someday.

"Yeah?" You pause, suddenly excited with the idea as all of those tiny little fantasies of wanting to pleasure him in ways that doesn't involve having his cock bumping the back of your throat or fucking up against your ovaries. "You'd let me?"

You'd argue that the way he nods seems a bit too excited, but it's Heeseung, and he's always excited to try something new, even more excited to return the favor.

Having your boyfriend face down ass up is....something. You didn't quite expect it to turn you on as much as it does. With him pressing back against your face, hands reaching behind his back to search for a grip against your head just to try and bury your tongue deeper into him.

You can't help but moan with him. Each sound muffled against the pillows drives you further, each stutter of his body when you lick in a way that's particular good to him.... it's flooring. He's such a pleaser, but you really never noticed how much he needed to be pleased sometimes too, and god is this the best way you could imagine. He's clean, hole warm and pulsing around your tongue in the most inviting way.

Part of you wonders if this is how he feels when he's moving his tongue between your lips and fluttering against your hole. It's almost mathematical in the way you're thinking, eating him out in the same way you love to have done to yourself, and then....oh, and then.

"More," he hiccups out with a deep breath, smothered by the pillows that are keeping him grounded. "deeper."

You chuckle against him, feeling him pulse at the thoughts he's having, feeling his press back again, and again, and again until you grant him a single digit right up against your warm tongue.

He shivers so prettily, skin showing you without his intent that he loves it, that he loved that, the feeling of the tip of your finger entering into him alongside your tongue.

Honestly, giving to a giver is the best course of action most of the time but this. God, seeing him like this, warmed up and nearly melting against the bed at your will... it's somehow different than other times. When you're on top of him, or even when he's on top of you, you're always the one with control. You control him, but this time....you really control him.

You can tell by his incoherent babbling, you can tell with the way he rides against your single finger the same way you do to him.

And when he does eventually release, cock untouched and sandwiched between his belly and your plush blankets, you watch the lights leave his eyes when he sits up. He's gone. His pupils very nearly resemble the shapes of a heart when he looks at you drowsily, unaware of the dribble of spit running down his chin at his intense orgasm.

You don't know how he does it, flipping you over and offering you that same pleasure, but fuck he always knows what you want by body language alone, and he always manages to give you that and more.

Sunghoon: giving

You thought he was shy. you thought he was a guy you could bring home to momma and she would see him glowing in innocence.

Well, that was absolutely not the case upon finally admitting your feelings to him over a drunken facetime call. That was last week, and by now he's asked for a minimum of fifteen photos of your naked body, wet or not, in public or not, solely for his own satisfaction.

Safe to say, the Sunghoon you once liked is now six feet under and this new, cocky version of him has taken over. And you know what? You'd be fucking stupid to complain, because the way he beckons you at the slightest twitch of his own length tells you that he wants you too.

You would've been too shy to tell him back in the day how often you thought of him holding your legs, spreading them wide, and taking you as he pleases. You knew that Sunghoon would never. That Sunghoon would have wanted missionary with the lights off and socks on.

This Sunghoon is.......better. Why? Because the whiplash he gave you was wet.

You could imagine, shy little Sunghoon, complimenting how that dress looked on you, then going home to fuck his fist with thoughts of ripping it off of you. Saying he liked how you worse you hair that one day, but the image in his head definitely was him guiding you by that hair to hold you down, wanting to feel your throat restrict around him.

So yeah, maybe, the feelings got stronger. And yeah, maybe you send him pics every time he asks, and YES, you absolutely give in when he's finally got you under him for the first time, licking you like he'll never taste anything again.

You can feel his hands gripping your legs, his tongue seeped into you to the point that the slick between your legs is nothing but hot arousal. Surely it's all he can taste, and he loves it. It drives him, and it drives him, and fucking drives him.

You're melting and he knows it by the sounds that bubble up and out of those pretty lips alone.

"Mhm?" He mumbles against you, tongue flicking and playing against your lips.

You nod aggressively, running your fingers through his hair and trying your very best not to ride up against his face. You're sure he wouldn't mind but good lord, it's your first time with him and you refuse to look desperate.

For him, though, that's no fun. Your shaking legs are enough for now, but when he flicks his gaze up, seeing your chest heaving in that held breath you're refusing to release....

He moves lower,

lower,

lower.

You yelp at the feeling of a hot and wet muscle prodding against an area that you've never let anyone explore.

He hums at the way your legs shoot around his head, the way your fingers grip his hair to try and pull him up. No, no, no. That sound you made was a sound of pleasure, your embarrassment won't stop him from enjoying every part of you.

"Sunghoon," You warn in a moan, still trying to wiggle away from his grasp.

He tightens that grasp though, prodding his tongue against you once again before pulling back not even a full inch to speak.

"Relax, you'll love this."

Somehow, his words hit you harder than his tongue did when it first flicked your clit. Every word seeming like a spell in your head that you...agree with entirely.

He feels your body relax, granting him the ability to skew his head, to place one hand at your thigh to spread your legs, and the other to part your ass cheeks so he can look at the tightest hole you have to offer to him.

"So pretty," He mumbles before licking over your hole and pulling back after feeling the initial pulse. "Your body wants it as bad as I do, I think."

You scoff out a displeased moan, and he loves it. Hums into it even, prodding his tongue immediately into you to feel just how tight it really is.

Your legs tremble at the feeling, at the image of him between your legs, and most of all, at the fact that Sunghoon wants you in general.

You melt again, feeling him explore and love every second of it. Your mind is blank, but your voice still rings for him in a way that only encourages his arousal to take hold. All the way until his length is practically begging him to stretch you open and show you what it's really like to have your holes played with by him.

Jake: receiving 100% and receiving

Oh god, oh fuck. He didn't even bring it up to you, and yet you still have him gripping onto these sheets for fucking mercy with the way you fuck your tongue into him.

He's so in love with you. It's always been something he's wanted you to try on him, and while he did hint the past three times he did it for you, he didn't expect you to jump into it like this.

He can't think, he can't breathe. Every muscle in his body is tensed up to focus on the spot where your tongue smooths over his twitching and needy asshole. He could die.

"Babe, you--" He groans, rutting forward to try and escape the embarrassing amount of overstimulation his cock feels for just simply existing. "You don't have to keep--"

You ignore him, gripping his ass and spreading his cheeks so that you can tilt your head just to lick into him at a different angle. You're sure that'll shut him up.

Except, it doesn't.

His body lifts, and you follow, paying close attention to the way he positions himself on all fours knowing you'd follow.

The sound of his fist hitting the base of his cock is melodic. He must be leaking pathetically if this alone was enough to have him whining the same way he did when you overstimulated him at this year's Halloween party. Poor guy came all in his pants, trying to keep a straight face and everything.

Now though? He's not keeping a straight face. And thank fuck for that mirror that lets you see him when you lift for a breath.

He's feeling euphoria, all because you're playing with his tight little asshole, and you really can't help but wonder just how far he'd let you take this.

"Jake," You pull back in a breath, noting how his hand only goes faster against his cock to compensate for the loss of sensation against his hole. "Is my tongue enough?"

He freezes, he pulses at your words.

You chuckle softly, smoothing over his hips with your palms as you wait for him to answer.

"No." He whines, uncaring of how pathetic and broken he sounds already.

"Mm, You could have mentioned this you know," You smile, already gearing up to slide your fingers closer to his point of focus. "We could've bought toys for this or something."

He groans in response, a tint of blood flushing across his cheeks and ears, you can feel the wave of warmth running through him almost, it's radiating.

"You know better than anyone that I'd do anything to have you acting like this." You smile, slowly slipping not one, but two fingers into him. And only because you know it's what he would want. He likes the slight amounts of pain, and this will surely have him floating.

And god, does it.

Toys. They are officially needed to satiate not only your needs, but his now too.

Jay: giving, would receive but like only if you're like madly in love with him and he's satisfied with the amount of you he's tasted. bc let's be real, he wants to consume u whole.

It was...something. Your boyfriend consistently and constantly wanting his hands in your pants. His lips against your skin, his tongue out and pleasuring you at any given second.

Only because, well, his pleasure for you is so well received. If you didn't moan the way you do when he touches you, he would think it could be game over. He tries so hard, he wants you to feel good so badly, that like, of course when your moans fade into inaudible breaths, he panics. He's a little...pissed, actually.

So much that he'd do just about anything to have you believing only he is good at navigating your body. So much that, yeah, maybe he would take control for a split second to pull his cock out, bend you further over this counter, and fall to his knees.

Which, well, he does.

You don't even realize what's happened before you try and turn your head to look behind you.

There, a mess of hair wildly moving against you, and the feeling of his tongue desperately searching for a pleasure you've yet to feel from him, or anyone else for that matter.

Your knees fall together, and he smiles to himself as he tries his best to get you to moan for him again.

"Jay..." You trail off in a half-panicked voice. "Hold on."

He does not. He would never. Instead, he sinks his tongue into you, moving a hand forward and instantly plunging two fingers into your emptied and neglected pussy.

He can feel it yearn for him, but what he needs is for that mouth of yours to say it.

"Jay!"

You feel his laugh against you while his fingers slide at an awkward angle inside of you. Both pleasurable, but you don't feel full like you did minutes before.

Little do you know, he wants you to take, take, take. He wants you to be desperate for it, he wants you to be vocal.

He's getting exactly what he wants. That whiny little voice, unsure of if you want him to keep doing this, or stand back to his feet and render you entirely speechless again.

You're reeling, of course. This is....new. This is....good.

"Say my name again," He comments against you, holding his fingers inside of you and simultaneously running his tongue gentle along your puckered, clenched asshole. "It feels so good when you say it."

God, his friends would laugh at him, knowing that he could get off entirely on your voice alone. He doesn't care right now, being pathetic and in control is something that he enjoys just as much as he likes getting off.

You do as he asks, because of course you do. Feeling the new sensations paired with the gentle fullness? God, you could turn around right now and take him for all he's worth.

The reason why you're not? Because you know it's what he wants, and sometimes seeing that sexy shit eating grin on his face makes you want to scream.

And you know he likes that. The only way to make moments like this last is to........not give in.

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