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mrsfancyferrari · 22 days ago

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Hey I hope you've having an amazing day/evening/night. This is my first time requesting something😅, and I was wondering if you could possibility write something like what you did with my type but the reader having natural auburn curly hair, with freckles thinking that she's not his type or something along those lines.

Gold in Snow

Summary: you and lando are in a relationship but you're reserving hate comments about you being a ginger, with freckles because the fans don't think you're his type

Song: Golden Hour · JVKE

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Another podium finish for Lando, another shower of champagne soaking his expensive suit. You watched from the relative calm of the garage, a small smile playing on your lips.

He looked genuinely happy, and that, more than anything, made the constant noise and pressure of Formula 1 palatable.

You’d been dating Lando Norris for almost a year now. A year of stolen moments, whispered secrets in hotel rooms, and navigating the chaotic whirlwind that was his life. A year of pure bliss…mostly.

The “mostly” came in the form of comment sections. Forums. Twitter threads dedicated to dissecting every pixel of your existence and comparing it to the accepted prototype of a WAG – Wives and Girlfriends – in the F1 world.

You were… different.

They’d say it with a thinly veiled, almost clinical detachment, but the message was always the same: you didn’t fit. You were too… ginger. Too freckled. Too… you.

The ginger part bothered them the most. Lando was a global superstar, practically sculpted from marble, with a smile that could melt glaciers. He was everything they wanted him to be: conventionally attractive, charming, and effortlessly cool.

And you? You were… well, very, very pale. Your hair was a fiery halo, and your skin was dotted with a constellation of freckles that bloomed fiercer in the summer sun.

“He likes the exotic look,” one comment had sniped. “She’s probably got a killer tan when she’s not hiding in the shade.”

You’d chuckled then, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach your heart. Exotic? You’d spent your life battling sunburns and jokes about having no soul.

And killer tan? Honey, you burned so fast, lifeguards would start applying sunscreen just by looking at you.

You tried to ignore it. Lando certainly seemed to. He showered you with affection, praised your quick wit and sharp mind, and constantly reminded you how beautiful he found you, flaws and all.

But the insidious comments burrowed under your skin, planting seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to weed out.

You saw him heading towards the garage now, adrenaline still buzzing through him. His eyes found yours, and that signature Lando grin spread across his face. Your heart did that familiar little flip.

“Hey!” he said, pulling you into a hug. He smelled of champagne and victory. “Did you see that last overtake? Unbelievable!”

You laughed, burying your face in his still-damp fire suit. “Yes, I saw it. You were amazing, as always. Just try not to spray me next time, okay?”

He pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You seem… quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. “Well, we’re flying back tomorrow morning. We can just chill in the hotel tonight. Order some room service, maybe watch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, meaning it. Just the two of you, away from the cameras and the judgment.

That night, as you lay in his arms in the dimly lit hotel room, the familiar ache in your chest returned. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were somehow… undeserving.

“Lando?” you whispered, the sound barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled into your hair.

“Do you… do you ever read the comments? About us?”

He stiffened slightly. “I try not to. You know how toxic that can be.”

“But you do read them, right? Sometimes?”

He sighed, a heavy sound that vibrated against your chest. “Okay, yeah, sometimes. But I don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just… noise.”

“Noise that says I’m not good enough for you.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours in the dimness. “What? That’s ridiculous. Who says that?”

“Everyone. Online, anyway. They don’t think I’m your type. They think I’m�� too ginger. Too freckled. Too… plain.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. “Hey. Look at me. You are absolutely stunning. Inside and out. You are intelligent, funny, kind, and you have the most beautiful smile in the world. And yes,” he added with a mischievous grin, “I also happen to think your hair is gorgeous, and your freckles are like little constellations scattered across your skin. They’re unique, just like you.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “But they say…”

“They say a lot of things. People are always going to have opinions. But their opinions don’t matter. Only mine does. And I think you are perfect.”

He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, tender kiss that chased away the doubts, at least for a moment.

But even as you melted into him, a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of your mind: He’s just saying that. He has to say that.

The knot in your stomach tightened with each passing day, each new photo plastered across social media. You and Lando, laughing at a restaurant, holding hands at the airport, just being normal.

What shouldn't have been a cause for concern, was. It should have been a happy bubble of romance, but it was quickly becoming a breeding ground for anxiety, a place where your insecurities festered and grew.

Because under each picture, nestled amongst the supportive comments and heart emojis, they lurked. The whispers, the not-so-subtle digs.

"He could do so much better." "She's not even his type." "Another generic influencer." And the worst of it? "Ginger + Freckles = No."

You knew it was irrational. Lando loved you. He told you every day, showed you in a million little ways, from the way he held your hand to the way he looked at you with genuine adoration.

But the internet had a way of burrowing into your brain, planting seeds of doubt that blossomed into thorny vines. You found yourself scrutinizing your reflection, picking apart every freckle, every strand of your fiery hair.

Was it too much? Was it enough? Were you enough?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lando's voice startled you, pulling you back from the precipice of your spiral. He was standing in the doorway of your shared flat, his racing helmet tucked under his arm, a familiar mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Just thinking about this weekend," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Excited for the snow."

"Me too! Max and Steve are already counting down the hours. You're coming to the slopes tomorrow, right?"

You hesitated. "I… I have something I need to do in the morning. I'll meet you guys up there later, okay?"

Lando frowned, his blue eyes searching yours. "Everything alright, love? You seem a bit off."

"I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just… a doctor's appointment. Nothing serious. I'll explain later. Promise."

He didn't look convinced, but he knew better than to push. "Alright. Just text me when you're on your way. Drive safe.”

He kissed your forehead, the warmth of his touch a brief comfort against the chill that had settled within you and left.

The next morning, the drive to the snow mountains felt endless. Each mile was another step closer to the potential storm brewing in your head.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous, that you were letting faceless strangers dictate your feelings. But the seed of doubt had been planted, watered, and was now taking root.

When you finally arrived at the ski resort, the crisp mountain air did little to soothe your nerves. You walked into the reception area, the scent of pine and hot chocolate thick in the air.

"Name?" the receptionist asked, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

"It's… uh… Y/L/N, party of Lando Norris."

The receptionist's fingers clicked across the keyboard, and she looked up, a polite professional smile gracing her lips. "Ah, yes. Mr. Norris's party. You're all set. Here's your lift pass. Your equipment rental is just through those doors. Have a wonderful day."

You collected your ski boots and poles from the rental shop, the familiar weight grounding you slightly. You'd been skiing since you were a kid, practically born on the slopes.

It was one of the few places you felt truly free, truly yourself.

You strapped on your skis and headed towards the main lift, scanning the crowd for a flash of Lando's familiar McLaren Racing beanie or the boisterous laughter of Max and Steve.

The lift carried you higher and higher, the view expanding to reveal a breathtaking panorama of snow-covered peaks and pristine valleys.

For a moment, the internet, the comments, the doubts, all faded away. You breathed in the crisp air, feeling the thrill of anticipation course through you.

As you reached the top, you spotted them. Lando, grinning and waving, Max, already carving down the slope with reckless abandon, and Steve, carefully navigating the beginner trail.

You took a deep breath, pushed off, and let gravity do its work. The wind whipped through your hair, the sun glinted off the snow, and for the first time that day, you felt a genuine smile spread across your face.

You were good. Really good. You weaved and turned, carving graceful arcs in the powder, your ginger hair a vibrant streak against the white landscape. You glided past other skiers, feeling the rush of adrenaline as you navigated the slopes with practiced ease.

You found yourself on a black diamond run, moguls stretching out before you like frozen waves. This was where you belonged, where you felt alive. You took a deep breath and launched yourself into the challenge, navigating the bumps and dips with precision and skill.

Suddenly, you heard a whoop of excitement and a familiar voice. "Wow, check out the ginger ninja!"

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple of guys, clearly impressed by your skiing skills.

You grinned, threw them a wink, and continued your descent, the compliment a small spark of warmth against the doubt that still lingered.

The crisp mountain air bit at Lando’s cheeks, painting them a matching shade to the gaudy orange ski suit Max insisted he wear. He shifted his weight from one ski boot to the other, impatience radiating off him in visible waves.

He’d been waiting at the base of the slope for what felt like an eternity. Max was already halfway up the mountain for his third run. Steve was content to nurse a lukewarm hot chocolate and offer unsolicited advice on Lando’s form, despite the fact Lando hadn't even put his skis on yet.

"She's taking her time," Steve commented, taking another careful sip. "Probably intimidated by the black runs."

Lando rolled his eyes, though fondness softened the gesture. He knew you weren't intimidated by anything. This was more than likely your first time on the slopes, so you were probably taking it easy.

You were a natural athlete, thriving on competition, but you’d also confessed, with a sheepish grin, that skiing looked deceptively easy on TV.

He was about to tell Steve as much when Steve suddenly straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, there's your girl!"

Lando spun around, instantly forgetting the cold, the wait, and Steve’s irritating commentary. He searched the throng of skiers snaking down the slope, his heart doing a little skip. And then he saw you.

You moved with a surprising grace, your skis carving effortless arcs in the snow. Sunlight caught in your fiery red hair, turning it into a cascade of glittering copper. Each freckle seemed to dance on your skin, illuminated by the mountain sun.

He knew, objectively, that you were beautiful. He saw it every day. But seeing you now, flushed with exertion and radiant with joy, took his breath away.

He froze, utterly captivated, as you approached. You navigated the final stretch with smooth confidence. “Show off,” he muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You slowed to a stop, kicking up a spray of snow just inches from his boots.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, laughing. You pushed your goggles up onto your forehead, revealing eyes the color of warm honey. "Sorry! How long have you been waiting?"

Your cheeks were rosy, your breath misting in the cold air. Lando stared, speechless.

"Baby? What's wrong?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern. You reached out, your ungloved hand gently touching his cheek. The cold stung, but he barely noticed.

He swallowed, his voice a low rasp. "You're beautiful."

The words were a whisper, almost lost in the wind. He hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly, so…exposed. But the sight of you, framed by the snow-covered peaks, had rendered him incapable of coherent thought.

Your eyes widened slightly, and a blush bloomed on your cheeks, a delicate counterpoint to the healthy glow of the mountain air. "Lando," you said softly, "you okay? Are you coming down with something?"

He blinked, shaking himself slightly. "No, I'm fine. More than fine, actually. You just…you look incredible."

Steve coughed pointedly beside him. Max, having apparently teleported from the top of the mountain, snickered. Lando shot them both a warning glare. They knew how self-conscious you were, especially around his racing colleagues.

The comments section of his social media had been a cesspool ever since you two became public. Hateful words about your appearance, thinly veiled as concerned opinions that you weren’t “his type,” were a constant, ugly background noise.

He knew it bothered you, even though you tried to brush it off with a laugh and a casual, "Haters gonna hate." But he saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes when you thought no one was looking.

He hated those comments, hated the people who wrote them, and hated that they had the power to make you feel anything less than extraordinary.

He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Ignore them," he said, his voice firm, his gaze locked on yours.

You looked confused. "Ignore who? Max and Steve?"

"Everyone," he said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Anyone who makes you feel like you're anything less than perfect. Because you are. Perfect. Just the way you are."

The blush on your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head slightly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "You're sweet," you mumbled. "But I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

"Good," Lando said fiercely. "You're mine. And that's all that matters." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, ignoring Max's exaggerated gagging noises.

He pulled back and met your gaze, his expression serious. "Listen to me. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not beautiful, or that you're not good enough, or that you don't belong. Because they're wrong. They’re absolutely, unequivocally wrong. You’re amazing, inside and out. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re fiercely intelligent, and yes, you’re unbelievably beautiful. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you."

A tear, born of emotion and the biting wind, escaped your eye. "You're going to make me cry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Good," Lando said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Let them see you cry. Let them see how real and how beautiful you are. Don't hide anything. Don't let anyone dim your light."

He knew his words were bold, maybe even a little cheesy, but he meant every single one of them. He wanted you to know, deep down, that he saw you, truly saw you, and that nothing anyone said would ever change that.

Max, surprisingly, had stopped snickering. He clapped Lando on the shoulder. "Alright, mate, enough with the declarations of love. Let's hit the slopes. Before I get frostbite."

Steve nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Lando. You can gush later. Right now, let’s see if your girl’s got what it takes.” He winked at you. “No pressure.”

You smiled, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Pressure is my middle name," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's go."

Lando grinned, relieved to see the familiar spark back in your eyes. He squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.

He watched as you adjusted your goggles and clicked your poles into the snow. He felt a surge of pride watching you. He knew the comments would still be there, lurking in the shadows of the internet, waiting to pounce.

But he also knew that you were strong. You were resilient. And you had him.

He grabbed his own skis, a newfound confidence coursing through him. He would protect you, always. But more than that, he would celebrate you, every freckle, every fiery strand of hair, every brilliant facet of your being.

As you pushed off, gracefully navigating the gentle slope, Lando felt a lightness in his heart that had nothing to do with the altitude. He knew, without a doubt, that their love story was just beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

He followed you down the slope, his orange ski suit a beacon against the white snow. He caught up to you easily, skiing alongside you, matching your pace.

"So," he said, grinning mischievously. "Think you can keep up with me, ginger?"

You laughed, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the mountains. "Try me, Papaya boy."

And with that, you kicked it up a notch, leaving Lando in your snowy wake.

He laughed, his heart soaring.

He pushed off, determined to catch up, knowing that even if he never did, he would be perfectly content just to chase you, forever. . . .

The papaya coloured dress hung on you, a vibrant splash of sunshine in the sterile white bathroom. It was Lando’s favourite colour, or so he claimed. He said it reminded him of McLaren, of speed, of… you.

But all you could see in the mirror was a canvas of imperfections.

Your reflection stared back, a stranger dissected and judged. The fiery red hair, usually a source of pride, now felt like a neon sign screaming "OUT OF PLACE."

The constellation of freckles scattered across your nose and cheeks, tiny sun-kissed stars Lando often traced with his fingertip, seemed like blemishes, flaws magnified under the harsh bathroom light.

The original plan, a simple elegance of no-makeup and loose waves, lay discarded. You'd envisioned a carefree evening, a confident entrance with Lando by your side.

Now, the thought of facing the public, the prying eyes, the inevitable whispers, felt like climbing a mountain of anxiety.

Social media had been a minefield lately. Ever since your relationship with Lando Norris became public, the comment sections had become a breeding ground for toxicity. Most were overwhelmingly supportive, celebrating your love.

But a persistent undercurrent of negativity gnawed at your confidence. The "fans," or rather, the internet trolls masquerading as them, were relentless.

“She’s not his type.”

“He could do so much better.”

“Ginger? Really? He's lowering his standards.”

The worst were the comments picking apart your appearance. The freckles, the hair, the perceived lack of "glamour." They painted you as an anomaly, someone who didn't belong in Lando's world. It was absurd, of course.

Lando loved you for you. He told you every day. But the insidious nature of online hate was that it seeped in, whispering doubts in your ear when you were most vulnerable.

Tonight, facing a McLaren party filled with glamorous personalities and industry insiders, the doubts had reached a crescendo. You grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, dabbing at the corners of your eyes, fighting back the overwhelming urge to cry.

The reflection in the mirror blurred, the colours swam, and the vibrant papaya felt like a mocking reminder of everything you weren't.

That’s when you heard the familiar click of the front door.

“Y/n?” Lando’s voice echoed through the house, a warm, comforting sound that momentarily cut through the anxiety clouding your mind.

Panic seized you. You couldn't let him see you like this, a mess of insecurities and mascara-smeared cheeks. You needed to compose yourself, to build up a façade of confidence before facing him.

Quickly, you turned the small lock on the bathroom door. The click was loud in the sudden silence.

“Y/n?” he called again, his voice closer now. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just… just getting ready,” you managed, trying to inject a lightness into your tone that felt utterly fake. Your voice wavered, betraying your true state. “I’ll be out in a second.”

You heard him pause outside the door. “You sure? You sound… different.”

He knew you too well. He always did. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears away. “Just a bit of a headache. Nothing serious.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken concern. You could almost feel his presence on the other side of the door.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But don’t rush. I’m happy to wait. Do you want me to get you some water?”

His thoughtfulness, his unwavering care, only made the guilt swell inside you. He was so genuine, so supportive, and here you were, hiding from him, consumed by the petty insecurities fueled by strangers on the internet.

“No, I’m fine,” you insisted, a little too quickly. “Just… give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Alright,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. You heard him move away from the door. “I’ll be in the living room.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning against the cool porcelain of the sink. This couldn’t go on. You couldn't let these hateful comments dictate your life, dictate your relationship.

Lando deserved better. You deserved better.

Taking a deep breath, you turned on the cold tap, splashing water on your face. You grabbed a towel and gently patted your skin dry, removing the remnants of your almost-attempted makeup.

You looked at yourself again, really looked.

The fiery hair, the freckles, the flaws… they were all part of you. They were what made you unique, what made you you. And Lando loved you for it. He saw beauty where others saw imperfections.

He saw strength where others saw vulnerability. Why were you letting the opinions of anonymous strangers outweigh the love and adoration of the man you adored?

You let out a shaky sigh, a weight lifting from your shoulders. It wasn't a complete cure, the insecurities wouldn't vanish overnight, but it was a start.

With newfound resolve, you took another look at the papaya dress. It shimmered under the light, a vibrant symbol of sunshine and joy. You smoothed the fabric down, a small smile gracing your lips.

You unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out.

Lando was standing in the living room, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as you entered, his face immediately lighting up. He was wearing a simple dark suit, impeccably tailored, but it was the genuine warmth in his eyes that truly caught your attention.

He took a step towards you, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. The smile widened.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice laced with admiration. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You blushed, the compliment genuine and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

He closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, tracing the familiar pattern of your freckles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “You seemed a bit… off earlier.”

You hesitated, the urge to brush it off still lingering. But you knew you couldn't hide from him. He deserved the truth.

“I… I saw some comments online,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “About… about me. About not being ‘your type.’”

His expression darkened, his eyes hardening with anger. “Don’t you dare listen to those people, Y/n,” he said fiercely, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

“They don’t know anything. My ‘type’ is someone who is kind, intelligent, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. Someone who makes me laugh every single day. Someone who challenges me and supports me, even when I’m being an idiot. That’s you, Y/n. That's always been you."

He paused, his gaze searching yours, making sure you understood the sincerity of his words.

"And as for the… the physical stuff," he continued, his voice softening again. "Your hair is the most beautiful shade of red I've ever seen. Your freckles are like little constellations, guiding me through the darkness. And that little dimple you get when you smile? Drives me absolutely crazy."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough, Y/n. Because to me, you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude, of love.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I love you, Lando,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his jacket.

He held you tight, his arms a comforting embrace. “I love you too, Y/n. More than you know.”

After a long moment, you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you.

Lando was right. You couldn't let the negativity of others define you. You had his love, his support, and that was all that mattered.

You looked at him, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Ready to go to this party?"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. And just so you know, I'm planning on spending the entire night showing you off to everyone. They need to see how lucky I am."

He took your hand in his, his fingers interlacing with yours. As you walked out the door together, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The haters could say what they wanted. You had Lando, you had your love, and that was more than enough. The papaya dress suddenly felt like armour, not a target.

You were ready to face the world, hand in hand, imperfections and all. . . .

The party was exactly what you expected: loud music, flashing lights, and a sea of familiar faces from the F1 world – drivers, team principals, engineers, and their partners.

The sheer volume of people made your anxiety prickle, but Lando kept a firm grip on your hand, navigating you through the crowd.

He introduced you to what felt like a hundred people, his arm possessively around your waist, his smile beaming. You tried to focus on the conversations, to be witty and engaging, but the whispers seemed to follow you, phantom echoes of the comments haunting your mind.

“Lando’s with her?”

“She’s… different.”

“Not exactly what I expected.”

You squeezed Lando’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself. He seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, his attention solely focused on you.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the music.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s… great.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching. He knew you better than anyone, and he could see the forced cheerfulness masking your discomfort.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “If you want to leave, we can. We don’t have to stay here.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here. With you.”

He smiled, relieved. "Okay, but seriously, if you change your mind, just say the word."

Just then, a tall, lanky figure approached, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Lando! Mate, good to see you.”

“Oscar!” Lando clapped him on the back. “Good to see you too. Oscar, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar offered you his hand, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You shook his hand, trying to gauge his expression. Was there judgment there? Pity? You couldn’t tell. “Likewise, Oscar. Congratulations on your season so far.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile genuine. "It's been... interesting, to say the least." He paused, then gestured to a woman standing beside him. "And this is my girlfriend, Lily."

Lily stepped forward, her smile warm and inviting. She had kind eyes and a simple elegance that immediately put you at ease. "It's lovely to meet you, Y/N. Lando talks about you all the time."

You blushed, glancing at Lando, who just winked. "All good things, I hope?"

Lily laughed. "Of course! He's completely smitten."

The four of you fell into easy conversation, discussing the season, the pressures of being in the spotlight, and the challenges of maintaining relationships in such a demanding environment.

You found yourself relaxing, the tension slowly draining away. Lily was refreshingly down-to-earth, and Oscar, despite his reserved demeanour, had a dry wit that you found endearing.

As the conversation flowed, you noticed Lily subtly steer the topic towards your interests, asking about your work, your hobbies, and your passions.

She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, not just as Lando’s girlfriend, but as an individual.

“So, Y/N” Lily said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “Lando tells me you’re a writer? That’s fascinating! What kind of writing do you do?”

“I dabble in a bit of everything,” you replied, feeling your confidence grow. “Short stories, poetry, some freelance journalism. It depends on what sparks my interest, really.”

“That’s amazing,” she gushed. “I’ve always admired people who can write. It’s such a powerful way to express yourself.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “It is. I’m useless at it. Give me a steering wheel any day.”

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, your earlier anxieties fading into the background. You were having a genuine, enjoyable conversation, with people who seemed to genuinely care about you.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise. “Lando, darling! There you are!”

A woman, dripping in diamonds and designer clothes, glided towards you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe with blatant disapproval. You recognized her as the wife of a prominent team principal, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper judgment.

Lando’s smile faltered slightly as he turned to face her. “Genevieve, good to see you.”

She completely ignored Oscar and Lily, her gaze fixed on you. “And who is this, Lando? A new… acquaintance?”

You felt your cheeks flush, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. You knew what was coming.

Lando’s arm tightened around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “This is your girlfriend? How… interesting.” Her tone dripped with condescension. “Well, congratulations, darling. I’m sure you’re very happy.”

She turned back to Lando, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lando, darling, you really could do so much better. Don't you want to think about your image?”

You felt your heart sink. This was it. The moment of truth. You braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of negativity.

But then, something unexpected happened. Lando’s eyes flashed with anger, and his grip on your waist tightened protectively.

“I’m perfectly happy, thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “And Y/N is more than enough. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

He turned his back on the woman, effectively dismissing her. He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, still reeling from the encounter. “Yeah,” you mumbled. "I'm okay

Lily stepped forward, her expression fierce. “Honestly, some people are just ridiculous,” she said, her voice laced with scorn. “Don’t let her get to you, Y/N. She’s just jealous.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got nothing better to do than spread negativity. Ignore her.”

Lando squeezed your hand. “They’re right. Don’t let her ruin your night.”

You looked at them, at Lando, at Lily, at Oscar. You saw genuine support, genuine kindness, genuine acceptance. And suddenly, the weight on your chest lifted. The comments, the whispers, the judgment – they didn’t matter.

You had people who loved you, who supported you, who valued you for who you were, not for who the internet thought you should be.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not going to let her ruin my night.”

Lando grinned, relieved. “That’s the spirit. Now, how about we get out of here and go somewhere more… private?” He winked suggestively.

Lily laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Oscar, you’re driving, right? I’ve had one too many cocktails.”

As you walked away, hand in hand with Lando, you glanced back at Lily and Oscar, a warm feeling of gratitude washing over you. You had found unexpected allies, people who saw past the surface and appreciated you for who you were.

You were still an outsider, still a ginger with freckles, still not “his type” according to the internet. But tonight, surrounded by love and support, you didn’t care. You had Lando, you had friends, and you had the courage to be yourself.

And that, you realised, was more than enough. The papaya dress no longer felt like armour, but a symbol of your strength, your resilience, and your unwavering commitment to being true to yourself.

You were you and you were happy. . . .

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername and 867,879 others

landonorris

Happy anniversary to my beautiful girl. Two years. Two years of laughter, adventures, and learning to love you more fiercely every single day. I know the internet can be a dark place, especially for someone as radiant as you. Don't listen to anyone who talks about you bad, especially those whispering nonsense about "types." They see a snapshot; I see the whole damn masterpiece.

Your fiery hair is sunshine on a cloudy day, each freckle a tiny star mapping out the constellation of my heart. They don't see the intelligence that sparkles in your eyes, the quick wit that keeps me on my toes, or the unwavering kindness you show to everyone you meet. They don’t see you. You are everything I could ever want, and more than I ever deserve. So, happy anniversary, my love. Let's keep painting our world with joy, ignoring the noise, and celebrating the beautiful, unique you. I love you more than words can say. ❤️

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pseudowho · 1 year ago

Text

The JJK Crew as Firemen

Okay lads and gentlebugs, it's damsel time! This is how they meet you, rescue you, and fall in love...all in their fully uniformed line of duty.

Starring: Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Ino, Megumi, Yuuji, Higuruma, Sukuna and Toji

Warnings: Building fires, road traffic collisions, suicide attempts, injuries, earthquakes, floods, wildfires, near-drowning, Ferris wheels, highly irresponsible use of fire-trucks

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Gojo

Satoru had agreed to take an extra shift, with the threat of bad weather, and he regretted it-- this storm was biblical. The skies were so black and pregnant with rain, it may as well have been night. The billowing rains slapped and stung Satoru's cheeks. Drivers were blinded, their wipers failing to clear their windscreens even at maximum speed. People stumbled, buffeted into the roads by violent winds. And Satoru's sense of humour could only get him so far when members of the public made increasingly irrational decisions, and placed themselves in danger.

But not you, he thought, as he stepped into the wild torrents of overflowing river water, to the dismayed shouts of his colleagues, you absolutely don't deserve to die like this.

Trying to head home, kept cruelly late by a manager who didn't care how far you had to travel, you had missed your bus, and had to take a dangerous detour over a little river bridge, public transport services all abruptly cancelled. One violent sweep of wind was all it took to rock you over the little fence, and you clung desperately to weeds on the riverbank, soaked, shivering, gulping at murky, frigid, terrifyingly climbing waves.

"I'm coming," shouted the fireman, white-haired, tall, throwing off his heavy uniform jacket, with no regard for his own safety, "just hold on, I'll get you out, I promise--" Satoru sloshed and slipped, his t-shirt muddy and plastered to his chest as he slid down the riverbank. He allowed his colleagues to hurriedly harness him. Hitting the water, his abs clenched painfully with the cold, and he began to wade towards you.

You cried out, feeling your grip on life be washed away as the riverbed crumbled, releasing the weeds you clung to. As the river grasped you, your hands flung desperately out, holding your breath, praying, praying--

An enormous hand gripped your own, and a long forearm drew you close with one almighty heave. Satoru dug his fingers deep into the river wall, feeling the jarring rub of stones embedded in smooth wet squelch.

"Don't let go, just hold onto me--" Satoru reached under the water, gripping your thighs and making you grasp them around his hips. You flung your arms round his neck, your face in his chest, and he held you like this, stepping back against the onslaught of the river as his colleagues reeled you both in.

Still carrying you, his arms locked under your bum, Satoru staggered up the riverbank, drenched, chest heaving you up and down against him. You glanced up at him meekly, trembling and cold. Satoru sighed, grinning down at you.

"Come on then. Tell me your name, 'cos we're gonna have to get undressed for me to warm you up."

Nanami

A wave of heat slapped across Kento's face, and he pulled equipment to his body in a practiced rush. A smash and a roar burst from the inferno in front of him, as a window exploded, blackened glass spraying through the air. The apartment block was being gutted as he watched.

"Sir! Sir!"

"What is it, Ino?"

"Evacuation incomplete, sir. There's someone left on the second floor."

Kento pulled his mask down, eyes shooting up to an opened window, a white sheet hanging out of it, flapping as the heat rose from below. Crews around him shouted to be heard over the roar of flame, with cannons shooting water, attempting to quell the fire from the lower floors. Crowds of pyjama'd residents were herded away, confused and bleary-eyed as flames ate their homes.

"Is the left stairwell clear, Ino?" Takuma faltered as Kento stamped his boots into place, yanking on his gloves.

"For-- for now-- you can't be serious sir--" Kento huffed inside his mask, clapping Ino on the shoulder, Ino buckling slightly at the strength behind it.

"I'm always serious, Ino."

Without another word, Kento stepped towards the building, sweating in his suit as he moved into a stairwell, belching smoke. His senses were dulled, his vision boxed-in, hearing his own panting breaths in the fishtank of his helmet. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hesitated and turned at the top; Kento looked down the stairs, feeling heat scorch up towards him, the fire spreading rapidly, closing off his exit.

Out of time, he thought. Approaching a corridor, its doorway jammed, swollen and warped, Kento lifted a foot and kicked it effortlessly through with a roar, the door splintering and buckling under his boot.

"Are you here? Shout for me," Kento bellowed into the corridor. His ears pricked at the shouts and coughs from the end of the corridor. Building into as much of a run as his equipment would allow, he reached another door, its paint raised and wrinkled by the heat.

Kento stepped back, turning sideways as he rammed the door with his shoulder, once, twice, three times, and barrelled through as it splintered under his weight.

Spinning his head, he saw you, crouched on the floor beneath your window, terrified and relieved in your pyjamas. Kento stepped to you, kneeling, his gloved hands moving over your body, checking you for injury. You stared into him, unable to stop yourself from grabbing his forearms, hands shaking and cold despite the blazing heat churning through the floor.

"I thought-- I thought I was going to die here," you gasped, trembling. Kento's heart creaked, and he was surprised, shaking it off-- do your job, Kento, he chastised himself.

"At least if we die here, we won't die alone. Can you stand?" You nodded, rising on shaking legs, and immediately dropped down, your eyes stinging and burning from the smoke billowing across the ceiling, pouring in from the corridor.

Kento's heart dropped to his stomach as the floor shook- an almighty crash down the corridor signified its collapse. Keeping you close with one arm round your waist, Kento leaned out of your window. With a grateful lurch, he could see his colleagues ready with the parachute canopy, waving, calling, beckoning him down.

Kento pulled you close, your back against his chest, both arms wrapped in an arresting grip around your belly and chest-- "Do you trust me?" His heart skipped again as you turned your head, gazing into him through his visor, nodding.

Kento sat backwards on the window ledge, forcing you to sit on his lap. He tried to bracket you with his arms and legs, giving a satisfied grunt as you pressed yourself hard against him.

"On three," he toned, low and heady in your ear, "...one." You squealed and squeezed his arm as he dropped backwards, both of you gripped by gravity and hauled earthwards. Kento grunted as you landed in the parachute, shielding you from impact.

The weightlessness continued as the parachute was carried from the building and placed gently on the ground. Shouts and cheers and roaring flames rang into the night, and heavy gloved hands clapped on Kento's arms and shoulders, from which you had not been released. You trembled in his lap, feeling his chest heave against your back.

When Kento broke out of his reverie, he caught your eyes staring up at him, soft and grateful, trying to see him through his helmet.

"My hero," you whispered, just quiet enough for him to hear. Kento's heart stuttered. He lifted one gloved hand and removed his helmet, blond hair messy, a fine sheen of sweat across his cheeks, his brown eyes flickering amber in the firelight. You bit your lip, drinking him in. He still had not let you go.

Geto

The whispering crowd was infected; the morbid curiosity of a thronging mass, negated the base empathy of its participants, and replaced it with a spectacle-hungry monster.

Suguru felt the grumbling rubber-neckers by the bridge be reluctantly pushed back by police officers. The first out of his fire truck, Suguru pushed through, sleek as a fish swimming upstream, and ducked under the police officers' arms, unhindered due to uniform privilege. He picked up pace as he approached the stairs, his heart in his mouth.

And, on the railings of the bridge, stood you; you trembled, so exposed and vulnerable. Nothing could make this better. Nothing could ease this naked agony. Nothing in death could be more painful than the burden of life. Nothing could possibly eke you back from the edge of this--

"Hey. I'm Suguru. I'm sorry this is happening to you."

His voice pierced your reverie, and the world slowed around you both. The passage of leaves on the wind stilled. The collective voice hushed. The railings gripped you tightly by the hands.

"And it's not going to be easy. Coming back from this. Getting better."

Your lips puckered upwards and you hiccuped, your sobs wet, your nose dripping. As you shook, one foot slipped off the edge of the bridge and the crowd shrieked as you partially dropped, the collective voice now drowning you, leaves twirling on a whirlwind, railings forsaking you--

You felt two strong arms grip around your waist. Scrabbling against them with stress-bitten nails, your foot tried to gain purchase again. Your weak little heart caved at the effort required and you teetered, weeping and floppy, half-on and half-off the bridge.

"I can let go of you. If you need me to. I understand. But...I don't think you do want me to."

Embraced like this, you felt warm. It was much easier leaping from the cold air than from warm arms, which had given you permission both to die, and to live. Your heart creaked, the choice suddenly made easy.

"Pull me up," you sobbed as you felt the arms tighten around you, "pull me up pull me up pull me u--"

You fell with a thud against the warm voice, and grasped onto it, curled into its lap, sobbing your heart out, the crowd beneath you sounding both relieved and disappointed. The warm voice soothed you, rocked you, stroked your hair.

You found yourself, in a few slow blinks, sat in the back of an ambulance, hands trembling around a hot drink, wrapped in a silver foil blanket. You stared blankly, numb, into the rising steam. A few short taps came from the ambulance door.

You looked up to see a beautiful man who you didn't recognise, handsome, slanted eyes glimmering, his long black hair pulled up into a bun. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognised to whom the warm voice belonged.

"You should be proud of yourself. It's not easy accepting help. Can I sit with you?"

Ino

The road was carnage, with debris scattered across tarmac, the remnants of one car smouldering weakly in dying flames, and the cries and sobs of a bloodied man being carried away on a stretcher. Still, the queue of traffic behind beeped and cussed, so outrageously inconvenienced.

Your car was crushed around you, the splitting pain in your leg made so much worse by the anxious claustrophobia of these crumpled walls, and not knowing how injured you really were. The sickening speed of the crashrolltumblecrash that had trapped you here, replayed in your mind on repeat. You felt panic claw up your throat, tasting your own blood as it dripped down your cheek and into your mouth.

"Wow, girl! You really didn't like this car, huh?"

The ridiculous flippancy of the statement was so incongruous, you laughed. Sniffling and trembling, you looked sideways through broken glass. A young man, his face friendly and open, squashed in his helmet, stared back at you, a sympathetic smile in his eyes.

"My name's Takuma. I'm here to get you out of this car, me and my friends. You look like you could use some help." Your lips pinched and you moved to nod, but Takuma's hands darted out, his fingertips to your cheeks and temples, holding your head.

"No. Don't. Your neck could be injured. Just...still as you can, okay? Good girl."

Takuma reached into a pocket, pulling out earplugs and putting them in for you, gingerly pulling a pair of goggles over your eyes. He removed them again briefly, gently swiping his thumb over a drip of blood about to run into your eye, wiping it on his trousers, replacing the goggles.

Takuma and his crew made short work of cutting through the pillars of your wrecked car, lifting the roof and doors off as if they were made of cardboard. After paramedics confirmed the integrity of your spine, hips and legs, Takuma managed to kneel beside your seat, working to release your trapped leg.

Fearful, your hand reached out, lying on Takuma's shoulders, gripping the back of his collar. Wordlessly, and without looking back, Takuma shook off one glove as his other hand worked, and reached up to hold your hand in his, rested together on his shoulder. You felt a curious tranquility run through you at his effortless kindness.

Your foot released, with a rush of pain as blood throbbed in your toes. You felt a twinge of disappointment as Takuma stepped back, allowing himself to be replaced by the concerned hands of medics.

"Not every day you get to be rescued by someone so handsome, huh?" Takuma laughed, framing his jaw faux-smugly between his thumb and forefinger. You smiled up at him, cute and appreciative in a way that made his belly clench.

"No. It's not every day I get to be rescued by someone so handsome."

You did not realise heroes could blush so sweetly.

Megumi

"Here. C'mon boy-- over here. You-- over there. Good boys."

Megumi expertly directed his dogs, one black and one white, against the threat of night-time's approach. News crews inconvenienced him, and he scowled, traversing rubble and wires as shouting rescuers tried desperately to set up floodlights. A chill bit through the air.

"...tonight, as a 7.8 magnitude earthquake rocked the city. The search for survivors continues as..."

Megumi raised his head to the tune of three short barks from his dog, and he jogged to the corner of a collapsed school, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. His black dog pointed keenly to a crushingly large pile of rubble, no building left for lessons and lunchtimes. Megumi reached into his pocket, offering his dog a treat, scratching its ears and head to the tune of a proud wagging tail.

"Good boy, good boy. Wait here for me." Megumi headed to the rubble, keen eyes scouring, ears astute and listening. He found an opening, the remnants of a collapsed doorway. He heard shuffles, coughs. He shoved some loose brickwork aside, and you felt rays of evening sunlight pierce what you thought was to be your grave.

"Can you hear me?" shouted Megumi, and you clung to his voice from your little coffin. Your eyes pricked with tears as the shadow of a young man blocked the rays of light, and he raised a torch, creating a beam of light, illuminating yourselves to each other.

"You got under a table?" Megumi asked, impressed, appreciative, "That saved your life. Good job."

You smiled wetly, your cut hands clotted with brick dust, and you moved to come out from under the table towards him. A perilously leaning wall teetered above you as you emerged, and you felt a shadow begin to drop over you.

With a scream, and Megumi's harsh shout, you braced for impact...and felt none. Your body felt suddenly warm, pleasantly cushioned. Opening your eyes you felt the young man lying full-length across you, his forearms braced on the floor, impossibly strong as he shielded you from the collapsed brickwork. You gasped, still and shocked, as he planked against you.

"Get yourself out. Now," he grunted. You nodded, slithering out from underneath him, leaving bloodied handprints on the brickwork as you clambered out to safety. A rough groan behind you signified Megumi somehow shaking most of a wall off his back, and crawling out to meet you.

Again, impossibly, you were the one who swayed on your feet, and Megumi reached his hands out to steady you. Two eager dogs sniffed around you both, and Megumi's frown deepened with a pretty pink blush as you gazed into him with unabashed admiration.

"Get yourself to the medics," Megumi grumbled, rubbing brick dust out of his spiky hair, "they'll help you from he--"

"I will. If you give me your number."

"You-- you are out of your mind."

Yuuji

Yuuji lowered his visor, and regretted it immediately as the rain slapped against it. Reluctantly, he raised it, feeling instant cool trickles from fringe to eyebrows. Blinking water away, he crowded amongst his colleagues, all fresh fire-service arrivals to provide relief and rescue from this flooded valley town.

Twisting round, flicking muddy splatters, Yuuji's ears pricked as his Captain, Nanami Kento, barked orders.

"Ino, Maki-- provide aid and rescue for the eastern quarter. Kugisaki, to the west. Itadori--"

Nanami hesitated at Yuuji, who would have been wagging his tail if he had one. On a hitched breath, Nanami continued.

"Itadori, survey the northern lane's integrity before we move towards evacuation. Do not," Nanami warned, slanted eyes narrow through his visor, "do anything dangerous."

Yuuji appeared thoughtful; "And by dangerous, you mean...?"

"Itadori."

"Got it sir. Nothing dangerous," Yuuji offered with a wink and a salute. Nanami stared after him with silent despair as Yuuji jogged, splashing down the waterlogged lane.

Yuuji hummed to himself, his voice breaking and springing as he jogged, blowing rivulets of water away from his lips, slipping through the mud road between lanes, hedges, trees, descending down a winding hill. He heard the hushed roar of torrents of water, and rounded the corner curiously.

The river had burst its banks, submerging a hidden dip in the road. The water sloshed, murky with sediment, lapping at an enormous felled tree, underneath which--

"Shit...shit!" Yuuji cussed, seeing a small car, almost completely submerged, partially crushed under the weight of the tree. Yuuuji sprinted, feet slapping and skidding in the wet slop of the road. Inside the car, splashes, and a desperate wet voice.

"Oh fuck--hang on, just hang on, I'll get you out." Yuuji sloshed into the flood, chest deep, keeping his footing as the undercurrent threatened to sweep him away. Leaping over felled creaking branches, rattling in the wind, Yuuji met a pair of small pale hands at the window of the car. He pressed his broad palms flat against the glass, your last remaining barrier to complete submersion.

Tear-stained, awaiting death, you stared out at him, hyperventilating, gasping, "I don't want to die here-- not like this-- I can't get out--" Yuuji took a step back, eyes wide and fearful, brimming with doubt. You saw this in him, and your lips puckered, sobbing, snotty and cold.

"I know," you reassured him as you shook, "there's nothing you can do...the tree-- you can't move it in time. I can't-- I can't--"

"I can."

You stopped, palms flat against the glass, sweet eyes boring into Yuuji, and he was possessed by malcontent.

"I can," he insisted, throwing his yellow jacket and helmet off to sink away into the muddy depths. His black t-shirt clung to his form. Even young and drenched, he looked...powerful. Still, you shook your head, slowly at first until you filled with certainty.

"You can't," you insisted, assuaging him from guilt, "you're not strong eno--"

"No, I'm strong. I'm really strong. Not smart, but--" Yuuji pulled his gloves up, taking a staggered stance with his palms flat under the tree. He turned sideways, eyes wide and innocent as he grinned.

Teeth gritting, Yuuji roared as he heaved the tree trunk. His arms shook, wet biceps bulging against his sleeves as he heaved and bellowed. As you opened your mouth to insist he stop, the words caught in your throat-- somehow, in a masterclass feat of strength, you saw the tree trunk begin to lift off the roof of the car, taking pressure off the frames and doors.

"Oh my god," you squeaked, voice strangled in amazement, "keep going, you're doing it, good boy good boy good boy--"

With one final wild exertion, Yuuji shunted the tree, and it rolled with a thick splash down the bonnet. Wading towards the car, Yuuji gripped the door handle, ready to pull against the stunning mass of water.

"When I open this, the car's gonna fill up," he pondered aloud, "so..."

"I'll reach out for you," you nodded, gasping, the water up to your chin. Yuuji's lips curled appreciatively, and he maintained eye contact as he counted down.

"Three, two, one...go!" Yuuji grunted, heaving the door open, filled with terror as your face disappeared in a rush of brown. Shoving his thick thigh into the gap, he reached in, begging, praying--

-- Yuuji felt two cold hands grip his forearms, and he gripped in return, heaving you through the torrent into his arms.

In mutual relief, chests heaving against each other, you coughed and spluttered in Yuuji's arms, fingers sinking into his hair, planting wet kisses of thanks to his cheeks.

"You saved my life," you pressed, voice breaking, "How am I ever...how can I ever...?"

"You can...just call me 'good boy' again? Just once more?"

Higuruma

"Shit-- it's spread so fucking fast--"

Higuruma Hiromi wasn't sure if the crushing, oppressive heat was coming from the sun, the scorched earth beneath his feet, or the wall of flames devastating the dry summer forest before him.

Eyes wide and appalled, his frown wrinkled his hooked nose, drips of sweat trickling through spiky black hair and onto the thirsty earth. His black t-shirt was claustrophobically tight against prickling skin, and he ran two hands down his chest before pulling on his yellow jacket and helmet.

With a sharp intake of breath, he began to boom orders to his scurrying team; "you know what to do-- restrict the spread, we have to stop this encroaching on the--"

"Sir, please! Please, listen, there's someone in there--"

Hiromi's head snapped round, hawkish black eyes like beetles in the firelight, and landed on a park ranger, fighting to be heard over the roar of flame and barrier-arms of police officers. Hiromi stomped over to him, one harsh finger pointed in the officers' face to prevent his interruption before he could start.

"You say there's someone in there? In the forest? Be clear," Hiromi commanded. The park ranger gulped.

"One of the other rangers, she-- she's trying to save some of the bird-boxes-- endangered species--"

Hiromi laughed, humourless, as he rubbed his face, gazing to the heavens, between two long-fingered hands.

"Endangered species-- she's a fucking endangered species, at this rate--" Hiromi laughed again, breathing in through his mouth, and out with a sandy groan and a decision.

"Begin at the edges," he commanded to his team, jogging towards a break in the trees, "I'll be back, if I'm lucky." Hearing the frantic shouts of his team beckoning him back, Hiromi's boots stamped over the embering earth, all noise fading and replaced by hellish heat and the lick of devil's tongues.

Hiromi panted, chest heaving as it gulped in heavy air and ashes, embering leaves wisping to the floor around him. Spotting a sign, its information barely legible as the paint wrinkled up from the surface, he sprinted onwards through the inferno, leaping over logs, skidding through wafer-dry foliage, the flames in the branches above him creating the burnt-umber sunset of a hellscape.

Approaching a circular fence, the bird sanctuary was engulfed, and inexplicably, a woman halfway up a tall wooden ladder was detaching a bird-box from the side of a tree. Hiromi skidded to a halt, incredulous, snorting in derision.

Your skin felt as dry as tanned leather on your cheeks as you tucked the bird-box under your arm and began to step down the ladder. Just one more, you thought, I can get just one mo--

"I don't like to interrupt someone passionate about their job, but are you quite finished?"

You jumped, clasping the bird-box to your chest as Hiromi loomed over you, his anger rising so much taller than he was. You swallowed, tongue like sandpaper, answering honestly.

"I'm not, actually, I've got one more to--"

Hiromi's gloved hands had cupped around the birdbox, gently plucking it out of your hands and into his. You squealed indignantly as he ducked, throwing you over his shoulder with one arm, grunting as you wriggled and kicked.

"Do as you're told," Hiromi chastised as you thumped at his back with your fists, crying out, sobbing as he carried you away, "I appreciate your diligence but--"

"No, please-- just listen--" you sobbed, reaching back as he carried you and the single bird-box away, "--the eggs-- the last breeding pair--"

Hiromi stopped despite himself, feeling the flames ringing closer around him. He tapped his foot, furious, considerate. Placing you down with a huff, he walked back to the ladder. As he picked it up, he shot you a hot-eyed look of sarcastic inquisition. Lips puckering mulishly, you pointed to the tree beside him.

Wordlessly, his body language dramatically muted, Hiromi placed the ladder and took it two rungs at a time. Removing the birdbox, gripping it in one fist, Hiromi slid down the sides of the ladder and stamped back to you, pressing the bird-box into your arms beside the other.

As your eyes melted at him in a soft little smile, embracing your bird-boxes, Hiromi blushed, glaring at you without venom. He ducked down in front of you slightly, not breaking eye-contact. Your head tilted owlishly, and Hiromi felt his belly twist in odd delight.

"What are you--" the air was thumped out of you as Hiromi hefted you over his shoulder again, and he huffed out a laugh as you swore at him. You clung to your bird-boxes as he ran through the flames, gasping and squeaking as he leapt over, under, through...

Hiromi burst out of the forest and into the open, cooled instantly by the wind-carried cool spray of a dozen hoses. Hiromi dropped you down, and you fell to your knees beside each other, panting, feeling the water drizzle down your bodies.

"So," Hiromi gasped, throwing off his jacket and t-shirt, groaning at the cool water dripping down his chest, "tell me about your birds."

You pressed your forehead to his bare-chest, breath grazing across it as you laughed, sending shivers down Hiromi's spine. Resting your cheek on him, looking up with lovestruck, appreciative eyes, Hiromi wondered faintly that he could listen to you tell him about birds all night.

Sukuna

This was the worst day of your life. You had made a horrible error of judgement, and you prayed to the god who had forsaken you, steeping in the consequences of your own actions. You would live the rest of your days in terror, stomach cold and gripped and roiling with fear, never happy again--

To the amused intrigue of onlookers, you were enjoying an extra-long ride at the top of a colourful Ferris Wheel. But you were afraid of heights, and had chosen a beautiful summers' day to challenge yourself. And then the Ferris Wheel got stuck. And now you were going to die up here.

You slid off the seat and onto the floor, and sobbed as your little carriage rocked in the wind. The Ferris Wheel creaked, and you felt a cold terrified sweat drop down your chest, your hands flinging out to clutch the seats. Head tipped back and eyes closed, you felt panic settling in--

"Oi. Woman. Do you want this, or not?"

You shrieked at the suddenly-appearing pink-haired man clung to the outer bars of your carriage, his face nothing short of bored and pissed off as he held a bottle of water out to you.

"What the fuck-- are you doing up here-- did you climb here?"

Sukuna snorted at you, eyes narrowed and cruel as he took you in, all sweat and tears and skirt tucked all the way up to your hips.

"Look at you, what a fucking mess," he cooed to your furious blushes, eyes brimming with tears again, "you're normally my type, but--"

"Are you just here to make fun of me?" You hiccuped, snatching the bottle of water out of his hand, unscrewing the cap as Sukuna laughed at you. With a wicked glint in his eye, Sukuna jumped his feet against the bars, rocking it, and you shrieked, clinging to the seats and sloshing water over your thighs as he laughed harder.

"Oh baby," he mocked, "you scared of heights? Want me to hold your hand?" He lifted his feet to rock the carriage again, but stopped, frowning as you answered.

"Yes," you hiccuped, "please. Hold my hand." As your little hand slid up the wall of the carriage towards his gripped around the bars, Sukuna snorted, turning his face away from you.

"It's hot," he stated, blunt, "I was told to bring you water. I've done my job. I'm not gonna hold your--"

"Please." His stomach flipped, cock twitching involuntarily inside his uniform as you begged. Sukuna snorted again, ignoring you. As you started to sniffle, weeping, your hand slid down away from his. A heartbeat passed, and you felt a strong, warm hand reach in, fingers plaiting through yours.

"You're pathetic," he mocked, still staring out across the sea, his voice a little softer now, "what the hell are you doing in a Ferris Wheel if you're afraid of heights?"

"I wanted...I wanted to see if I could--"

"Idiot. Now you're stuck here," he snapped, almost sounding concerned, his heart fluttering in a way that made his neck prickle as you rested your tear-dampened cheek against his hand in yours.

You and Sukuna stayed this way, your cheek against your fingers plaited in his. The carriage became gradually bathed in a warm pink sunset, lighting up the coral of his hair. The sway was gentle, a little boat on lilting tide.

Finally, a short jolt rumbled the carriage to life, and it began to trail in a circle back towards the ground.

Just before your carriage ground to a halt, Sukuna spoke, slow and mischievous.

"Hey. Woman."

"What?" you answered, unaware of your skirt hitched up around your waist.

"Cute little panties you've got there."

The shrieks of rage and cackling laughter could be heard all the way down to the beach.

Toji

"You've called-- you've called him in? Are you out of your mind?" Satoru gaped at Nanami, his fellow Captain, gobsmacked as Nanami pursed his lips in irritation.

The fire-truck was parked to the side of the main road; all cars were halted, abandoned, swarmed by rioters in scarves and balaclavas, hundreds upon hundreds of them, a swirling mass of destruction in the streetlights. Riot police vainly attempted to form a blockade, stumbling as bodies slipped past them, shop windows smashing, flaming bottles tossed.

"We need the bodies," Nanami pressed, stripping his t-shirt off, thick muscular arms reaching into the truck to find a clean one, "how often do the riot police call us in for support? Besides, he looks...intimidating. He may serve as a...deterrent."

Satoru snorted derisively, "He was fired for a reason, Nanami, mark my--"

"Hey, kid, long time no see."

Satoru stiffened as a shadow loomed over him, one heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder. Toji smirked, his scar twisted, raising his boot to put out his cigarette on the sole. He stamped his boots into place, his yellow rubber trousers tatty and worn, jacketless and terrifyingly ripped in a tight black t-shirt.

"So..." Toji continued, staring into the chaos ahead of him, "support the cops, yeah?" He sucked his teeth, rolling his shoulders. Nanami nodded, brisk, shoving a helmet towards Toji, grimacing as it was immediately rejected. Nanami shrugged, not wishing to waste time arguing, and directed the firemen towards the crowd to encourage some form of calm.

Toji stayed back, choosing where to go. At a glance, he saw a young woman duck down behind a car, arm raised to toss an egg at the back of a police officer's head. You caught Toji's eye, a bandana pulled up covering your lower face, and he laughed under his breath as your eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Little minx," he muttered, admiring the quiet subversion. Laughing out loud as you tossed the egg, landing a direct hit, Toji moved on, stepping towards a shop, his passive presence alone enough to scatter the looters inside.

The pressure from the crowd built, peaking, and Toji felt the mood in the air change from rave gone overboard to aggression and spite.

Seeing the crowd pulse and surge, Toji spotted you in the front, crushed, buffeted against the officers' riot shields. You caught his eye again, now desperate and pained, instead of playful. Toji felt himself clench, stepping in behind two of the riot officers, who barely had time to glance at him between wild shouts at the crowd.

Easily, with two strong hands, Toji parted the shields just enough for you to drop through, and he caught you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. As you stared up at him, speechless and waiting to be arrested, he looked down at you, the glimmer in his eyes threatening shenanigans.

"I don't know about you," he drawled, low and slow, "but these clowns couldn't break a nail, let alone a crowd." You laughed, tinkling and sweet, and Toji felt a burst of ego for having caused it.

"Ever been in a fire truck, sweetheart?"

Moments later, the fire truck rumbled to life, its sirens ringing and flashing in warning. The pressure of the crowd eased for a moment, hundreds of enquiring eyes on you and Toji in the front seats, one of his hands resting across your belly, protective, shielding you in place.

The enquiring eyes turned fearful as the fire truck reversed, then slowly swung to face the crowd and riot officers alike, revving.

With a smirk, Toji allowed the truck to jolt forwards. The crowd cried out collectively, its stance breaking, dozens of people scattering to escape the scene. Revving again, the truck jolted forwards once more, harder this time. Half the crowd stumbled, falling over themselves to run. With one final booming rev, the crowd shrieked and shouted, scattering like spiders up and down the length of the street, no act of protest apparently worth getting run over for.

And as you and Toji were pulled, laughing, from the fire-truck, both being slammed and cuffed against the nearest police car, your eyes met, and your bandana slipped down to reveal your lovely grin.

Toji smirked, heads on the car facing each other. Shooting you a wink which made you giggle and blush, he snorted to think that maybe he was just the right dismissed ex-fireman to get the job done.

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Wheeeee, rescue me fire daddies 🚒🔥

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octuscle · 6 months ago

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Life is too stressful, I wish I was a dumb horny stoner.

Dude, why is mankind so ungrateful! You look great, have a super well-paid job, but are you satisfied? No, you'd rather be a stoner. Is that why you hang out at the skate park so much? The kids are already making fun of you!

But that's okay, I'm just a service provider. So you want to be a pothead who makes his money as a small-time dealer and sometimes works as a graffiti artist. You're not bad with the spray cans. But you'll never be a great artist…

You're just about to return to the office from your lunch break when you notice the small plastic bag of “spices” in your jacket pocket. You ask the guy sitting in the next bench if he has any tobacco and rolling paper. He looks at you questioningly, skeptically, probably thinking you're a cop. You discreetly show him the bag, and he opens his backpack and takes out tobacco and rolling paper.

You are over an hour late when you arrive at the office. And still high. But hey, it makes you more creative. Your boss asks you if you would like to come to the office showered again from time to time. You run your fingers through your long greasy hair. And ask if you could appease him with a blowjob or a bit of weed. After a few minutes, security is escorting you out. Damn, an office job isn't for you anyway!

First of all, you have to get out of this damn suit. It's like a straitjacket. You can get like $200 for a single piece of fabric at a thrift store! With that, you can get a cool complete outfit, a skateboard and you can buy fresh weed. Dude, who buys such expensive clothes?

That's better! Much better. Now for a skate. And sometimes, towards evening, one of those armchair farts will come by. To buy weed. Or to suck your pasty dick. Because in either case they feel a bit like a rebel. You don't care. Both bring in money. And cumming in an office drone's throat is actually fun!

#male tf #reality change #age reduction #ai image #stoner tf

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oneforthemunny · 2 years ago

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take care |modern!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: after a long day at work, you just wanted to relax. eddie makes sure you can.

contains: our fav modern!eddie and his lil mean girl. language, mentions of weed, oral fem receiving, p in v sex, aftercare and fluff, minors dni 18+

You could feel your fists clench, knuckles tight and whitening when you shoved your key in the door, agitation eating you from the inside out.

Today had been a particularly horrible day to work retail. Spring always meant prom season, which meant whiny teenagers spilled in with their bossy mothers, demanding shades of foundation for the spray tan they didn’t have yet, slamming them on the counter furiously when it inevitably didn’t match- because you were supposed to be mind reader. But you couldn’t say that to them, couldn’t snap at them the way you wanted to, only taking deep breath in, giving a dazzling customer service smile, and apologizing for your mistake.

The knots in your neck were agonizing from straining all day, feet aching from the little black boots you wore, a sweat breaking out on your neckline. All you wanted to do was go home, drown yourself in the cheap bottle of wine you had in the fridge, and sink into a bubble bath until your skin pruned away entirely. But you knew you wouldn’t get to do that.

When you’d got off, you sat in your car, scrolling through messages, your lips pressing further together into a tight line. There sat the string of TikTok notifications from Eddie on your screen, constant and too many for you to look at. It wasn’t the videos that pissed you off, it was the fact that he had sent them all day. All day, and you knew- you just knew he hadn’t done anything you asked him to do.

You’d left him that morning, sweet kisses pressed to his cheek, fingers trailing down his tummy, still soft and warm from sleep. “I started a load of laundry, can you just switch it over to the dryer please?” You asked softly.

Eddie nodded, pulling you back in for one last kiss before you left, still propped up in the bed. You’d slipped out, going to work. When you returned, you were greeted by Eddie on the couch, blunt rolling smoke in the tray beside him, hunched over with his headset on, screaming into the mic and eyes trained on his PlayStation. He’d muttered a greeting, tongue out in focus playing some fantasy type game, eyes never leaving the screen.

You could feel your shoulders tense, jaw setting when you slammed the door behind you. You didn’t take off your shoes, didn’t set down your purse, stomping straight down the hall towards the small closet where your washer and dryer sat. You lifted the lid, the mildewish, soured smell of wet towels filling your nose.

The bubble of calmness you’d kept all day popped, exploding in hot rage out of you. You dropped your purse, reaching in to grab one of the still soaking wet towel, heavy and wet on your hands.

You marched in front of Eddie, blocking his view, fuming with the towel in your hand. “Baby, one sec, I’m almost-“ Eddie stopped, eyes trained on the towel.

He flicked up the mic to his headset just in time for you ball up the towel, throwing it so it thudded against his chest. You jammed your finger in the button of the PlayStation, powering it off furiously. Eddie grimaced slightly, slipping the headset off.

“I asked you to do one goddam thing!” You screamed, throwing your hands out.

“Baby, I forgot-“

“-You always forget, Eddie!” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. His eyes rounded slightly, pleading and sorry. You snarled, shaking your head and stomping towards your room.

You plopped on your bed, angrily ripping your shoes off. It was a constant fight since he’d moved in. Towels left on the bathroom floor, not putting down the toilet seat, forgetting to start the dishwasher, putting the coffee cups up too high.

You bristled with anger, jaw grinding and huffing. All you’d asked him to do was one thing. One. You didn’t give a shit that he stayed on your couch, that he played his game all day, only leaving to get food or do a deal. You didn’t care, really. But what you did care about was when he disrespected your space; you. You’d had this fight already, about him helping you around the apartment- your apartment.

You tried to be understanding, it was clear he wasn’t doing it maliciously. He didn’t have a good home life, and his uncle raised him the best he could, but Wayne was too busy working to make sure their lights stayed on to worry about if Eddie’s room was clean. As long as Eddie was clean, he didn’t care. That was clear when you’d gone into his room once, staying at the trailer one night only, scared by the ecosystem growing under his bed.

But on days like today, days when your nerves were shot and the last thing you wanted was to deal with things like that, it infuriated you. There were no clean towels for a bath, so your afternoon plans to soak were destroyed, which made you fume all over again.

You could hear Eddie starting the laundry, the small trill of the chimes on the machine starting. You rolled your eyes, pulling your shirt off, balling it up and tossing it in the hamper.

The door’s hinges squeaked softly, Eddie’s footsteps soft and muffled against the carpet. You ignored him, pushing down your black jeans into a puddle on the ground.

“Baby, ’m sorry.” Eddie whispered softly from behind you. You felt his fingers ghost over your hips, trailing over the silky material of your panties.

You huffed, wiggling out of his grasp. “Don’t.” You snapped. “I had a really shitty day and all I wanted was to take a bath. I’m disgusting and-and… just don’t touch me right now.” You hissed, holding your hand up.

Eddie nodded, eyes trained on your chest, watching you unclasp your bra, breasts falling free. He swallowed hard, putting his hands in front of his sweatpants. “I’m so sorry, baby. I forgot, really.” He cooed sweetly, taking a step towards you.

You rummaged through your drawers, pulling out a big tshirt, soft with wear, and a pair of fresh underwear. Eddie took another step forward. “Did you have a bad day?”

You huffed, slamming the drawers. “Yeah, I did.” You snapped. “And this didn’t make it any better. I got bitched at all fucking day, and I just wanted to come home and relax.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie sighed sympathetically. “I’ll go run to Target and get you a towel if you want me to. You can get in the bath and I’ll be right back.”

“No,” You huffed, pushing your underwear down. His eyes widened slightly. “I just- I want you to do shit when I ask you to.”

“I know,” Eddie nodded, stepping towards you again. “I know, I’m sorry, baby, I swear I didn’t mean to. I just- I forgot honestly.” He hesitated, reaching out to touch you, slow and soft. You were bare in front of him, arms crossed over your chest, glaring angrily at him but you didn’t push him away.

He pulled you close, your crossed arms in his chest, chin resting on your shoulder, pressing sweet kisses into your cheek. His hands rubbed up and down your back, slow little circles that had you relaxing slightly, melting further into his chest.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day, sweetheart.” Eddie muttered into your cheek. You huffed, pouty and breathy into his chest. “Let me take care of you.” His hands trailed down your spine, squeezing the fat of your ass.

You whined, pulling back. “I’m gross, Ed, no.” You protested lightly, his hands still kneading your cheeks. “I’ve worked all day. I’m sweaty and gross.”

“You’re not gross.” Eddie muttered, nose nuzzling into your hair line, breathing in your scent deeply. “C’mon, let me help you relax, baby. ‘S least I can do. Make it up to you.”

You hesitated, the kisses he was trailing down your neck were making you relax enough already. You whimpered when he sucked lightly into the nape of your neck, his hands still grabbing your ass.

“C’mon, lay down, baby, I got you.” Eddie coaxed gently.

You melted into the mattress, letting him lay on top of you, hips rolling and grinding into you. You blamed the sweatpants, they were your weakness. You could always see his dick outlined in them, so casual and innocent. You were always dropping to your knees when he wore them.

Eddie wedged his body between your legs, sliding down the mattress, trailing kisses between your breasts, down your sternum, towards your core until his shoulders had your thighs spread wide around him. He could feel the heat off your pussy, radiating and warming the tip of his nose before he ever touched you. His hands ran up your torso, smoothing over the skin of your tummy, squeezing your breasts before sliding back down your waist, pressing wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, over your mound, teasing.

“Stop,” you whined, high pitched and nasally, wiggling your hips towards his face. Your brows creased, pouting when you looked down at him.

He grinned softly, hand pulling your thighs apart further, tongue running over his bottom lip before he licked you, slow from your hole to your clit, swirling around the sensitive nub. Eddie moaned loud, enough to have vibrations sending shockwaves to your bundle of nerves making you arch.

“You taste so good, baby, fuck.” Eddie rasped, licking another long stripe, eyes closing and fingers digging into your thigh.

You whimpered, hands threading through his curls. You loved that he kept his hair long. He looked so different from all the other guys, wild curls that always seemed to have your hands in them, playing with the ringlets sweetly. You loved when he'd let you style it, load it with products and diffuse it, or put a mask in it in the bath, clipping it up sweetly while you soaked. Eddie loved it too, he loved that you loved it, loved that you'd scratch his scalp and coo at him, so sweet and giggly.

You were a whirlwind, an enigma of personality. Sweet and sour, he called you his little 'sour patch kid' and while he always played it off like he was joking, you both knew deep down he was being serious. He knew you were just high strung, wound a little tight, and the snapping and snarky comments were a defense, a default when you felt out of control. He knew you could be sweet, knew you were sweet, you were so sweet to him.

You whined, wiggling your hips closer and closer to him, sighing heavy when he sucked at your clit. “That feels good…” You mumbled, hips jumping towards his mouth.

Eddie grinned, another long lick to your slit that had you reeling. “Mmm, I’m glad.” He kept his lips against your core when he said it, he knew you liked it like that. He knew you liked the vibrations, how they’d tickle your clit and make you clench. He didn’t even have to use his fingers, could have you coming undone with his tongue alone.

You whimpered, feeling his hand press against your lower tummy, thighs tightening when he ran a soft hand up and down your belly to your chest, rolling your nipples just barely in his hands. “Feels so good, Eddie, fuck.” You whined. “Oh! Right there! Do it just like that, please!”

Eddie repeated the action, fingers pressed in a ‘v’ over your puffed lips, exposing and revealing your throbbing clit to him, sucking the bud at a pace that had you seeing stars. You cried, hands fisting in his hair to bring him closer and closer, his nose was pressed against your mound, inhaling your scent deeply, lapping away until you gushed hard around him. His eyes fluttered up to yours, licking you through your orgasm while you bucked and writhed, his arms locked around your waist to keep you still. He loved watching you come undone for him, get you in that hazy headspace that always had you needy and clingy afterwards.

“That good?” Eddie asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he moved up.

You nodded, chest heaving slightly. “Very good.” You looked at him with glassy eyes, smiling slightly. The blush on your cheeks was enough for him to know you meant it. He was always wanting to please you, especially after you were upset with him.

He shoved his sweatpants down, kicking them off until they pooled at the end of the bed. You could feel his erection between the two of you, rutting his hips into yours, whining slightly at the friction.

“You wanna be like this? Or you wanna be on your stomach?” Eddie asked, his nose touching yours. You could feel his curls around your face, making you giggle at the tickling feeling. It made your heart swell slightly, any feels of irritation disappearing with every soft kiss of his pillowy lips on yours.

"This is fine," You sighed contently, eyes shutting when he pressed his lips to your neck. "Wanna see you." You muttered.

Eddie fucked you slow, your legs wrapped around his waist, fingers intertwined with his. He grunted lowly in your ear, reveling in the little whines and gasps you'd let sneak out sweetly, muffled into his neck.

You'd curled up beside him, he'd used his boxers to clean you up before dropping them back into the floor, your head on his chest, his hands stroking your hair softly. You could feel your eyes droop, heavy with the stress of the day. Eddie put on New Girl for you, he knew you liked to watch it when you were falling asleep.

When you awoke, the screen on the TV with the Netflix logo, asking if you were still watching. You could hear Eddie in the living room, the soft glow of the kitchen light down the hallway. You felt heavy, warm, a little disoriented with the nap. Your phone on the bedside table read eight-twenty-two.

Eddie looked up when you walked in, pausing his game and pushing the headset off his curls. "Hi, baby," He greeted with a small smile. "Did you sleep ok?"

You nodded, stretching and rubbing your eyes. You started for the closet with the washer and dryer. "I already dried them." Eddie said proudly. "I put them up too, so you can take a bath now if you want."

Your heart swelled, smiling with a soft, sleepy smile. You walked over to him, straddling his lap, still warm and soft. Eddie's hands rubbed down your back, grabbing on your hips gently. "Thank you." You whispered, pressing your lips to his sweetly.

"No problem, baby." Eddie hummed, a soft smile on his lips. "'M sorry I didn't do it earlier."

"That's alright." You muttered, sitting down in his lap. Your legs on either side of his, arms around his neck, head tucked under his chin. His hand found your back, rubbing small circles down your back, sneaking under the fabric of the shirt- his shirt.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day." Eddie pressed small kisses to your hair line.

"'S alright." You pouted, huffing slowly against his chest. "I hate prom."

Eddie laughed softly, chest vibrating with laughter. "Yeah? I wasn't a fan of it either."

You craned your neck to look up at him. "Who did you go to prom with?"

Eddie scratched his neck. "Uh, my first senior year, I went with this emo, alt chick. Her name was Haley." He grinned slightly and you frowned. "Then my last senior year, I just went with the guys. Only went for a little bit, then hit the after parties to sell." You scoffed slightly, and he smiled down at you. "What about you?"

"I went my sophomore year with this guy names Parker. He was a friend and he needed a date, so we went, talked shit the whole night it was fun. Then I went my junior year twice, because the guy I was with at the time went to a different school. Then senior year I went with the same guy but just to mine, because he had graduated." You explained.

Eddie snorted. "Seems like you loved prom if you ask me."

"Hated it. My mom made me go." You wrinkled your nose. "I looked so different too. Weird when I look back."

"Bet you were still hot." Eddie grinned. You scoffed loudly. "What? I bet you were. What's that Drake song... high school pics you were even bad then?"

You laughed, cringing slightly while you covered your blush. "Eddie, oh my god, that- you're so lame." You giggled, shaking your head.

"What? It's a good song. I thought you'd love that song." Eddie jested, poking your side sweetly. "Gotta be nice for what? That's practically written about you."

"I'm very nice." You pouted playfully, eyes narrowing at him.

He grinned. "You are." He said sweetly, pressing his lips to yours, hands cradling around your jaw. You really were.

#modern!eddie x reader #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #oneforthemunny #funsonmunson #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader

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oneleggedflamingo · 4 months ago

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In my dream last night my pet cat Niisku was the size of a panther, because he was walking on two bar stools and had a white cape on.

Also I was naked in a closed grocery store at 8 am, and it would open at 2 pm, but the self service check-out was working. But by the time I was heading for it, some cashier had appeared and when I was paying her, she asked me: "have you heard about those weed killer machines they use, when it also sprays a large amount of Ca2 ions to the ground, do you think that is good or bad for the soil? And I answered her, I think I said that the Ca is not bad for the ground in that instance... I need to fact check myself about that.

Then I got in someone's car and we were driving away, we saw some grandma get hit by a car, and some man ran to help her, and the man's child was left to deal with a baby pram and it was all really chaotic. We turned around and got to the grandma and the man, and the grandma was kinda smiling and walking a bit and there was a crowd of bystanders. The man said: we are trying to call 112 but for I can't read the QR code so the call button doesn't work.

And then I woke uo to a 30 second bomb whistling sound.

After that I fell asleep for 5 hours and saw a lot of dreams that I don't remember anymore.

#My dreams are like this during winter and I hate that #Dreams #Nightmare

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as-an-offering · 16 days ago

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Oh look I made more!

What Bill Moseley's various characters probably smell like

Otis: This man smells like rot and BO and cheap whiskey and blood. He is disgusting. Breath strong enough to peel paint. Smells so bad you’ll either dry heave or go nose blind, no in-between. But you’ll kiss him anyway because you’re gross like that.

Choptop: Choptop my beloved wife. He wants to badly to be normal, with his wig and his vague attempts at hygiene. But look at where he lives, what he does, what he eats, and those teeth. He’s not succeeding very well. Smells like dust and dirt and blood and probably weed and too much patchouli.

Farmer Sam (Hayride to Hell): Sam smells like a farm, but not in a bad way. Hay, dirt, tractor exhaust. Has a nice cologne for special occasions that doesn’t get used more than maybe once a year. Definitely also smells like coffee and cinnamon toothpaste.

Luigi: Like previously stated by Twice and Vee, there’s def a blood smell happening. I am in camp “it’s not that bad” however. Has a nice aftershave he slaps on those smooth cheeks. His suits always smell clean and his breath smells like coffee. His kisses taste like it too.

Abner Honeywell (Natty Knocks): Abner is probably kinda stinky. Technically homeless alcoholic living in his mom’s old abandoned house? Not great on the smell factor. Cheap liquor and grease paint. Can be convinced to clean up a little if you ask him nicely and offer to watch his mama’s movies with him.

Quinn (Crash and Burn): Quinn has a weird ozone smell. Like right before the rain, but more electric. TV static at midnight. Something about it is familiar, like a white noise machine for your nose.

Mr. Kharver (Big Top Evil): You thought Abner smelled like cheap liquor and grease paint??? Hoooo boy, give this jackass a good sniff. Both those things and probably sweat as well.

Detective Hollis (Gothic Harvest): Adam Hollis smells good because he’s trying to impress the ladies. Definitely on the cheap side when it comes to aftershave and cologne, but it’s still nice. Beard probably smells like one of those fancy beard oils if you get close enough. Used to wear trendy men's body sprays that smell like a middle school hallway until someone told him he smelled "stupid."

Bones (Texas Chainsaw Massacre Game): Bones is a man who appreciates the finer things in life. The fancy city good, the high-end scents. Definitely wears something from a black bottle that has “midnight” in the name or has a name in another language. Undercurrent of formaldehyde from his day job when you’re close, but something about it is strangely intoxicating.

Mr. Snowfeather (American Exorcist): Smells like nothing. Maybe a little smokey, being a demon or...whatever he is. Otherwise you can’t even tell he’s there because, well, he isn’t.

The Magician (Devil's Carnival): I agree with Twice this bitch smells like cotton candy. He smells like sparkles and I don’t even know what that means. He smells whimsical, like the air on the first day of summer vacation when you’re a kid. Also kinda smells like rabbits.

Mayor Buckman (2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams): As clean as he can, given the circumstances. Cleaner on days when he’s going to be around Harper (I literally cannot not ship them I am so sorry but it is impossible). Like blood and gore when there’s a particularly violent dinner service.

Mr. Suitcase (Home Sick): Fancy. Something light and refreshing and not too heavy but still masculine. Rubber from his gloves and an after-scent of rust from all those razorblades.

Frank (Fair Game): Frank is probably just sweaty, being out there in that hot desert shed all the time. But I think he probably smells fine when he hasn’t been out there all day. A little dusty. A little bit like sand and cheap beer.

Ricky With His Brain Out (Silent Night Deadly Night 3): Hospital. Antiseptic soap and the slightest, weird, vaguely sweet smell from his brain being out (thanks for the info, Vee). Someone else’s sweat when he steals those clothes, and blood once he gets to killing.

(shoutout once again to @twiceinawhile and @centaurivee)

#bill moseley #I do not feel like tagging all these damn movies oh my god #anyway here's this

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agridronespecialists · 10 days ago

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moonlitkata · 3 months ago

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moon trivia !

spicy food is where it’s at. she’s loves it. she thrives on it, the spicier the better

her top 3 favorite colors go : red, teal, burnt orange

you can call her scarlett / scar, but her initial response might be panic

her playlist is a mix of soft rock, pop & r&b

she likes crosswords. it’s one of the things she used to do with her dad growing up & you’ll still catch her doing them occasionally

raspberries are superior in her book

her first kiss was in middle school during a 7 minutes in heaven game with a guy she was kinda crushing on & poor dude came out to her right after it happened. the moment lives rent free in my head & hers. it’s cool, they laughed it off

if she watches a movie you want to watch & an animal dies in it, you will be to blame. specifically.

speaking of movies, you can’t miss if you suggest a musical / animation & you can’t miss if you suggest an action movie, either

her love languages are physical touch & acts of service

if you’re someone she cares for, you’re getting a crystal

smoking weed genuinely helps her chill, it’s not a social thing, it just happens to be something that’s fun to do with other people. she just gets to be unbothered & silly for a few hours at a time & it’s great

she startles easily

she's not a morning person. late hours are creativity hours and she stays up late to edit vlogs a lot of the time

she carries pepper spray in her bag & she does have self defense classes under her belt but if she can spray & run, she’ll happily just do that

she can cook. she’s not touching baking with a ten-foot pole, though. if you do either of these, she admires it / thinks it’s hot

she sleeps on her stomach

she’s messy. room, desktop, makeup bag, car, all chaos.

likes to top 🧡 ( the cheerleader pyramid... duh... )

#headcanon – moon

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returnsandreturns · 2 years ago

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my library jobs have both been one hundred thousand times better than my retail jobs and less stressful on a customer service end because we don't have to take nearly as much bullshit but retail was SIGNIFICANTLY more boring. there's something every day. somebody is hiding our queer kids books. somebody is hiding one specific queer kid book with so much purpose that it was hidden within 24 hours of us putting it back on the shelf. i have been a part of two police stings. i have had to tell four people this month alone that they can't leave their children alone in the building (NO, not even to go out to your CAR, that's plenty of time for them to be STOLEN). i told a man that he needed to turn off the music he was blaring from his phone inside the library and he said, "OH, well i guess I'M THE PROBLEM," which was just a factually true statement. we found a weed grinder hidden in one of those under floor outlets in our teen room and have to assume it's been there prior to it becoming a teen room because none of them are cool enough to smoke. i have had to deal with snakes, rats and a concerning amount of dead birds. these fucking skateboarders will not listen when i tell them that i don't want to be this kind of grown-up but they HAVE TO STOP GRINDING ON THE BUILDING. there's a group of teen girls who always make loud sexual noises when they leave. a lot of drug deals. adult men fighting. children fighting. i've made three reports to cps. we have had fifteen books challenged since december. i've been personally targeted by a rightwing blogger for being gay and doing my job. i have had two secret admirers who sent cards directly to my work address and never revealed themselves so they could be ANYONE ANYWHERE AT ANY TIME. one time a toddler accidentally pepper sprayed himself because he got into his mom's purse.

this is mostly just from this year because i have a bad memory but it's every day there's something.

still better than retail and extremely rewarding but EVERY DAY.

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starrystrawb · 11 months ago

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Now introducing Volcanos! She is hot tempered, powerful, and kinda small compared to her fellow Mother Earth epithets. But make no mistake, she hold a power few of them possess. She is known to cause chaos so deep it can effect the other epithets.

She (kinda obviously) is based of Pele! For anyone who doesn't know, Pele is the Hawaiian Goddess of volcanos, wind, fire, lightning, and dance. She is immensely powerful and effects the other gods and goddesses around her. She is known for being quick to anger, passionate, and loving towards her people. Pele's mythos fascinates me and I adore all the stories she has. The most popular one being that she will disguise herself as a beggar woman and ask for alcohol and cigarettes. If you are kind to her, you will be in her good graces, if you fail, you will feel her wrath.

On to our eco tips!

Fire season is upon us, friends! Remember to keep in local ordinances and safely prepare yourself and your home! In some eco-systems, fire is necessary. That is what controlled burns are for! To ensure that the forests we love remain healthy, and to protect other areas, people, and wild life. Some good ground rules are to keep a fire extinguisher close by when having an out-door fire, properly store any wood kept for fires, and keep dry grass cut back away from anywhere you intend to have a fire! When you are enjoying a nice warm fire, be safe and responsible! Keep young children and pets a safe distance away, be cautious of the cinders, and completely extinguish a fire before turning in! Just like Smokey the Bear says; Only YOU can prevent forest fires!

As the seasons change and the temperatures rise, we find ourselves outside more. It's a beautiful day, friends! Be sure to enjoy it! If you are leaving the house or out in the sun, wear sunscreen! And reapply every 30 minutes - 2 hours. If you're able, use reef safe sunscreen, or sunscreens with environmentally friendly propellants if you prefer the spray kind! Most reef safe brands will have "REEF SAFE" printed on their packaging. I've used Blue Lizard and Hawaiian Tropic and liked them both!

Once you're sunscreen has run out, what do you do with the bottle? It's unfortunate but true that many beauty products are not curb-side recyclable. Some companies like Sephora, Nordstrom, and Terracycle have been advertising that they now take empty beauty product containers for recycling! If you can, consider taking your empty sunscreen bottle, blush container, or shampoo bottles to a company that provides these services! If you don't have that option, maybe repurpose the container if you can. It's not single use if you use it more than once!

I don't like yard work. I'm going to be very honest with you. I love being outside, and sometimes I even love sweating. And when my family is out there with me, damn I am just so happy! Until I am raking, or shoveling, or pulling weeds. I think it's the worst. But that doesn't mean I cant be environmentally couscous while I bitch about the work! Use paper or compostable bags when throwing out your yard debris. If you have room, you can compost weeds, leaves, sticks, and grass! If you garden, you can make a Lasagna Bed, where you layer compostable materials between layers of dirt! If you're trying to fill a hole or a large area, consider throwing those sticks and leaves and grass and whatever other organic materials in as a space filling base layer before you will it with dirt or rocks or mulch or whatever you want! The only thing I don't think that works for is a water feature.

Be brave, friends! It can be hard confronting people about problematic behavior or calling out big companies and big celebrities. I'm not saying you should berate the person in front of you at the coffee shop for not having a reusable cup, or neg someone for forgetting reusable bags! But if someone you know is supporting companies and people that are causing harm, let them know. If they choose to continue to support them, that isn't your problem. But at least you tried! Don't support companies that back Israel, like Starbucks. Boycott places that refuse to release their environmental impact statements, like Temu. Tell that one guy you know who thinks that they can't make a difference that they can! One person is all it takes to start a trend. Look at mom jeans or reusable straws!

Base

#digital art #drawing #base art #base edit #earth month #friendship is magic #mother nature #my little pony #lol #funny #volcano #volcanoes #ecofriendly #tips #tips and tricks

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suicide-kermit · 2 years ago

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Kermit's U-Haul trip across the country went off without a hitch, except for the part where a gas pump malfunctioned and sprayed Kermit with gasoline somewhere in bumfuck Missouri. The various hicks (all wearing camo pants) looked at Kermit as though they thought a frog should not be driving a fifteen foot truck pulling a loaded trailer. Kermit reminded himself that Missourians can't read, which made him feel better.

The gas incident made the entire cab smell like gasoline. Luckily, huffing gas fumes made Kermit forget his existential dread for a little while.

The trip took about 21 hours. Kermit set off from Oklahoma at 10 am. He arrived in Michigan at his relatives house at 9 AM (losing two hours from time zones), driving through the night. Kermit could have been responsible and pulled over to catch a few hours of sleep. Instead, Suicide Kermit decided to take enough pharmaceuticals to clog the arteries of a small child.

At 2:30 AM Kermit arrived at the drop off point for the trailer, in Indiana. With no one there to disconnect the trailer, Kermit had to do so on his own in the pitch black. Kermit soon discovered that the trailer jack had broken in transit. Not only this, but the wooden wheel stops intended to keep the trailer from rolling backwards once disconnected had not been included.

Kermit called the U-Haul help line, where a customer service representative helpfully informed him that he would have to sleep in the cab of the truck until morning, when someone with thumbs would be able to come out to fix and disconnect the trailer.

Kermit attempted to kill himself by slamming his head in the U-Haul door.

When this did not have the desired effect, Kermit sat in the cab and surveyed what was to be his accomodations for the night. The parking lot was craggy, sprouting weeds, and a discarded Burger King bag caught the wind and tossed end over end like a tumbleweed. The gentle smell of hot piss wafted through the air. A decades old impala sat across the lot, windows damp with condensation, doubtless from some other transient, similarly fucked by U-Haul, sleeping inside.

Seeing that person sleeping in their car, knowing that it would soon be him, nearly broke Kermit. Fortunately for Kermit, he had been broken from the moment he was ejected from his mother's womb directly into a trash can.

Instead of sleeping in the U-Haul, Kermit said fuck that shit, and wandered the lot with a flashlight until he found a two by four and a door stop in a clump of weeds. Using these, he was able to brace the trailer wheels to keep it from rolling backwards and crashing into the other trailers.

Trailer successfully dislodged, Kermit resumed his journey to Michigan. Before long he arrived at the birth giver's wretched hive of scum and villainy. Because the birth giver was and is a barely functional frog, they presented Kermit with their bed--a sheet thrown over a box spring. Kermit decided not to sleep, and instead took a larger amount of pharmaceuticals, unloaded the truck, and was again on their way further North, where they would spend the week recuperating with friends near Michigan's upper peninsula.

More updates to come.

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theformerbastard · 2 years ago

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1) Where are you currently staying? Do they have room service? In detail explain the worst hotel you’ve stayed at. In less detail, explain the best with one word.

2) share a warm memory of a person whose name starts with R.

3) The last thing you smiled about? The last thing that you cried over? The last time you laughed until your stomach hurt?

4) What was the best toy from your childhood?

5) Tell me about the person you love(d) ?

These are fabulous.

1 - I'm stayin' at a comfort inn in Glendale, CA. I don't THINK they have room service. In detail I could tell you about the motel I lived in for four years but I feel like I've gone down that road so I'll tell you about the worst since I started this job. It was one of my first runs. I got to Florida, didn't know the area, hopped on hotwire and booked the cheapest thing I could find. Ended up bein' a Knight's Inn in...Jacksonville? I think? It was one of those deals where they make you check in outside thru thick glass. While I'm standin' there, there were three young guys allllll up in my bubble. Kept my hand on my pepper spray the whole time, like that woulda fuckin' helped. Got up to the room and it's exactly what you'd expect: fake hardwood floors that were all stained n warped, shitty little tv, cigarette burns in the comforter. I woke up to a gunshot from the street below the next mornin'. Not good.

The best in one word? View.

2 - It's not the healthiest thing but there was one night, the old roommate I mentioned the other night (Robin) and I shared a spliff. We both smoked cigarettes at the time but not weed so it was a special occasion kinda thing. I dunno. It might sound tame but I just remember it fondly. I miss that deck.

3 - Smiled about: I smile quite a bit but I saw some baby ducks in a pond the other day which made me smile, but what made me smile harder was, as I was watchin' em, I saw two other people stop to take pics of em too. Thought it was sweet.

Cried over: just...life.

Laughed til it hurt: I was watchin' I Love You, Man earlier and there was a line I'd somehow forgotten about...it doesn't take much honestly.

4 - probably my game gear. I was obsessed with that fuckin' thing.

5 - My best friend. I love her more than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life. She makes me laugh, doesn't judge me, makes me think...she's the best part of my day.

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this-is-sen-lin · 2 years ago

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Memory Park

Originally written in November 2021 for HIST 502: Introduction to Public History.

Synopsis: Can history be neutral? How do we treat with the past? What should we do with all those old statues? Follow the groundskeeper of Memory Park, where the past stands at eye-level and the weeds are always hungry. 1227 words

The gravel crunches beneath your work boots as you make your way along the maintenance road. The pale sky hangs blue and orange-gold above you, the gathering clouds stained pink by the slow climb of the drowsy sun. Birdsong trickles out through the dense crowns of the trees. Long grass softly brushes your pantlegs. The chain-link fence that marks the edge of the service yard holds back a flood of shrubs, allowing them to thrust a few green stems through the gaps. The world in this hour feels softly hushed, and the gentle breeze carries the faint smells of crushed grass and rain. As you push through the gate in the wall of green, you’re reminded of a fact that the girl at the visitor center once shared with you.

“Did you know,” she had said, “that people in Victorian times had picnics in cemeteries? Yeah, and the kids would play there too. Public parks weren’t really a thing back then. Cemeteries were the only green spaces they had.”

You check in, fill a bucket with water, and load it onto the golf cart along with your tools. You sit down behind the wheel and take a moment to savor the cool of the morning before you start the engine. The cart jostles slightly as it rolls down a dirt path beneath the arching branches of the trees. The water in the bucket sloshes. As you roll past the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign, you make your plans for the morning.

At Memory Park, your duties as groundskeeper are relatively light. You maintain the trails and pick up garbage, but there’s little in the way of landscaping to take care of. The county’s vision for the park was of a place where nature could take its course. “Rewilding”, you think, was the term they used. You remember a message in the guestbook colorfully describing it as “a place to watch plants swallow up the statues.”

Oh, yeah. You take care of the statues too.

Not too much care. Just enough to not make a statement.

If such a thing were possible.

The dirt path leads you past the scattered statues, separated from each other by waving swaths of grass and wildflowers. Once, they may have stood on plinths, but now they rest with their feet on the ground, the same height as anybody else. Some of them have names: Forrest, Calhoun, Sherman, Junípero Serra. Others you can’t immediately recall, or had no names to begin with. Four young Confederates stand in a cluster beneath a maple tree, watching you pass with hollow eyes. One of them clutches his rifle with both hands, his head at his feet and the beginnings of a bird’s nest in the cradle of his neck. Other statues you pass stand half-cloaked in creepers, or speckled white on head and shoulders from bird droppings. These you do not clear away. Nature is taking its course.

Someone has spray-painted the word “MURDERER” onto the chest of an equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson. You stop the cart, get down, and inspect it. His eyes have been X-ed out in similar fashion, and various obscenities are painted on the sides of his horse. (What did the horse ever do?) Each stroke of red spray-paint seems to throb with the painter’s anger. There was vengeance in this gesture.

Nothing some soap and water can’t fix. You grab your bucket and sponge the paint away, as per protocol. The water runs red from between the fingers of your sponge-hand and pools at Jackson’s feet. You leave him to dry in the sun: there’s a lot more park left to cover.

In the southeast section, you pick up the remains of a picnic left beneath a chasteberry tree.

In the southwest section, you pause at the edge of the pond to watch a heron fish.

In the northwest section, you come across a statue in the middle of a clearing. At the feet of the nameless Texas Ranger blooms a crop of American flags and red-white-and-blue pinwheels. A Beanie Baby rests in the crook of his arm as he reaches for his Walker Colt. You stand for a moment, watching the pinwheels turn and the flags flutter in the breeze. Pride and patriotism bubble up from the ground in this place.

After quickly glancing around, you gather up the items and place them in the back of the cart, as per protocol. The tiny yellow blooms they had hidden peep through the grass. The flags and pinwheels are still in good condition, and it seems a waste to throw them out. You consider donating them to the local daycare.

You spend a little more time on your rounds, picking up the odd bit of trash, as well as a sticker-covered Hydroflask for the lost-and-found. You take a short break at the northern edge of the park. Rolling hills stretch before you, the paintbox dripples and brushstrokes of summer wildflowers breaking up the waving expanse of green. Some rumors had been going around about expanding the park, and you imagine bronze soldiers and marble missionaries gazing at the hazy blue mountains beyond.

The last stop on your rounds is the front gate, which you unlock and push creakingly open before returning to your cart. You unpack a sack breakfast and a thermos of coffee. The wind pushes flocks of fattened clouds across the blue field of the sky, and you watch them for a while, your eyes watering slightly from the intensity of the color.

A slight rustling to your left draws your attention. You take another drink of coffee, then get up from your seat to investigate.

In the middle of a stand of trees, a man in shorts and a gray hiking jacket kneels at the base of a statue of Jefferson Davis. He’s taking a charcoal rubbing of the nameplate at the base. After a moment, he gets up and waves to you. “Are you the groundskeeper here?” he asks.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply.

“I just wanted to thank you for what you’re doing,” says the man. He’s fair-skinned, with big, guileless blue eyes and a full, neatly trimmed brown beard. “Like, preserving all this stuff? That’s important. I mean, I’m no Confederate or anything but… this is history.”

“It sure is,” you reply. The man turns around and puts his hands on his hips to survey the grove.

“This is a good place,” he continues. “Lotta nature here. You know, I read on the Internet somewhere that it takes 40,000 years for a bronze statue to break down.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” He turns to face you, then glances back over his shoulder and adds, “’Let us cross over the river and rest in the shade of the trees.’”

You do not respond.

The man gives you a cheerful wave and starts to leave. You get closer to the statue and look at it for a little while. Your eyes are at the same level as Davis’s. The man has left his charcoal stick at the base, and you consider throwing it away as you pick it up.

Instead, you call after the man, “Hey, you forgot your charcoal,” and he thanks you as he takes it back.

You sit down at the base of the largest tree and linger for a while in the shade.

#short story #history #public history #original work #original fiction #creative writing #realistic fiction #statue #confederate monument #what did the horse ever do?#memory #Szoborpark #second person

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