#anyways i just like the idea of them quitting and/or smoking less | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sutorus · 1 year

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BAD IDEA RIGHT? BEST FRIEND'S DAD!TOJI for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: you and megumi are old friends, but a recent development (called growing up) has made you aware of just how hot his dad, toji fushiguro, really is. you sit on your desire for years until one night, you get an idea.

PAIRING: best friend’s dad!fushiguro toji x reader

WC: 5.1k whoops!

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORDS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, age gap! power dynamics, slight daddy kink, degradation, spit (like a lot it's a Thing here), oral (m! receiving), unprotected relations, slapping, gaping, size difference/size kink, creampie, toji is Nasty and a pretty bad dude lol

A/N: this is nasty and very descriptive i’m so sorry i really sinned here. anyway enjoy!

you and megumi have been friends since school. after all, it was inevitable that a friendship would form between the only two kids whose parents consistently forgot to pick them up after class.

nods of acknowledgment quickly developed into trading pokémon cards, sharing samanco waffles, cheating off each other during tests.

it was the most meaningful relationship you had in your life, the one other person who really got you and the situation you were in, and before you knew it, you two were being admitted to the same college, like you’d talked about all those years ago.

in the meantime, megumi’s dad had… mellowed out. from what you knew.

sure, he was still gone for weeks at a time, neglectful, irresponsible and womanizing, but one final falling out with their family seemed to have lifted a big weight off his shoulders, and he became more present in megumi’s life, less resentful. you knew he wasn’t a good guy, but you also knew he was trying, in his own way.

besides that, you also couldn’t help noticing other things about the man. you first started paying attention when you were in high school, always hanging out at megumi’s place to play video games or study.

toji would come home sometimes, smelling of smoke and sake, tonguing the scar on the side of his lip. plopping down on their shaggy sofa, legs spread wide, thick thighs straining the fabric of his pants. you would give megumi some excuse about getting something from the kitchen and just watch toji, lazily browsing channels with one hand inside his sweats.

it wasn’t a big deal. but it never quite went away, your infatuation growing with your desperation the more the man hung around. you did everything you could to get his attention.

you wore the frilliest, shortest skirts, left dirty dishes on the sink, showed up too late at night drunk and stumbling “looking for megumi”, acting out so you could try to get some reaction out of toji. but he never seemed to give you a second thought, annoyance being the closest thing to an emotion on his face every time your eyes met.

but you were no quitter. you knew one day you would get what you deserved. maybe not today, but… eventually.

you approach the fushiguro household’s front door, fishing out the extra key megumi had given you from your backpack pocket. you two had a study session today but he’d texted you telling you he’d be late and to just let yourself in, so that’s what you do.

with a sigh, you set down your laptop on their coffee table and sit down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. before you can finish getting comfortable, a tall, broad figure is looming over your face and you almost jump out of your skin.

“what the f—oh my god,” you laugh in embarrassment. “you scared me, fushiguro-san.”

he doesn’t react, his eyes boring into yours. “me? you’re the one breaking into my house.”

you roll your eyes, pulling your legs up below your body. “megumi gave me a key. we’re supposed to study today, do you know where—“

“he’s with that itadori kid. don’t think he’s coming back tonight,” toji moves to sit down on the loveseat, turning the tv on. the old, boxy thing crackles to life, a boat race playing on the screen. toji adjusts his body in attention. “so you can fuck off back home.”

“um,” you start, but nothing else comes out of your mouth. you let your eyes wander all over his lax form, and you can faintly make out his abs below the raggedy shirt he’s wearing. it makes your stomach turn.

without taking his eyes off the screen, he addresses you again. “you know where the door is.”

an idea starts to form in your head. a really, really bad, tempting idea.

you discreetly take off your sweatshirt, leaving you in just your undershirt, no bra. you hope toji can scent the whiff of perfume you exude when you move, scooting closer to the edge of the sofa.

“nah, i think i’ll just study here. my parents are home today and they’re too… y’know.”

“not my fuckin’ problem,” he picks at his teeth, spreading his legs wider. your desperation is growing with each second he spends not looking at you.

you lift up your bag, something clinking inside. it's a bold move, but it's now or never.

“i brought booze. we could just share some and then i’ll go.”

that at least gets a reaction. the man snorts, finally glancing over at you from the corner of his eyes. you instinctively push your chest out, feeling eager.

“is that what you do with my son under my roof? get shitfaced in the house that i pay for?”

“well i paid for the vodka so i don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you make a point to pull out the bottle from your bag, swinging it around.

toji’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. you know he doesn’t like to be challenged, absolutely hates smart mouths. you should be in for a treat.

“who the hell do you think you’re talking to, kid?” he stands up and snatches the bottle from you, turning it around in his — big, veiny, deliciously calloused — hand and laughing. “vanilla flavored? fuck, you really are a kid.” he says it like the realization excites him.

you can feel your face flush.

“are you gonna turn down free alcohol, toji?” it’s risky, dropping the honorific. you know he doesn’t like it, can see it in his face, but he doesn’t say anything.

instead, he unscrews the top with ease and takes a swig, grimacing at the taste. you watch as his throat works, adam’s apple bobbing.

his arms are huge, you can’t imagine he was ever shaped like megumi is nowadays, slender and frail. toji is tall and broad and big, with a permanent 5 o’clock shadow on his defined features.

he grabs two whiskey glasses and sets them down on the coffee table — no coasters —, pouring some vodka in both of them. it was most definitely not your idea to do straight shots tonight with megumi, but you will not go through the humiliation of asking for a soda to mix it with.

you’re desperate to have toji view you as the adult you are, no longer megumi’s awkward middle school best friend. you know you’ve grown up well; all you need is for toji to see it too.

you drink in silence for a bit, the only noises coming from toji being his disappointed grunts as the boats he bet on fall behind. you type away at your laptop, not really being able to focus with the heat rising within you.

he refills both your cups a couple more times, but makes no effort to talk.

you slowly but surely start to get antsy, your determination wavering and giving way to a funny feeling one can only experience by drinking with their best friend’s dad who they’ve wanted to fuck for like, ever.

so you bite the bullet and with the liquid courage flowing in your veins, you strike up conversation.

“y’know, toji, i’ve always wanted to ask,” his head lolls on his shoulder to look at you lazily and disinterested. “what happened to megumi’s mom? he doesn’t talk about it.”

“yeah, well. me either,” toji replies. you take a deep breath.

“you’re gone a lot. megumi is alone a lot.”

toji scoffs.

“thought that was what you were here for, hmm? megumi’s done well for himself,” he finally, probably for the first time in your life, gives you a proper look over, his eyes traveling all over your frame, tucked into the armrest of the couch. “scored himself a nice little bitch.”

you let out a strangled noise. you’re fighting laughter when you exclaim, “i’m sorry?! you think megumi and i have a—like, a thing?”

toji just shrugs, stretching one leg out in front of him. “i figured. why else would you loiter around my house so much?”

oh, if he only knew.

“no, no. it’s never been like that. megumi’s not really my type.” toji hums inquisitively, and you take that as a sign to continue. “i’m into more… mature guys.”

toji eyes you knowingly, but seemingly amused.

“that right?” you nod. “fuckin’ kid like you even know what to do with a man?”

you raise an eyebrow. you’re a sophomore in college, well into your twenties. he can’t be serious. “surely you know i’m not a kid anymore. surely you d—“

“surely my ass,” he exclaims and oh, he’s a little terrifying like this. toji downs however much was left in his cup and turns to you, pointing with the hand holding his glass. “you’re a full of shit, foul mouthed, rude brat. get the fuck out of my house, you’re pissing me off.”

you’re used to toji’s outbursts, not because you know him well but because every time you see him, seldom as it is, he always loses his temper, sooner or later.

“i think,” you take another sip, feeling loose. “your old ass wouldn’t be able to handle sex. like, actual sex, not those rich hags you who just lay there for you and give you money in the end. if you had to put in any real work i bet your heart would give out you slimey pi—“

you can’t finish your sentence because you can’t breathe, suddenly. your eyes widen, chest spasming as your oxygen gets cut off mid-sentence. toji has one of his huge palms covering your nose and mouth.

you look up at him with watery eyes but he’s not looking back, he’s chugging vodka straight from the bottle again.

he puffs his cheeks and moves his hand to cup your jaw, smirking around a mouthful of alcohol.

you catch your breath quickly, the hand that was clawing at his falling limply on your lap. toji holds your face, his grip unforgiving as he leans over you. his form is so, so much bigger than yours, towering over you completely, and all you can do is look up at him with a blank expression.

his thumb pries your mouth open with ease, the digit hooking behind your bottom teeth as toji’s face gets closer and closer. on instinct, you close your eyes.

soon, hot, stinging liquid is pouring steadily into your mouth. toji swishes the rest of the vodka between his cheeks — on purpose, you’re sure — before spitting it directly on your tongue.

it’s disgusting, everything about it makes your stomach churn, but it also makes you squeeze your legs together, chest rising and falling rapidly as you swallow without having to be told to.

“ya talk too fuckin’ much, brat,” he grumbles. ironically, you’re at a loss for words. “someone needs put you in your place already.”

“you,” your voice cracks and nearly fails you, but you’re determined. it surprises him, that you’d have something to say. that you’re still game. you can see it in his face, in the way his hands come off of you. “i want you to.”

toji’s expression is hard and unchanging. his fingers go back to your face, two of them slipping inside your lax lips.

your breath stutters as you inhale, instinctively sucking the digits and working your tongue around them.

toji grabs his cock through his pants pointedly.

“fuckin’ slut… that what you want?” you nod. he takes a step forward, knees hitting the couch. “is that why you walk around my house looking like a fucking whore?”

a whine dies in your throat at the sweet, sweet recognition.

he noticed.

he noticed and it bothered him and you really couldn’t bring yourself to care that he was your best friend’s father right now because he was tenting his sweatpants and your mouth was watering at the sight.

“please…” you paw at his waistband, pulling on the drawstrings. toji laughs at your desperation, voice growing gruff.

he buries a hand in your hair, fingers closing around your locks tightly and making your eyes sting with tears. slowly, he pushes your face into his crotch, so close that you can feel it pulsing, can feel every ridge, can feel that he’s not wearing any underwear.

god, you can smell him, and it makes your head spin, your mouth huffing out hot breaths and wetting the front of his pants.

you hook your fingers in the back of his sweats and pull until they’re down tight around his thighs. you have to maneuver the fabric over the head of his erection, earning a hiss from the man towering over you.

his dick springs up, slapping you in the face and leaving a smear of pre across the bridge of your nose. you think toji snorts at that but you can’t be sure. you’re too mesmerized.

he’s so, so big, the skin darker and flushed, tight, heavy balls and the head, angry red, peeking out from the foreskin.

your throat goes dry at the thought of it inside of you, inside any of your holes, because you know it’ll destroy you forever. and you want it.

toji doesn’t have the appeal that most men his age do to most girls your age. he doesn’t make you feel safe, he doesn’t offer financial support, he doesn’t care about your well-being, he doesn’t have his shit together. and to make matters worse to you, he’s your best friend’s dad, who your best friend doesn’t even like that much, whose presence has been totally indifferent to megumi for most of his life.

it makes you burn in shame to know you’re about to have a man 25 years your senior in your mouth.

you readjust your position on the couch so that you’re sitting on your knees, angling your face with his cock. it’s curved, pointing up, and you wonder how much of it he’s gonna wanna stuff down your throat. judging by the pure evil glinting in his eyes, it’s gonna be as much as possible.

you take a deep breath, steadying a hand around his length. it’s concerning that you can just barely close your fingers around him, but you put that thought aside to focus on pulling the skin down gently so you can wrap your lips around the tip.

toji sighs in relief, his grip in your hair tightening.

you begin to work your head up and down, licking the underside of his cock to gather up saliva.

“thaaat’s it, what a good little bitch. got a sweet little mouth on ya,” he whispers, hips thrusting slightly to work his cock further into your mouth. “yer gonna take all of it? or are ya all talk?”

you whine, gripping the base and sliding further down his length. he’s already hitting the back of your throat, making your eyes water and your stomach seize. you pick up the pace, twisting your wrist rhythmically as you suck him.

“don’t swallow,” he threatens, forcing his cock deeper into you, the head sliding into the opening of your throat. “lemme see how messy this slutty face can get.”

you choke audibly, eyes smarting with tears, makeup smudging. you look up at him with furrowed brows in a silent plea of mercy.

toji’s having none of it.

he puts one foot down on the sofa, next to your legs, giving himself the leverage to start fully fucking your face now. he wraps both hands around your throat and thrusts his hips violently into your mouth, his thumbs pressing down to feel his length in your throat.

“ahh, fuck,” he throws his head back, reveling in your desperate gurgles. you feel like a fucking ragdoll, like a fleshlight, unable to control the noises you make or how much dick you take. “takin’ me so well. who taught you to squeeze your throat like that, huh? so fuckin’ slutty.”

you sob around his cock, nose buried in his pubes. he’s impossibly hard, impossibly wet as thick strings of spit and pre hang from your lips, dripping down to his balls, falling to the floor.

toji keeps fucking your throat relentlessly, granting you mere seconds between thrusts to inhale a desperate breath that immediately starts to burn in your lungs.

he’s a fucking sight though, above you. chin tucked into his chest, veins bulging and biceps flexed, nostrils flared as he watches you devour him.

he pulls out suddenly, leaving you choking for air. tears stream down your face, spit bubbling out of your nostril. you look all wrong, like you’d been put back together by someone after being utterly demolished.

“open your mouth,” toji orders. you obey and he grabs his cock, slapping the head against your tongue a few times. he slides his length in and out for a bit before he starts jerking himself off. “suck my balls.”

you take that moment to swallow down the saliva that had pooled between your teeth, tucking away the wet strands of hair that frame your face.

toji’s lifting his cock towards his belly, fisting the head and flicking his wrist. he looks at you expectantly, and you understand it’s time to prove yourself once again.

you place a gente thumb right below his shaft, where his sack hangs. your tongue dips in between his balls, shyly at first, just slightly tracing the shape of them before you pop one into your mouth.

toji groans, the hand on his cock gaining speed. you squeeze your thighs together; you’re so wet that it makes you uncomfortable. you lean forward on your knees, steadying yourself with your palms planted firmly on his thighs.

you’re sucking his balls earnestly now , one then the other, then both at the same time, angling your head up and working your tongue up and down the wrinkled skin.

toji’s loving it, maybe more than the blowjob, and it makes you feel like a toy all over again, in an even more humiliating way because now you’re not even allowed to touch his cock, he’s just getting to use your mouth anywhere he wants.

it’s so fucking hot that it makes you dizzy. you hollow your cheeks, giving his nutsack a good suck before gingerly lifting his balls. you sneak a glance up at toji, hoping to catch him by surprise when your tongue dips even lower, approaching some pretty controversial territory.

it works. his breath catches in his throat and his knee kicks out instinctively.

he grabs your hair immediately, pulling you away from him.

“fuck,” you look up at him smirking, lips smeared with saliva and snort. but you don’t even care how debauched you look right now, as long as you can keep the upper hand. “you’re a nasty little bitch, aren’t ya?”

he leans down to kiss you deeply, messily, inhaling loudly through his nose. toji finishes stepping out of his sweatpants and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing what you’d been imagining for so many years.

you run your hands over his chest, his abs, down his hips, his v-line. he’s so fucking hot, got bulging muscles you didn’t even know existed in the human body, and scars you can’t even fathom the origin of.

he stares at you, looking bored. “get up.”

you do, legs shaking and prickling with pins and needles. now you can fully feel the scope of your arousal, how your panties stick to your core uncomfortably, how the wet tops of your thighs rub together.

toji sits down on the sofa and you waste no time getting on his lap, clawing at his chest and leaning in for another kiss. he’s unforgiving even like this, so much bigger than you, his hand on the back of your neck and his mouth on yours.

“arms up,” and when you comply, he’s pulling your tank top off. “good girl.”

you shiver, instinctively wrapping an arm around yourself. toji tsks at that, easily taking both your wrists in one hand and pinning them behind your back. he grabs your tit with the other, popping as much of it as he can in his mouth.

you groan, fighting against his grip to get your hands on his hair, his shoulders, anywhere. toji relentlessly sucks on your nipple, nibbling and circling it with his tongue.

when he pulls off, he lands a swift slap across your boob, ripping a groan from you.

“such a good fuckin’ slut, look at that body.”

he slaps your ass, this time, tugging your shorts over your butt. you help him get it off of you and then, finally, you’re straddling toji’s cock, no layers in between you two, just your dripping core on him.

you think, belatedly, condom, but then toji is pulling you in for another kiss and for all you know megumi could come home any minute and you wouldn’t want to waste time like that. or so you tell yourself.

his hands guide your hips to grind over him, soft mewls coming out of you and being buried into the crook of his neck.

“pretty little girl, gonna ride me? hmm? gonna ride this old man’s cock?” you whine, nodding.

you press your front against his so you can lift your ass up and guide the tip into your entrance. you don’t expect to be able to take it all, but at least like this you can control the pace and how much of it is going into you, the only thing keeping you from panicking at the sheer size of him.

the head of toji’s cock doesn’t slip inside so much as it pops inside, the ridge locking just past your opening.

it’s too big, and even though you’re soaking wet, it’s still a stretch. you both groan in unison and you realize, this is it. this is your fantasy, you’re fucking toji fushiguro, megumi’s dad, your best friend’s dad.

your legs tremble as you hold yourself up, too soon to sink down more on his cock. toji’s playing with your nipples but you have a sneaking suspicion his patience isn’t going to last much longer.

you give it a valiant effort to take more in and it feels like being ripped in two. you clench your jaw, a bead of sweat rolling down your temple.

“fuuuuck, so fuckin’ tight,” toji spreads your ass cheeks with both hands, rubbing the thin skin where you two are connected. he thrusts up, feeding your poor pussy more of his cock, and you let out a scream. “take it, c’mon.”

“unghh—can’t, toji, hang on—“

“‘course ya can,” he fucks up into you again and you sob, nails raking down his chest. he hisses and slaps your ass in punishment. you realize you might really cry.

“i can’t, it’s too big, too much—“

“shhh,” in an uncharacteristic display of affection, toji kisses the furrow between your brows, snaking a thumb between you two to rub your clit.

you throw your head back, body torn between seeking more pleasure and running from the pain. you can hear how wet you are as toji fucks in and out of you, your plush walls hugging him so well, weeping around him.

he speeds up and you bury your face in his chest, moaning wantonly into his skin. toji lets out staccato grunts, working his cock further into you with each thrust.

“any scrubs your age givin’ it to you like this?” he breathes out, grabbing your ass hard and moving it up and down his length for you. you whine, drooling on him. “yeah, that’s right. fuck, take it, that’s a good girl.”

“ahh, toji—“

“that’s not my name, whore,” he fists your hair and drags your head back until your eyes meet. “try again.”

“fushiguro-san—“ that earns you a hard slap on your ass. you yelp — wrong answer.

“toji-sama—“ another slap, and this time he grips the reddening flesh viciously. you whine, squirming in his grip.

“little braindead cumslut,” he wipes a tear with his thumb. “who’s fucking this tight pussy right now? huh? tell me who's ruining this slutty cunt.”

“d—daddy?”

toji smiles, humming, his grip on you softening as he leans in for a kiss. “that’s right, sweetheart. show daddy how much you want it.”

it’s amusing to toji, you know it. he just wants to humiliate you because he’s aware of how badly you’ve wanted this. but it does something to you, it’s serious to you, it’s so fucking depraved and sexy to you.

he lifts you up with ease and lays you back down on the couch. you feel so empty suddenly that it makes you want to cry, like toji has already carved a home inside of you for his cock that no one else will ever be able to fill.

he wastes no time getting on top of you, hooking a hand under your leg and lifting it up onto his shoulder. your eyes widen immediately, a protest dying in your tongue. this position… his cock… it’s, god, it’s gonna be—

toji plunges in in one violent, perfunctory thrust. you let out a scream, your heel kicking toji square in the back as your body rises up from the couch. he’s all the way inside now.

you can feel him bruising your cervix, his balls, wet with a mixture of the two of you, slapping against your ass, his hip bones drilling into you.

“you’re so deep,” you look at him with panic in your eyes, chest gone cold at the overwhelming pleasure. “you’re so deep.”

toji laughs, pulling out to spit on his cock. he grabs your ankle and sets it on his shoulder. “yeah, baby, daddy’s all the way inside now. feels good, doesn’t it?”

“fuck. oh fuck,” you let out shaky breaths, allowing toji to lay more of his weight on top of you. your knee is by your head now and somehow in this position his cock seems to hit even deeper, to curve up exactly in the right spots that have you struggling to breathe. “you’re gonna break me.”

“takin’ me so well. just a natural slut aren’t ya,” he’s fucking you so fast now, wet, slapping sounds resounding across the whole house.

there’s a thick creamy ring at the base of his cock, frothy and bubbly with how much you’ve been gushing for him. toji presses a thumb against your clit and rubs tight little circles, making you squeeze against him like a vice.

he grunts, speeding up his movements.

“so sensitive, this cute little pussy. you a virgin?” he slaps it a few times, your wetness sticking to his fingers with every pat. “gonna cum soon, whore?”

you whine, nodding. you wrap both arms around toji’s neck and pull him closer, open mouth awaiting expectantly.

toji grins, spitting onto your tongue before leaning in to suck it.

“toj—daddy,” you moan against his mouth, “daddy, i’m close.”

you don’t recognize your own voice. it’s slutty, desperate, pitchy, juvenile. it's too far gone.

toji works your clit over and over again, fucking you harder than you’ve ever been fucked. he splays a hand over your stomach, kneading the place where his cock is nestled inside of you and hitting a spot that makes you lose control of your body and words.

“ah, ah, ah, oh god toji fuck daddy make me cum, please please can i cum—“

“oh, fuck,” his thrusts start to become erratic and you know he’s close too. you clench around him, one leg wrapping around his hips to make sure he stays inside until you're done. “cum on daddy’s cock, come on. make a mess, little girl.”

you throw your head back, burying it into the pillows as your entire body thrashes with your orgasm. you clamp around him so hard that you can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

toji takes no mercy on you, his messy cock plunging in and out of you fast.

“gonna fill up this pretty pussy, yeah?” you shake your head desperately, one hand punching his chest. he can’t finish inside of you, right? but why do you want it so bad? “no no no, don’t fuss now baby. you want daddy’s cum inside you, don’t you? wanna give megumi a baby brother? fuck yeah i know you do fuckin' take it whore fuuuuck, fuck i'm coming—”

he thrusts once, twice, three more times, knocking all air out of your lungs and the most ridiculous moans out of your mouth before he’s spilling into you, locking your legs like a fucking pretzel and biting down your neck.

you can feel it pulsing, spurting inside of you. you can feel both your heartbeats in your abused cunt, both of your juices combined and oozing out of you.

once you catch your breath, toji pulls out of you languidly, with a yawn. you two made a fucking mess, a sticky puddle on the couch right below your ass.

toji eyes it disinterestedly, much like how he’s eyeing you right now. your sweaty, messy, fucked out self, nearly melting on the fushiguro household’s sofa.

“ah. are ya on the pill or what?” he asks, like he just now remembered. after a few seconds you nod, a little incredulous. “heh. good.”

you slowly sit up, reaching for your sweatshirt to at least cover yourself up. you sneak a hand down to your cunt, fingers sliding through the mess there to dip inside you.

fuck, you’re gaping. toji well and truly ruined your pussy. it makes you panic a little bit, but it also makes pride swell within your chest, knowing you took it, all of it.

toji finally addresses you.

“i’m gonna go take a shower,” he looks behind his shoulder, sighing. he points at you. “we left the fuckin’ tv on. if this shit racks up my bills you’re gonna have to pay me back.”

you guffaw. “me? pay you how?”

he smirks.

“got one more hole i haven’t wrecked yet, dont’cha?” he flicks your forehead. you just sit there, incredulous, trembling legs, halfway to horny again. from the bathroom, toji calls out, “let yourself out. oh, and leave the vodka.”

A/N: lmfao! i got nothin to say in my defense. reblogs r very much appreciated

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kayrrhin · 2 years

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Lipstick stains and nicotine

characters: Crocodile, Corazon, Smoker, Benn Beckman

One piece daddies x gn reader

Warnings: use of nicotine by both the characters and reader, swear word (use of fuck once)

(not proofread because my friend was making diner lmao)

Crocodile:

"Are you done yet?"

The warlord asked while being covered in kisses and mostly lipstick

"Hmm, no!"

You kissed him again, you couldn't really tell if he was annoyed or flustered by the attention

"Darling, may I ask what you are up too with all this display of attention?"

He asked, kissing your forehead

"Just felt like it actually, plus lipstick stains look good on you"

You smiled proudly at the pattern covering his face, he did look good with those.

He chuckled at the way you looked at his face,"I see"

He pulled out a cigar and pulled it to his lips, lighting it quickly and taking a long drag

"I could be getting used to this, as long as it stays between closed doors, of course. I still have an image to hold, darling"

He looked at you and smiled, blowing the smoke directly in your face

"Yeah, I do know that, dear"

You stole the cigar for a moment, taking a drag as well and smiling at him, you kissed him again and place the cigar between his lips again

"I wouldn't want anyone else to see this sight anyway"

Corazon :

"L-love, please"

Your lover exclaimed with a flush covering his whole cheeks as you were peppering his face with kisses

"Please what, darling?"

It had been quite a few minutes since you started kissing his whole face, he was now covered in lipstick marks and you probably guessed he wanted a little break to breath

"Let me breath a little, don't get the wrong idea, I like your affection but please, just a little break, honey"

You giggled and pulled back a little, still sitting on his lap, you were admiring your job and lighting your cigarette, taking a long drag, Rosi took your cigarette and placed it between in his lips

"I don't know why but I have a feeling it's from my pack"

He took a drag

"Ooh nice feeling you got, it is in fact right"

Your lover chuckled and placed a kiss on your nose

"Look who has lipstick on them now"

"I still have less than you, big boy"

You both laughed, but a weird smell tickled your nostrils

"Rosi! The blanket!"

"FUCK—"

Smoker:

"Love, can you please stop—"

Your lover complained while being kissed

"Come on, just a little bit more, I like seeing you flustered, Darling"

You said, kissing him again, you could see his face becoming redder as time passed. Who could imagine Smoker, a vice-admiral, being so easily messed up by mere kisses?

Even for the man was tough, he was also quite shy concerning anything remotely related to affection, is being kissed like that has been quite difficult for the heart of the White Hunter.

"[Name], please, if you do give me a break I'll.... cuddle...later", he said suite embarrassed by his own words

"Oh that's a nice deal, okay!"

You let the man go, still looking at the work of art you just did and smirked at his lipstick covered face

"What are you smiling at?"

He said, lighting his cigars

"Just looking at my work, [lipstick colour] really does suit you!"

He looked quite surprised and looked away while taking a drag,

"You're just making fun of me aren't you"

You gently kissed his cheek while stealing one of his cigars

"No, I'm just being honest, can't I just appreciate my man's beauty?"

You stole a drag and blew the smoke in his face resulting in him looking unimpressed at you

"You have your own cigars, don't steal mine, love"

He said getting his cigar back

"How grumpy can you be, darling"

You chuckled while your lover just looked at you a little embarrassed

Benn Beckman:

"Darling, are you enjoying yourself?"

Benn asked before chuckling at you unstoppable kisses

"Of course! It's quite enjoyable to cover your lover with lipstick marks! "

You said smiling, pulling back only to look at Benn's face, quite proud of the marks left on him

"I like your knew look, dear"

You giggled, he grabbed you by your waist and kissed you

"If you say so it might be true then, I just hope Shanks doesn't see me like this or he'll never live it down"

You both laughed a bit, knowing damn well he'd probably even found a way to share it with the whole world, Benn took out a cigarette and place it between your lips

"I'd guess you'd want to have a few drags"

He searched for his lighter in his pocket

"You guessed right, love"

He lit it up and you took a long drag

"I still don't like your tobacco tho"

You cringed a little only for your lover to chuckle

"Your fault for not getting your own ones"

He took the cigarette back and kissed your forehead before placing it between his lips

#one piece x gn reader #one piece x male reader #one piece x reader #corazon x reader #sir crocodile x reader #benn beckman x reader #smoker x reader #one piece

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thefreakandthehair · 2 years

Text

happy (belated, sorry!) birthday to @henderdads!! this was supposed to be just fluffy but y'know. the hurt/comfort monster got me. I hope you had a perfect day! <333

can also be found here on AO3!

stars and satellites (will always bring me home)

---

Eddie tries not to think about his birthday.

He and Wayne have an agreement to let it pass with little to no mention, save for his 16th birthday when he’s able to start driving and his 18th birthday when he hands Eddie a few singles and tells him to go grab himself his first legal pack of cigarettes— and to get one for him, too, since he’ll be at the store anyways.

It works for Eddie and he goes as far as to hide his birthday from his friends for as long as he possibly can. Gareth, Jeff, and Frank still have no idea. The new found family he’s been adopted into since averting the (apparently third or fourth) Apocalypse don’t know, despite being asked by just about everyone at least once. It’s a fine-tuned skill, evading the question and changing the subject.

“Hey Eddie, when’s your birthday? Did we miss it already this year?” Dustin asks at Will’s own birthday party.

Eddie smirks. “Roll for insight, Young Henderson.”

“Alright, got a die?”

“Nope, darn!” Eddie pretends to pat the pockets of his jeans before shrugging and walking away.

Nancy is the hardest to fend off but unless she finds his birth information through the microfiche at the library, he’s stalwart in his stance. She might, though, and that’s his only real concern. But by and large, his friends let it go, chalking it up to one of Eddie’s many quirks and occasionally joking about it when someone else’s birthday rolls around. The one person who won’t put it down though?

Steve Harrington.

Steve I Throw Parties For Everyone Harrington. Steve I’m Going To Annoy You About This At Least Once A Week Harrington. Steve Is It Today? Is It Tomorrow? You Seem Like A Winter Baby? Harrington.

And truthfully, Eddie can’t find it within himself to be genuinely mad at him about it, despite having snapped at everyone else who’s dared to ask more than once. Eddie grants Steve a pass for reasons he’s not quite ready to evaluate just yet, reasons he knows he’ll never tell, reasons that would require the same security clearance that knowing his birthday would because knowing his birthday would mean knowing this past. He’s not sure yet if he wants everyone— or anyone— to know about his dear old dad.

In true The Universe Must Be Sentient And Actively Hate Me fashion, Steve happens to ask him again on his actual birthday. Steve’s backyard is glowing in the bluish tint of the full moon, stars twinkling in and out behind rogue clouds and smoke billowing from the joint they pass between them up towards the sky. It’s cold— early February in Hawkins is no joke— but Steve and Eddie have discovered an affinity for the cold breeze against their skin, finding it grounding and centering in its own way.

“So, when’s your birthday? Is it getting close?” It’s a question Eddie’s heard no less than twenty times in the same cheeky intonation, Steve having learned not to expect anything besides an out of pocket response. What he doesn’t expect is silence. Steve never expects silence from Eddie.

He turns to look at Eddie and sees him sitting in the same patio chair he’s been in all night, right next to him— too close, but not close enough at the same time. One leg is drawn up beneath one thigh and Eddie looks up at the sky, pointedly avoiding eye contact. If the moment didn’t feel as heavy as it does, Steve would find himself staring at the muscles of his neck and the way his throat bobs when he swallows. It is heavy though, and Steve can only focus on the weight of the space between them.

“Hey, you good? You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” Steve asks, passing the joint back to him as an excuse to pull his attention back from the sky above them. Of all of the things Steve’s imagined having to fight for attention from, the moon was certainly not one of them but he supposes that tracks for Eddie. Nothing about Eddie is according to plan.

Eddie takes the joint and carefully avoids Steve’s eyes, keeping his glance at his hands before returning to the stars and taking a deep inhale. Another few hits will make this all go away, he thinks to himself. The day had been difficult— memories he’d rather not have creeping up and wrapping themselves around his limbs like living vines.

Steve watches little bits of smoke curl out on his exhale and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Ed, seriously, I’ll stop asking. I’m just teasing, I’ll quit it, just stop with the silence, dude. It’s… weird.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, quietly. It’s just a single word but he’ll take it.

“Why is it weird?”

“Yeah.”

“Because you’re not quiet. You don’t do silence unless something’s wrong.”

“Maybe something is.”

Steve sits for a second, his brain running in circles around itself. You fucked it up, c’mon, you kept asking, you knew better, why’d you have to keep prying, now you made him uncomfortable like you swore not to do—

“I can smell your brain overheating from here, Steve. Relax. It’s not you, I promise.” Eddie chuckles humorlessly under his breath and he makes a spontaneous decision, an impulsive decision he might regret but there's a little part of him that finds it hard to believe he'll ever regret sharing something with Steve.

“Then what is it? What’s wrong? Is it, y’know, End of the World- related or…?” Steve’s voice trails off. Part of the reason they’ve come to have these nights smoking in the cold, alone together, is that exactly: End of the World- related invisible scars. But Eddie just shakes his head no and sighs, placing the joint down on the glass patio table.

“It’s today.”

“Huh?”

Eddie turns to face him and raises both eyebrows. “It’s. Today. My birthday. It’s today.”

“Wait— shit, really? And you’re telling me?” Steve’s heart pounds in his chest, not blind to the gravity of Eddie telling him his closest kept secret.

Eddie shrugs and smiles without it touching his eyes. “Guess so. Take it to your grave, please?”

“Well yeah, man, I don’t make a habit of going around and telling people’s secrets. But… thanks? For trusting me?” Steve reaches the few inches to Eddie’s shoulder and lets his hand rest there. It's contact but it's not enough. It’s never really enough, but it has to be. He has no reason to think Eddie feels the same way about him and he’ll be damned if he loses his best friend— second only to Robin, but that’s besides the point. The point is, he rests his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and lets his fingers move in slow repetitive circles into the fabric of Eddie’s jacket.

“You’re welcome. It’s just— I have some… not so great memories attached to my birthday so I don’t celebrate it. Rather it just not exist, to be honest.”

“Well, since it’s a big secret, you could just make it another day, y’know. We’ll all respect it and you can, like, create new memories and start over.”

Eddie glances down at Steve’s hand wandering, absentmindedly trailing his fingers along the base of his neck and to collarbone. Fuck his birthday, and fuck the horrible memories Clyde Munson had poured into it. The way his heart tumbles from his chest into his mouth negates all of it.

“Really? Any suggestions?” He breathes, relieved that Steve doesn’t pry. He’s learned enough about Steve’s own childhood though to imagine why he doesn’t. For all of their outward differences, Steve gets it. Gets him.

Steve watches Eddie’s eyes widen before they glance down at his hand and back up, filled with something that looks dangerously like hope. Steve, in turn, feels something dangerously like hope.

“Maybe the day you woke up? In the hospital? I don’t know, I can see you liking the whole phoenix thing. Rebirth into something beautiful or whatever.”

Eddie’s breath catches. Beautiful feels like an overinflated balloon floating precariously through the woods in Steve’s backyard— cheerful and buoyant, but always at the risk of catching on too sharp of a branch and tumbling back down to the hard ground.

“Beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah. It fits you.” Steve’s hand wanders again, this time intentionally, to brush a piece of Eddie’s hair behind his ear and cupping the side of his face.

“Steve…” He whispers as they move slowly— achingly slowly— together, as though attached by an invisible thread. And maybe they are— the little red string of fate that’s been pulling them closer and closer since the day they met. Close enough now, finally, for Eddie to know how Steve’s lips feel against his, how his hands feel in his hair, how his heart beats in his chest when Eddie presses one hand there to tether himself to reality with nothing. No one but his stars watch him find his way back home, to Steve, where he should've been all along.

Eddie’s new birthday becomes April 2nd, the day he’d woken up from the induced coma. Eddie and Steve’s anniversary becomes February 9th, his old birthday. He can’t imagine a better way to create beauty out of ashes.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stfic #myfic

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michellemisfit · 17 days

Text

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY

Happiest of birthdays to our dear @energievie who created today's birthday themed tag game. WHOOP WHOOP! 🥳

Thanks for the tag @deedala 🎉 @gallapiech 🤩 @vintagelacerosette 🙌

---

When is yours? 1st March

Where were you born? Switzerland.

How do you feel about your legal name? Are you using it online and/or IRL? Michelle is a nice name. I'm perfectly happy with it. I do however absolutely hate the Beales song I was named after. Think it's one of their worst songs. And I regularly forget that I have a middle name, not even cause I hate it or anything, purely because I think it's pointless. It's Aline.

How about your sign? Do you feel it "fits"? I'm Pisces. And I guess so..? I don't really know much about signs, but people who do tell me it fits, and I believe them. @celestialmickey - come and weigh in! haha

What's your earliest memory related to your birthday? Weirdly enough my earliest *birthday* memory that comes to mind is actually my brother's birthday, when he turned maybe 6? And I would have been 3? My parents had a weird thing about getting me small gifts on his birthday, because I was younger and they didn't want me to get upset I guess? Anyway. There's a photograph of him blowing out his birthday candles and me holding a little sheep stuffed toy that I got for his birthday. I remember loving that sheep a LOT! For my first birthday memory I actually don't really have one until about age 6 or 7? I had a birthday party in our party room and my mum made me invite the whole class, even though I wasn't friends with anyone at school. One of the girls gave me a doll as a present and I genuinly just didn't know what I was supposed to do with this thing and had no idea how to react when I unwrapped it... it was very awkward and I'm sure I was less than graceful. Not the best memory lol

What's one of the best gifts you've ever received? When I first moved to London I felt like I was required to go back to Switzerland for birthdays and Christmas celebrations, even though those were difficult, associated with a lot of bad memories, and never ever fun. I moved to London at the beginning of October with a suitcase of clothes and not much else, and we pretty immediately went on the Dirty Pretty Things break up tour, so i didn't even sleep in my new London room very much for the first 8 weeks. Going back to Switzerland for that Christmas was particularly hard because I hadn't been in London for long, I had barely any stuff that belonged to me, and there was a certain feeling of 'maybe it was just a long holiday, and I'm gonna wake up and live in Switzerland again', because I did a lot of extended holidays to follow bands around the UK in the two years leading up to my move so... yeah, it was rough. And then when I returned home to London Ruth and her mum had bought me my own bedsheets (zebra striped), and made up the bed in my room, and put a big bow on it, and I'm basically in floods of tears just thinking about it now. They made me a home that I was welcome in. And I’ll never forget that.

How about one of the best you've given yourself? I honestly can't think of anything that was a "birthday" gift to myself. hmmm. When I quit smoking I put £5 into a jar every day, that I wasn't spending on cigarettes, and then Ruth and I went to New York and attended Elsie Fest with my 'No Longer a Smoker' money, buying VIP tickets that came with awesome seats and a tonne of free booze... that was EXCELLENT! haha

What's your favourite cake flavour? Not a big fan of cake. I like raw cake batter an awful lot better than actual cake. So I now always ask for chocolate mousse for my birthday :)

How about your favourite flowers? Wild Flowers. And I quite like interesting twigs, too.

Have your ever thrown a birthday party? If yes, tell us about your favourite one. Oh yeah, I throw awesome parties. Here's just a few recent ones, or you can check out the Mys in the Kitchen tag for what may get served at my birthday parties... haha Though actually a couple of years post pandemic I wanted to have a brithday party, but keep it small and covid friendly, so I had a Cocktail & Cookie Icing party, which was so much fun!! I highly recommend everyone to throw a party at least once in their life, that includes like a fun workshop element. We had such a good time!

What's the ultimate birthday song?

Because it’s my birthday and people have to let me play it haha

There we have it! Birthday fun! Now it's your turn @deedala @ian-galagher @iandarling @darlingian @celestialmickey @crossmydna @too-schoolforcool @rereadanon @rutherinahobbit @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx x @iansw0rld @ohkate @palepinkgoat @lynne-monstr @loftec @sickness-health-all-that-shit @faejilly @junemermaid @jrooc @mikhailoisbaby @creepkinginc @francesrose3 @callivich @blue-disco-lights @sleepyfacetoughguy @stocious @spookygingerr @lingy910y @suzy-queued @greentealycheejelly @thepupperino

#weekly tag wednesday #tag game #mys stuff

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lfcgirlxx84 · 2 months

Text

Daddy’s Good Girl

Warning : Under 18’s do not read.

Here it is, I’ve never wrote anything like this before but I am open to criticism. Enjoy!

Joel didn’t smoke weed very often, only when the anxiety started to take control. He found that happening less and less when his son brought home a girl. She was a stunner, long blonde curls, a nice plump ass, a handful of tits and her mouth was just perfect, so perfect he wanted nothing more than to fill it. He imagined her on her knees between his legs, eyes begging him for his cock. Joel knew it was wrong thinking about his son's girlfriend like this but he heard the pathetic noises she made at night, heard how she faked it every time, he knew she deserves someone better. Someone who can fill her needs, someone who can fill her just right. Joel could feel himself getting hard just at the thought of her, then he heard the shouting begin again. He wondered what his selfish son had done this time, he tried not to listen in but couldn’t help hearing them.

“Mol I just don’t want you going somewhere without me.”

“Are you for real? You're going to Ibiza next month with the boys and we both know what’s going to happen there!”

“What’s going to happen then?”

“Your going to fuck some drunk whore and come crawling back here riddled with some disease!”

“Oh yeah and your not going to fuck the first guy you see!”

“Fuck you Oscar!”

Joel waited for one of them to storm out again. STOMP! STOMP! SLAM! There goes one of them. Joel stood in the kitchen and poured himself a glass of lemonade, he heard the sniffles walk down the stairs. She entered the kitchen, red puffy eyes and mascara running down her cheeks. Joel grabbed her a tissue and gave her a damp one to wipe the mascara off.

“Here darling, can I get you a drink or something?”

“No thank you Joel, I might just head home, get out of your way.”

“And what are you going to do when you get home, cry some more about that asshole.”

“That’s your son.”

“Still an asshole, stay here, help me smoke this joint.”

Molly liked that idea, she quite often would have a joint with Joel, it made her feel better when life got shit. They both headed out to Joel’s shed, Molly got herself comfortable in one of the arm chairs before Joel passed her the joint, she took a drag on it and instantly felt lighter. She needed this.

Joel and Molly sat together for almost an hour just talking about the most random shit before Joel mentioned his son.

“What’s he done this time?”

“Thinks if I go somewhere without him I’ll fuck someone like I’m some sorta slut.”

“Be honest with me, would you?”

“Probably not, my luck they’ll be worse than him.”

“Yeah I hear how bad he is.”

Molly felt her cheeks burning red.

“I don’t make a thing to listen to you two but sometimes I can’t help it you know, thin walls.”

“Well I guess there’s nothing much to hide, it’s not like any of it is real anyway.”

“I know you're faking it with him darling, you probably should find a real man to treat you right.”

“Oh yeah and where do I find one of them?”

“I could suggest a few.”

Was this it, was Joel finally done toying with Molly. She admits sometimes she does think about him taking her in the shed but he never got this serious with his flirting. It was always just a little joke here and there, a harmless touch on the hand, nothing like this. She could feel the air, thick with sexual tension as he leant forward to touch her knee. His big hands made her legs look tiny, his calloused fingers drawing circles on her thighs. He removed his hands and leant back in his chair.

“Climb on baby.”

She straddles him whilst his kisses move down to her breasts, he pulls her dress down to reveal her boobs. Molly’s hands begin to tug at Joel’s t-shirt as she places kisses on his neck. Her bra soon finds its way to the floor, he focuses his attention on her right breast, sucking her nipple until she lets out a moan. He moves to her left doing the same, whilst flicking her right nipple. Molly feels Joel’s erection growing under her, she begins feeling herself getting wetter, needing him more. Joel’s hand slowly makes its way down to her core. He pushes the bottom of her dress up to grab at her ass and feel how wet her pussy is.

“This all for me slut.”

“Yes Daddy.”

He picked her up and placed her on his table. He teases her by licking her folds slowly, he reaches her clit and sucks it gently. Molly becomes a whimpering mess begging him for more. Joel refuses to give in to her so he keeps teasing, he gets his thumb and starts tracing light circles on her clit. Joel brings two fingers to Molly’s mouth and shoves them into her mouth, she sucks on them for a while and when he thinks they are wet enough he removes them. He inserts them into Molly’s pussy, she hisses as she adjusts to his thick fingers, Joel doesn’t allow her much time before he is hitting her spot. Each time he gets it right, he curls his fingers in her and before she knows it the knot in her stomach is back and ready to explode.

“Please let me cum Daddy.”

“Cum for me”

He continues fingering her until he feels her walls clench around him, he knows now he needs to get the spot again. He keeps hitting the spot until her legs are shaking, she’s moaning and his fingers are dripping. He takes his fingers out of her and licks them.

“You taste so good”

Molly is speechless as she tries to come down from her high, but before she has time to respond Joel has her on the floor and is presenting his member to her. She is shocked at how big and thick he is, she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to take him. He grabs a fistful of hair and shoves his member into the back of her throat. She’s never had anyone this big and is struggling to not choke. Joel notices her struggling for breath and lets her set the pace. She licks his member up and down, tasting his precum before she takes him back in. Joel is moaning in his chair, his head thrown back, eyes closed, Molly knows he’s close. She sucks his tip and pumps the rest of him with both hands. Joel begins to get breathless, knowing he’s close.

“You gotta stop, I want to fill your pussy.”

Joel drags Molly to her feet and pushes her back onto his table. He brings her to the edge and lines himself to her entrance. He rubs his tip along her entrance, slowly he fills her tight pussy. He stays still for a while letting her adjust to his size before he moves out of her and back in, each time she’s still shocked by his size. Soon pleasurable moans fill the shed, Joel uses the wall behind to grip onto, the table is squeaking with each movement, Molly wraps her arms around his neck. Her hands grab his hair as she feels herself edging closer, Joel is panting above her, each thrust getting sloppier. Molly begins clenching around him, she feels herself lose control, she’s a moaning shaking mess underneath her boyfriend's father. Joel lets go after, riding out his own high with his head resting in the crook of her neck whilst he paints her walls white. They both just stay there for a while, panting and trying to catch their breath. Joel pulls out of her with a pop and helps her off the table, he then pulls her panties back on.

“I want you to walk home with my cum dripping from you. Want everyone to know that you're my slut.”

Molly nods her head in agreement, she is his now. She redresses herself before looking at her phone and noticing that she has an apology waiting to be read.

“I should go before he comes back.”

“Yeah good idea, if he doesn’t come back tonight maybe you can come back and let me fill that pretty mouth.”

Joel kisses her one last time and slaps her ass goodbye as she takes a step out into the world. Molly reads the text as she walks home.

I’ll make it up to you later bby ;) x

Would it be wrong to let him fuck his Dad’s cum into his girlfriend? Probably right.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou #smut

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blixabargelds · 26 days

Note

for the prompt game “zipping or buttoning their jacket for them” for clegan!! if you want to! 🫶 love your stuff on ao3 and am pressing my face intensely against the glass of all the superstar stuff you post

@roycest too thank youuuu sm guys <33

i borrowed @swifty-fox’s little beasts boys for this one hehe thank u for letting me play with them :3 cw gore mention ~~

- zipping or buttoning their jacket for them

John holds the cigarette up to Gale’s mouth. He knew that he’d quit long before they met. John had offered one without mentioning that; Gale had taken it without a word. His fingertips brush Gale’s lips as he raises the smoke for him again, the usually plush skin turned chapped with anxiety, and sterile air.

He can’t hold the thing himself, because he’s got twin tears through his hands. On each hand: two fractured metacarpals, four torn tendons- palm, and back- one rough, bleeding hole. Disinfected, bandadged, and splinted still now. He’s slated for surgery on both of them in the next couple of days. John’s fingers shake as he helps Gale take another drag.

“Gale-”

“Don’t, John.”

John rubs at his eyes. They sting from being open so long, but each time he shuts them he can only picture Gale, face twisted in agony and two seven-inch iron nails through his palms. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Gale says again. He fixes John with a look. His eyes are red-rimmed, vaguely glassy from the shock, and the pain, and the good stuff they’ve given him, but it’s an effective look nonetheless. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

John laughs. A teasing, phantom itch passes through the crook of his elbow. “I’m the one who-”

“John, stop it, please.”

It’s only the fraying of Gale’s voice that shuts John up. He wants to touch him so bad but he can’t. Everyone knows him, everyone is doing double takes at the young priest, smoking Reds held up to his face by someone else, and sporting gauze-wrapped stigmata at 2am outside the ER.

John wonders if that’s the only reason they picked him. Like John’s got a pronounced connection to the church in some way less complex than the truth of that relationship. Maybe he’s just been going around wearing his twelve steps on his sleeve, giving off some vibe of reformed dedication to his higher power. He doubts that, though. Very fucking much.

The other explanation is that these people- these guys John owed money to, as they told him- knew about him and Gale. That they talk. John’s got no idea how they would. He’s got no idea who they were, because he can’t remember so many of his fuckups; so many people he’s pissed off or fucked over. Got your priest, said the anonymous text on the screen of his shattered phone. Yours. John wonders if they could tell, if they didn’t know already, that his connection to Gale went beyond Sunday Service in the way that he’d reacted; like a rabid dog as they twisted the nails in deeper. They’d thought it was hilarious. Live crucifixion, real original idea, grinding in the rusty iron fixing Gale to the tree behind until said priest had finally cried. John would’ve given over every cent if he hadn’t been scared for a second that they’d just kill Gale.

He’s not sure where his strength came from, in the end. He hadn’t even thought of his parole.

He wants to hold Gale’s fucking hand. But that’s not something they do anyways, and Gale doesn’t need him to. Couldn’t if he did.

John throws caution to the wind, hopes whoever walks past next might see nothing more than the expected level of comfort to be seen outside an emergency room. He wraps an arm around Gale’s shoulders and pulls him tight to his body. John can feel the way he’s shaking. Adrenaline and morphine slowly seeping out of him, and Gale gives in, too, pressing his face into John’s collar. His breaths come fast and uneven against his skin.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” John says.

He dips his face lower, shielded from view by the side of Gale’s head, and ghosts a kiss above his ear. It’s too tender for whatever they are. Which is currently undefined, a burning mess and hidden clashes of tongues, but John’s too tired to care. He can’t stop hearing the scream Gale clenched behind his teeth.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Gale says. John can’t stop hearing Gale’s quiet, fervent praying. He’d been kind of unconvinced by his devotion before. Still is, mostly- John’s pretty sure he was counting his own Hail Marys, too. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet. It’s freaking me out.”

John laughs. It sounds embarrassingly wet. He peels himself back from Gale, dragging out another smoke. He passes this one back and forth between them; watches Gale wince as his fingers automatically flex, as if John’s gonna let him take it himself. He hasn’t really got anything to say, except that he’s sorry.

“You’ll look hardcore.”

Gale blinks. Then laughs, a shaking and breathless thing, kind of heavenly to John; after the night from hell. “Right.”

“You’ll be the most Godly priest around. The gay rumours have got to stop now.”

“John,” Gale hisses.

John holds his hands up in surrender. “I said rumours. Unfounded, I’ve heard. No fucking idea where anyone would get that from, truly, sick thing to make up about a priest.”

“Fuck, John, what if my fingers don’t work anymore.”

John stops talking again at that. He looks down at Gale’s bandaged hands. There hadn’t been as much blood as John expected, the two long nails plugging the wounds where they speared him back to front. It was only when Gale had ripped one out in the car that it really started to bleed. John told him not to. Gale knew not to, only John guesses he hated the look of the things in his palms, because he’d just tugged one straight out in a daze, and sent blood spurting all over the dashboard, pooling down in his lap. John has seen a lot of shit, but he’s never seen right through someone’s body before. Right through his hands. Gale won’t even be able to turn the pages of his precious Bible alone for weeks, at least. John gets a horrible image of Gale’s loose fist working his cock, the slide of it visible through a gory opening in his tender flesh.

These guys in their masks had asked where Gale’s God was now. He looks like he’s still trying to figure it out.

John could kill someone for a drink. A joint, maybe. A line, or worse. He shakes a little with it.

Gale is still shaking, too. Gentle tremors running up and down his lithe body, useless hands coming around to hug himself. It’s cold, and late, but they’ve been surrounded by doctors and nurses and cops, disinfectant and bleating machines for hours. Gale, who doesn’t smoke anymore, had asked for a cigarette, and John wasn’t going to say no. He shrugs off his old Patriots hoodie and helps Gale’s hands through the sleeves.

“’S’alright,” he’s saying, even as he’s blinking slowly, grimacing with the brush of fabric on his fingers.

“Don’t be a martyr,” John says. “For once.”

John zips the sweater up for him. He pulls the hood up over his ears for good measure, and leans back to admire his work. It would be funny if it weren’t so pitiful; Gale dwarfed somewhat by the thing, mussed hair sticking out from under the hood, and that vaguely smug, pious air gone completely from his tired face. John wonders if his voice will tremble at the altar. If he’ll even get back up there for a while. John doesn’t think it’ll take long. Gale is infuriatingly stubborn.

“John, I can’t feel my fingers,” he says, exhaustion pulling down that defensive veil and making his voice thin. John realises he never answered his question

“Hey, it’s the painkillers. The doctor said you’ll get movement back, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t say how much,” Gale croaks.

“Well,” John grits his teeth. Swallows, then says, “Jesus’s hands worked fine.”

It’s meant to be light, but it comes off sort of desperate.

Gale shuts his eyes. “Ain’t Jesus, John. I’m just a fuckin’- some idiot.”

“Cut it out, Gale,” John says. It’s sharp enough that Gale opens his eyes and looks at him, owlish and shocked. John tugs at his curls and sighs. “Fuck, sorry. Just, bad shit happens when there’s scum involved. Trust me. Y’not actually a saint, some guys fucked you up. It should’ve been- it shouldn’t have been you. Alright? This sort of shit shouldn’t happen to you.”

Gale stares at him. John’s arms still itch uncomfortably, a familiar pull in his stomach making him feel off kilter. He thinks of his one year chip. Thinks of swallowing it whole, seeing if it does any damage to his insides.

“Want to listen to some records later?” he says instead.

“I’m gonna be here overnight, John.”

“Yeah,” John says. “Me too.”

Gale blinks. He looks fucking dreadful; tired and hurt, lost in John’s clothes and all messed up where he’s usually so put together. Sheet white and in pain. John wants to kiss him so bad his veins ache with it. It’s sort of funny, how John thinks he’s friends with a priest now.

“Sure,” Gale says after a while. “I’ll listen to some records with you.”

#frankiefic #masters of the air #mota fanfic #clegan #sorry for how long these inbox prompts are taking me i have been Unwell

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yjhariani · 1 year

Note

hii, i've an idea. can you write something about the 141 team trying to fast for one day bc reader is also fasting and they're curious abt how it feels etc. thank you in advance :)

“I was thinking maybe we all try,” Soap said.

“Try what?” Ghost asked.

“Fasting,” Soap answered.

“Never once I thought such an idea would come out of you, Soap,” you chuckled.

“It’s not a bad idea either,” Ghost commented.

“I’m an amazing friend, how could you say that?” Soap protested. “Are we doing this or not?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in,” Gaz nodded.

“When are we gonna do it?” Soap asked.

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Ghost said.

“Excuse me, tomorrow is cleaning day, my guys,” you pointed out.

“So, what? If you can do it, then, I can do it,” Ghost stated.

“Yeah, why not?” Soap supported. “You’re doing fine, we’ll do better than fine.”

“I already said I’m in,” Gaz shrugged.

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’ll wake you up for suhoor and you’ll eat and drink before dawn. After that you practise chastity, you can’t eat, drink, or smoke until dusk.”

There was a pause where everyone was looking at Ghost.

“I can survive without smoking,” Ghost said. “Been trying to quit anyway.”

“You said that like twelve times already in the span of one year,” you said.

“Still trying,” Ghost said.

Soon the time came. It was not that hard getting them out of the bed. However, getting them to wake up took a little bit more time and a lot of food.

The mess was not as full as how it would have been for breakfast, but still more people than it would have been any other month. Mostly, the people here were the ones who participated in Ramadan with their friends who were challenged to fast or simply curious to know what it felt like, maybe as a sign of respect to their friend.

It all went quite well, but after all it was only the beginning of the day.

Dawn came a few minutes after everyone was done eating and drinking. Everyone was oddly in a good mood. Maybe you were in a better mood than most of them because yesterday you did this all by yourself.

Then, fast forward to about hours later, it was about midday, and you were mopping the barrack floor with Ghost’ help. Gaz was asleep in the most uncomfortable position. Soap was nowhere to be seen, but Price did tell him to wash one of the cars.

“Hey, LT,” you called.

“Shut up,” Ghost said, more harshly than he intended.

“Okay,” you said as you turned around, hiding a smile—knowing that Ghost would be snapping at everyone soon if you kept pushing to talk to him.

Sometime later, you walked outside and found König holding up a hose downwards to Soap who was sitting underneath it, face up, eyes closed.

“Is he okay?” you mouthed at König.

König gave you a light shrug for an answer.

“Soap, are you okay?” you asked.

Soap opened his eyes and saw you.

“I’m,” Soap said, but he got water poured into his mouth and he moved his head off the water to talk to you, “I’m fucking thirsty.”

“Dude, you don’t have to force yourself. That’s literally part of the religion. I mean, that’s referring to sick people, pregnant and breastfeeding people, and elderly, but, really, you don’t have to force yourself,” you said.

“No,” Soap whined.

“Well, a lot of kids fast only up to midday,” you brought up.

“Why, because I’m a big baby?” Soap questioned.

You looked at König who slightly tilted his head in amusement.

“I’m just gonna leave you to it,” you decided.

About three hours before dusk, everyone was miserable. However, at least the cleaning was done.

Everyone sort of had their own way of killing time. They had way less energy than usual, but still kept themselves busy.

Around the last hour of fasting, everyone was a little more spiritful again. They were excited about iftar and a lot of the conversation you were having was food related.

The four of you ordered a lot of food and plated everything in the common area of the barrack. There were warm drinks, cold drinks, savoury snacks, sweet snacks, portions of meals, but seemed to be lacking some water that no one realised would be necessary.

Hours came down to minutes before dusk. Everyone was sitting around the small coffee table where you put the food on. You put your phone on the table as well, waiting for it to announce the time to break your fast.

Your phone soon blared out as a sign that it was time to break your fast. Right away, the four men around you went to take their drinks and food and chugged everything in. However, they took a pause when they noticed that you only had one cup of warm beverage in your hands and you silently prayed before taking a sip. They slowed down then.

Regardless, after drinking a little bit of liquid and eating barely a few finger foods, everyone just sort of sat there and looked at each other.

“We’re never gonna be able to finish all these, are we?” Ghost questioned.

“Not even half,” you chuckled.

“This morning, I pissed seven times in the span of an hour because I drank three jugs of water,” Soap said, “and I’m still fuckin’ thirsty at noon.”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #könig x reader

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wickjump · 2 months

Note

I'M SORRY THIS ISNT ABT MTT + CREPIC POLY BUT OGNYKHMHMH I NEED TO ASK THIS DESPERATELY.

Would milkbone hang out w the dogs in UT like greater dog n doggo n stuff more often because yk milkbone............ Not to make him an animal or smth ofc,,,, ALSOALSOALSALSOSSOO. I WANNA ASK ON WHY MILKBONE WON'T ATTACK ASRIELS BUT THAT'S LORE WORTHY STUFF RIGHT THERE.

AN OC ASK?????? FOR ME????? I MUST BE DREAMING OH MY GOD. DO NOR APOLOGIZE THIS IS THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPENTO ME. I AM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW WORDS CANNOT DO IT JUSTICE OKAY!!!!!

milkbone would probably initially hang out with the more anthropomorphic members of the dog group, ie dogamy, dogaressa, and doggo rather than greater + lesser dog. he has an odd feeling when around greater and lesser dog but doesn’t look too deep into it. doggo, dogamy, and dogaressa are more. sapient? i guess? milkbone’s more sly than classic sans, the sort of person your more socially adapted friend would point out and say ‘don’t talk to him he’ll scam you out of 20 dollars and your left shoe’.

but he can relate to the hound patrol (is that what they’re called?) to an extent, even if he might distance himself at times out of discomfort. while he gets their love for certain things, there’s a sort of animal thing about them he feels off around. they like petting, they smoke dog treats, they bark and yip and do all sorts of dog things that he doesn’t do, and he doesn’t want to associate with something so… animal. this isn’t a dig at them, even if he mistakes his discomfort towards those things as discomfort towards them. before his au’s plot “went down” he didn’t mind hanging out with them, and probably cracked a lot of jokes about being an ‘honorary dog’ or something. he just doesn’t like being compared to a dog, or any sort of animal, now. dehumanization is my most favorite trope so he gets all of it.

as for why milkbone wont attack asriels, he was asriel’s caretaker for a while. the au they’re both from, undertrap, is still a work in progress, but ive established a familial bond with them. the general idea of undertrap is that monsters were viewed as less than human, kept as novelties and all that, and to escape it they went underground, where they lived happily for hundreds of years. however, humans eventually found them when looking for chara, who had gone missing. chara was angry about this because their intent was never to hurt their new family, blah blah, but most monsters were taken back to the surface against their will.

two of those monsters were asriel and sans, aka milkbone, who were both looking for their families whom they got separated from, as they managed to escape the humans. this is why milkbone doesn’t like being dehumanized—outside the general discomfort that comes from it, he was quite literally treated as an animal as every other monster was.

over time sans became a familial figure to asriel, an older brother of sorts. still working out the kinks, but so far i think that at the end of it they’d find asgore and then humans try to kill them all, sans steals part of asgore’s soul to keep himself alive whilst he dusts, blah blah. and then! memory loss! bro doesn’t know who he is or what he is! he just has brief snippets of memories and discomforts, and while he’s done dirty work for his clients before, an asriel is the one monster (outside of papyri) he feels an extreme discomfort doing any harm towards.

he is canonically a multiversal character due to this split second decision throwing his fate off. by all means he was supposed to die there, but he didn’t. and his code, not knowing what to do, basically threw him out of the au until someone else approached him and he got introduced to the multiverse.

this is what im thinking anyway, he’s still hugely in development,, fun fact though! his collar wasn’t a choice he made to have, it was given to him, but he couldn’t take it off at the time and now, since he doesn’t remember the reason he has it, still wears it under the assumption ‘past’ him had picked it out himself.

THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO TALK ABOUT HIM GAH. man if only we hadn’t established a multiversal status quo id love for him to have been popular in 2016 😔 unfortunately i was stupid and also eleven years old with unrestricted internet access, and not exactly an artist of sorts either. maybe ill write a long fic about him and get some people to think he’s cool. i mean undereats and post sans got popular, and i think tear and stitch are too but i might be biased cause i love them. i can do this

ANYWAY YEAH THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANON IM GIVING YOU A LITTLE KISSY ON THE HEAD :333

#milkbone sans #undertrap sans #undertrap #undertrap au #utmv #undertale #undertale au #yaayyyyy #milkbone asks

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1moreff-creator · 4 days

Note

Regarding your revised Eden!Culrpit Theory Post:

If you're okay answering this, why do you believe that people who believe Hu is the culrpit have to be reading her actions in bad faith? You said that Eden taking the tape means there's more physical evidence for her being the culrpit so arguments about her putting on a facade come from less of a place of bad faith.

However, Hu's wire is involved with the crime & there's no explanation for how it got there. 'Nico took it' but we don't necessarily know that or how, so there's arguably no less reason to assume Hu could be involved as well.

This isn't meant to be inflammatory either, I genuinely just want to understand what you meant by that; I'm impartial one way or another but I don't understand why you would need to be reading Hu's actions in bad faith while you wouldn't also be doing the same for Eden.

ty for answering if you do, and if not ty for reading anyway. ♥️

Hey! Yeah, honestly, I feel I expressed myself pretty poorly in that section of the post you’re referencing, in fact I’ve decided to edit it because I believe it came off as more aggressive and meaner than I intended it to. So it’s fair of you to ask for clarification.

CW: Eden!Culprit, discussion of murder attempt

Technically speaking, both theories revolving around Hu trying to kill someone and Eden!Culprit require some level of “bad faith reading”, in the sense that suspecting anyone of murder is going to make you look at most of what they say in a negative light. So I was wrong to use that term with Hu. I think a more accurate way of saying how I feel about it (and keep in mind this is just my opinion) is that “the level of scrutiny Hu and her lines are placed under is not justified by the concrete evidence of the case(s).”

That should make my feelings a bit clearer. I see the tape’s disappearance from the gym as near irrefutable evidence that Eden is the culprit, so I’m willing to bend and twist her lines of dialogue to fit the evidence. Dialogue has an openness of interpretation that the tape, in my opinion, doesn’t, though I get why that’s not how everyone feels about it.

However, I don’t quite see an equivalent for Hu. The wire in the Ace crime scene doesn’t incriminate her any more than the turpentine used incriminates Rose, or the letter written to Arei (by itself) incriminates Eden. I can pretty confidently say that either Ace or Eden took the tape from the gym; I cannot confidently say that Hu took the wire to the gym.

Despite Nico being caught mid-murder attempt (and they admit they did try to kill Ace), Hu is nowhere to be seen; none of her dialogue afterwards implies she was there; none of Nico’s dialogue points to her being there (their secret quote doesn’t count, we don’t know if that’s gonna be said this chapter or not); unless there’s some method theory I’m missing here, I’ve never really seen a method that requires Hu to be there alongside Nico, and Nico never denies being the one to take the turpentine, meaning they must have been involved since the start. You get the idea.

You need to somehow get around all of that if you’re going to believe Hu is involved in the Ace case, plus the fact that a lot of her dialogue seemingly contradicts the notion at first glance. Meanwhile, the only assumption Nico!SoloAceAttacker requires is that Nico, somehow someway, was able to take the wire at some point; and given there’s precedent to believe they can and would do something like that (turpentine), I find it quite easy to believe.

Obviously, it’s a matter of opinion. To some people, the wire is a smoking gun that proves Hu’s involvement, the same way I feel about the tape for Eden. And I guess, in that case, I can’t really blame them for reading Hu’s dialogue in a different manner. For me, though, the wire has perfectly acceptable workarounds. And I feel Hu being involved in either crime scene makes far more assumptions than simply saying Nico did everything themselves, which then by Occam’s Razor makes me inclined to believe the latter.

Thanks for the ask, and sorry if anyone felt hurt or offended by my original wording, it really wasn’t my intention.

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt spoilers #hu jing

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shadowtriovibes · 1 year

Text

where there's smoke, there's firewhiskey

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC x Garreth Weasley

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: aged-up characters, established relationship seb x mc, underage drinking (by today's standards), recreational drug use, shotgunning, references to threesomes

Summary: request: "imagine a modern au, where parties are more like our idea of them and not, y'know, victorian england. And getting high, drunk, or both, at a party and running into literally any one of the boys and just acting like horny college kids. Seb fits this idea best in my head but kinda sorta lowkey I could see Garreth being a stoner LMAO." (predictably, i decided that three heads are better than two)

"What are we doing?" you whisper. "Having fun," Sebastian answers cheekily. "It's a party, we're allowed to have a little fun." "Doesn't have to be serious," Garreth chimes in, still pressing wet kisses to your neck. "In fact, it's usually better if it's not."

On nights like tonight, you’re quite proud to be a Hufflepuff.

You may have only been at Hogwarts for less than two years, but it didn’t take long to learn that all too often, your house is the least loved. Ravenclaws have their intelligence, Gryffindors their bravery, and even Slytherins their cunning, but what have you Hufflepuffs got?

Well, tonight what you’ve got is the honor of hosting the best party you’ve ever been to.

As soon as dinner had ended, your cozy, comforting common room had been completely transformed into a raucous den of teenage misbehavior from one last blowout party before your N.E.W.T.s exams start next week. For hours your classmates have taken turns sneaking sixth- and seventh-years from other houses in small groups down past the kitchens and through Hufflepuff’s massive barrel entrance until it felt like just about all your classmates were here.

There’s Muggle music blaring on someone’s contraband stereo across the room and some N.E.W.T.s-level Potions students are delightedly combining wizarding spirits with Muggle mixers and passing them out to members of a very thirsty crowd — in the pursuit of knowledge, of course.

Predictably, you’re already in Sebastian’s lap. All night he’s been unabashedly charming you into taking sips of Firewhiskey from his own bottle, wary of whatever has been bubbling away in Sacharissa’s cauldron.

Your boyfriend has turned you into a big fan of Firewhiskey. Every time you take a sip of the cinnamon-spiced spirit, you feel its warmth spread from the very top of your head down to the tips of your toes and everywhere in between. It’s sweet, slightly spicy and way too easy to drink whenever Sebastian offers you the bottle by its neck.

Now you’re tipsy and warm and perfectly content to sit with him in an armchair by a tucked-away fireplace on the far end of the room.

Plus, he looks so bloody fit in the varsity Quidditch jacket that Imelda had gifted members of the team at the end of the season that you can barely stand to take your hands off his broad chest.

Between your murmured conversations and occasional aimless kisses, Sebastian teasingly announces, “Looks like your friend’s just arrived.”

“Who, Natty?” you ask hopefully.

“Garreth,” he says instead, and you’re immediately suspicious of the way he’s smirking at you.

“What’s that look for?” you ask him.

He pointedly ignores your question and instead waves Garreth over. Across the room, he’s just climbed into the common room with a group of other Gryffindors, looking artfully disheveled as always.

He perks up when he notices you and quickly weaves his way over to the sitting area you and Sebastian had claimed. Your boyfriend disappointedly lets you climb off his lap so you can greet Garreth and give him a hug.

“Want to sit with us?” you offer. “Sebastian’s got some whiskey if you’d like some.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” he says kindly, taking a seat on the couch across from Sebastian. “But I’ll join you anyway.”

You wouldn’t dream of telling Sebastian, but over the years you’ve always maintained a slight crush on Garreth. You love Seb, you’re mad about him and you hope you’ll be together well after your tenure at Hogwarts ends, but still… That harmless crush persists, and it makes your heart race a little whenever Garreth smiles at you across his potions station or compliments your spellwork in Charms.

It doesn’t help that he’s generally a massive flirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” you offer after chatting with him for a while. “Everyone’s been getting boozed-up for hours.”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” Garreth admits. “But I’ve got my own stuff.”

Reaching into the pockets of his trousers, Garreth pulls out a small wooden box and flips open the lid. From inside he pulls out a small, thin strip of parchment and a small bag of what looks to be ground-up leaves.

“What have you got?” you ask curiously.

“Mallowsweet,” he replies, and sure enough, when he opens up the bag and tips some of its contents into his hand, you catch the magical herb’s familiar honey-like scent.

“Why?” you ask, and Garreth raises an eyebrow at you.

“You can smoke it,” Garreth explains as if it’s obvious. “It’ll loosen up your inhibitions just like alcohol. Have you never had Mallowsweet like this before?”

“No,” you admit. “I’ve really only used it for completing Merlin Trials, and Professor Garlick is surprisingly strict about how much she lets me grow.”

“It’s not her fault, the Ministry’s been trying to make it a controlled substance for years now,” Garreth explains. “She can’t let students have too much, but if you buy some off Timothy down at the Magic Neep, he’ll give you as much as you want.”

“And then you just dry it out to smoke it?” you ask, peering at the small, dried-out pieces of leaves in the palm of his hand.

“Yeah, that’s easy enough to do myself,” Garreth laughs. “All you need is a quick-drying charm and then it’s ready to smoke.”

You watch as he takes the small piece of parchment and tips the dried Mallowsweet onto it, and then he places the paper on the low table in front of you and carefully rolls it into a thin, cigarette-shaped joint. Finally, he seals it by licking along the exposed edge and pressing it closed.

“Got a light for me?” he jokes, placing one end in his mouth.

You roll your eyes fondly and gently tap the tip of your wand against the end of the joint. With a quick spark, a small flame jumps to life and the joint lets out a thin tendril of smoke.

Garreth takes a long drag and as he exhales, he murmurs, “Thanks, love.”

The pet name makes you blush, and you hope it’s not visible in the low lighting of the party.

“You want to try some?” he offers. “I think you’d like it.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask curiously.

Garreth pauses for a beat to consider before he tells you, “For me, it’s really calming. It kind of… turns my senses down, if that makes sense. Everything gets quieter, and less hurried.”

“That sounds really nice,” you say softly. “But I haven’t ever smoked anything before.”

You watch Garreth’s gaze drift down to your mouth, lingering a little longer than he’d usually be able to get away with. “Maybe I can help you.”

“You should shotgun her,” Sebastian suggests, and you startle, guiltily remembering that he’s still seated a few feet away in that armchair, watching the two of you with a keen look on his face.

“Yeah?” Garreth asks. “That’s alright?”

“It’s a party,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “I’m alright with it if she is.”

“What’s that mean, ‘shotgun?’” you ask skeptically. “Like how Everett chugs Butterbeers from the side of the can?”

“Not that kind,” Garreth laughs. “It’s more like… I’ll take a hit, and then when I breathe out, you’ll breathe in.”

You frown, confused. Garreth just smirks and offers, “It’s really easier to just do it than explain.”

“Sure, yeah,” you agree. “Go on then.”

Garreth lifts the joint to his lips again and takes another slow drag, holding his breath at the top while he sets the lit joint down in an ashtray on the table. Then he gently grips your chin with one hand and pulls you in like he’s going to kiss you, but before he does, he taps on your bottom lip with one long finger so you’ll open your mouth.

His lips just barely brush against yours while he carefully exhales smoke into your mouth, and thankfully your soft gasp breaks your trance and forces you to inhale that same smoke. It tastes slightly sweet on your tongue, as the name suggests, but pleasantly herbal as well.

“Hold onto it for a moment,” Garreth murmurs, his lips still touching yours. “Then breathe out.”

You count to five in your head and exhale. The smoke dissipates in front of you, and as soon as it clears, you’re staring right into Garreth’s warm brown eyes.

“Sebastian,” he says, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re not going to curse me for this, are you?”

“Go on, Weasley,” Sebastian drawls. “She wants you to.”

You want to offer an excuse, an apology, anything in response to Sebastian’s obviously correct assumption. Instead, you just lean into Garreth a bit closer and suddenly he’s kissing you, one hand still cradling your jaw.

He’s an excellent kisser, you think. You’ve only got Sebastian to compare him to, and he’s brilliant at it by your standards, but kissing someone new is so thrilling. Especially when it’s Garreth, who’s not only charismatic and glaringly fit but always so sweet and gentle with you.

Your eyes drift shut as Garreth kisses you deeper. He presses his tongue alongside yours and you taste more Mallowsweet, with a little bit of pumpkin juice.

While you can’t see him, you hear Sebastian stand up from the armchair and take a seat next to you on the couch, his larger form blocking you in and shielding you and Garreth from anyone who might glance your way from the common room.

He rests a hand dangerously high up on your thigh and leans in close to your ear to murmur, “You’re an awful liar when you have a crush, d’you know that?”

You whimper softly and Garreth swallows the sound.

“Don’t worry yourself, love,” Sebastian laughs quietly. “I’m better at sharing than you give me credit for.”

Garreth starts to kiss his way down your chin to your jaw and you tip your head back a little. Sebastian’s right there to drag his hand through your hair to coax you into leaning back even more. You moan softly when you feel the redhead suck a small bruise into your skin.

“What are we doing?” you whisper.

“Having fun,” Sebastian answers cheekily. “It’s a party, we’re allowed to have a little fun.”

“Doesn’t have to be serious,” Garreth chimes in, still pressing wet kisses to your neck. “In fact, it’s usually better if it’s not.”

You scoff and tell him, “That is officially the most Garreth thing I’ve heard you say all evening.”

While you and Sebastian are hopeless fools for each other and have been for ages, Garreth’s reputation is that of a perennial bachelor. He goes on lovely dates, and if the rumor mill is to be believed, he’s an excellent shag. But he genuinely appreciates being single for now, especially so close to graduation.

“W-well, um…” you stutter. “How much fun are we talking about?”

“How much do you want?” Sebastian asks, his hand on your thigh sliding higher underneath the hem of your skirt.

“We haven’t ever – y’know,” you hiss. “With someone.”

Garreth sits back and grins cheekily at you. “I have.”

“That’s not surprising, Weasley, you’re kind of a slag,” Sebastian smirks. “Who was it then?”

“Bit personal, don’t you think, Sallow?” he responds.

“You’ve just had your tongue in my girlfriend’s mouth, I think we’re well past any sort of modesty,” Sebastian counters, and you could not possibly be any redder, you think.

Garreth leans over to the table and lifts his joint to his slightly-swollen lips to take one last long pull before answering.

“Fine, it was Adelaide and Nerida,” he admits ruefully. “Bit of a package deal, those two.”

“You’re foul,” you laugh, but then Garreth slides his hand up your other thigh and suddenly you’ve got two of the most handsome boys in school boxing you in, each with a hand up your skirt. Any thoughts you’d spared for Hogwarts gossip go straight out the window.

“We should, um… Maybe we should go somewhere more private,” you suggest, still keenly aware of the party going on just feet away.

“Everyone’s down here for the party,” Sebastian suggests. “The dorms upstairs have got to be pretty empty right now, wouldn’t you think?”

“Can confirm,” Garreth agrees.

Reluctantly, both boys let you go and you smooth your skirt back down, standing up with wobbly legs. You hadn’t realized before, but the Mallowsweet has firmly taken effect on your system.

“Feeling alright?” Sebastian asks.

“Yes, I… I feel quite good, actually,” you murmur. “Really good.”

“She’s crossed,” Garreth laughs, affection clear in his voice. “Mallowsweet and Firewhiskey, now there’s a dangerous combination.”

“I feel warm,” you tell them. “All over, just warm and relaxed and…”

When you trail off, Sebastian asks knowingly, “Has it got you feeling a bit hot under the collar, love?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Really hot.”

“Sounds like you could use our help to cool you off,” Sebastian suggests. “Shall we?”

“After you, mate,” Garreth laughs.

As Garreth trails the two of you up the stairs to your dorm, you hear Sebastian mumble, “You’re bloody well right, after me.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader x garreth #sebastian x mc x garreth #my fic #if this gets enough interest i can do an E-rated part two but i kept this pg-13 for now #also is seb x mc x garreth the freckles trio??? let's get a name going

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commsroom · 3 months

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hi so your excellent eiffel posting has made me obsessed with the man. so i thought i should share some headcanons i have with the source of my fixation.

im not sure if it's disputed in canon, but i think eiffel used to curse A Lot More than he does on the hephaestus. i know this is mainly a metatextual thing to do with explicit labels, but i like to think that the reason he self censors a lot in the show (cutting himself off, substituting with less harsh words) is cause part of getting sober also involved unlearning his cursing so that anne wouldn't hear it from him. something about not wanting to expose her to the harsher side of the world that he's lived in his whole life.

i also think eiffel is a velcro shoes guy (understandable and based) and can't tie his own laces if he has laced shoes. HOWEVER, he can tie someone else's shoes cause he learnt how to tie anne's for her. retranslating those motor skills in a first person perspective has proved difficult for the galaxy's least co-ordinated comms officer.

anyways thanks for posting about this guy and i would love to hear any thoughts you have!! hope u have a great day

thank you for sharing your eiffel thoughts with me!! ♡

okay! about eiffel swearing... to an extent, i think both things are true? like you said, he canonically self censors - i think are space suits itchy? is a good example in this particular context; it definitely reads as "eiffel bleeping himself out because it's funny" and not any sort of external intervention, to me - and there are quite a few times where he almost swears, but gets cut off. and there's a note in the script for quiet, please that reads: "if this were HBO, this is where eiffel and minkowski would both swear profusely." (incidentally, also the episode that gives us "eiffel stops what he's doing and holds up a rude gesture.") most characters in wolf 359 would probably swear more frequently if they were not in wolf 359, but eiffel is particularly interesting because i think it does... kind of by nature sand down some rough edges he has, but that the show can only suggest?

i know i bring up the fact he lists sex and porn as two of the things he misses about earth semi-frequently, but i think it's genuinely kind of fascinating that he's a textually sexual person who can only express that through quips like, "there's stuff in a man's brain that's really not safe for work." it's kinda a balancing act. i think those aspects of who he is are worth keeping in mind, and i think wolf 359 being... the type of show that it is (and isn't) might give a softer / skewed perception of him, in the sense that people would probably view him a little differently if some cruder elements of who he is weren't expressed so indirectly. but, at the same time, the way he self censors is part of his characterization. and in part i would believe he tried to train himself out of swearing as an aspect of his sobriety, and how he spoke around anne (because he really wanted to be a good dad, but also because he really wanted to come across well during the custody battle.) as an extension of that, it's also one of the ways he's trying to rehabilitate (+ fictionalize) the idea of who doug eiffel is.

(realistically, he definitely feels there are a lot of things he shouldn't do, but he clearly didn't give up smoking. and he was probably adamant that he wouldn't smoke around his daughter, but he's a chain smoker, and it's still on him and in his clothes. a lot of things with eiffel come down to a conflict between his intentions + ideals and what effect his actions actually have. i'm sure he still slipped up and said plenty of things he shouldn't have. like i said, it's a balance.)

personally, i think eiffel is a (socks and) sandals guy, and otherwise... while velcro would probably be more practical for him, in my mind he's just got perpetually untied shoelaces. he can tie them, but they come untied no matter how he does it. and if you asked him if he can tie his shoes properly, he would get defensive about it and fumble and take a really long time to do it. he's also definitely the kind of person who uses rhymes, sayings, etc. to remember things, even things he does often. nothing more reassuring than a guy doing complex mechanical maintenance muttering "righty tighty, lefty loosey" to himself.

#thank youuu!! sorry this took me a while to respond to and that it's pretty rambly. i always appreciate eiffel thoughts #asks

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carnivorous-parasite · 3 months

Note

Have this tf2 thought that has been plaguing my mind today (and potential fic/ficlet idea for you to steal if you feel inclined 👀):

I adore the headcanon that medic gives all the mercs check-ups, and it gives me the idea of it being spy’s turn and medic does that one thing where doctors feel your stomach to check out your organs but surprise surprise…it tickles 🤭 and OF COURSE spy cant admit/reveal that, he’s a mature adult who is NOT ticklish 🙄 but medic is not dumb and he notices and teases spy about it 🫶

“Whats the matter? What is so funny?!” “Stop moving, im trying to make sure you are healthy, mein freund!”

Spy then promptly melts into a puddle…poor fella

Anyway god bless ticklish old men *salutes*

OHOHOHOOOO 👀👀👀👀 I LOOOVE THIS I hope my writing can do it justice o wise one

Routine checkups. Medic did them once every month. However pointless or unnecessary they felt to Spy, Medic went out of his way to ensure everybody recieved theirs, and he was no exception.

Medic pulled him from his thoughts by rather rudely snatching the cigarette from his lips. "How many times do I have to tell you not to smoke in here? Especially not during a check-up, for gods sake." he scolded as he had countless times before. He knew Spy had no intention of listening, of course, but even still insisted on arguing his point. What was he if not persistent, after all?

Spy only rolled his eyes. It was a response he offered quite often.

Not bothering to push it, Medic continued on with the current task- he knew just how impatient Spy tended to be.

He moved his hands to Spys stomach, lightly pressing his fingers into his skin, only to then have the Frenchman jerk rather suddenly away from the touch.

"Are you alright?" Medic asked, quirking a brow, "Did that hurt?"

Spy, on the other hand, had never wanted to crawl into a hole and die more in his life.

"I'm- fine. Startled me, is all. Your hands are cold." he lied, trying his best to keep his tone nonchalant. He hoped and prayed his expression wouldn't give away the fact he was lying through his teeth. "..You may continue."

Spy cursed himself in his head for stumbling over his words the way he had. In quite literally any other scenario, he was an excellent liar, even when it came to making something up on the spot- it was part of his job, after all- so then why on earth was this proving so difficult for him?

But Medic wasn't born yesterday. He was insane, yes, but stupid? Absolutely not. This was far from the first time he'd elicited such a reaction from a teammate.

"Ah, I see. My apologies." Medic replied in the most innocent tone he could muster. The checkup could wait. It wasn't often he got to see Spy vulnerable like this- and, come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him crack a real, genuine smile.

Medic continued, though now he was much more purposefully pressing his fingers into Spy's stomach. "Hmm, you are quite tense, though. Are you certain there's nothing wrong?"

Spy opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he'd been trying to say was cut short by an undignified squeak as the Doctor prodded at one of his sides. If Spy had to hazard a guess, he'd say his face was just about the same red as Medic's gloves right about now.

Before he had any time to process it, Medic had started kneading at both of his sides, and he couldn't for the life of him hold back the wave of giggles that came up his throat, though his hands quickly shot up to cover his mouth in some attempt to muffle the embarrassing noise.

"My, someone is rather giggly today." Medic grinned, as if he didn't know damn well what he was doing already. "Is something funny?"

Spy had no intention of dignifying him with a reply, much less did he trust his voice at the moment. He moved one hand from his mouth to try and shove Medic off (to no avail, of course).

"Ah-ah, none of that, Herr Spy. I need to ensure you are healthy!" Medic chided, taking both of the other man's wrists into one hand and holding his arms firmly above his head, his free hand continuing its spidering and scribbling at his sides. "Why ever are you wiggling so much, anyway? You've never given me this much trouble."

"Doctor-!" Spy managed.

Medic paused, if only to allow Spy to speak. "Ja?"

Spy took a breath, trying to compose himself as if it would recover even a shred of his dignity. "You- this- This is highly unprofessional-"

"What is?" Medic asked coyly, resuming, moving from his sides to his stomach, sending him right back into another fit of giggles. "I don't see what's unprofessional about me giving you a checkup. You're the one being fussy about it."

His hand travelled upwards. "Do try and hold still. I need to make sure you have all your ribs."

"What- what do you mean, 'have all of'- of COURSE I do!" Spy protested indignantly.

"We can't be sure unless I check. I'm the doctor here, Spy." He scolded, running a single finger down his ribcage. "Let's see- one, two, three.."

Spy jerked away, biting his lip and holding his breath to stifle any laughter he could trust to escape. Medic clicked his tongue. "No, you come back here, silly! You made me lose count."

Oh my god, Spy thought to himself, he is trying to kill me.

It took 4 more tries, but eventually, against all odds, Spy was able to hold perfectly still. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to hold his giggles, but he took the small victories where he could. Finally, Medic released his arms, withdrawing his hands.

"Hm, everything looks good! Though maybe next time I could do without the squirming. You nearly kicked me." he scolded playfully. Spy hugged himself for protection, still just barely giggling under his breath.

Medic's grin widened. "You know, I can't help but notice you didn't ask me to stop. Not even once, in fact."

Spy couldn't argue with that, as much as he wanted to.

i. got carried away writing this one

it started as a lil ficlet and soon i was hitting 1000 words ;-;

anyway i hope this is good???????????? i love the idea so much its so canon. feedback always appreciated <333

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whirlwindimagines · 2 years

Note

HELLO WHIRLL!!

May I request a Wolfwood X Gn reader, for the reader doesn’t show emotion, but when their childhood friend Nicolas is hurt that’s when they let their emotions out ?

Like say Nicolas wasn’t thinking and jumped right into danger in the heat of the moment and it pissed reader off cause he almost died💥💥

And could this be friends to lovers as well?

Thank you so much, i hope you’re having a good day/night stay hydrated! <3 and please take your time there’s no rush :))

Hello! <3 Thank you for the request! <3 Also I’m so sorry these are always so long, I am incapable of writing anything less than 800 words it seems. Okay Im always going to be a Vash girly, he has my heart. But lowkey writing all this Wolfwood stuff is kinda turning me into a Wolfwood girly as well.

'Bad ideas, and big guns'

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Reader

This was a bad idea, you knew Wolfwood could feel your glare on the back of his head. This was a bad idea ever since he got sideswiped by that reporter's car. You always followed without complaint, you knew he had his missions and you didn't ask what they intended. You didn't ask a lot of questions these days, just secretly happy to be at Nicholas's side again. Both growing up in that orphanage, you left first. It was by happenstance that you got away and never looked back.

Running into Wolfwood again was quite the shock, maybe it was the guilt of abandoning him to his fate that kept you at his side. He didn't seem to mind, he tried to keep you out of it all. But you could fight, and you could kill, it made you use when needed. However, your opinion apparently didn't matter to Wolfwood, you thought it was dangerous to get too caught up in it all. It was getting too personal with Vash and his ragtag group; you knew it and Wolfwood knew it too.

Expect the stubborn ass wasn't listening, and was ignoring you now. It didn't matter, he wouldn't be able to tell what you were thinking anyway. You always had your emotions locked down, it made surviving easier when you could turn it all off. With a sigh you turned your gaze away, this town was like every other one you’d come across. Wolfwood and Vash were at the bar, Roberto was out having a smoke and you were sitting with Meryl at a table in the corner.

You don't know how it starts, but it always happens too quickly. Guns are drawn on Vash, he doesn’t want to fight and it causes an uproar. You lose sight of Vash and Wolfwood as you drag Meryl out of the bar for some cover, you curse shoving Meryl out of the way as bullets rain down on the two of you.

Moving behind some crates you bring out your own weapon, these small fries would be easy to handle. No, the real problem was the guy with the tank rolling in, you sigh leaning your head back. One normal day would be nice, just one. You hope Meryl is in a safer spot when you lean out of cover to start shooting.

You don't get to hide for long when the tank is turned toward you. Your eyes widen as you scramble to your feet to get away. The sound is deafening, you drop to the ground. Nearly avoiding the hit, someone grabs you by the back of your shirt and hauls you to your feet. You bring your gun around to backhand them only for it to be blocked by Wolfwoods large weapon, you frown he smirks. “That’s the thanks I get for saving ya?”

“We’re not out of this yet.” You hiss, at him as he drags you behind a building. “Stay here, one blast from the punisher and it’ll bring it down.” Wolfwood doesn’t look at you as he says this, you yank on his arm to get him to turn. “That’s a stupid idea, you might not be able to a charged shot. Don't jump in without a real plan!” Wolfwood shoves you back hard, and you stumbled catching yourself on the building. “Worry about yourself.”

You watch him take off weapon in hand, spinning it to engage its laser mode. You hate when you are right, it takes a moment too long to charge the tank fires first, Wolfwood second. The shots meet in a giant explosion. You're forced to move back behind the building, covering your eyes from all the dust and debris falling.

The town goes silent, you leave your hiding spot. Heart-racing Wolfwood had to be directly in the blast, “Wolfwood” you called out, trying to keep your voice calm, you noticed a building in the back now has a large hole in it. Racing over you search through the debris, “Nicholas!” your voice definitely rose an octave higher as you dropped to your knees beside him, shoving wood off of him.

He was knocked out and bleeding badly, your hands searched through its pockets finding one of the vials he carried around. Snapping the end off, you forced the liquid down his throat. Sitting back on your heels with a sigh as his wounds began to heal. You place your hand on his cheek, “Wolfwood? Can you hear me?” You ask it softly, his eyes open to your smiling face.

“See one shot is all it took.” Your smile turns to a frown when you grab him sharply by the shoulders and begin to shake him. “You asshole! Would you just listen to me once!” you snapped out, your voice shaking with slight fear. “God I just want to hit you! Don't you ever think?” Wolfwood looks at you in shock, grabbing both of your wrists to stop your assault. “Worried about me?” he says it with that stupid smirk of his, now you really want to hit him.

You shove him back hard, and he yelps, “I’m always worried about your dumbass!” You stand, turning to leave you don't get very far when Wolfwood grabs you by the ankle causing you to fall. You catch yourself on your hands, kicking him forcing him to let go and he yells out a ‘hey!’

You huff turning over to sit and look at him, “And just what was that for?” he's giving you an odd look one that unfortunately makes your heart race, Wolfwood sits up, leaning his arms over his bent knees he smirks as you. “I like this side of you, the fight.” You groan, face heating up at his words.

“You bring out the worse in me.” You say it with a light laugh.

“I think you bring the best out in me.” He says it too seriously.

You pause at his words, he’s staring at you openly now “Careful now, sounds like you care about me.” You say it lightly, allowing him to pull back if he needs to, you smile as he looks away nervous. Wolfwood always put on such a show for other people, but to you, he’d always be that awkward kid back in the orphanage who tried to get you to laugh. God how the two of you had grown.

“And if I do?” He turns back to you, grinning now. Ah, so it looks like he's not going to pull back, good. You sit up on your knees in front of him, leaning in. “I would say the feelings are mutual.” You smirk grabbing him by the collar of his shirt roughly and pulling him towards you. “You ever pull that shit again I'm killing you myself got it?”

“Got it.” He grabs you by the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss. You roll your eyes, leaning into the kiss, at least you got to wipe that smirk off his face.

#nicholas d wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x you #wolfwood imagine #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede imagine #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede #trigun

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searchingfortheuniverse · 3 months

Text

Side A - I Hate To Hear That You Won't Come Home

Part One of my gift for @terresdebrume! This one sort of snuck up on me because I wanted to make sure I'd written as much as you deserved for your gift after I'd already finished writing Part Two, so you get surprise bonus Webgott. I hope you like it!

Rated T, mainly for swearing. The title comes from Listen to the Man by George Ezra and the fic can also be found on AO3. This one is intended to be read first, but it doesn't really make too much difference.

Pairing: Joe Liebgott/David Webster, referenced Bill Guarnere/Babe Heffron Summary: After the war, Joe Liebgott seems to have disappeared; Web isn't letting him go that easily.

When the door opens in front of him, David flinches.

It's not that he's actually afraid, or startled, or any of those things. It's just that this is a deeply uncomfortable situation and he doesn't really know what to say.

"... Webster," Grant says, and it's hard to tell if the delay is a result of shock or the brain injury.

"Sergeant. Grant. Uh... Chuck?" David can't help the way he cringes at his own inability to decide how to address this man he's known for years.

"Jesus Christ," Grant says. There's a slight hesitance and a mild slur in his voice that never used to be there, almost a hitch allowing for extra time to think, but other than that he's doing pretty well for a guy who got shot in the head. "I'm embarrassed for you at this point. Come in."

David follows him in the door, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the coat hook Grant directs him to. He finds himself guided to a small kitchen and he watches as Grant makes him a cup of coffee. It's noticeable that one hand can take less weight than the other but David keeps his mouth shut. Eventually, there's a mug in front of him and Grant sits in the chair opposite him at the table.

"So, uh... How's the recovery going?"

David hits himself mentally. What a stupid question. Grant must be sick of being asked that by now.

"It's fine," Grant says, "Living the fucking dream." He sticks a cigarette in his mouth and lights it, then offers one to David almost more out of habit than deliberate choice. David takes one anyway. "What are you really doing here, Webster? You haven't come all the way out here to ask me that. It's not like we were close."

After a moment, David sighs and admits it. "I'm looking for Liebgott."

He's never seen anyone look less surprised than Grant does right now, which... Well. It feels almost like it should be insulting but he's not quite sure why.

"I don't know where he is any more than the rest of the company," Grant says, "So showing up here was sort of a stupid idea." His speech is worst on the S sounds, David notes absently.

"You must have some idea, though," David argues, "He wasn't that far from you. You must have at least an old address or something."

Grant shrugs with just his good shoulder. "Nope. All I know is he definitely went back to driving his cab. Outside of that, nothing."

"I'll leave you in peace, then," David says, because it's not like he and Grant were ever actually friends in a way that wouldn't leave this as the world's most uncomfortable conversation, "You want me to grab you anything? For your hospitality?"

"It was coffee and a smoke, Webster," Grant says, unimpressed.

"Still..."

"If you want to bring Liebgott round when you find him, I won't object," Grant adds, "And you can bring a pack of cigarettes at the same time if you want. Or some more coffee. I probably actually have a harder time with the coffee."

"Sure thing, Sergeant," David agrees, and he leaves as Grant rolls his eyes.

From the moment he leaves, his quest begins in earnest. Grant's confirmed two important details for him: Joe really did come back to San Francisco, and he's driving a cab. So David starts hailing cabs.

It's like the most ridiculous vacation in history. David climbs into a cab, asks the driver if they know Joe Liebgott, gets a negative response, and then asks them to drive him to a popular tourist destination so he can at least make the most of his stupid search for a man who doesn’t want to be found. He's giving up on the third day and about to ask to be taken back to his hotel when the answer changes.

"Liebgott? Shit, I know Joe Liebgott."

It's almost embarrassing how fast David finds himself sitting up straight in the back seat. It would be embarrassing, even, if not for the fact that this is a much smaller step in the search for Liebgott than crossing the whole damn country and so this is probably not at all embarrassing in comparison.

"You do? Do you know where I can find him?"

"Sure do. Saw him not ten minutes ago heading to the Third and Townsend Depot to see if there were any fares down there. If he hasn't had one, he'll still be there."

"Jesus," David says, "Thank God. Can you take me down there?"

"Pal, as long as you're paying, I'll take you wherever," the cabbie says with a shrug and a grin.

Once they've arrived, he flings more notes than necessary in the driver's direction, throws a hasty "thanks" over his shoulder, and disappears into the throng of pedestrians. He emerges again with a better view of the taxi rank, squinting even so slightly as he tries to see—

His breath leaves him in a rush at a flash of a half-genuine smile on sharp features as Joe Liebgott reaches for a woman's suitcase. David doesn't even notice his feet carrying him forward until he's there, saying words that are probably the biggest social faux pas he's ever made (which is really saying something) but which he can't regret because Joe is there.

"Hi, sorry, can you find a different cab?"

The woman stares at him in astonishment.

"What the—?" Joe starts.

"I'll cover the cost of another one for you, I'll pay you extra, but I need this one."

Dumbstruck, the woman blinks. Then, to David's blessed relief, she nods, clearly deciding that arguing with this insane man isn't worth the hassle. He thrusts more of his money in her direction, and she shrugs at Joe before reaching for her case and backing away.

"What the hell is your problem?" Joe asks, clearly livid.

"What the hell is your problem?" David retorts. "I'm not the one who vanished and stopped talking to everyone!"

"No, you just stalked me and cost me a cab fare!"

"Alright then, I'll pay you to drive me somewhere!"

"Fine!"

As a final act of defiance, David sits in the passenger seat rather than the back, tilting his chin up stubbornly as Joe glares at him from the driver's seat.

"Where the fuck am I driving you, then?"

David snaps out the name of his hotel, then folds his arms. It's silent in the car for a good few minutes, which for them is quite impressive. Eventually, though, David caves.

"You never wrote to me."

"You never wrote to me either," Joe retorts.

"You never gave me an address!"

"Yeah, and anyone else would think that was a clue!"

"I did write to you," David admits quietly, "I just... didn't know where to send it."

"You– What?"

"I wrote to you, Joe, it's not that hard to understand!"

"Fuck you," Joe says, but it sounds more like a filler, something reflexive.

Once again, that uncomfortable silence fills the cab, and David's reminded forcibly of a jeep in Europe. All they're missing in this awkwardness is Skinny in the back.

The drive seems much longer than it should be. It quickly becomes apparent that that's because it is; a few landmarks pass that David knows are in the opposite direction to his hotel. Instead, they end up on a residential street. His confusion must show on his face, because Joe rolls his eyes.

"Fucking Christ, Web, are you coming or not?"

David blinks at him. It's only now that he sees the house key in Joe's hand. He scrambles out of the vehicle, hanging back slightly until the door's open and then practically bolting inside. He's... Well, he's not surprised. A little incredulous, maybe. He's definitely not surprised that Joe's house is tidy and... normal.

"This is a nice place," he says, and then, almost unable to help himself, he adds, "It's yours?"

He's willing to admit that he deserves the flat look he gets in response. The words he hears next, though, are tired, not accusatory as he'd half-expected.

"What are you doing here, Web?"

Now that it's come down to it, all his words have left him. He hesitates, lips parted as if his mouth has started trying to speak while his brain is still considering, and then manages weakly, "I didn't want to lose you."

"We've been through this," Joe says tiredly, "There's nothing to lose. It was a war thing, Web. Nothing else. It can't be."

"I don't believe you," David snaps, that familiar will to argue with Joe bubbling up inside him.

"Alright, fine, you don't believe me. Now what? It doesn't change anything!"

"Sounds like it's working out for Guarnere and Heffron," David counters.

Joe blinks. "What the fuck–?"

"They're living together," David says, and– There. A flicker in Joe's eye, a hesitation. "They're making it work."

"How?"

"I… I don't know," David admits, "But we can figure it out, right? I want to figure it out."

There's a long moment. David's heart is in his throat, watching as Joe's gaze flicks down to his mouth in a way it usually does when he's about to kiss him. And then, finally, Joe says, "Fuck. Okay."

And then he really does kiss him.

#hbowarsummer24 #webgott #joe liebgott #david webster #mine

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batsplat · 13 days

Note

continuing with rgu/motogp and casey&vale thought exercise. during Casey’s ducati days the team (and also some tracks) were sponsored by Alice and they literally had an eye as a part of their logo design. it’s just too good not to use it and one could go in a pretty surrealist direction with it even.

right! yes! agreed anon! absolutely!

the way my ask-answering process currently works is that this genre of asks get a sort of instant prioritisation (the other asks are lovely but I need more active brain cells than I currently have at my disposal for a lot of them), which means I actually did start answering this like... immediately when I got it. then I got side tracked answering this ask about the similarities between casey/valentino, which I kinda feel like has ended up forming a lot of the spiritual foundation for the stuff here. now, quick look behind the curtain - where I'm at right now with life is that most of my ask answering happens a) when I'm commuting, b) when I'm eating, or c) when I'm about to fall asleep. except this past week, this process (and much of my life in general) has fallen apart as I have been ravaged by first a malfunctioning smoke alarm, then the combination of a malfunctioning smoke alarm and fever, and now just the illness. anyway basically this is my lengthy way of putting a disclaimer at the top that everything in this post was written in a state of mild sleep deprivation OR severe sleep deprivation fuelled by a smoke alarm in my bedroom beeping loudly once a minute for six days straight OR illness-induced fatigue. like my brain is empty at this point, there is nothing left, I just sort of long for oblivion. luckily at most three people will read this ask, so it's all good. let's roll <3

you're so rightttttt anon, yes!! that logo!! I had not clocked the surreal possibilities at allllll but obviously. they are there. here's the logo on the bike!

man that was such a nice looking bike. like 800cc was an awful era of racing but you can't argue with the aesthetics

here it is with the ad board backdrop

it's actually quite a nice logo.... here's a clean version of it:

I don't think this company exists anymore in this form, some italian tech thing idk, so no concerns over being a capitalist shill here. also it was still a fair bit less crowded back then, it's one of five logos on the bike rather than one of fifty. I like the idea you have these eyes sitting all around the track, very panopticon-y. as you zip by them and they watch you go round and round. both on the circuit, on the bike itself, on the leathers... in an early 2008 race, in estoril I believe, casey had some kind of issue with a camera dorna was making him test that ended up swinging around during the race. he talks about it in his autobiography in the context of his rough start to 2008 and all his various frustrations, but somehow entirely fails to miss the irony of a literal camera tormenting him. like come on casey, that's the thing you're always complaining about, don't you think that's kinda funny? how it's now not just like, abstractly making your life hell but also literally doing so? come on casey

AND ofc it's there when he's fighting valentino

this will be some time in 2007, I like how it looks like the eye is kinda peaking out at valentino from the side of the bike

you can kind of go in a few different directions with this eye thing, right. in a way, the obvious one is to position casey as the object of observation, of how he was constantly being watched and judged, of how he would have preferred to be riding out on his own without any of this other stuff but he was constantly forced to be part of the world of the paddock. the media was waiting for him to slip up, he was always being assessed, even his bike has sometimes faulty cameras attached to it. that's sports as entertainment - the aspect of his occupation casey was always least comfortable with, which made him so very different from valentino. you can even tap into the uneasy relationship with ducati, how they were watching him and judging him and all of it... blaming him for their troubles, not giving him enough credit for their successes. judging his diet! such a major theme of the 2009 saga, right, how they just refused to give him adequate support.... there's really something to like,, specifically the element of them judging his body, I think, this sort of 'oh, if only he ate and trained directly, if only he wasn't eating so many sweets' (a real bit of rhetoric they used btw!!) that has such a pernicious and controlling and nasty vibe to it that it really fits with having the eye on the bike itself. staring back at casey and demanding perfection from him and not even paying him his dues when he is actually perfect. big brother may be watching you, but he will never love you. creepy. awful

I've been thinking a lot about casey lately (yes yes, I'm sure this'll come as a shock) and what I find so compelling about him. and there's a version of him that I... look, not to judge anyone, do whatever, but there's an interpretation I do 'sometimes' see that I just personally find both slightly off base and also boring as shit. like, you can make casey into this very one dimensional 'always right about everything' opinionated hater who went in, beat valentino a bunch of times, showed everyone how talented and amazing he was but he was the victim of valentino's malevolence and then he left again, and now he keeps dropping correct hot takes about how awful everything is about current motogp. to me, this is all very flat. if casey were just very talented and a great guy and simply a bit introverted, I would find him boring as shit. so I was thinking about like.... how talented he is, how he's kinda the talent in the sport, and how usually the phrase 'the greatest talent this sport has seen' has to be the biggest turn-off imaginable in sports for me. but for him specifically, the sheer extent of that talent I think is a really key storytelling detail. I actually find it an interesting starting point to say that he really might just be as good as it gets on that specific metric. like, I don't care about measuring talent as a literal metric because... idk man, I just don't care, but it is narratively compelling to allow him to have the most raw potential of literally anyone. it's all there. he was born to ride, he was raised in a way that allowed him to become a truly unique rider - the kind you'll never see before or since. it's very primal, isn't it, taps into that early stage of the development curve: you have all this promise as a young child, where there are no other complicating factors, just an expression of raw ability, of a sort of purity... and at that stage, everything is possible. the talent is there to win twenty world titles. the talent will never, ever be the stumbling block

but of course, winning twenty titles isn't as easy as just having a lot of raw talent. I think there's something very nicely bildungsroman-y of casey setting off away from australia to european soils, where it's... you know, every step of the way up the ladder in the australian system, then through the british ranks on a whole different continent, then through spanish where he doesn't speak the language... it's obviously quite radically expanding his horizons, step by step, and it's also this horrifying process where he's slowly being subjected more and more to the world's gaze. you know that thing where casey had thought mat oxley was the guy doing him dirty when riding in the british championships - beyond being a funny story, I think it's actually kinda noteworthy that casey is already so hyper aware of how he is being perceived when he's a fifteen year old riding in a national championship. obviously, casey was making through his ranks with a real lack of security... the hypersensitivity always has to be attached to the context that for so many of his formative years, what people thought about him really, really mattered. he wasn't always the best at distinguishing between what was just, y'know, a journalist doing their job and the sort of unfair criticism that was actually fucking with his chances at career progression - but obviously that's pretty understandable. it's a real vulnerability that stems from... being beholden to that world's gaze. that constant pressure of young athletes, where they simply have to impress whoever happens to be watching. the talent spotter, some management agency representative, some team member who could open a door one day, a random journalist.... it all matters

and of course in that context, it's key how uncomfortable casey always has been with being watched. from his autobiography (in this post, which is about the gnarly topic of how the dream of being a rider was forced onto him by his parents - not irrelevant to this conversation):

well, y'know. that's all right then! if he's just crying because he finds the attention of others so distressing, it's not a problem! it'd only be a problem if he was crying because he doesn't want to ride! I'm sure this is something that casey will just magically deal with by the time he's grown up! nothing to address here if you're his parents, just a normal part of the process of becoming a professional motorcycle racer!

there's a romantic ideal to casey that I do have mixed feelings towards. both fascination and wariness, certainly. I think you can really lean into it with this pure, natural talent business, this sickly child becoming this fragile adult who has this sort of fast burning genius that is very bright very soon but inevitably consumes itself. the mystery illness, the early retirement, all the questions of 'what if'... people really love that angle, the tortured genius of it all, how there was always more possible if their bodies and minds hadn't conspired against them. I have many issues with this, from my distaste towards treating talent as the ultimate metric of worthiness in sports (you don't deserve to win more if you're more talented lol), to my dislike for how casey's mental health ends up being framed in these conversations, and just a general bleh feeling about injecting too much of a tragic note into the discussion of this type of career. you get the sense people pay less attention to casey's actual career than they do to a theoretical idea of the career that exists in their heads, and even then a lot of the time it's to push some kind of an agenda about a non-casey rider. still, listen, we're talking surrealism here - and sometimes you can lean into a trope to critique it, right. like, the trope is clearly there, might as well acknowledge it. and the exact manner of his 'downfall' really does come through the weight of the world's gaze, doesn't it, where he's constantly being exposed and picked apart and taunted. he hated it even when he became a child, and he just was in no way prepared for how big a role that constant attention would play throughout his racing career. it's just this fundamental incompatibility... the way this raw talent ends up running into the brick wall that is the reality of what modern professional sports looks like. again, this isn't a framing I'm a massive fan of - but that kind of prodigious talent does kinda get given a sort of... ethereal dimension, where it's not really suited to the true nature of the world and inevitably gets ground down by the cruelties and injustices. that tension between the elevated, the otherworldly, and the material realities it is subjected to. now, if casey had responded to this by being some sort of suffering shrinking violet poor martyred lamb, he wouldn't be anywhere close to as fun. he might be a prodigy, but he's also a whiny little shit who wasn't always doing himself any favours with how he was dealing with all those material realities. the general point still stands, though - and there's something kinda fun to giving The Gaze itself a corrosive power, the ability to eat away at casey through its mere existence

time to bring valentino back into the picture. I also think the talent element is really key with the valentino rivalry. like, to be clear here, I do not give a shit which one of casey and valentino was literally more talented, in large part because I just don't really believe in talent as a valid construct. everything about this is a boring debate to me when there's so much interesting stuff going on with these two that nobody ever seems to want to discuss :(((( so let's do that discussion here. and let's just say for a minute that valentino does look at casey and at the very least believes he might be as talented as valentino is, if not more so. from the similarities post:

like, we can quibble with phrasing here, but I think if you are saying that someone's 'pure talent' is 'unbeatable', then you might kinda be calling him the most talented guy to ever do it? does kinda live rent free in my head! valentino also said casey was "one of the greatest talents ever in motogp" which, while phrased a little less extremely, does give us a baseline to operate from with regards to how valentino perceived casey's abilities. when we're talking about 'gaze', in my mind there's something fun when you lean into the interpretation that valentino's gaze was not only very much on casey, but on casey quite early. the paddock was all over the place with regards to casey in his early years - where obviously people did spot the talent but didn't clock HOW good he was and also tended to dismiss him for various reasons, including his actual performance (often it really was his bikes that were more to blame) and, well, his personality. the rumour goes that casey was blocked not once but twice from joining yamaha, first in 2005 for the 2006 season with a satellite contract and agreement to join the factory team in 2007, and then in 2006 for the 2007 season. with the second one, casey does kinda imply in a very *wink wink nudge nudge* way that he enjoys deploying that valentino was the one to block him, and this is also something his father has said in interviews (yeah I've watched interviews his father has given, that's the rare level of fan dedication I've reached with this bloke). now, I'm a teensy bit unconvinced by the evidence here because by late 2006 yamaha clearly were leaning quite heavily towards jorge as their future. they also seemed to think valentino might be off to do f1 - or at least that's how lin jarvis more recently sold the decision to sign jorge, as a situation where they never actually intended those two nutcases to be teammates. more recently, casey has also suggested that yamaha were deliberately stringing him along as a way of pushing down the price of the guy they actually wanted to sign, which to me sounds fairly plausible. I'm not saying valentino wasn't badmouthing casey within yamaha - it's entirely possible that this is a thing that was separately happening - I just am way less sure whether it actually achieved anything. which leads us back to the 2005 contract cycle... in all honesty, I do kinda want valentino to have blocked casey here, for the reasons I was talking about above: I think it's fun and narratively spicey for valentino's Gaze to have been on casey early and have already had this malicious quality, where he's actively hurting casey's career prospects. I do feel this would be like... a little bit of a stretch, just in terms of how much long-term thinking and planning and behind the scenes malice and also power we're ascribing to valentino here - to make him block a satellite signing that only maybe possibly could become uncomfortable for him a year down the line. still, by the same token... that's exactly what would make it fun. I'm not going to take a stance on whether it happened or not, but I would like the possibility that it might have happened to bleed into the narrative at all times

and then we've got casey's autobiography line about how valentino was hazing him in his rookie season, putting questionable moves on him in practises and during races. I love this so so so so much. look, casey had a strong start to his rookie season, and he DID fight valentino in his very second race which was very cute. but let's be real, valentino had limited opportunities to fight casey in races that season (I'm still struggling to actually think of a non-qatar race.... and having rewatched that fight a few times, it's one of those things I kinda want casey to talk me through, explain what his issues with valentino were) and really should have had bigger things to worry about. like, the man has four championship rivals and none of them are satellite honda rookie casey stoner. if valentino really was bullying that child in practise, then, y'know, what was the vision there. so obviously I really need this to be true... valentino might be a bit of a dick in general on-track but there's just something so charming about the idea that he had a bit of a special treatment for casey from day one. like, yes, that's my favourite talent spotter!! he knew there was something about that surly, stubborn crash prone kid. I want that malicious gaze directed on casey nice and early. obviously, casey has this entire thing where he doesn't believe valentino rated him until he'd basically already lost the title in 2007 and even then wasn't giving him proper credit, which doesn't entirely stand up when checking the historical record... but crucially, let's just accept casey's stance for a minute and say that valentino wasn't being sufficiently complimentary - for all intents and purposes, valentino did understand exactly how good casey was! going back to those autobiography sections I included in the similarities post, with valentino's whole thing about how he knew exactly why he won and lost every single race... I think it's really key that valentino did recognise just how good casey was, that he had quite a clear-sighted understanding of the level of prodigious talent he was dealing with here. that's why the gaze needs to be turned malicious, right. casey's stance here is the 'well the victory doesn't mean as much if you play dirty' approach, but valentino doesn't care. even if he was open to the idea that casey might be 'more talented' than him, obviously that doesn't mean he's going to roll over and die. because at the end of the day, raw talent really is only one of many tools in an athlete's locker. if the only way you can beat the kid is in the head, then so be it

one thing that does go under the radar a bit with casey is just how young he was during the heyday of the valentino rivalry. like, everyone's always on about how marc was only 22 during sepang 2015 - but for what it's worth, casey was 22 during laguna 2008. casey already experienced crowds booing him when he was 21, no honeymoon period there. maybe it's the lack of such a big age gap with valentino (they clock in at six and three quarter years), maybe it's the perceived lesser severity of valentino's crimes in this relationship, the lack of an active betrayal of hero worship, maybe it's how casey is a bit less baby faced and a bit more ill-tempered, maybe it's just lack of interest in casey in general... (to be clear, I do not want any discourse about this rivalry. like casey, I also do not need The Gaze to be directed at him too much.) but y'know, it is important to remember. laguna 2008 as a formative experience for casey is at its most coherent when we treat it first and foremost as one of humiliation. I talked about humiliation in that black rose arc post and then also did address that a bit in the similarities post:

this is what the gaze does to you, right. nobody is humiliated in private - that's not how humiliation works. you can be embarrassed in private without anyone else knowing what you did to embarrass yourself, even though you can argue about how there's an element there of judging yourself against an imagined external observer. still, though... with humiliation, it's far more direct. humiliation requires an audience. and humiliation has so much potential as a formative experience. the crash itself is really key here imo - it's not a scary crash, it's not a dangerous crash, it's a comically slow one as the bike goes into the gravel and then goes into the slightly deeper gravel and then tips over. it's one the commentators treat as a little bit silly, because it is. it feels like such an anticlimactic end to the battle, but it works perfectly because of it. casey is even denied any real pathos in the moment of his downfall... it's his own mistake, it's one that has so slender, seemingly harmless consequences. and then he has to ride to second place, he has to sit with the sting of that mistake, of knowing everyone watched it.... the entire show valentino puts on in parc fermé, perfect for the cameras, interrupting casey's tv interview and all of it... they both know they're being watched. valentino leans into his triumphalism in a way he never has in quite the same way before or since. casey cannot hide his bitterness and must eventually worsen his own humiliation by apologising to valentino. that's the kind of thing that sticks with you, yeah

and it's predicated on all the watching and studying and learning valentino has been doing throughout the course of the rivalry... valentino has come to understand casey and come to understand just how unbeatable his adversary can be. when you're fighting a god, after all, you kinda need to pull out all the stops. valentino reinvents himself in that laguna race, he's willing to take a massive risk on several counts, and it's all because he knows just how good casey is. it's the coldness of the whole thing, the violence, the radical steps valentino has taken, that make the whole thing so compelling. a series of calculations based on valentino watching casey, assessing not only his talent but also his character. and in that race comes the moment of revelation, where their characters are tested to such an extent that you inevitably expose a lot of said characters. valentino is inviting the audience in on the show... it's a spectacle - that's why it works

so, let's flip it and make casey the observer. after all, it's casey who's got the eyes plastered all over him

including in pressers where it's a backdrop! got it nicely displayed on his chest too as casey watches valentino talk. I did already give a lot of my thoughts on this dynamic in the similarities post - it's such a key theme to me of that entire rivalry that casey is so... actively engaged in the process of learning from valentino. jorge and marc used valentino as a 'reference' before they entered the class; casey felt first hand what happens when valentino focuses in on a rival and knew he needed to learn some of those tricks. luckily, he's talented enough to be a quick study. I really like the angle of this photo because it does kinda make it look like all the eyes are on valentino... which they obviously are. a man who is always aware of where the cameras are! sometimes for better and sometimes for worse

kinda have to bring it in when we're talking eyeballs, right? valentino really is the master of bringing in his own surrealist imagery. as all the best bits of valentino symbolism, you can interpret this in several ways... it's him paying extra attention to where he's riding a year after the leg break, but also him deeply, deeply aware of the eyes of the world on him after his ill-fated switch to ducati. the world gazes - and he shows his awareness of that gaze by gazing right back at it. acknowledging the camera, making his own humiliation into a bit of a show

anyhow... see that overly long post of casey and vale photos WAS good for something because the ask made me take a closer look at some of those photos. check this one out lol

you're right, anon!! this slaps! perfect gaze from casey, perfect placement of the eye right next to him. it kind of functions in two different ways, right, because you've got the element of casey studying valentino and learning from him - but also the gaze of judgement. again, you've got laguna as this decisive moment of revelation... "valentino showed who he really was", after all. casey's gaze is one of moral consideration, of condemnation. it's that duality that's really fun with them, where casey is on the one hand so fundamentally disgusted by valentino and his entire deal, but on the other hand is also learning to become more like him. leaning into his 'worse' impulses to fight him - the spite, the grudges, the determination to hold his own against his enemies that will supersede morals or self-preservation. if you look too long into the darkness, the darkness may end up looking back

it's that kind of vibe where... y'know, there's such a disparity between how the pair of them experience the rivalry, but also just how it functions narratively for them... part of the point I was making in that post is that it's like. valentino is obviously capable of these ultra heartfelt emotionally thorny rivalries. this was not that, but it was for casey - and so in some ways casey ended up taking on the valentino role. spite, grudges, delayed retribution... it's all a lot more straightforward from valentino's end, especially during the time period where they're actually competing for titles, where there isn't any real interpersonal animosity and valentino is just sort of willing to do whatever it takes... it's not like he even massively wanted to make an enemy out of casey; he just had a far more liberal understanding of acceptable tactics than casey did. and then casey's got so much going on... which means these two rivalries just end up operating on completely different levels, where valentino's dealing with this tricky and kinda fun challenge and casey's confronting demons... casey judges valentino, casey learns from valentino, casey never entirely understood valentino. this lingering awareness that he never really knew valentino as a person - that's catnip for this discussion. he can look all he likes, but all he sees is a shell

speaking of... well, valentino having these two natures, valentino's perceived fickleness, valentino being so slippery and tricky to pin down for casey... you can kinda bring in another symbol already featured in one of these posts, right

sun and moon on one rider vs an eye on the other. now, remember, valentino liked using this as a way of distinguishing between two sides of his character:

lovely stuff. not a million miles away with the internal distinction casey sometimes seems to draw between valentino the person and valentino the character. and that's what the eye is supposed to do, right - perceive the truth. see valentino for what he really is. positioning casey as the heretic who won't shy away from seeing valentino's true nature... the callousness casey has been exposed to, an awareness of everything valentino would do to win a race, to win a title. to beat casey

another link I was thinking of going through my lil collection of photos - this pair of photos which I think are both from qatar 2007:

while I generally prefer my sun and moon logos a bit less minimalist, valentino does have a nice helmet design here with the sun on one side and moon on the other. I mean this is just fantastic stuff, isn't it, like it really writes itself. two photos from different pov's, one where you see casey's face and one where you see valentino's. one where you see the sun and one where you see the moon. you can play around with the interpretation a little depending on what you want the sun and moon to symbolise respectively, but it's all in there lol. casey sees the moment one way, valentino quite the other. casey sees one side of valentino, but valentino's other side is already lurking, biding its time. valentino wearing a helmet at all is of course also quite a nice touch - see casey hiding in his helmet as a teenager, embarrassed by how good he was, see valentino deciding against taking off his helmet when he goes to confront casey after jerez 2011. it's a literal mask, a way of maintaining distance. works very nicely, doesn't it

here's a photo of them on-track, where you can just about see both sides of the helmet:

so you get a bunch of nice photos that year where depending on the perspective it's being photographed from, you get a different side of the helmet visible. casey spends so much time in front that season, he really doesn't need to be studying valentino's helmet all too closely. and sitting behind someone is overrated, as laguna 2008 showed so nicely

valentino also has a more intricate version of this design at phillip island 2007

which I'm mainly including because I think the whole thing looks kinda snazzy

but that's!! not!! all!! because there is one last 'casey and eyes' theorem that absolutely needs to be included here. like, this whole thing of casey watching valentino, having all these eyes around him doing the watching, perceiving valentino's true nature... it's all a bit third eye, isn't it, of having another eye open and being able to perceive truths your two regular ones can't. and, well, eyes... if we're talking about eyes and symbolism, then there's one symbolic link you just need to bring in: conspiracy theories. plastering a bunch of eyes on things, it's all a bit illuminati innit, a bit eye of providence, a bit freemason. one of my favourite things like,, narratively with casey is to really lean into the paranoia and the conspiratorial leanings; it's fun and juicy and adds so much to his character. he's just the type of guy who ends up being very attuned to a certain type of pattern! a certain type of colour, even - the bloody luminous yellow thing really is just such a perfect little detail that is so unintentionally revealing. casey noticing it, casey exaggerating it in his mind, casey including it in his autobiography.... he's got such a particular way of seeing the world, such a specific and slightly odd viewpoint that just makes you want to prod at him... and he does have a little bit of the flair of the traditional conspiracy theorist

that built-in wariness, disillusionment from systems and the establishment and all the rest of it, the alienation, the suspicion of malice... the whiff of paranoia! all absolutely perfect to make use of all the eye imagery. I think it's so so telling that casey thinks valentino might have been a victim of a plot like that, like it almost feels a bit counterintuitive the first time you think about it... casey's whole thing with valentino was about how valentino was always being favoured, always being given preferential treatment - casey complains about it several times in that same book! but, like, at the end of the day he really does view the system as the main villain. valentino is almost like an unwitting, unsuspecting, undeserving beneficiary of the whole thing, who doesn't even know what's Really Going On.... it's not valentino's malice behind these neverending injustices - though he might be representative of all of them. apparently, it is possible for valentino to be stitched up too. it is kinda a little bit that classic conspiracy theorist dynamic of gaining satisfaction from being one of the few who actually know the truth... like on the one hand it's frustrating in the isolation it causes, but on the other hand it's also extremely rewarding because it makes you special. 'welcome to my world, mate' - you almost get the sense casey wants to yank valentino behind the curtain and explain to him how the world really works. casey wants valentino to understand him, remember. maybe at the end of the day casey wants valentino's gaze to be a little more finely attuned. oh, please let me moderate a dinner between the pair of them, pretty please

still, for balance, let's chuck in some casey paranoia actually aimed directly at valentino:

10/10, no notes. watching someone closely isn't always a good thing

anyway this is probably the place to wrap up this post lol. basically I agree, anon, the eyes are great. I do not have the energy to edit this, so hope it is at least vaguely coherent. everyone's always watching each other and it's all fun and kinda creepy and unsettling and long live paranoia

#//#brr brr #batsplat rsponds #spec tag #heretic tag

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