#give me another year or two before I actually sit down and manage to draw one of the Scenes I have bookmarked | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wingedjellyfishflight · 8 months ago

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Hunting Trip

"Have you even ever been hunting?" Ghost opens his mouth. "Animals, not people." His jaw snaps shut. "Yes, you can come with, but it's not like a mission. And you have to be nice. My dad and my brothers will be with us all week."

"I will play nice with your family, promise," he says, smirking down at you.

"I don't believe you when you say it like that, but I know it's the best I will get. You should be excited, though. I pulled really good tags. Moose, elk, and a black bear. I was not expecting the moose, or else I wouldn't have gone for the other two, but I can't turn down moose." He happily listens to you chatter away about the upcoming trip, your eagerness palpable.

"What will you do with the meat? And furs?" He doesn't really care, but he wants to listen to you talk.

"Oh, we have a guy that cuts it all up, and I'm old friends with a taxidermist. If I had more time, I would cut it up myself, but Captain said he can only give me one week, so butcher it is."

"Wait, wait, wait! You know how to cut up an animal? Why are you so bad at using knives in the field?"

"I hate using it against people. It's... too similar," you say with a small shudder before focusing back on the mission.

You catch a military flight back home three weeks later. You spend the trip curled up in the webbing and trying your best to nap after the week you had. Barely had time to clean up from the mission before you ran to the tarmac. Somehow, Ghost made it there long before you. Must be excited, you think, smiling up at the big guy.

Wrapping your arms around your dad and your big brothers doesn't feel like home, you realize with a pang. Not now that you are across the pond with the team. Price's gruff hug after a mission feels more comforting. Of course, part of it may be the glares they are shooting the "strange man" who walked in the door with you.

Introducing him isn't a disaster, per say, but for some reason, they had assumed you were bringing a woman when you told them a friend was tagging along. Luckily, tags haven't sold out since they assumed a woman friend wouldn't actually want to hunt, and you are able to get an elk tag for Ghost.

Your brothers mock him for living in a country without guns. The ribbing ends when he takes the rifle he is given apart for a thorough cleaning before putting it back together in record time. You know he is showing off and you also know that you won't have to clean the guns by yourself this year, which is a relief as your brothers and dad never seem to remember to clean them.

Your oldest brother talks about the moose he is going to get and the recipes he is going to make with it. You congratulate him on drawing a moose tag, too. He stares at you for a long moment before saying that he will be filling your tag and keeping the meat since you won't be able to take it all back.

"News to me. I got special permission and certification to bring back everything. I will be filling my tags and keeping what I get." Your brother looks like he's been slapped and opens his mouth to argue, but your dad steps in.

"Enough. You were supposed to ask, not make assumptions. She will be keeping what she kills, just as we have always done in this house."

The next morning, you wake up to see Ghost sitting and waiting in the chair next to your bed in the dark. The two of you sharing a bed had been an argument and a half the night before. It had only ended when you threatened to leave and stay at a hotel. You're more than capable of platonic sleeping, and you are old enough not to need to put up with their shit. It's still another two hours before the rest of the house will wake and three before you leave for hunting camp.

"Run?" You ask Ghost sweetly.

"Run," his deep voice responds. You manage good time, clocking in several miles before heading home, showering, and making breakfast. The bacon is finishing just as your dad ambles into the kitchen, dressed to go and yawning, but a smile on his face when he sees you cooking in the kitchen.

"You're up early, dear. Didn't need you to make breakfast for everyone," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Oh, I didn't. Bruvs are on their own. Asshats kept opening my door to look in last night. They're gonna oversleep, I'm sure," you say with a frustrated smile. Your dad chuckles and claps a hand on Ghost's shoulder in good spirits.

"Ready to put in some miles, son? Could be a long day."

"Lamb warned me. We did a short run so we wouldn't be too worn out be day's end," Ghost says politely. You shoot him a glare at the use of your nickname.

"Yeah, so we-" you try to interject.

"Lamb? Like what? Lamb to slaughter? That doesn't sound..." Your dad flounders on what to say.

Before you can salvage it, Ghost jokes, "More like a lamb sending men to slaughter. Your daughter can hold her own in the field." Your elbow to his side doesn't even slow him down.

"Field? You are consulting in the field now? It's too dangerous to be around all those amped up men, sweetie," your dad admonishes you gently as the three of you sit to eat a quick breakfast.

"Just sometimes. You know how much I love my desk, dad. If I didn't work out with Ghost, I'd get fat," you joke. You know your dad is skeptical, but he worries enough without knowing the true nature of your work. You miss the glance the two men exchange. Breakfast finished, you rope Ghost into loading the last of the gear with you, trying to keep him away from your dad.

It's only minutes before time to leave when you see your brothers stumbling out of the house to the truck. You make sure to sit between your middle sibling and Ghost. Annoyingly, your brother manspreads, squishing your legs over despite your protests. Ghost is nice enough to let you rest your legs against his, giving you a little more room. At least it's only a few hours to hunting camp. You made sure to bring your own tent and gear, so you and Ghost will be cozy the entire trip. You knew from the start that you didn't want your family to see your newly acquired scars, especially the burns on your back from last year's incident. Roasted pork had been permanently removed from your menu after that one.

"So, you two fuckin or what?" Your middle brother asks out of the blue about an hour into the trip.

"Or what," is your flat answer. No matter which is true, you're not one to kiss and tell.

"You ever hunted an elk before, boy?" You grimace at your brother's terrible mouth filter.

"Not elk, no," comes the answer from your other side.

"Oh, sheep? Antelope?" You try to intervene, but you're not fast or loud enough to drown out Ghost's answer.

"People." The rest of the ride is mercifully silent with your brothers seemingly absorbed in staring out the windows.

Reaching camp, you and Ghost work as a well-oiled machine. After so many months and especially after the time spent together in the last month in the field, you work silently and smoothly. You help your dad set up their tent, your brothers gearing up already to hunt instead. Between the three of you, camp is set in record time. Your dad begs off hunting, claiming he is going to take a nap after the early morning and long drive there.

Having pre-selected your hunting areas as a safety measure, the two of you set off into your designated zone. You let your brothers pick what they considered the prime area, hoping they would bag out early and give you time to fill your own tags. Luck is in the chilly air, though, as you see sign of a black bear not far from the trailhead. Stalking it, you realize it is stalking a herd of elk itself.

Setting up a shot can be difficult. It's even more so when you are hunting a predator. When you shoot your bear, Ghost takes down a big bull elk, too. You send him back to camp to grab your dad and get the animals ready to move. Your dad switches off with both of you to help pull the game back. You load them in the back of the truck and hug both of them excitedly, happy with the quick start to the trip. Two tags done and two to go. Your brothers have no such luck, and they are less than thrilled with your first day success.

You almost laugh when your brothers corner you later, demanding answers. "How could you bring someone like him?!" Your oldest brother is indignant.

"It's not like I work with fucking girl scouts. What did you think spec ops guys do?"

"You never said-" your brother starts.

"I said he was a coworker. The fuck do you think that means, idiot."

"All you do is push papers, course we assumed he did the same," your younger brother interjects.

"Whatever. He's here now. Deal with it and stop being rude to him," you growl out.

The next morning, you get up early and drive into the local butcher to drop off the elk and bear. You come back and set off on an all-day scout to find a moose. You find mostly older evidence of them around, but also spot another elk herd and sign of deer. Your brothers get one deer between them, and they celebrate as if it was a world record animal.

The third day, you roll out of bed antsy. "Run?" Ghost asks with a grin. "Run," you answer easily. This time, you push nearly ten miles before calling it quits. Coming back, sweaty, and flushed gets your brothers riled up. Your response is simple. "Keep your hair on, lads. We just went for walkies. Haven't been getting enough exercise in and eating too well with dad feeding us."

They both bristle at your casual use of British slang and storm off to hunt again, unwilling to even talk to you. Your dad shakes his head. "They'll never see anything crashing around like that."

"Nope. Dad, you take our section today. We are going to push further up and try to glass a moose, and we saw some good elk out our way." By the end of the day, you're tired, but you did find fresh sign, which is encouraging. Just as your dad had predicted, your brothers didn't see anything all day. Your dad, on the other hand, had opted to be picky and didn't take any shots, but saw many animals.

Day four, you decide not to go for a run. It could be a tiring day if you get a moose and have to haul it down. With that in mind, you stage extra gear partway up to be able to move a moose back to camp more easily. You finally glass the moose you've been tracking near mid-day, getting eyes on it for the first time. It's a huge bull, well over the minimum horn size. Your hands shaking slightly, you take the shot. The bull goes down after just a few steps. Processing it takes longer than any other game you've done, but with Ghost helping, you get back to camp not long after dark. Your brothers managed to shoot an elk today, and you celebrate with them, happy that they are happy.

That night, you wake up to a hand pressed to your mouth and a gentle voice shushing you in your ear. Another nightmare, you realize. Your whimpers had woken Ghost, and he covered your mouth before the screams started that would have woken up the entire camp. You thank him with a shaky voice, and he moves his sleeping bag next to yours, wrapping around you. It's what the team has done for months when in the field as a warm body next to yours staves off the screaming and whimpering. Though it doesn't help with the nightmares themselves.

You get up extra early and drop the game off at the processor before heading back to camp. Today is your last chance to fill tags if you want to bring the meat back, so you move fast tracking an elk herd. It takes most of the morning, but you manage to find them and drop a good-looking bull. Hauling it back, you are elated to have filled all of your tags in time.

When you reach camp, you see that your dad has finally gotten his deer, but your brothers were empty-handed again. They complain about not seeing anything. Unable to help yourself, you say, "Maybe if you didn't sound like a pair of trucks crashing through the woods, you'd see something." This sets them off. They think you are making shit up, again, and talking down to them.

You decide they are a lost cause at this point, but Ghost offers to show them a few tricks on moving silently through the forest. He jokes that he isn't as good as you, but he's good enough.

"That's just because she doesn't move. She just sits there waiting for someone else to do the work." Ghost just shakes his head, knowing he can't tell them any stories. Your dad watches you closely, realizing that there is something more going on here, but unable to pinpoint exactly what that something is.

The next morning, Ghost goes with your eldest brother, and you take your middle sibling into your section. You hope that separating them will help increase their chances of filling tags. Your brother pays closer attention than you'd thought he would, and his walking quiets tenfold. He keeps trying to talk to you until finally you snap at him.

"Please shut up. You can talk after you shoot something." Mercifully, he is quiet. You spot the elk herd you've been tracking and move him to set up the shot. He tries to silently argue about where to move to, but you glare until he follows your directions. He settles in and nearly spooks the herd, stepping on a stick as he shifts his body around. Thinking quickly, you almost perfectly imitate a young bull's call, which settles the cows and brings the bull closer to where the two of you are standing, looking for the challenging bull. Your brother successfully takes the shot. And he is ecstatic, whooping and hollering as the cows all take off into the surrounding forest, leaving you far behind.

You help your brother break the bull down for packing out. He looks a lot nervous at the size of one of the packs, clearly not looking forward to carrying it out, until you shoulder it easily. His surprise doesn't surprise you, though. Your brothers hadn't paid much attention to you after they moved out, and basically, none once you enlisted in the military. Upon reaching camp, you find that you are the first ones back. You help him load the elk into the back of the truck and make lunch silently. He looks like he wants to say something, but he never gets it out of his mouth. He spends the time simply standing around, thinking hard and barely interacting with you, though he is watching you closely.

When you hear heavy footsteps coming through the woods, you hurry to meet your dad, helping him drag his big elk back to camp. "Surprised you hauled it back yourself, old man," you tease.

"I've been dragging elk out of the woods for twice as long as you've been alive, girlie." The grin on his face couldn't be matched though when you load it up by yourself, waving him off. The last to return were not successful. It seems your older brother decided that he would show Ghost a thing or two and refused any advice or tips. Thus, he didn't see anything all day. You shoot a look of sympathy at Ghost. That couldn't have been easy to handle silently. He just rolls his eyes back at you, tapping his fingers on his thigh. You tap your fingers back at him and go back and forth in Morse Code. He tells you about how many deer your brother missed seeing sign of or scared off because he wouldn't shut up.

You share how your other brother did, and he smiles at the success you had with him. He tells you that you should take your older brother for one last morning hunt on the sixth day. Maybe you can make him shut the hell up.

Sighing out loud, you say, "Bro, I'll take you out tomorrow morning instead of Ghost. We will get your tag filled." Your brother agrees and mentions that he will show you how it is done, which makes everyone laugh at him.

"Bruv, we are filling your tag. I filled all of mine already. Seems I need to show you how it's done."

He sputters, and your younger brother adds, "It took us just two hours to find a herd of elk. She knows what she's doing, bro. Better hunter than me, for sure." This makes your oldest brother glower, but he finally shuts up.

In the morning, he tries to tell you what to do, and you finally tell him to knock it off after about twenty minutes. He growls, "I'm the oldest. I'm in charge."

You laugh quietly and respond, "Whatever, if you think age is all that matters, you're an idiot. Let's go, and if you want that deer, you'll listen to me. Ghost told me how many you missed or scared off by being too loud and cocky yesterday."

"He what?! Why didn't he tell me? We could have filled my tag yesterday!"

"Probably because you're being such an asshole to him." You shrug like it's the clearest thing in the world because to you it is. Grumbling, your brother follows you. Gradually, he picks up on your mannerisms and his walking quiets, but it still sounds like a moose shoving through a bush most of the time. You stop suddenly, and he nearly runs into you, not paying attention. Grabbing a bit of hair from a bush, you show him silently before walking on quieter than before. Slowly, sign becomes more frequent, and finally, you spot the deer herd. Your brother gets his deer, a big buck, and you help him break it down and load it into the packs. You add both hindquarters to one pack, and he complains that you're trying to load him too heavy. When you shoulder the heavier pack, he then jokes meanly that you're just showing off.

"Just give me that one. I don't want to have to switch off partway down because you're tired," he crows. You ignore him and set off down the trail, too annoyed to even respond to his rudeness. A grunt follows you as he shoulders his pack. At the halfway point, he is nearly wheezing with the added weight of the head on his pack.

"I need... to... stop..." he huffs. "This pack... is too... heavy..."

You wave at him to stop, and when he does, you walk around him and unhook the head from the top of his pack. Hefting it over your shoulders, you use the antlers to keep it in place at the top of your pack. "Let's go. We don't have all day," you call back to him. You can feel his stare as you hump down the mountain, moving faster now that he isn't slowing you down as much. Luckily, it's only a few miles to camp because you're exhausted after hauling so much on your back. Your dad scolds you that you should have sent someone back to get the rest of them to help, and you shrug it off.

"No sense in wasting time, dad. We got it down just fine." Happily, the three of them already have camp broken down except for the makeshift shower area. You've mostly avoided using it, just wiping down with a washcloth, but the deer head bled on your neck and down your back the whole way. "Ghost, can you help check me for ticks," you ask quietly as you strip off your gear before walking to the shower. Your brothers grumble about the two of you showering together, but you don't care as Ghost is the only one you trust to do it and the only one that knows why you won't wear tank tops very often anymore.

When you're nearly finished, Ghost convinces you to put lotion over your burn scars as they are flaring up from the lack of it in the last few days. He walks out in just a pair of shorts and shoes to dig through your pack, ignoring the suspicious stares of your brothers and their stares at his scarred torso. You manage to bite back the moan when Ghost swipes over the first scar, but not the whimper of pain when he brushes the second, which is severely inflamed. He whispers an apology and continues, knowing that you hate pausing part way when treating them, even if it hurts badly.

When you walk out fully dressed and he is still in just shorts, your brothers shoot him similar dirty looks. "Couldn't keep it in your pants a minute longer, eh?" says your younger brother angrily.

"You're disgusting! Havin sex with my sister feet away from her family," adds your older brother.

"Shut up, idiots. He was rubbing lotion on my s-back. I needed it done, and I can't reach the dry skin there easily," you growl at them.

"We know you're lying. You're disgusting. Can't believe you, seriously."

Your dad sees the stubborn set of your eyes and the hurt beneath. His sons have gone too far, he knows. "Knock it off, boys. You've been nothing but rude this entire trip, and I'm sick of it."

"But dad...!"

"Sugar, just tell them. You've been stepping around questions and hiding yourself long enough," Ghost's voice cuts through the air.

"You gay or somethin? Would make sense, but you know we don't care," your oldest brother says as he just can't help himself. It makes you mad enough to about face away from them and rip your shirt off angrily, showing them your back.

"No, bruv. He means I should show you why I couldn't make it on the trip last year. The things I hide by telling you that I consult for the Task Force rather than telling you that I am a member of the task force. I... I haven't wanted to worry you, dad." You nearly whisper the last in the complete silence that follows. Ghost rests a hand on your shoulder, watching their reactions carefully. Their eyes trace up and down the burns that mar the middle of your back and dipping down below the waist of your pants.

"You called from the hospital," your dad says finally. The pieces are clicking into place for him. "I remember hearing the beeping in the background, and you sounded... stressed."

"It was a long recovery. They had to harvest donor skin, but luckily, I got to be a guinea pig on a new treatment that sped things up," you say quietly.

"How did this happen? Why weren't we notified? You didn't let us visit or anything?!" You're surprised to hear your middle brother sounding upset. You take the time to fix your shirt, thinking about what to say.

"I was on a mission. There was a complication, and it bollocksed up the whole thing." You pause as you think back to it. "Anyway, I got caught under some burning shit and yea, this happened."

The glare Ghost gives you has you rolling your eyes at the intimidating man. "You forgot the part where you held a burning timber up to save someone and crawled out on your own, refusing to medivac until the mission objective was completed. I think that adds a few important details to the whole thing."

"And...what were you doing when this happened," your oldest brother demands.

"He was shooting anyone who tried to come near us. Saved my life, he did," you say with a grateful smile up at Ghost.

"So, you've been lying to us about your job and getting hurt, and what else? How do we know what to believe now? You only make it back here once a year, after all." Your oldest brother sounds betrayed, his tone accusing.

You just shrug and shake your head, ignoring his questions and accusations. "You gonna shower before we go, or can we break camp and head home?"

"Let's go. I want away from you as fast as possible," he sneers, turning away from you angrily.

"Fine with me," you say in a flat voice. You take down the last few tarps and drain the water with Ghost's help. The trip to the processor and back home is silent in the car, your dad and brothers thinking heavily on what they learned today while you and Ghost simply enjoy the peace and quiet. As soon as you get home, your oldest brother leaves, tires squealing as he takes off in his truck. You just shake your head, disappointed that he's still got his head so far up his ass after all this time.

You pack the meat from the butcher into coolers for the trip home to London. "You should probably call Captain and tell him to pick up another freezer or two," Ghost jokes as more and more coolers are filled and packed into the back of the truck you rented.

"I had three delivered while we were gone," you grin up at him. "Good thing I got my permission ahead of time. Captain is dying to try this stuff."

"You think they'll let you on with it all? It's more than I expected, and I thought I had a pretty good idea of what to expect," he says, a little worried.

"Oh, I grabbed bribe jerky from the butcher. They'll be excited enough not to care once I pass it around," you say with a knowing smile.

"You know the way to a man's heart, luv."

"Yes, ordnance and explosives," you quip with a loud laugh, making him grin down at you.

Telling your middle brother and dad goodbye the next morning is hard. They both hold tightly to you, and you nearly have to pry your dad off when you go to leave, his worries making him want to hold you tight and keep you safe.

"I'll be back next year, I promise. We probably will need to hunt extra, knowing how much the team will love this meat," you assure him with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You drive back to the air strip, happy to have ended things on a better note.

"So, yer dad is the dog's bollocks. Brothers are shite though," Ghost says as you drive away. You laugh. It's all you can do. When you show up with a pallet of coolers, the flight crew is ready to deny you until you hand over your certificates and small box of jerky to share between them. They eagerly call over the forklift to load the pallet, and you spend the whole trip listening to hunting stories from their childhood and telling your own with Ghost listening quietly at your side.

Captain Price is there waiting on the tarmac when you land. His eyes bulge when he sees how many coolers you brought back. "I take it the hunt was successful then," he teases.

"Yeah, just a bit. Bet you thought the freezers were overkill, eh?"

He laughs, "You know I did. Set them up anyway. Welcome home, kids," he says, ruffling your hair as he wraps you in a hug and gripping Ghost's arm in a friendly squeeze. You smile up at him, happy to be home with your team.

#ghost cod #cod #cod fluff #cod x female reader #simon ghost riley

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scarletemeraldpurple · 1 month ago

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Kinktober Day 27: tentacles

Agatha as Ursula x Wanda as Ariel (but I haven’t actually seen that movie in years)

Notes: Dark!Agatha, Noncon/extreme dubcon, Wanda’s a virgin, anatomy lessson, DP, praise, gagging, bondage

Wanda couldn’t stay below the waves. There was only one person she could go to for help.

She swam up to Agatha Harkness’ lair.

“Wanda Maximoff. What is it that you seek dear?” Wanda heard as soon as her head was above water.

Agatha was an usual sort of creature. Wanda supposed she was still sort of mermaid, technically. But instead of a fish tale, Agatha’s bottom half was comprised of a dozen or so tentacles.

“Well come on up dear, I don’t bite. Despite what you may have heard.”

In truth, Agatha had once bitten a mermaid, but Wanda didn’t need to know that.

Wanda pulled herself onto the ledge. “Agatha Harkness. You’re…wow.”

Agatha had a playful smile on her face. “I’m, wow?”

“You’re,” stunning, Wanda thought, “real.”

Agatha cackled. “Yes dear, I am indeed quite real. Now, what is it that you seek little one?”

“Well that’s the thing. I’m quite grown now, and I still don’t think I belong here.”

“Current gossip, if you’ll excuse the pun, is that you still have your little fascination with the world of the humans.”

“Yes. I want a shot at living up there.”

“My my, the princess is all grown up.” Agatha teased.

“I am.”

“Well then. I can help you. I can give you a pair of legs.”

“You can? You would do that?”

“Oh yes dear. I know what it is to not quite belong. I don’t want that life for you.” Agatha said, trying to gain Wanda’s trust.

“So what do I need to do in return?”

“Well, it’s a favor you can only carry out after your transformation.”

Wanda was suspicious, but this was her only chance at getting out.

“Alright, whatever it is I’ll do it. Just please help me.”

Well that was easy. Agatha thought to herself. “Good girl. Alright. You just sit tight and breathe for me.”

Agatha muttered something in an unfamiliar, ancient sounding language Wanda closed her eyes as a bright light encircled her and lifted her off the ground. And just as quickly as she was lifted, she was placed on the ground, with incredibly wobbly legs.

Agatha reached a tentacle out for Wanda to steady herself on.

“Takes a little practice, but I got you.” Agatha assured her.

With Agatha’s support, Wanda managed to walk over to her.

“Look at you, superstar. You’re adjusting well”

“Thank you, Agatha. Now what do you need from me?”

“Sshh, don’t worry about that yet my dear. First I think we should do a little anatomy lesson hm?”

“O-okay, what do you think I need to know?”

Agatha chuckled. She made a seat out of her extra arms and motioned for Wanda to sit.

It was an odd sensation. Very squishy, but not uncomfortable.

“Now spread this legs apart dear. This is very important if you want to fit in with humans. Now I don’t want you to be embarrassed about any reaction you may have to what you feel, okay? I promise it’s all completely natural.

“Okay…”

“I want you to take a finger and draw it up between those two lips.”

Wanda followed her instructions. It was unlike anything she had felt before. But touching herself there made her feel…good.

“Good, just get familiar. That’s a good girl.”

Wanda gulped. Her body responded to Agatha’s words and she didn’t know why. She was getting slick with something.

“Agatha, uh, something’s coming out of me.”

“That’s perfectly normal sweetheart. Draw those fingers up until you find a bud, you’ll know when you find it, trust me.”

Wanda gasped when she found it.

“So responsive. Good girl. You’re doing so good.”

“Wh-what will I need this for?”

“For this,” Agatha whispered into Wanda’s ear, she pulled Wanda’s wrist away with a tentacle and with another she rubbed up and down her slit.

“A-Agatha—what are, oh—“ Wanda sputtered out as Agatha attached a sucker to her clit.

“Ssshh, it’s okay princess. This is the favor I need. You’ll feel so good, I promise sweet girl.”

“O-okay. Ah,” Wanda’s eyes widened as Agatha prodded at her cunt with the tip of a tentacle.

Wanda felt herself be pulled up,her back against Agatha’s front.

Agatha slipped off Wanda’s top and groped at her chest. Causing Wanda to squirm even more.

“Never even played with these before, have you baby?”

“N-no, ah, ah what are you doing to me?”

“I’m just making you feel good baby, just let it happen.” Agatha cooed. She kissed Wanda’s cheek, and then her neck.

Wanda’s hips were squirming as Agatha filled her more and more. The arm curled up and dragged all along Wanda’s front wall, hitting every sensitive spot she had.

“Good girl. Taking me so well.”

Wanda couldn’t control any of the noises that were coming out of her mouth. She tried to speak in between moans.

“Agatha I— Gods this feels… good, Agatha, Agatha—“

“Aw, you sound so cute moaning my name like that, princess. But, I don’t want you distracted, so here.” Agatha wrapped one of her human hands around Wanda’s mouth.

“You just have to take it, you don’t need to talk, you don’t even need to think. Just feel. Feel how well I fuck you.” Agatha husked.

Wanda was so overwhelmed. But there was nothing to do but give in. She was holding up her end of the deal. And it felt so good.

“I wonder if…” Agatha trailed off as she prodded a tentacle at Wanda’s other hole.

Wanda’s eye’s went wide and she tried to say something against Agatha’s hand but all that came out was a muffled sound.

“Sshhh, I know princess it’s so much,” Agatha said in a slightly mocking tone, “but I’m not gonna hurt you angel. Just let me take you, all of you.” She said as a slick tentacle just barely entered Wanda’s ass.

“So full now aren’t you, angel? Yeah, I know. You just have to keep going a little longer for me.”

Wanda had Agatha’s mouth on her neck, her hand on her mouth, a sucker on one nipple while Agatha’s free hand played with the other. She had a tentacle wrapped around her middle. One on each wrist, restraining her gently. One gently plugging her ass. One sucking her clit. And one relentlessly fucking her cunt.

Overwhelmed didn’t begin to cover it. But it was all pleasure. Wanda felt something build inside of her. Like a coil in her stomach.

“I need to see you cum, pretty girl. Wanna feel you squeeze and spasm around me as you cum. Oh this is gonna be your first orgasm. First of many baby. You can let go, you can let me fuck you through it.”

Wanda found her body move of her own accord. The coil in her had snapped and it was unlike anything she had felt before. She didn’t know what to do with all of it.

Finally Agatha let up. Letting her ride it all the way out before starting to remove a few tentacles, first from her clit and nipple. Then from her ass. Then slowly drawing the last one out of her cunt.

Agatha still held her, making a little bed of coils to lay her down in as she wrapped her human arms around the princess.

Wanda was still slowing her breathing down.

“I’ll let you leave in the morning, if that’s really what you want.”

“I worry I need more practice, with whatever that is.”

Agatha chuckled. She gave Wanda a gentle kiss on the lips.

“Well, there’s no rush to leave my side, princess.”

Wanda felt oddly…at home in Agatha’s arms. Agatha felt powerful, having deflowered her rival’s daughter. As she looked at the red head’s sleeping form, she admitted to herself she also felt a little tenderness for the girl.

#agatha harkness smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x agatha #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #tentacles #monsterfucking

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kinardsevan · 3 months ago

Text

several sentence sunday

no one tagged me. i just need y'all to know that this scene exists in the next chapter of the aneurysm fic (which i'm basically writing in my free time, which i currently have very little of)

“I need to take a walk,” Tommy states, shaking his hands out at his sides after tossing his first empty coffee cup into the trash. He walks over to where the coffee Maddie brought him is still sitting and picks it up, is halfway to the exit of the waiting room when he hears it.

“You’re going to leave while he’s in surgery?”

Tommy closes his eyes and has to remind himself to breathe as his shoulders stiffen. He swallows down a gulp after another deep breath, and then turns around, forcing a smile on his face.

“I’m going for a walk,” he replies. “Because waiting on finding out if my fiancé’s heart is going to hold on through a second surgery to correct a work-related incident is horrifying.”

He watches as Phillip looks toward Maddie, Maddie puts a hand up toward her father and mutters his name softly, a warning to not push it. Whether that connects for the older man though doesn't seem to be clear, because Phillip has a response anyway.

“I just think he should be here,” he says back in the same soft tone. Tommy furrows his brow, eyes squinting with irritation at the other man.

“I have been here,” he replies. His voice is soft, almost disturbingly calm. “Every single one of the past 33 days. I’ve dealt with the anxiety, the nightmares, the vomiting, the naps on the floor because his heart couldn’t beat properly and he ran out of energy to move. Fuck, I spent the last three days before they actually did the first surgery making sure he was at least getting water down because he was so uncomfortable every time he ate that it just kept coming back up.

“And then, I got to be here for the first surgery, which was six hours long, and he didn’t sleep the night before because he was scared. Which, by the way, meant I didn't either. I was awake for almost forty hours while you were at home, blind to it all. And then I saw him struggle just to stand again. I watched every single time they turned down the pacemaker and he had arrhythmias, and the pain it caused him. And where were you? Oh, right. Doing what I’ve known you to do best since the day I was introduced to your family—staying silent.”

“Tommy-..” Maddie tries to cut in, and he looks over at her.

“Please understand that I don't include you or your husband in that context,” he states, letting out a long huff. “I’m going to go outside for ten minutes. Call me if they come out.”

“Look, I know I haven’t been the best-..”

“You haven’t been anything!” Tommy growls at him, still trying to keep his tone soft and not draw attention. “I don't know you. I’m marrying the child you decided to bring into this world, and I don’t know three things about you. What I do know, is that I've picked up the pieces you’ve left strewn about and glued them back together. You want to act as though you’re doing some sanctimonious deed by sitting here for however long the surgery takes, and then giving him ten minutes of your time when he’s conscious before you leave again? By all fucking means, do so. It would be more than you’ve managed to do in the past two years.”

#mel's musings #several sentence sunday #aneurysm fic #bucktommy fic #teaser #tidbit #tommy goes off #and we live for it #it's gonna be alright (piece by piece)

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heliads · 1 year ago

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you always knew how to push my buttons

Alex Albon, long-suffering woman in motorsport, would really like to focus on her first year of racing for Williams. George Russell makes that difficult.

(or, girl alex galex)

masterlist

In Christian Horner’s defense, it wasn’t the worst idea. You have a second driver that’s doing badly, you need to pull them out but don’t want to look cruel, so you put in someone who’ll draw attention to who you’re currently sitting in your car instead of who you used to seat.

A girl is the perfect bargaining chip. The media gets so distracted by historic moments and trailblazers that they forget about the French kid Red Bull abandoned only a little bit ago, and when you tire of the girl, too, you can ship her back to reserve driverhood and still get the necessary pats on the back because, you know, you tried.

Alex Albon doesn’t want to be another token feminism card to play, though, and she certainly doesn’t want to stay in the shadows any more. This is something that Red Bull has learned upon hiring her. It might, perhaps, be something that they regret, because they’ve finally realized that Alex has absolutely no interest in being a little Media Darling Barbie for them, but they were still content to let her rot away in the aftermath of their fast-paced work environment.

Alex has her second chance now, though. She’s done her time in the prison of reserve driver status, and now she’s on the grid again. Williams is, admittedly, somewhat of a far fall from Red Bull, but every Icarus has their plummet to the sea, and she plans on reaching the glimmer of the sun again soon. She’ll be on a podium again. Then she can laugh at the rest of them as much as she pleases.

Until then, Alex is supposed to keep her head down but her chin up, ignoring all of the hundreds of people asking how terrible it must feel to only have less than two full years of being a second driver under her belt before getting booted. Her PR manager has trained her on how to handle the questions without getting abrasive. Williams is glad to have Alex on, of course, but they would really like it if she could play along with the interviewer circus for just a few months more before starting to crack.

Alex is not good at keeping her temper at bay. She is proving it now. It’s only a Thursday, barely a few races into the calendar, and already all of her media training is blinking out of her head like fading batteries.

One interviewer, seemingly sensing this, addresses his next question to her. “Alex, you’ve had a year to recharge as a reserve driver, and now you’re back with Williams. Are you disappointed to get your second chance only to be stuck with a backmarker team?”

Alex has often thought that it’s not drivers who should get media training but the actual media themselves, because how the fuck are you actually allowed to ask that in a professional setting. She grits her teeth into her best impression of a smile and tries to answer normally instead of, like, lunging out of the chair to gouge the guy’s eyes out or something. “I am happy to be back on the grid. Williams has given me a great opportunity, and it’s one that I’ll take as far as I can.”

The reporter frowns, scratching at his head a little before pressing further. “So you’re glad to be with this team, then? You wouldn’t have wanted any of the other teams to reach out with a contract?”

Alex stares at the guy. “I’m at Williams, and I like being here. Quit asking me about other people. Ask better questions.”

The interviewer purses his lips, giving Alex such vivid flashbacks of bitter and jaded old school teachers that she almost wants to ask the guy about his past career choices before turning to F1. However, she has a feeling that the only one who gets to be dissected about their resume is her. Delightful.

“That’s not really that nice, is it?” The man asks, voice so full of condescension that Alex has to squeeze her fingernails into her palms to avoid groaning out loud. “You know, when you first came to the grid, I thought you would be more friendly.”

“Yeah, well.” Alex says shortly. “There were nice girl drivers, but they couldn’t get through all of this. You’re stuck with me now.” Then smiles, like that’ll make all of this better. Oh, her PR manager is so killing her once this ends. Can the team doctors mend broken bones before Friday free practice begins?

The interviewer looks sour, but to her left, Alex actually hears someone laughing. She cocks her head to the side, curious to see who’s looking past her temper to discover a joke, and finds–

George. Of course it would be George.

George Russell is quite possibly one of the only people on the grid at the moment, or perhaps the entire world for that matter, who not only tolerates Alex’s snark and nonsense but likes it, too. Has since they were, like, tweens and teens. They’d observed each other in 2008, caught up between different karting circuits, but waited until 2011 to properly become friends. No self respecting twelve year old would ever interact with a boy who was merely ten, not while she was still winning, but fifteen and thirteen was better. They’re best now.

They were both small back then; George more so, almost a whole head shorter than Alex at that point, but he’s caught up remarkably fast, and not just in height. They were both stuck in the same fantasy, kids growing up at each other’s houses and dreaming of climbing the F3-F2-F1 ladder, and now they’re both here, swapping off places on the Williams team roster like a baton in a relay race. Time changes us all. They would never be the exception, even if it was kind of sort of wonderful back then, and Alex kind of sort of misses the way it was.

Not in the least bit because it meant less media duties for her back then. The interview ends in a pitiably long time, just long enough for Alex to wonder if reserve driverhood wasn’t better than this solely because she at least didn’t have to attend driver’s media days. She’s released soon enough, though, permitted to spill out into the dizzying sun of the paddock once more.

She pauses by the door to let George catch up to her; Alex likes walking quickly away, but she does owe George for breaking the ice back there. Once another driver had laughed, the interviewer could join in, nervously coughing and chuckling before quickly moving on to a better, more suitable candidate for terrible questions.

“D’you think I should put in a petition to the stewards asking for media days to be longer?” George asks conversationally, “I was kind of getting the feeling that you wanted to spend more time getting interrogated.”

Alex twists her face into a bitter glare. “I’d rather you just run me over with your car on Sunday and get the whole trouble over with. It’s like they want me to just start weeping over the wreck of my career already and give them a good show.”

George snorts. “They want drama, just ignore them. They’ll find a new victim soon enough.”

Easy for him to say, Mr. Saturday with the crisp Tommy Hilfiger lining on his new Mercedes team kit, he’s not the one getting picked to pieces. George had practically salivated over the shirt when he got his first shipment of merch, making Alex unbox it with him like they were vloggers or something.

He’d lingered over each cap and polo so long that Alex had threatened to slice the lot of it to ribbons with her box cutter unless he picked up the pace. Even still, George’s face had idled over the black and white fabrics long after everything was unpackaged, like he still couldn’t believe it was all real.

Alex stages a desolate sigh. “Yeah, yeah. They’ll all forget about me soon enough. It’ll be good.”

“Not all of them,” George corrects. “There’s still me, remember?”

His blue eyes are wide and accusatory. Alex finds it within herself to chuckle. “How could I not? We’ll skip media day and go hang out. Just us two.”

“Just us,” George repeats almost reverently, a prayer, a promise.

And it– it’s a joke, yeah, there’s no way in hell that either of them would be so dismissive of their seat that they’d willfully invoke the wrath of PR managers and team principles by skiving off entire days of the race week circus, but it’s still fun to imagine. George would be the one to do it with, anyway. George gets Alex. Always has.

Especially in connection with Alex’s hatred of the media. Alex has other hobbies than bashing interviewers, obviously, she does have a life that revolves around more than just despising bad questions and uncomfortable skits, but media duties are just such a prevalent part of being a driver that she can’t hide from them that often. That means someone has to hear her complaints, and more often than not, that person is George.

He’s quite used to it, though, having more than enough years to accept and subsequently tune out Alex’s rambling monologues on how useless it is to ask the same questions and hear the same forced answers every week without fail. More often than not, George is roped into various plots to get Alex out of the piercing eye of the camera, or at least make times like those more tolerable, like he did today.

A memory rises unbidden to the forefront of Alex’s mind. It was a few years back, when Alex was still with Red Bull and George was testing the limits of Williams. They’d been conducting post-race interviews, or Alex had, at least; George had appeared out of the mess of drivers and PR accomplices to kind of hover in the background of Alex’s frame, looming in a typical George-like manner.

Alex had really wanted to forget the whole race the second it ended– as if she couldn’t see Christian Horner shaking his head over the displays, as if all today accomplished wasn’t just a chance to give the public another set of Alex’s average speeds to be endlessly compared with Max’s– but the interviewer was dragging his heels, forcing one word answers into paragraphs of speculation.

At one point, the guy had pointed out a bloody scrape showing through Alex’s undershirt. She’d accidentally caught the skin against the edge of her car when she was getting out, but doubtless it would be used as just another chance to prove Alex wasn’t fit for the car or the team didn’t care about her or whatever. Alex wanted to leave, but the interviewer wouldn’t leave well enough alone, which meant it was time for more drastic measures.

She had rolled her eyes, then made some asinine one-liner about how that wasn’t the first time blood had shown up against a race suit. Jokes about periods always get the same awkward shuffling feet and vague mumbling about getting someone else to talk to. It’s a fairly dependable constant.

Everyone was uncomfortable, which was exactly what Alex wanted, because when they’re uncomfortable they don’t want her there anymore and she can leave. The interviewer already looked like he wished he could stab himself through the eyes with the metal straw Lewis was sipping through earlier that day, but George— George was still grinning. Fondly. And not at all put off.

Freak. Alex was kind of fascinated by him. Still is. If anything, the fascination has multiplied.

And that makes it sound like— but it’s not—

Alex has known George almost her entire life. As long as it mattered, really. Recently, though, she’s started thinking. About George. In ways that she had not before.

Because, at the end of the day, there is something to George Russell that Alex might have missed the first time around. Something she only noticed when he was getting out of the car, peeling off the outer layer of his race suit so she had no choice but to stare at the fireproofs skin tight against him. Or when he posted a hundred different shirtless selfies, practically daring her to look. It is not hard to look. Not at George.

George, who’s had her back since they were kids. George, who randomly interrupts her interviews to call her a warrior. Who goes on podcasts to go on long tangents about how Alex deserves better than she gets and calls her proper quick despite the fact that she’s past the days of winning everything. He’s in a Mercedes now, she’s in the dusty contrail of his speeding jet, and George still has the time of day to give to her. Maybe he’s the type of guy to deserve her looking.

It makes Alex seek him out more, even more than she did before. It makes her do risky, stupid things, like pull George into her driver’s room after another Thursday debrief so they can hypothetically make fun of all that was said that day but mainly just so she can sit right by him and look.

George is apparently immune to the looking. Alex is observing him like she’s one of the thousands of spectators out there, goggle-eyed and hopeless, but George seems not to notice it at all. Perhaps she should invest in a homemade sign or something. Maybe even a cardboard cutout of his face.

“There were quite a number of rumors about you today,” George is in the midst of noting, “mainly that you’re going to be switching teams already. If you are, can you tell me now so I can place bets?”

Alex laughs. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet, at least. Tell your fellow gamblers to cool it.”

George makes an elaborate display of shrugging. “You can’t be too sure of yourself. Ferrari’s always on the lookout for a new driver lineup, apparently, and McLaren’ll never pass up the chance for fresh blood.”

“I don’t want to give Zak Brown any of my blood,” Alex asserts, “But Ferrari would certainly be something. I’m sure the bad strategy is made up by other things like salaries and teammates. Charles is a pretty boy, isn’t he? That would help with the rest of it.”

George makes a sort of squawking noise in the back of his throat. Alex can’t honestly tell if he’s embarrassed for Charles’ sake or what, but there’s a hot pink shock of blush sitting high on his cheekbones now, starting to mottle his neck. “Did you just call Charles pretty?”

Alex’s nod is exaggeratedly slow, just to be obstinate. “Yes, I did. Boys can be pretty. Don’t forget what century you’re in, Georgie. We’re forward thinkers now.” She narrows her eyes a little, sensing weakness, then— “You’re pretty too, y’know that? Eyelashes and all.”

This, then, is the source of tension. George genuinely squirms in his seat, hands clenched on the armrests of his chair like he fully expects to melt into the floor if he isn’t white-knuckling the thing. “That’s— that’s not— I wasn’t trying to angle for a compliment.”

“You didn’t have to,” Alex says, divinely pleased with herself, “I gave it out anyway. Consider me in a charitable mood.”

George rolls his eyes. “Since when have you been charitable?”

Alex scoffs. “Since forever. I volunteer, y’know. I have been spotted giving caps to children.”

George settles back into his seat, a comfortable smile on his face. “I know. I take it back. You’ve always been good.”

It is, all things considered, a very simple thing to say. You have always been good. Good is subjective. The idea of Alex that exists in George’s head, the one that is good, she’s subjective too, not quite real but close enough. Alex wonders what that girl must be like, good enough to ease the annoyance of a friend’s teasing, enough to– to make up for the fact that it’s her, that it’s Alex, or maybe that was why George was here in the first place, because the Alex that won him over was the real Alex all along.

And it’s stupid because– Have you ever been alone in a room with a boy? The whole space is empty but he sits right next to you. And he’s looking at you like the sun, like the stars, like even as you blind him, he’s never seen anything better and he’ll keep on staring, just to see what else you can do. You’ve gone your whole life swearing up and down that just because you’re the only female driver on the grid, that doesn’t mean you’ll fall in love with the first male driver to stop and look at you twice, but.

George is looking at Alex, eyes half-lidded, mouth open slightly, mid-gasp without a sound, and Alex isn’t falling in love because she wouldn’t do that. If she did, though, she thinks it would not be the worst thing ever. She can hear her heartbeat echoing in her ears, loud as the drums race organizers bring out in the bands for their anthem before lights out and away we go. Just as bad, too, because the sound is tripping over itself, speeding up and slowing down and absolutely erratic.

Alex can feel her entire chest constricting, ribs bruising as they bend against each other. George tilts his head to the side, concern flickering over his expression. “Are you alright?”

No. “Yes,” Alex says. No.

George seems to believe this about as much as Alex does, and he reaches up to touch Alex’s forehead, two fingers exactly perpendicular against the warm flush of Alex’s skin. It’s so grandmotherly it’s almost ridiculous, George pursing his lips like he’s going to prescribe hot soup or a good night’s sleep or something else motherly and terrible, but instead he just shrugs and says that he doesn’t feel a fever. Alex doesn’t know if she’s more hurt by the dismissal or when George takes his hand away.

“You’re probably fine,” George tells her.

He’s leaned away again, but he keeps a firm hold on the same two fingers that had touched her skin like he’s nursing a cut, like having any contact with Alex should be imprinted into him forever. It makes Alex want to touch him again, forever, and never let go. They could be joined together at the hip physically instead of just metaphorically. It probably wouldn’t mess with racing that badly.

She lets out a weak chuckle. “Is that your expert opinion, Dr. Russell?”

George flushes, embarrassed, and looks away. “You probably won’t lose any limbs or anything.”

Alex cackles. “I should hope not. You’d have a terrible medical practice if I came in for a fever and you did, like, an amputation or something.”

George snorts. “It’s only the natural response to a fever, of course.”

He eyes Alex again as he says it, eyes rolling down her body as he mumbles the words natural response. Alex leans forward slightly, and George mirrors her by impulse. “Is that all that doctors do for their patients?” She asks under her breath. Not her best attempt at dirty talk, but she doesn’t really have the power to think of anything else more impressive.

It works, anyway. George shakes once, all over, a sort of head to toe shiver that forces the breath from his lungs. Alex can actually hear it as George’s words hitch in his throat, but there’s a sharp rap on the door before either of them can find out how he’ll respond.

George flies away from Alex, practically leaping off of the sofa as he attempts to quickly create distance between them. It’s a good thing that their intruder just stays on the other side of the door, announcing themselves to be Alex’s PR manager needing her to come out for another round of interviews before leaving, because George is panting like he’s run a footrace, all in the effort to make it seem like nothing had happened here at all.

Hadn’t it? Even as George announces that he’d better go since Alex is busy now, and even as Alex unhappily stands up at last to go face the dozen TikToks they’ll force her to make before she can escape again, she glances back one last time at the room before she leaves. It’s as if she’s expecting to see something there, some sign of the heavy tension that had been there just moments ago.

Nothing. Just creased pillows and an empty sofa. Alex indulges herself in a brief fantasy that there had been a better reason for that other than a brief conversation, but it can’t last long. She’s got media duties to scoff at, and she’s learned long ago that it’s better not to think excessively about George while there’s a camera in her face. For some reason, it causes her to lose all sense of what she’s saying.

The idea that something else could have happened, though, lingers in Alex’s head far longer than it should. It sticks around through free practice, appears in her thoughts after qualifying, even pops out of her head briefly during the race itself.

It’s turn four, Alex brakes as late as she dares, and as she pushes her foot decisively back onto the accelerator, her brain has the audacity to ask if maybe George would have touched her if they had stayed in that room even a little longer.

He had wanted to, maybe. His fingers had been clenching and unclenching the whole time, flickering in invisible piano-chord patterns ever closer to that gap where his leg ended and hers began. Senna, turning over in his grave, if you no longer go for a gap that exists, you’re no longer a racing driver.

This is what dumbstruck boys get you, then. At this point, Alex is feeling practically delusional. Half a second later, she remembers that she’s still, like, in a car, which is a more pressing matter to attend to than musings on what could’ve happened if more stars aligned, but. She does ask over the radio where George ended up when the race has finished, and she uses that information to decide to ask George to show up to her hotel room after night begins to fall.

This is no uncommon occurrence. The two of them often meet up at someone’s house or another’s room. It’s a more efficient vehicle for random conversations than extended phone calls. George appears at her threshold within ten minutes, panting slightly, and it could just be Alex’s overactive imagination, but she swears he looks nervous, like he wants something. They both do. Alex just has to be sure that it’s the same thing and not something grievously, totally different.

“So,” she says boldly. “Uh. Good race.”

George looks at her askance. “Yeah, thanks.”

God, it’s like they’re work acquaintances. Alex wants to die. How is it that she wants more, but the second she tries to say that, she becomes even less?

Second time’s the charm. She clears her throat. “I wanted to ask you something. About when we were in my driver’s room. Someone came in before– but I wanted to know if you, if we, were going to do anything if that hadn’t happened, and. Yeah.”

She is terrible. George still looks taken aback. “Oh, on Thursday? I don’t know, someone came in,” he repeats.

Alex is going to scream. “They did. If they didn’t, though.”

George swallows. “Right. I�� I think I would have wanted something.”

As if that isn’t the vaguest thing that George could have possibly said. “Something?” Alex asks. "Like what, a new front wing?”

George sighs, exasperated. “No, Alex, like you.”

It hangs in the air for a while. Alex thinks that if she tried hard enough, she could actually see the words printed into the very oxygen she’s breathing. Like you. Alex, like you.

In retrospect, silence is not a good way to address such a thing. George, who has always been tense, who will always overthink things to the point of mental anguish, takes this as a sign that he misread the situation, and damage control is launched accordingly.

“Forget it,” George says abruptly, “This isn’t– Just forget it, alright? I’ll see you next week.”

He’s out of the door before Alex knows what’s going on. Alex stares open mouthed at the exit, a thousand thoughts churning through his head. As if Alex could just forget it. The idea is such an impossibility that it’s almost laughable.

Because– because Alex remembers what it was like, being young, being kids. Together. Alone in her house or his. A dozen inside jokes no one else gets. A hundred side eyes and bitten tongues and uncontrollable laughs. Alex ran away from it all when she was kicked off of Red Bull, when she was certain that it would never again be what it was– George her muse, Alex his idol, both of them the best and neither of them out of it. Running, though, running robbed her of it all. Alex wants it all more than she ever has before.

And maybe they’ll never have a podium together, and maybe Alex will never be at the top step of their pyramid anymore, but at this moment they’re two ships passing in the night, George relinquishing the Williams seat so he can hand it off to Alex, and maybe– maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s enough. If she tries hard enough, she can make it enough. Maybe he’d want it to be enough too.

Maybe he already did. Alex’s stomach twists as she thinks back to everything George has said to her over the recent months. He’s always been so genuine, says each word like he means it more than anything, but he’s put something extra into them as of late, something special. His hands move more when he speaks, maybe that’s it. Alex has taken the time to observe every digit, every ungnawed cuticle, every knuckle and bit of bone straining against the skin.

She’s watching for something, waiting for it to happen, and then in a clap of mental thunder Alex realizes that what she is waiting for has already occurred. George has already given her the go-ahead. Has many times over. Alex wasn’t aware of it because she was too scared to look, too afraid to ruin something good, but. Alex is looking now, and a far worse thing would be to have this before her and let it go.

Alex thinks about George wringing his hands and apologizing too much, lunging into her room before she barely even called him, second guessing and blindly firing and doing everything in his power to keep her. It’s stupidly charming, and overwhelmingly off putting at the same time, but it’s George, and it’s what Alex wants. Alex wants George. Alex wants George more than she has wanted anything. At times like this, she thinks she might give up anything else, that top step of the podium, the sweet taste of champagne scorching down her throat, if it meant she might be able to taste him, too.

Alex throws herself out of the room. George hasn’t made it that far, even despite his long, reedy legs, dragging each footstep like his shoes have been weighed down with iron. By contrast, Alex is jetting down the hall, sprinting out of her door so fast she’s not entirely sure that both her feet are ever touching the ground. She catches up to George in about half a heartbeat, thinks, fastest, thinks, pole position, and kisses him.

George goes as still as a statue. Alex is still moving when she hits him and does this abrupt careening around thing where her acceleration is still carrying her past him down the hall even as their lips connect. George has to catch her around the middle so she doesn’t fall over, his hands clumsily connecting at her waist, but at least that means he’s still thinking, because Alex’s brain shut off the second his mouth was on hers.

George has always been the thinker, though. George, sitting up late in the corner of the Albon family basement, blue eyes wide as he tucks his feet under himself and continues to extoll the virtues of minimized tire degradation, George, finally eye level with her and not looking up, matter-of-factly informing Alex that of course they’ll both be in Formula One together, are you kidding.

George today, brain whirring into overdrive, whose first thought isn’t to ask Alex what in the hell she’s doing but to urge the two of them to get back into her room before someone sees. Alex has no problem in accepting. Where he goes, she does too. They kind of work out like that.

And, when Alex wakes up lazy and late the next morning, when the first thing she spots is George’s shirt on the ground right next to hers, she remembers how well they work out, too. She stretches and yawns widely, flopping onto her back to discover that a) George is already awake, probably for hours (weirdo), and b) is now intimately connected with the most trustworthy news sources his phone can offer instead of with her (double weirdo).

Alex arches a brow over at him from where she still lies, tangled in linen sheets of a thread count that are probably higher than both their salaries. “Nothing like a fresh economic roundup to get you pumped to start your morning, huh, Georgie?”

George tends to pair a dramatic sigh with his eye rolls, Alex observes fondly. “There’s nothing wrong with staying informed, Alex. I’m not looking at the business section, though. I’m reading about us. Tabloids.”

For a moment, Alex’s heart freezes in her chest. She hadn’t counted on getting found out this quickly, and god, how could they, unless Red Bull really did want to capitalize on her downfall and, like, paid for a secret investigator to follow her around and take photos when she finally caved and pursued her best friend. Which, weird, but kind of foreseeable, too. They’d probably done it to Pierre at least once.

She scavenges about for her phone on the nightstand beside her and turns it on, typing geogre rhssel abd alrx albon tkgrther??? into the Safari search bar. She’s damn near unintelligible in her haste, but the search engine knows what she’s getting at and delivers anyway. Praise be.

Alex is expecting grainy surveillance photos of them making out in the hallway or something like that, but instead, she’s just greeted with more talk pieces on their long history together since they were karting kids, a few rumors here and there about what might be but nothing more than mere speculation.

“It’s okay,” she reassures George at last, “They don’t know.”

George frowns, still not entirely convinced. “It’s weird timing on a lot of these. At least three or four fan gossip pages put out stuff all last night. Why’d they all do it at the same time if they didn’t see?”

Alex shrugs. “Maybe they got bored, I don’t know. Odds are they saw us talking at the paddock earlier and decided to play off of interest so they posted.”

George counters, “Or, they might have posted, because we were, you know, we were kind of, uh, obvious, and–”

“We’re fine,” Alex says, rolling her eyes, “They don’t have anything new, just repeating the same stuff about how we might be fucking. No proof. Everyone’s dragging them for getting into pointless rumors.”

“Good,” George says, nodding his head emphatically like he’s committing every word to memory. “I don’t want anyone finding out that I– that we–” He can’t finish the sentence, unable to say more than a few words towards the audacious subject without tripping over the syllables.

Alex can guess at his meaning anyway, though, and it makes her laugh.

“What, you don’t want our bosses bringing up your potential plans to deflower me or something at the next team meeting, do you?” Alex says, cackling.

George’s cheeks turn an alarming shade of Ferrari red. “No. Not that.”

Still. Alex can’t tease him for blushing, because her cheeks have gone hot at the thought of it. If George were to– if they– It was a little late for that, of course, but if he really was the first–

“Your reputation remains intact,” Alex says, reassuring George of the truth but kind of herself, too. They’re both fine. No one knows. Wouldn’t it be something if they did, though. What they could do if they didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

Sometimes, Alex thinks that she does actually want to get caught. It would make sense. Every time she gets up the morning after, because it does happen again, despite both of them never formally saying it was a one time thing but kind of fearing it would be, anyway, every time she finds that they actually forgot to lock the door or they make out in one of the driver’s rooms such that you can still hear people going back and forth outside it, she remembers. George does too.

In fact, she thinks he likes it even better than she does. George Russell, newest boy to Mercedes, soon to a race win (everyone can feel it coming, even if it hasn’t yet), our glorious prodigy coming into everything, and the one who managed to get Alex’s heart, too, while he was at it. Heart and hands, body and soul. All of it. George has all of it.

It gets easier as time goes on, if that were even possible at all. How much can you improve upon a good thing when it already seems perfect? It’s like fine tuning a rear wing or shaving off seconds from a suspension. Alex never thought she’d describe love with something as insipid as car parts, but she has a sneaking suspicion that George might find it rather romantic. It’s relevant, at least, so that should count for something.

George would appreciate the practicality, at least. George would appreciate her. Does. Always does. Alex wakes up one morning, hair a mess, not sure which of their rooms she’s in nor if she had the presence of mind to carry her high heels back from the bar she’d been wasted at last night, and George still looks at her like she’s a work of art. He’s endearingly fond of her, which makes it even easier to be fond of him.

Alex thinks that she could be persuaded to stay here forever, lingering in this in between space of his-and-hers, the room belonging to both of them until she figures out which one of them has their name scrawled on the key card, but unfortunately there are still meetings to go to, interviews to conduct, engineers and team principles to appease.

Alex drags herself out of bed, grabbing the closest clean clothes before scraping at her hair with a brush and considering the whole affair handled as best it can be. Behind her, George’s figure appears out of the early morning shower mist on the bathroom mirror, the edges of his reflected skin and hair feathered over with steam.

“What do you think?” Alex asks, gesturing vaguely to herself with a languid hand, “Vogue cover ready?”

George snorts. “Oh, always. Do you have to head out already?”

“If I didn’t have to be somewhere soon, I would have slept in until noon,” Alex notes.

George hums in agreement. “So professional of you.”

Alex rolls her eyes. “You know me. Word on the street is that I’m highly coveted by all the teams for my winning mindset. That’s why they want me at the factory all the time, so no one can entice me away with a different contract offer.”

George laughs even despite the bad joke, then reaches to pluck at the fabric of Alex’s attire with a knowing, almost possessive, air of triumph.

“That’s my old shirt,” George observes, “You might want to change before you go out or someone’ll notice.”

Alex checks herself in the mirror, then shakes her head. George hasn’t gotten rid of all his old team kits, as it turns out; although this Williams tee isn’t Alex’s, it’ll do well enough. “It’s the same logo, how would they know it’s yours? It’s not got your name on it or anything.”

George’s eyes widen behind Alex in the mirror, veritable oceans swimming in the hazy glow of the hotel bathroom lighting. “What if they photograph you?”

Alex shrugs. “We’re the only ones who’ll know,” she tells George.

“Just us,” George agrees, but his hands coil in the extra fabric at the hem of her shirt, a silent reminder that it’s his, his shirt, his hotel room, and maybe– maybe Alex too, his.

The thought sends a hot shock coursing through Alex, pooling in her lower back near where George’s fingers still press against the fabric. She almost expects George to yank his hand back from an electric pulse when his knuckles accidentally brush her skin, but instead, he leans into the touch, and doesn’t let go until the stray buzzing from Alex’s phone grows insistent and it becomes clear that they can hide out here no longer.

Alex leaves first; George isn’t needed for half an hour after Alex, and they’re not stupid enough to leave a hotel together the morning after a drunken celebration. Not yet, at least. Idling listlessly in the elevator as it slowly ferries her down from the relative heaven of George’s hotel room, Alex thinks that it would be something to lose the last of her wisdom soon enough, to let the paparazzi catch her walking out of their shared hotel room, heels in her hands, dress from last night rucked up around her knees so she can walk.

Maybe she should tell George about it. She can imagine his reaction already, but the temptation of vocalizing it brings with it a sort of delicious rush that isn’t easily ignored. A ding echoes somewhere from the circuitry behind the wall of the elevator, and she steps out from the sliding doors, nodding at the receptionist before crossing the threshold.

The brightness of the morning blinds Alex when she walks outside. Somewhere out there, a car waits to carry her away, but for now, Alex lets the shocking sunlight bleach her clean of any expectations of driving or team principles or anything, anything at all.

She makes it halfway across the asphalt before giving in to the Orpheus-like temptation to turn back. Shading her eyes with her hand, Alex’s eyes chase the floors level by level until she finds one room in particular, one man who’s already gone to the trouble of throwing up the drapes on his window so he can peer out at the scene below. At her. She is in his shirt; was just in his room, in his bed; in his gaze now too, held and treasured.

Alex looks up at him and grins. “Good morning, Georgie.”

He can’t hear her. It doesn’t matter. They’ll have plenty of time for talking– and not– in the days and months and years to come. Just as before; so after, too. Alex would not want it any other way.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

#alex albon #alex albon imagines #alex albon oneshot #galex #galex imagines #galex oneshot #galex fanfiction #george russell #george russell imagines #george russell oneshot #girl!alex galex #girl alex galex #fem!alex galex #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one oneshot

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 11 months ago

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In December I got a job as a "park ambassador," which the description made sound like a desk job, an event coordinator, but actually turned out to be a manual laborer/groundskeeper. I got overwhelmed by the workload on my first day and quit the morning that would have been my second.

This month I got a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. Those of you who follow me probably know that I had this exact job at a motel down in the Keys for years, so it was a lateral move, something familiar to fall back on, much easier than the suprise manual labor the park sprung on me. Well, turns out this place lied too because they're cross training me to be a housekeeper, which is ABSOLUTELY NOT worth my time and effort. That wasn't in the job description, and that was never brought up in the interview. Today was my first full shift, and it was horrendous from start to finish because there was simultaneously too much to do and not enough. What I mean is that every single task they gave me had ten or fifteen steps and substeps to follow in sequence, so even the simplest one was needlessly overcomplicated. There's a ton of shit to do, followed by long stretches of absolutely nothing. At my old job, my boss did not give one half of two shits what I did to fill the time; I could go on my phone or my laptop, I could read a book, I could draw, I could space out or take a nap, she didn't care as long as I immediately dropped what I was doing whenever the phone rang or a customer came to the door. No such luck here. I'm not allowed to read, I'm supposed to either sit there in silence or find something to do to look busy for the cameras. That's all it is, just pointless busywork. There are not 8 hours worth of tasks, but they expect you to do 8 hours worth of work!

Oh, and if the woman who's training me was really passive agressive all day about the fact that I asked her to go over the steps slowly so I could take notes and create a checklist. She made a really fucking annoying comment about how I'm the only trainee who has trouble retaining information, like I'm some drooling moron when it's literally my first day. She's younger than I am but she's already been married, had a kid, gotten a divorce, bought and sold two houses, and landed a career as a middle manager, so to her I'm lower than dirt, an abject failure, an example of how not to live your life. She made me feel about three feet tall, and the only thing that prevented me from calling it quits again was that I desperately need the money. This is the way it is: every day I'm scheduled is $100 dropped into my bank account. $15 per hour, 8 hour shifts, that's $120 per day before tax, something like $102 to $105 take home pay. I was hired to be part time, only two or tree days a week, but it pays weekly instead of biweekly so every Friday I'll get $200 or $300. This week they gave me a full 40 hours for training, so that's $500 if I can make it to the end of it without having another panic attack. If I imagine my boss handing me a $100 bill every day at clock out, I think I can get through this.

If they lied about the content of the job, I'm going to give it a solid 75% effort. I'm not gonna stress about meeting quotas or finding ways to look busy. I'm gonna keep using my checklists. I'm gonna keep them with me and go down them one item at a time in front of the customers because that's what I need to do, and if corporate doesn't like it they can fire me. This is just a job, not a career. I'm not an essential worker. I don't give a shit if a customer has a substandard experience. I don't give a shit if the elevator has scuff marks that need to be mopped. I don't care if someone leaves their laundry hamper next to the coin-op machines while they run. I am going to half-ass it all!

I have a disability and it has only gotten worse in the last five years. When I was in college I had good insurance and good medication, but now my plans have next to no coverage; the only meds I can afford are the msot common ones that doctors give away like candy. They don't work for me, but the good shit is too expensive, so i'm wallowing. I was barely able to function in the Keys, but I was driven by my goals of buying a car and moving out of my parents place; now that I've achieved both of those things, I have nothing to look forward too and have lost all motivation to even try. I am not alone, I know plenty of people who are in the exact same boat as me, but apparently none of them live within 500 miles. All my would-be peers up here are successful and functional. it comes easy to them. I'm the only one who seems to struggle. Surely I can't be the only one, but I never see anyone else like me in real life, only ever online. Are they just good at hiding it? Why can't I do that too?

#personal #might delete later #my job #work #job search #hotel #rant

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echologname · 8 months ago

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Phone addiction and ADHD

Phones give a mind numbing constant stream of a dopamine high like doom scrolling. If you're sucked into this habit for hours on end every day, it can mess up your brain's dopamine regulation and then everything that's not your phone seems dull, not as stimulating and boring, so all you want to do is go back to that rush, and pick up your phone again.

With someone with ADHD, the brain already struggles with dopamine regulation for focus and motivation and so, I think we're especially susceptible to phone addiction and the repercussions are perhaps more pronounced than a neurotypical person.

I've definitely noticed a concerning change with my attention span. I didn't get a smart phone until I was 19 and as a kid, reading books was my favorite thing to do, now it's like when I sit down to read, it's like I have to uncomfortably force myself to read a page or two and I start wanting to pick up my phone again because it's so much more stimulating. I don't have to have any patience, any song, show, book, movie or thing I want to learn about is all instantaneous. I've never had issues with impulsivity, poor decision making and poor time and money management (at least minimally), but when my brain has become so used to being relaxed and used to "imaginary" money just disappearing and objects appearing at the door a day later, is an unprecedented dopamine addiction.

My phone is great when I use it MINDFULLY not MINDLESSLY. I find I actually find more enjoyment from my phone when I'm intentionally doing something specific like drawing, reading or listening to music. Getting sucked into a doom scroll or WAY off track, just makes me feel dull, and sad that I let it happen for the umpteenth time.

For the past few years, I've experimented with finding activities to replace phone time. I got a Sony ereader Pocket Edition ERS-300. Why get an old device made in 2009 when I could have gotten the latest Kindle? I didn't want something with wifi or ads, so, I prioritized simplicity and I miss devices with tactile buttons for sensory purposes. I got a handheld radio to use before bed and when I wake up instead of being on my phone. I also got into retro gaming because it's better than being online and on social media. I decided to take up origami again like when I was a kid as well as baking, playing with my dogs, drawing, crafting...etc. At first it was difficult to remember what I did for fun as a kid, what did I do before my smart phone? I'm glad I'm figuring it out though.

The best thing I can do right now is make my smartphone "dumber," like turning on greyscale, uninstalling distracting apps and only leaving the necessary "tools" and turning on Do Not Disturb. Basically make it boring. I did order a Light Phone II (I couldn't get my childhood flip phone to connect to modern cell networks), so when it arrives, I'll see if that helps since keeping my phone in "boring" mode seems to be a struggle to stick to. It's like I'm so used to it being stimulating, I feel like it SHOULD be that way, I expect it to and being boring feels wrong but I guess that's just another symptom of the hold it has on me.

I realized I had a genuine problem when I spent like 8 hr on my phone then sat down in bed and I felt like I didn't know how to exist without me staring at it. Like a substance addict's brain being buzzed and never satisfied without the thing that makes it feel that way.

This has been a genuine issue for me and my ADHD sister as well, so, I'm just making this about my experience and I hope to support anyone who might be dealing with the same issue.

#phone addiction #adhd #actually autistic

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legendssaga · 2 years ago

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Another fine mess

Props for helping me come up with the most wonderful title for yet another classic legendssaga fic :D @elli-incarnate

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind having him?” Luke asked again, still holding a bag of Ben’s favorite toys and other necessities in his right hand. “You and Han have been meaning to take things easy for some time.” “We can always leave them with Kam and Tionne instead,” Mara agreed, ruffling her son’s hair. Leia, however, who already had her beloved nephew in a secure hold at her side, only scoffed: “Kam and Tionne. We can have much more fun together, can’t we?” Leia asked, winking at four-year-old Ben. “I have everything ready for two days of nothing but joy.” “With Trammi ice-cream?” the little boy asked and never noticed how Leia and her brother exchanged a quick glance. Ben surely had inherited his father’s love for chocolate, that much was evident. “Well, how about we say goodbye to your parents and go look if we have Trammistan ice-cream in the kitchen?” Leia reached for the goodie back in Luke’s hand and they all waited while Ben was both eager and reluctant to see his parents off: the thought of chocolate ice-cream was one thing, his separation anxiety another. Eventually, though, Ben’s curiosity got the upper hand, and he was running to the refrigerator before Leia had even closed the door behind her brother and sister-in-law.

The rest of the late afternoon, the pair spent eating as much sweets as a “healthy” diet for a boy his age would allow, watching childish holo-vids, and giggling over ridiculous jokes. In many ways, he reminded Leia of a younger Jacen: curious, babbly, with a smug grin behind his every word. She missed the time when her own children had been so little, and wished there was a way to turn back time to see more of their precious toddler years - and she prayed for Luke and Mara to enjoy every second of Ben’s, too.

Eventually, of course, little Ben grew tired of just sitting on the couch and the multitude of snuggling, and Leia moved to one of the other activities she had prepared for a weekend with her nephew. Han, too, had a couple of things he wanted to do once he was home, and Leia could not wait to see the excitement on Ben’s face when he broke the news to him - after all, not everyone got the chance for some piloting lessons with the renowned star pilot of the Rebellion. Besides, she knew that Ben had been begging his father to be taken along in a ride in the X-Wing, but the starship was hardly big enough for a single pilot and his gear, and naturally not safe enough for a pilot and his curious son.Leia settled her nephew down on the kitchen table with a cup of hot chocolate and some fingerpaints, remembering fondly the pride she had felt within her heart whenever Winter had shown her works of her children. She wondered what Ben might settle on to draw: animals? Plants? Landscape? His family? And if the latter was bound to happen, would she and Han, Jacen and Jaina be included? Leia found herself blushing at the thought, and intended to simply sit by and watch before Ben pointed at her lavender blouse, grinning: “You got some ‘cream on there.” Looking down, Leia found he was actually right - somehow, she had managed to get one of the few blouses that never were an easy wash dirty enough to face the challenge again - and quick at that. The longer it had time to dry, the worse it would eventually get. Usually, one would use a droid to do simple household chores like these, but Leia and Han had refrained from buying one. Threepio could handle a lot of things, but Leia personally preferred doing certain things herself. Maybe, after years of being surrounded by aides, protocol droids and politicians of all kind, she enjoyed the simplicity of having nothing but herself, her husband, and her apartment to worry about when the kids weren’t home. “Alright, you got me there,” she said to Ben, still smiling. “I’ll go give this a quick rinse and get myself some fresh clothes.” “Okay.” Ben said, focusing on the crafting material in front of him again. She was almost out of the door when she heard him ask: “What’s your favorite color?” “Purple,” she responded quickly, a victorious smile on her face.

Deeming it ridiculous to only wash her blouse, Leia quickly collected other clothes that could use a gentle washing - one of her older dresses, Han’s classic leather jacket - she sighed, holding it in her hands for a couple of seconds too long for it to be an ordinary glance, then moved to her own wardrobe, opening the topmost drawer that revealed a similar one, just in a smaller size, the one they’d gotten Anakin for his sixteenth birthday. Choosing to keep it, and deciding to let go of most of his other clothes, had been one of the hardest things Leia had ever been forced to do. Part of her had clung to the idea that she had to keep all of it, that all of it was important, that she couldn’t hand away what little was left - and yet she knew in doing that, she would only ever have tried to escape the inevitable truth that he was not coming back. Instead, she’d kept his jacket and his flight suit, where, right below the patch that showed his name, someone had taken the time to stitch his call sign, Little Brother on it. And ever since storing these two items in her wardrobe, all they had been doing was slowly collect dust. Leia sighed, picked up the jacket, and decided she might as well get it rinsed, too. As she carried the clothes down the hallway, she could hear Ben calling: “Auntie Leia? Why is there no red? I can’t make purple without red.” “Was there no red box somewhere? Or a purple one?”, she called back, peeking into the living room where Ben inspected the boxes. “No. There’s just yellow, ‘n green, ‘n blue, ‘n orange ‘n black and -” “And a purple,” Leia pointed out gently. “Yeah, but it’s not pretty.” Leia pressed her lips together. As much as she wanted to disagree, Ben did have a point. It surely wasn’t the greatest shade of purple. On the other hand, she had no idea where the red color box could’ve possibly ended up? She sat her laundry on the counter, and tried to rethink the process of both unpacking and preparing everything for Ben. If she hadn’t left it in the cardboard box that it came in - “Eww!” Ben’s sudden exclamation was accompanied by a splashing sound, and as she turned around, Leia found her nephew jumping queasily, clothes covered in the goopy, drippy mass that was a mixture of thick paint and water. Seeing her perplexed expression, Ben immediately blurted an apology. “I didn’t see the cup was that close, I promise!” Snapping into her parental mindset in an instinct, Leia immediately shook her head, rushing to pluck her nephew from the ground, calling after Threepio to try and wipe the counters so that it’d at least stop dripping. Meanwhile, she sampled a new pair of matching shirt and trousers from Luke’s bag, and had Ben cleaned up and in equally fresh clothes within ten minutes. “‘m really sorry I made a mess,” he said. “I can help clean up, if you want.” “You needn’t worry, young Master. I have dealt with most of it already,” Threepio reassured, then his photoreceptors lifted as he looked at Leia. “I am however sad to report that Master Solo’s jacket might be in need of a more professional cleaning than our current equipment can.” Ben squirmed in Leia’s hold. “‘s Uncle Han gonna be mad with me?” “No,” Leia said gently. “No he won’t.” He wouldn’t, because it wasn’t his jacket, neatly packed in the middle of the stack, that took the brunt of it. Leia found herself surprisingly calm, refilling Ben’s water and waiting until he reluctantly, although with no less enthusiasm than before, went back to his crafts project. Then, and only then, Leia savored the clothes, trying not to flinch at the sagging of the fabric.

Returning home, Han found his nephew waving with a purple palm, his wife nowhere in sight. Upon questioning, Ben blurted an apology for ruining his uncle's jacket (to which Han could only frown) and explained that he hadn’t seen Leia in half-an-hour, ever since she’d vanished to the refreshing unit. Cautiously knocking at the door, he was equally surprised and confused about Leia's quick response: “I’m fine.” “That’s… not quite what I asked,” Han chuckled. “Ben told me what happened. If you’re afraid I’m gonna be mad about the jacket, I can assure you there’s very little in terms of clothing I’m actually really attached to. So, you know, as long as you don’t happen to have my ‘It’s a both’ cap in there, I think I can handle.” He heard her sigh, then a clicking noise unlocked the door, the panel slowly moving aside until he could see her standing over the tub, face already turned back away from him. “It’s not your jacket,” she explained, and furiously rubbed the soap bar over whatever other piece of brown fabric she still held in hand. “It’s Anakin’s.” Momentarily taken aback, unable to think of appropriate words, Han simply rested a hand on her shoulder, which only caused her to start scrubbing harder. “It’s a leather jacket. I could easily wipe all that stuff from the outside, but it just drenched through the insides. There’s a big green spot that’s just not coming off, and he surely can’t wear it this way.” Han felt her tense under his touch, and knew without looking that they were both blinking back tears. Spotless or not, Anakin would no longer wear it. “I’m sorry,” Leia finally rested the jacket on the edge of the tub, and turned to face her husband. “I know it’s silly. I know he’ll never get to wear it again. I know that for collecting dust in my wardrobe it doesn’t matter if there’s finger paint on it or not, but —” she broke off, simply falling into Han’s already waiting arms, pressing her face against his chest until his heartbeat muffled her own thoughts. “I get it,” he whispered, meaning it. Looking back, a younger Han Solo surely wouldn’t have seen it happening, but he had started to find peace in such small remembrances, whether it was Chewie’s old toolsets and personalized equipment, or the hidden short dial in the Falcon’s controls that’d replay an old voice-message Anakin had sent to his parents from Yavin years prior. It was a nice way to hold onto those people that had drifted behind his reach. “And I know someone who might be able to help us. Old friend. Proficient in different types of laundering.” Leia sniffed, but chuckled mildly. “You think he can deal with that?” “Well, there’s three options. First, he gets it all nice and clean, which would be great. Second, he fails to get it off, and given how much Anakin loved his cousin, I think he would’ve worn that with pride either way - well, and if said friend messes up - let's say I’m not hiding a fully charged blaster at my belt for no reason.” “You wouldn’t dare,” Leia returned, and as she looked up, he was relieved to find that somewhat of a smile had crept back on her face. “Well, he better not test me on that.”

#anakin solo #han solo #leia organa solo #ben skywalker #i miss my boy #this is how i cope #han and leia processing their loss #star wars legends #star wars expanded universe #randomlegendsthoughts

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wordsandrobots · 2 years ago

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D&D character - Shaya

I wrote this to workshop my character for @thedancingwalrus-blog‘s D&D campaign, a grumpy socialist paladin who doesn’t yet know he’s a paladin. Fifty-plus sessions later and he still doesn’t know he’s a paladin but he remains grumpy. The setting is all @thedancingwalrus-blog‘s home-brew. They have been throwing a lot of birds at us.

I was born on the waterfront in Sanik. Yes. That Sanik. They said it was a rich city and if you lived uphill, with the big houses and wide roads, it probably looked that way. Down where I lived, it mostly looked busy. My parents were weavers, so I was too. Sail-cloth and clothes – you do a bit of everything when you go where the work is. Being able to sew is about all I have left of them.

When I was a kid, the great kingdom of Cayir, in which I was fortunate to live, declared war on Malazim, the less-great-and-yet-somehow-still-a-threat kingdom next door. Because they'd declared war on us. Because – reasons. I was a kid, this was over my head and happening far, far away.

By the time I was fifteen, it was happening a lot less far away and Cayir was running out of soldiers. The recruiters were already plucking up boys below service age who couldn't be claimed for essential work when the order came down that they needed everyone – no, really, we mean it, everyone – right the hell now.

In typical army fashion, it was another two and a half years before I saw any actual fighting. Which at least meant I got some training, unlike those poor sods further east who were thrown to the front lines straight away. I had time to get comfortable with the drudgery of guarding the city walls, getting the occasional day off with mum and dad, and making a packet off being the only bloke in my unit who knew one end of a needle from the other. I was also the only bloke in my unit who was blue, which some joker decided made me the resident good-luck charm.

Didn't turn out to be a very good one.

I was the only survivor when the war finally reached Sanik. Managed to find another unit to fall back with, escaped the worst. Didn't have a chance to check on my family. Still don't know for sure if any of 'em made it out.

This was the point the Sultan admitted the war was over and we had not won it. With Malazim sitting on the only port worth a damn in the entirety of Cayir, there wasn't much else he could do. His Royal Majesty condescended to sign some bits of paper and all us lucky sods who'd survived the war were shuffled around to bits of the kingdom that were still part of the kingdom.

Apparently, when a time of war ends, anyone conscripted over and above their normal term of service is supposed to be released to get on with what they actually want to do. But wouldn't you know it, I was nearly old enough for service anyway, so that was the next five years gone.

My first posting was in a town with a spectacular temple to Pusula in the middle. It was theoretically close enough to Malazim to be a target but since the temple was literally the only reason to visit that desolate dust bowl, I can't say I saw why they'd bother.

But that's where I met Arman, so something good came out of it.

Arman was from Sanik too, though he wasn't there when it fell. He was an apprentice archivist before the army grabbed him so he'd been sent to Drakah to help with administration work, because even in the middle of a full retreat, someone needs to write lists and draw maps. Getting pushed to a border fort to make up the numbers was a shock. Somewhere along the way, perhaps because we were both from the same place, we got to talking. And since it'd have been pretty daft to fall out while stuck there, we became friends instead.

He believed in things, did Arman. Justice. Fairness. Being kind to each other. And if anyone thought that made him foolish, he'd quote the exact law backing him up. Turns out, there's lots of laws backing those ideas up, if you give a damn about reading what they say. That's civilisation for you.

Also civilisation: bastards who'll twist the letter of it every which way to get a bigger cut than everyone else.

That was how we ended up breaking into the Prelate's office to find evidence he'd been swindling the fort guard out of their wages. By which I mean, I ended up breaking in, since no way Arman was making that climb. Actually the first time I ever stole anything. Worked out smoothly, all told. Got an audience with the local commissioner, laid down the ledgers, heaped up enough dirt the Prelate couldn't worm his way out. He got sent packing, we got told our diligence would see us go far.

Eight months later, we were packed off to the most northerly outpost in the whole of Cayir.

I'd told Arman something like that was going to happen. He talked me into doing the right thing anyway. Our entire friendship in a nutshell.

So there we were, watching the waves tear at the cliffs and guarding another holy site, this one a memorial to the brave souls Abami dragged to the bottom for trying to find out what's across the sea. Oh, and wouldn't you know it – that was the year they made release from the Sultan's service dependent on being deemed inessential to the defence of the kingdom. I never met anyone who qualified without losing both legs and at least one arm.

We wasted the better part of a decade in that gods-forsaken place. The only remotely interesting thing to ever happen was part of the cliff breaking off and taking a watchtower with it. I mean, no one died, because no soldier I ever trained would be stupid enough to stay at his post when the ground was cracking under his feet. But, you know – I suppose that's notable when there's nothing else.

I sometimes wonder if things would've gone differently if it'd been a more exciting posting.

At the trial, they tried to pin everything on Arman. Because he was born further up the hill and because my grand-da screwed a djinn so everyone thinks my brains seep out my ears like smoke up a chimney. Or because Arman gave a big speech about truth and righteousness and I just shouted at the judge for two minutes straight. One of those.

Truth is, after so many years, there wasn't one of us that could think a serious thought without the other putting in ideas along the way. We knew we'd been stuck with another rotten prelate the moment we got there. Soon that turned into realising the army is pretty rotten all the way up. Started getting us thinking about the other sods on whose backs the generals and prelates got to stand. Started us talking to them. And to the workers doing the repairs to the tower, and everyone who kept the fort running and the town fed and the pilgrim routes swept.

The wage-skimming is more blatant on the fringes, where the Sultan's commissioners don't make such regular trips to check the ledgers. Sure, the money to rebuild a watchtower will arrive affording full rates to free labourers and the fraction rate to those in service. But come payday, the prelate will be out claiming budget cuts and quoting the service oath like we should be grateful for the pittance left over when he's done lining his uniform with silks. Sometimes he didn't even bother with the oath, just relied on his officers to keep us in line. What could we do about it anyway?

Quite a lot, as if turned out.

We brought that whole damn town to a grinding halt, Arman and me and everyone else. We sat down and refused to work until we had the fair wage we were promised and the decent food and quarters that were our right. Soldiers, craftsmen, labourers, the whole lot, and the prelate without enough loyal men left to force us back up. I'll treasure the memory of how purple he went to the end of my days.

I wanted it to work, more desperately than I ever wanted anything. Because I could see the hope on the faces of everyone around me, the determination. We were brothers and sisters, in it together, pulling as one and maybe, maybe, if it'd just been the one town and that one prelate, it might have.

But word spread. Other towns and forts started muttering about copying us. Just like that, we went from nuisance to threat. And just like that, someone whistled up the troops needed to make it clear we could be replaced.

I saw my fill of what an army can to to unarmed civilians at Sanik, so I was on the side against making a fight of it. Arman wanted to, but it just wasn't practical. We got everyone inside the fort, made a go of holding the Sultan's men off. Shouted myself hoarse trying to get them to see sense and come over to our side. In the end though . . .

They said they'd spare everyone if the ringleaders turned themselves over. So we did, because none of us went into this wanting anybody killed. There was a trial, like I said. Lots of being pushed around in prison wagons. I went a bit berserk, got out and nearly got Arman out too but –

That was the last I saw of him before they shipped me off here. To serve the kingdom in its hour of need and regain some honour by giving your life in its name. Honestly surprised to be breathing. Guess whatever's down here, they think it's worth every able body available. Something that'll make Cayir rich and powerful again.

Bet if it does, someone'll skim off everything good before it can get down to people like us.

#dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd character #air genasi #paladin #writing #my writing

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lemon-up · 6 months ago

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(I started this, but left it unfinished :( anyways hope someone can see this)

Miss, I do believe that there’s been a horrendous error—

The woman didn’t even wait for me to finish before she was gone, panicked apologies flying out from her insolent mouth as she shut the front door on me. By the ice that confines Lucifer Himself, was it that mortals were getting more daring by the day? What was the big idea, what kind of elaborate prank this must be, trapping one of Hell’s own spawn in some wretched circle in the Above? I quickly bristled, drawing myself up to my full height and raising my voice to a resounding boom.

Miss! In no way am I to be obligated to simply perform the act of ‘sitting’ this ‘baby’ with nothing in return!

A loud cry sounded from behind me, shrill and upset. I quickly whipped my head around, narrowing my eyes at the source of such a noise. A human child, not all too much older than two years at most, stood with one of his arms reached out to rest on the couch. His face was scrunched up in a terrible way, emitting noise that seemed much too loud for such a being of his size. Had I not been trapped within my circle, I would have stumbled back in alarm.

Still, not to be underestimated, I made a small growl at the child and lowered my voice threateningly.

Little human. You dare to stand in front of the great Øzazel, Operator of Flames, Keeper of Brimstone, Overseer of the Seventh’s Outer Ri—

Another loud cry cut off my speech, and momentarily I was startled into silence at this small mortal’s daringness. Damn. Could the thing ever actually shut up? Having the bare minimum of respect for one such as I should come naturally to all reasonable parties within my presence, at least enough to allow for one to finish their grand introduction before speaking.

With great difficulty, I managed to crouch down on my hooves and stare the insolent little fool down with all my eyes. The ‘toddler baby’ responded by making a little gabbling noise and placing one of their fingers inside their mouth.

Mortal.

I narrowed my eyes once again, making them all glow a deep red. Then, for the extra effect, I manipulated a couple small licks of flame to emerge from my nostrils. They were insignificant enough not to do any real harm, of course, but the small humans always found it most dreadfully horrifying, although I had not a clue why.

Do you realize where you are?

The tiny human put a second finger inside his mouth, tilting his head and giving me a side-eye. He made a few more incoherent noises, body swaying from side to side. At worst, this would be blatant disrespect, capable of giving me the excuse to banish the small being down to the depths of Hell. At best, it was a show of perhaps foolishness or a lack of awareness of one’s own immediate surroundings.

“Mam… mama’s house.”

Yes… I suppose you are in your mother’s house. Moreover, you simply must be aware that as the great, powerful—

He was already wandering off. I hastily made to stand up again, horns beginning to make slight dents in the ceiling just as the mortal wobbled back. In both his arms he carried a red rubber ball, scuffed with use.

He shook it slightly up and down, mouth open and glistening with drool as he looked down at the object.

“Ba.”

I grimaced to the best of my ability downward, at the ball this small boy held. The grooves in the ceiling increased, yielding easily beneath my horns. This insolent, little, cumbersome…

Small child. The object that you are holding is called a ‘ball’.

“Ba!”

He shook the ball at me insistently. My tail flicked with annoyance.

You are a fool.

“Ba!”

I could crush you down right where you stand! To underestimate me is to challenge Death herself,

You’re a demon. One day, you’re summoned into a living room, and an exhausted woman quickly rambles about needing to get to work and being unable to find a sitter before flying out the door. Now, you stand in your summoning circle, a toddler staring wide eyed at you.

#writers on tumblr

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 4 months ago

Note

Kickstarter of Death Battle is live! Thoughts?

//Oh man, where do I begin?

//First of all, I almost missed it. I wasn't expecting them to drop such big announcements randomly, but man am I into it now.

//Thankfully, they managed to reach their kickstarter goal within like, half an hour of that video being posted. So that's good.

//I'm a little confused how the episodes are gonna work now. I don't know if there's gonna be a season 11 or if they're just gonna be uploading regular videos now at their own pace. It's not like they have a deadline for these anymore, lest they set one for themselves.

//As for the matchups so far, I think both of the newly revealed one's are extremely solid.

//But before I talk about those, I'm glad to hear that the team are still going ahead with the Tom Vs Wile. E fight, like they said they would. After having a long long while to sit on it, I'm doubling down on Tom taking the win in the fight, simply because of how Wile. E suffers far more failures than Tom does, and the lack of reliability on his traps would really do him in. But of the currently revealed fights, it's the one that interests me the least.

//Honestly, while I knew that Bardock VS Omni-Man was a popular matchup that they did a DB Cast for, I never expected that we would actually get it as an episode. I kind of thought Omni-Man would be a one and done character, but I'm not complaining. I really liked Omni-Man VS Homelander as an episode, but I feel like I'll enjoy Omni-Man VS Bardock as a fight more, because Bardock is much closer to Nolan's power level than Homelander was. That being said, I still kind of expect Nolan to take the win because he has far more feats to his name than Bardock does. Not only that, but his baseline power without his transformations is likely lower than Omni-Man's, and Viltrumites have exceptional regenerative abilities and endurance that the Saiyan's don't, which means even if Bardock as a Super Saiyan can severely injure him, he could keep going. But just seeing Bardock in an episode makes me excited, because he is generally one of my favourite Dragon Ball characters.

//But Bowser VS Eggman was FOR SURE a LONG TIME COMING. Mario and Sonic have two episodes in the series of them facing against each other, and I really really wanted to see how things would turn out when their villains fought each other. Moro looks like he's killing it already just from the previews; and it's by far the one that I'm most excited for so far. As for who I think would win, it's a little tricky. In a direct confrontation, Eggman's technological superiority and strategic mind would likely give him the edge, and his robots are quite likely to overwhelm Bowser's forces. However, Bowser's resilience, magical abilities, and the sheer number of his minions would give him a chance. Assuming Bowser managed to close the distance and engage Eggman directly, his physical prowess could turn the tide; however, Eggman's propensity for creating powerful defenses and deploying overwhelming technological firepower gives him an advantage if he manages to draw the fight out. So while I'm rooting for Bowser; since he is my favourite of the two; I ultimately think Eggman takes it, assuming he can leverage his assets effectively.

//I'm just glad to see the team back, because they are all good people despite what some will tell you. And if it is true that some requested matchups will catch their eye, I might sign up purely so I can put in a request for Hajime Vs Deku. Not that I expect the matchup to arrive any time soon, but I'm happy to wait another 10 years for it if that's what it takes.

-Mod

#mod #death battle

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lgcnayoung · 9 months ago

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it’s an unfortunate reality that idols–or really, anyone in the public eye–of opposite genders are not encouraged to interact out in the open, if not downright prohibited, lest rumors start spreading that “something” is going on. not to mention, it’s even hard for people who are genuinely just friends to interact without someone assuming they could be more, which is why haru has always made an effort to meet up with or talk to his friends who also happen to be girls in private, or somewhere he knows he won’t be caught - like backstage at a shared event or something where it was inevitable that they’d be near each other.

that’s why when he decides to send nayoung a gift for her birthday coming up, his thought is no different. he still makes sure to wrap her gift (a white and purple cat plushie and another purple cat plushie because he was indecisive as hell between the two and wasn’t sure which she’d prefer more, okay!) nicely–albeit in giftwrap he found that makes the box look like a block of cheese but he thought she’d find it funny–before placing it in a regular packing box along with a birthday card so that at least this way, it’ll look unassuming to the outside eye.

he even went through the effort of getting the nova dorm address from his manager after promising he wasn’t asking so he could visit himself; he was just going to send a package. it took a bit of convincing but he managed to get it somehow so he wasn’t going to waste this chance, even if truthfully, a part of him deep down was so nervous.

it’s not that he doesn’t buy gifts for others, whether it be for their birthday or a holiday or even to treat someone because he’s apparently in a position where he can do that now, but something about doing this for nayoung felt different; more nerve-wracking, even. but since he’s already bought everything and it was all prepared, he had no reason to not send the package - so after hyping himself up a lot, he quickly sends it off without giving himself a second thought or chance to take it back.

to. nayounghappy birthday! and congrats on your recent comeback!! was your first birthday as a debuted idol fun? crazy? weird? ㅋㅋ i could probably just message you to ask but it seemed more fun this way lol plus i’m sending this before the 16th so it can be delivered to you on the day of but if it arrives late, it’s not my fault, okay?! i tried my best!honestly, i wasn’t sure what you might want or need right now but people like plushies right…? but i couldn’t decide which one to get you so… if you don’t want either, i still have the receipts so i can return it and get you something else ㅋㅋ but i do hope you like it! if not, please go easy on me :’)i hope your birthday was good and that this upcoming year will be good to you too [a drawing of a smiley face cat and thumb up: 😺👍]- haru

whoever sends her a package that looks like a cheese block really has nayoung questioning what this is, but it’s…. it’s effective in getting her attention. hopefully it didn’t have cheese inside!? and since it is already the eve of her birthday, she has some time for herself as she digs into the package and unwraps it slowly, to unwrap it into… another box! “what could this be?”

there’s a card sitting right there, and while the temptation is there to dig into the box first, she really should read the letter first. and hopefully it’s a note that actually has writing it because… genuinely, nayoung doesn’t like it when a letter simply says, “dear ___, from ____”, something that bugged her mom that also passed down to nayoung herself. pleasantly surprised, the letter is not empty, and her mouth is pursed as she slowly reads it.

oh drat, she should’ve opened the package first because it did mention what he got, but it’s okay, it was vague at best. plushies, huh! hopefully they weren’t something she didn’t like, but haru knew her well anyway so they likely would be alright… it’d be rude to ask for a return receipt but if she really didn’t like it, nayoung wouldn’t hesitate to tell him to exchange it so…. hopefully it wouldn’t get to that point.

setting the note aside, nayoung’s glad she’s opening this quietly on her own because she probably looks so silly right now, so excited like a little child but hey, it was only her birthday once a year, right?! and it makes a difference when it’s coming from someone that’s close to her. after opening the lid to the box, she buries her hands to her face, gasping at first then laughing, because one of them looked rather… odd, but cute ( impressionable. yes yes. ) and the other was very typically cute, both in shades of purple. she loves them. she’s going to stick them on her pillows. they even fit her decor. squishing them in her palm and against her face, she snaps a quick picture with the two and sends it off to haru.

[ sns ➪ ☀️ ] I GOT IT!!!!! [ sns ➪ ☀️ ] where are the return receipts, you’re going to need them…[ sns ➪ ☀️ ] i’m just kidding! thank you haru TTT—-TTT you remembered meee hehehehe [ sns ➪ ☀️ ] what’s with… the cheese though

#(( nayoungs special day :: notes ))#not the smiley cat and dthumbs up HAHAHA #lgcharu #lgc:wc003

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ladyfogg · 2 years ago

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Sleepover

Fic Summary: After a late night of studying, you decide to sleep over at Eddie’s for the first time. Things take an interesting turn when you’re woken in the middle of the night by an aroused, but sleeping, Eddie. Eddie Munson Oneshots Masterpost.

Fic Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader (Reader is 18)

Warnings: Friends to Lovers, Language, Canon Divergent, Grinding, Masturbation (Female), Oral (Male Receiving), Unprotected Sex (no condom, reader mentions being on the pill), Creampie, Pretty Much Utter Filth

A/N: Into the trash I go. Don’t know where this came from but, oh well! Enjoy!

It’s crunch time for finals.

While you’re on track to graduate, Eddie is army crawling toward the finish line. He’s trying, trying harder than he’s ever tried before, and while you believe in him, he says he doesn’t want to take any chances. So when he asks you to help study for Ms. O’Donnell’s final, you happily agree. He’s managed to scrape by with a C in his other classes and this is the only thing standing in his way of finally getting his diploma.

Eddie deserves to graduate. He’s trying hard. He wrapped up the Hellfire campaign weeks ago and is even putting off band practice until school is done. You’ve never seen him this determined before.

Which is how you find yourself in his trailer Saturday night, sitting on his bed while pouring over textbooks and notebooks.

Eddie’s face is pinched in concentration, his eyes narrowed as he reads through your notes. He never takes any himself, always using yours because you’re a sucker and can’t help but share. It’s late. Way later than you anticipated but it’s for a good cause. Anything to help your friend finally walk across that stage. The fact that you’ll be graduating together makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’m doomed.”

You look up from the practice test he had taken earlier, which you’ve been silently grading for the last ten minutes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m never going to remember all this in time!” he says, arms gesturing to the notes and books scattered across the bed. “The final is first thing Monday morning.”

“And we still have all of tomorrow,” you reassure him. “Eddie, you got this!”

Groaning in frustration, he dramatically falls onto his back. “Maybe I should just face the fact that I’m never going to get out of that fucking school.”

This is a side of Eddie people rarely see. Yes, he’s loud and boisterous, and totally unashamed of who he is. Yet, there’s a slight self-conscious side that only you’ve been privy to over the last few years. It’s like he feels comfortable letting his guard down around you, something you cherish. You love being able to see a side of him that no one else does. It makes you feel special, and that your friendship is special.

“Uh-uh, nope. You’re not following that train of thought,” you scold, putting your notebook down. Leaning over him you give him the most reassuring smile you can. “You’re doing great. You got this.”

He looks up at you. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Of course I am, is it working?” You’re teasing him obviously. He’s actually doing fairly well by comparison to where he was when you started studying. He just can’t see it because he’s tired and frustrated.

Grinning, Eddie reaches up and boops your nose. “You always make me feel better, sweetheart. How did I do on the practice test?”

Grateful for the distraction, and needing something to focus on other than the racing of your heart, you draw back and lift the practice test so he can see the C- you wrote on top.

It makes him smile. “Fuck yes!”

“See, told you. You’re doing awesome. There are a couple of things you got wrong in the essay question, but that’s nothing we can’t clean up. Let’s study a bit more and call it a night.”

And so, you two get back to work. Eventually, after reviewing flashcards and taking another practice test, Eddie decides to raid the kitchen for a snack, leaving you to your grading. It’s been a long trying day. You don’t think you’ve ever studied this much in your entire high school career. While you manage to get a handful of good grades, you’re no genius and would much prefer playing D&D or reading fantasy books rather than reviewing schoolwork.

However, there was no way you could turn Eddie down when he begged you to help him. He looked so desperate and hopeful, how could you refuse? You’ve never refused Eddie in your life and you aren’t about to start now.

While he’s taking his break, you start to go over his second practice test. Or is it his third? You’ve lost count. You also underestimate how tired you are because the next thing you know, your eyes drift closed and then, Eddie’s hand gently shakes you.

“I’m awake!” you say, head flying up off the book you were using as a pillow.

Eddie chuckles, peeling off the note card that’s stuck to your cheek. “It’s late,” he says. “I’m calling it. Study session over.”

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your yawn. “Alright, fair enough. What time is it?”

“After midnight.”

Shit. Definitely too late to ride your bike home. “Damn, I really wish I hadn’t fallen asleep.”

“I can drive you.”

Eddie looks as exhausted as you feel and you don’t like the thought of him getting behind the wheel. You’ve been pulling several late nights and you doubt he’s in any mood to drive. You’re watching as he helps gather your study materials when a simple solution comes to mind.

“Mind if I crash here?”

Eddie pauses for a moment, looking at you over his shoulder. “You want to sleep over?”

“Is that a bad idea? I just figure since we’re going to meet up tomorrow to keep studying anyway, it doesn’t make sense for you to take me all the way home and pick me up again early in the morning. Besides, my parents are both working doubles at the plant tonight.”

You don’t like the thought of being all alone in your house, especially with all the weird shit that happens in Hawkins.

“I mean, my uncle will be home later and will need the pullout bed, so you and me will have to share mine if you’re cool with that.”

Your heart starts to pound faster at the idea. Throat suddenly very dry, you have to swallow before you can respond, “I’m okay with that.”

You see a flush come over him, “Great. Alright.” Looking around the room, he runs his hand through his hair. “Um, here, just let me…” He starts to clear the clutter of clothes from his bed and you take the time to put the studying materials away.

There’s a strange energy about Eddie all of a sudden. It’s hard to pinpoint, hard to describe until you realize that he’s never been one to go out of his way to clean for you. You’re over his place all the time and he knows you don’t care about the mess. But now that you’re sleeping over for the first time, he almost seems nervous.

The air is thick with tension.

You’re not sure if it’s coming from him or from you, but you try to act casual, try to seem like this is no big deal even when your heart is threatening to implode.

You’re acutely aware that sharing a bed with Eddie is a new situation for you and your friend. As close as you two are, you’ve never spent the night at the other’s houses and definitely haven’t shared a bed before. The thought gives you butterflies, making your hand slip on the zipper of your backpack. Eddie doesn’t notice. He’s still moving around his room, occasionally swearing under his breath and saying sorry when he moves something else out of the way.

A moment later the bed is cleared and Eddie turns to you. “Do you need sleep clothes or anything?”

“I usually sleep in a t-shirt. But I can keep my jeans on if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“Who wears jeans to bed?”

He has a point. “No pants it is,” you say. “I guess I can just wear this same shirt tomorrow.”

“Here.” Eddie reaches into one of his drawers and pulls out one of his many Hellfire shirts. “You can wear this.”

“Thanks.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence and you’re right about to excuse yourself to the bathroom to change when Eddie says, “I’ll just give you some privacy.”

In the blink of an eye, he’s out of the room and closing the door behind him.

You stand there for a minute, your heart racing faster than it ever has before. It’s just a sleepover at your friend’s house, you don’t know why you’re both such a nervous mess.

Feeling like you’re in a dream, you take off your jeans and leave them folded on the dresser. Next comes your shirt and you suddenly stare at your reflection in Eddie’s mirror. It’s surreal seeing yourself half-naked in his room. A certain level of excitement washes over you at the image and you find yourself wishing the scenario was different, that maybe you were sleeping over because Eddie wanted you to, not for convenience’s sake.

Shaking the thought from your head, you take your bra off, rolling it up with your shirt and sticking both with your jeans. When you put Eddie’s shirt on, it smells like him. It makes you smile, pausing to savor it. There’s something acutely intimate about wearing your guy friend’s shirt, especially when it’s a shirt you know he loves. You slide into bed, making sure to pull the covers up around your waist.

A few moments pass before there’s a knock on the door. “You good in there?” comes Eddie’s voice.

“All set.”

The door opens slowly and Eddie stumbles in dramatically, his hand covering his eyes. “Are you sure you’re decent? It would be such a shame if I walked in on you naked!”

Laughing, you lay down and try to get comfortable. “Eddie, you can look. I’m not naked.”

His hand drops from his face. “Well, why the hell not?!”

“I’m sorry, am I supposed to be?” you tease.

“Well, yeah! That’s how these things go, right? You ask to stay over, I give you my shirt, and then you surprise me by getting completely naked.”

Still laughing, you roll your eyes. “Stop goofing around and come to bed.”

The phrase sounds so casual yet incredibly intimate at the same time. Eddie’s smile doesn’t fade, but he’s looking at you differently. It’s hard to pinpoint, how to tell exactly what’s going through his mind. It’s enough to make you fidgety and self-conscious.

“What?” you ask, hands twisting the edge of the blanket in your hands.

“Nothing,” Eddie says. “It’s just, you look good in my bed, sweetheart.”

The heat rises to your face and words escape you. How do you respond to something so sweet and obviously flirty? Not that Eddie hasn’t flirted with you in the past but that was just him being playful. Wasn’t it?

Before you can think of a response, he reaches for his belt.

There’s a moment, a split second where you can either lay there and watch Eddie undress, or roll onto your side and pretend like you’re not hyper-aware of the fact that he’s about to slide into bed next to you. Deciding to give him the courtesy of privacy, like he did for you, you turn on your side to face the wall. Eddie’s belt buckle never sounded louder. A moment later, you hear his jeans hitting the floor and then rustling as he steps out of them.

The room is plunged into darkness as Eddie gets the lights.

Your breathing is shallow, your head spinning when you realize you haven’t taken a proper breath in the last minute. You feel the rise of the bedsheet as Eddie draws it back, then the mattress dips under his weight. His bed isn’t very big, something you hadn’t considered when he brought up sharing. You try to move as far over as you can but you’re right against the wall and there isn’t very far for you to go.

“You can look now. I have no shame or modesty.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that.”

His voice is so close and you have to swallow past the lump in your throat before you turn around to face him. He’s lying on his back, shirtless with the blanket draped over his hips. It’s dark but there’s enough ambient light coming through the window from outside for you to see him. It makes him look almost other-worldly and you know the image is going to be burned into your mind for years to come.

“It’s okay, I won’t bite,” he teases. “Unless you really want me to.”

“Haha, very funny,” you say, even though the mental image isn’t funny at all. It makes your heart race and your thighs clench.

“You alright? You seem nervous.”

“I’m fine,” you say a little too quickly. “It’s just…this is new. For us. Not that there is an us. I just meant, we haven’t shared a bed before and it’s new…for us.” Dear God, you’re babbling and repeating yourself. Can you be any more obvious?

“New doesn’t always have to be scary,” Eddie says, turning on his side and propping his head up with his hand. “Think of this as another phase of our friendship.”

You smile and roll onto your side to copy his pose. The two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, and see his tattoos even through the dim light. Your fingers ache to trace them, to touch him in some way, but you keep your hands to yourself. He’s not wearing any of his jewelry. No necklace, no bracelets, not even his favorite rings. Somehow that makes him seem more naked. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him without them.

“And what phase would that be?” you ask.

He studies you through the dark. There is a beat of silence before he responds, “That all depends on you, sweetheart.”

Fuck you love it when he calls you that. You’ve only ever heard him call his guitar “sweetheart” up until several months ago when he casually called you that while hanging out one night. Your mind had gone blank and you had been so surprised, that you forgot what you were doing. He of course found it incredibly amusing and now calls you that whenever he can just to get a rise out of you.

Between wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, and laying right next to him, your senses were surrounded by everything Eddie Munson. It makes it hard to ignore the way his smile makes your stomach drop, or how a simple touch of his hand on yours sets a fire ablaze in your veins. It's making your head spin. You also have no idea how to respond to him. What does he mean it depends on you? What depends on you? What phase is he talking about? He can’t possibly be talking about becoming more than friends, could he? That seems almost too fantastical for you to believe. You may want him that way but he hasn’t shown any indication he feels the same way about you. Has he?

“I love our friendship,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “It’s more special to me than anything in the world.”

“But…?” Eddie draws the word out, waiting for more. Waiting for you to explain yourself. Possibly waiting for you to reject him. Holy shit, that’s it. Your mind is going a mile a minute and you’re trying hard to remain calm. This discussion is real, he’s legitimately asking about being something more. Isn’t he? You don’t think you’re jumping to conclusions, but it’s still hard to plunge into the deep end.

“No buts. I just want you to know how important you are to me,” you tell him. “And if me sleeping over means we get closer, then I’m really glad I asked to stay.”

He studies you through the dark. You can’t read his expression but you can see his eyes scanning your face, searching. “I’m glad you asked to stay too,” he eventually says. “By the way, you look damn good in my shirt.”

“And you look good without it.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. You’re so caught up in the moment and he really does look great shirtless that you speak without thinking. Whelp, no taking it back now. Eddie laughs, reaching over to run his hand down your cheek. He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Get some sleep,” he says. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Yes, the morning. Good idea. It’s best to talk after you’ve had a long rest and time to process this shift happening between you.

You expect him to turn on his back or face away from you. But he doesn’t. Instead, he stays right where he is, facing you. There’s a moment of contemplation where you think about turning around, yet you don’t. You stay where you are as well, face-to-face with Eddie, cuddled close in the dark. Your body is exhausted from the long day and your mind is ready to shut down for the night.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. Between the dark room and Eddie’s slow, even breathing, you’re lulled off to dreamland in a matter of minutes.

Hours later, you’re brought back to consciousness just as quickly, but you’re not sure why.

It’s still the middle of the night. You can tell by the darkness and the quiet outside the trailer. You’ve moved in your sleep and are now facing the wall again, except this time, Eddie’s body is spooned up behind you. His arm is draped over your waist and you can feel the even rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Laying there, enjoying the comfort of him holding you, you’re about to close your eyes when you feel it, a sudden hardness digging into your lower back.

Your sleep-addled brain doesn’t catch on right away.

You shift to get comfortable, too tired to really consider what it could actually be. Until, you feel it again, this time accompanied by a quiet moan from Eddie.

Sleep is now a distant memory.

Is he…? Did he just…?

When it happens a third time, you know for sure it’s not your imagination. It’s pretty unmistakable what is happening. Unsure of what to do about it, you stay exactly where you are, listening and waiting. As far as you can tell, Eddie is sleeping. The persistent press of his hard cock happens once or twice more before it stops. However, that doesn’t mean it goes away. You can feel it, straining against his boxers.

Heat washes over you and you bite your lip because now your own body is waking. Waking and realizing exactly what situation you’re in.

Your cunt throbs from neglect.

Ignore it and go to sleep, you tell yourself. Just pretend like everything’s alright and go back to sleep.

Easier said than done. No sooner do you close your eyes than Eddie moves. Not fast and not purposeful. His arm is still very much limp across your waist, telling you he’s fast asleep. But his hips haven’t gotten the memo.

You feel his cock press harder, his body reacting to what it wants while he’s blissfully unaware.

It starts with small, slow rolls of his hips, creating just the barest hint of pressure. You can feel his breath on the nape of your neck, hot bursts of air every few seconds. Your cunt throbs again, more persistent this time and definitely interested in whatever is the hell is happening.

Nowhere in your wildest dreams did you ever think you’d wake up this way, with Eddie rutting against you in his sleep.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to ignore. Your best bet is to try and shift closer to the wall, to try to put distance between you. Yet, when you move, Eddie’s arm draws you back, flush against his chest with his erection tucked snuggly under your ass. He mumbles your name and then he’s still once more.

Fuck, he said your name.

Fuck does that mean he’s dreaming about you? Has he dreamt about you before? How the hell are you supposed to sleep with those thoughts running through your head?

You’re wet. Even without moving you know that you are, can feel the dampness seeping into your panties. Suddenly, the thin blanket is too much. You’re Hellfire shirt, no, Eddie’s Hellfire shirt is too constricting.

He's not thrusting anymore, but it’s worse now. Because now his cock is snug between your ass cheeks, and the thin fabric of your panties and his boxers isn’t leaving much to the imagination.

You need relief and you need it now.

Biting your lip, you listen closely to Eddie’s breathing, making sure it hasn’t changed. As far as you can tell, he’s definitely not awake. If you’re quiet and careful, you can hopefully give yourself some kind of reprieve. Otherwise, you’ll never get back to sleep.

You wait a few seconds, wait until you can pluck up the nerve to touch yourself, in your best friend’s bed, while he’s asleep next to you. Taking a deep breath, you slowly spread your legs. Your panties are so fucking wet you can feel them sticking to your aching core.

Carefully, you let your hand slide down the bed, inching closer and closer to where you need it. You reach the hem of your panties, pausing to think, really think if this is what you want to do right now. Of course, there’s no point because you know it’s going to happen. It needs to happen. You slip your hand into your panties. At the first press of your fingers, you almost moan out loud. Fuck you’re soaking wet and aching for the man lying beside you. You haven’t even done anything yet and you’re already hypersensitive.

Gathering your slick with your fingers, you rub two of them through your folds. Your body almost weeps with relief, even though you’ve barely gotten started. Your nipples pebble under your shirt. You have to fight back a moan as they brush lightly against the rough fabric.

You’re being careful, trying hard not to move anything other than your wrist. Eddie’s cock twitches, like it knows what you’re doing, like it’s begging to join the fun.

God, you wish it would. You wish he would.

You’re so wet that your two fingers slide into you effortlessly. A small gasp escapes your lips and you’re too wound up to notice. Still trying not to move too much, you keep your fingers buried deep, wiggling them just enough to get that spot that makes you see stars. Fuck this feels good. It’s not Eddie’s cock but damn is it still getting the job done.

Your hips slowly start to rock with your hand, needing more pressure, more friction. You have to literally bite your tongue when your fingers slide out of your soaking hole to trace wet circles around your clit.

It's not going to take you long. You’re too worked up to drag it out.

Falling into a steady rhythm, you touch yourself to thoughts of Eddie. It’s easier when you’re in his bed, wearing his shirt, laying with his body heat pressed along your back. His scent is all over you, like cigarettes, weed, and that cologne he wears. The one you got him for Christmas last year. But underneath, the scent of your arousal is unmistakable. To have both of those in the same place conjures all sorts of naughty images, fantasies you only indulge in the middle of the night. Usually alone.

Except for tonight. It’s all overwhelming and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer…

Eddie’s hand suddenly locks around your wrist.

It’s like someone dumps a bucket of ice water over your head. Frozen in place, you’re too scared to move or make a sound. Plush lips brush your ear and Eddie’s voice, low and raspy from sleep, sends a shiver down your spine.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?”

Shit! Has he been awake this whole time? Was he grinding on purpose? Or did you wake him up with your stupid fucking libido and attempted stealth masturbation?

He has to know you can feel him. It’s pretty fucking obvious. He also has to know what you’re doing. There’s really no other reason for your hand to be between your legs.

“What are you doing, Eddie?” is the only response that comes to mind.

“Sleeping.” His thrust this time is harder and purposeful. “At least I was until someone woke me up.”

“In all fairness, you woke me up first.”

You’re breathless and your cunt throbs angrily, begging for you to keep going. Squeezing your thighs together does nothing to relieve the pressure, especially with your hand still trapped.

“Did I?” he asks. “Maybe I should make it up to you.”

His hand slides down to join your hand and your gasp can no longer be contained. Oh my god, this is happening. This is really fucking happening.

“Fucking hell, you’re so fucking wet,” Eddie groans in your ear. His tongue darts out to trace the shell and a powerful shudder runs through your body. “Don’t stop on my account.”

His fingers press yours, forcing you to circle your clit again. Unable to hold back and so fucking turned on, you pick up where you left off.

You feel Eddie’s other arm slide under your body and the next thing you know, you’re yanked to his chest, trapped in a tight hold. His mouth is all over your neck, kissing, sucking, and nipping at the sensitive flesh. His free hand pushes your shirt up and fondles your tit, giving it an appreciative squeeze before moving to the next one.

His fingers mirror yours, following your lead. The sound of your fingers through your wetness is obscenely hot. When you slip a finger inside yourself again, one of Eddie’s joins you, and you selfishly wish he hadn’t taken his rings off. You can only imagine how the cool touch of metal would feel in this moment. Your hips thrust forward with excitement.

Eddie’s hips do the same.

He’s grinding his cock against your ass constantly now, panting and groaning in your ear as he does. “Such a dirty girl, fingering yourself in my bed,” he pants. “God I can’t wait to feel you come.”

The Hellfire shirt is sticking to your sweaty skin. Your cunt is dripping, your slick sliding down your thighs where you know it’s staining Eddie’s sheets.

“Fuck, this is so fucking hot. Shit, I’m gonna blow my load like this.” He’s humping himself against your ass, getting closer with each desperate thrust.

“Don’t,” you beg. “Don’t…not yet. I want…”

“Tell me,” he begs, lips claiming your throat with harsh kisses. “What do you want, babe? I’ll give you anything.”

“I want to suck your dick.”

Eddie’s hand stops in surprise but your orgasm can’t be delayed anymore. You come hard, seeing white and grinding yourself on his hand, covering him with your release. No fantasy can ever do this feeling justice. The fact that Eddie is the one who made you come only heightens your arousal and has you moaning his name. You keep moving until the last shocks of pleasure subside and you’re left shaking and panting.

Eddie’s hand slides out from between your legs and he rolls you into your back.

Your first kiss is sloppy.

His mouth finds yours in the dark but you’re too blissed out to focus or kiss him properly at first. He doesn’t seem to care. With a moan that has your cunt clenching, he kisses the life out of you, tongue pushing past your lips to taste.

Your hand falls to the bed but his is back between your legs a second later. He touches, he rubs, and he explores, dragging tremors out of your body and building your pleasure again. Is this for you or for him? Either way, you don’t care because he’s rubbing your clit in rough circles and it’s driving you absolutely insane. Two fingers slide into you without warning.

His fingers fill you in a way yours can’t, the delicious stretch an appetizer, a tease, for what’s to come.

“Eddie, let me suck you off.” You’re the one begging this time. You need to touch him, taste him. You need to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel.

“Fuck, yes. Soon, baby, soon. Just want you to come for me one more time.”

He gets his wish a moment later. Your second orgasm is as powerful as the first, sucking the air from your lungs and leaving you twitching. He kisses you through this one, swallowing your moan as you drench his hand. It keeps going and going, the pleasure never truly fading even when his hand draws away.

You want to touch him now. You have to touch him now. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you push him into his back. You take a second to pull the t-shirt off and discard your ruined panties somewhere at the foot of the bed.

Eddie shoves his boxers down to join them.

He wraps his hand around his cock, using your slick as lube while he starts to jerk himself off. It’s a beautifully erotic sight ripped right from your filthiest fantasies.

His cock is fucking gorgeous. Long and thick, with a vein running along the bottom that you want to trace with your tongue. Your mouth waters at the sight of his swollen head, red and begging to be sucked. Ever the showman, he’s putting on a performance for you, showing you exactly what you do to him and what he wants from you. What he needs. You straddle him for a moment, taking his face in your hands and bringing him into a searing kiss before you start your descent down his body.

You leave a trail of kisses and love bites along the way.

You want to mark him, to make him yours. Everything you haven’t been able to say comes bubbling to the surface and fuels your actions. If you can’t tell him, you’re sure as hell going to show him. When you settle between his legs, he’s still holding himself. Precum is already seeping out of the tip and you knock his hand away, replacing it with your own.

Fuck the weight of him is fucking incredible. Just the thought of how he’s going to stretch you is enough for your cunt to clench in anticipation.

“Fuck, babe, please do something,” Eddie begs, running both hands through his hair. “Seeing you get off was the hottest fucking thing of my life…oh shit!”

He gasps as you wrap your lips around the leaking head of his cock, sucking the salty, headiness of him down with a decadent moan. His hands fly down to your head, fingers digging into your scalp as you start to work your mouth down.

He's so fucking hard against your tongue.

Mouth stretched wide, you try to relax your jaw, taking as much of him in as you can. He groans when he feels the slight resistance of your throat flutter around cock.

“Shit, shit, shit, sweetheart. Fuck your throat feels so fucking good. Yeah, swallow around me.”

You do your best before dragging your mouth up the length of his cock, coating him in your saliva. When you take him in again, you get him further this time, using your upper body to pin his hips to the bed. You do it over and over, working him in more and more until you manage to take him all. He grips your head and holds you there for a second, a litany of swears spilling out of his filthy mouth.

“Fuck! Oh my fucking god, let me fuck your mouth. Please let me fuck this pretty mouth of yours, babe.”

You pick up the pace, finally tracing that thick vein with your tongue and bobbing your head up and down on his lap. When you ease the pressure on his hips, he loses it.

He starts to thrust into your mouth, saying your name repeatedly while his hands continue to hold your head. “Fuck me this is heaven. God, can’t believe you can take it all. Gonna fuck this mouth all the time now.”

You’re fucking lost yourself. The visual of sucking Eddie off in his van or going down on him at his special picnic table in the woods is almost too much. Eddie has always been a drug to you, but experiencing him like this is making you an addict. Your thighs are soaked, your jaw is aching, but you can’t stop. Won’t stop. Don’t want to stop.

Apparently, Eddie has other plans.

When he suddenly pulls you off, you gasp for breath and whimper with disappointment. “Why’d you stop me?” you pant.

Eddie is looking at you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal. “I was too close,” he says, sitting up. “Didn’t want to finish like that.”

“How do you want to finish, Eddie?”

He groans and pushes you onto your back, maneuvering your legs so they’re bent at the knees. “Anywhere,” he says. “But not before I fuck you.”

“Fuck me, Eddie. I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me.”

He crawls up your body with a growl before attacking your lips in a bruising kiss. You can feel his cock between your legs, wet from your mouth and his precum, hard like velvet-covered steel. He reaches down to grab himself, teasingly sliding the underside of his cock through your wetness, coating himself with you.

You’re so slick, so ready, and eager and waiting, that when he finally pushes into you, tears form in your eyes. You nearly weep from joy, his cock giving you that delicious stretch you’ve been waiting for.

Eddie’s eyes are all you see. He’s staring into yours with rapt attention you’ve never known. It’s like he wants to memorize your face, wants to see every detail as his cock finally slides home.

Because he is home. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Damn it’s a fucking stretch. Even with all the prep and wetness, he still spreading you open. Your hands fly to his shoulders, your back arching as he slides in more and more…

His lap is snug against you for an entirely different reason now. And you’ve never felt more full or alive in your life.

Eddie kisses you while he fucks you. It’s slow at first, gentle like he’s trying to make sure not to hurt you or taking his time to savor. But he can’t hurt you. He never could.

And you’re too wound up, too happy to finally have him that you don’t want it slow.

“Fuck me hard, Eddie,” you moan. “Fuck me like I know you want to. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Shit!”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. Eddie fucks you into the mattress. It creaks and groans under the onslaught, your bodies rocking together desperately. Having him like this, over you and in you, is everything you ever hoped it would be and nothing you ever expected. He sits back in his heels, his hands on either side of your waist as he watches his cock slide in and out of you. Those fucking gorgeous brown eyes watch your tits bounce along with his thrusts.

“So good, so fucking good,” he groans. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight. Such a fucking amazing pussy. Fucking knew you’d feel good.”

Your hands cup your tits, fingers tweaking and pinching your nipples as your body comes alive. No thoughts remain except Eddie and his cock.

His hands roughly grab your ankles, bringing them to his shoulders. He wraps his arm around your legs to hold them close against his chest. With a fluid movement, he lifts himself onto his knees and suddenly the angle is deeper, his pace brutal, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

Skin slaps skin as Eddie fucks you into oblivion.

You’re aching and raw, and Eddie is filling you up in a way you never thought possible. You never want this to end, never want to do anything else but be wrecked by Eddie fucking Munson.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he moans nearly bending you in half. “I’m gonna cum in this tight pussy, baby.”

“Yes, Eddie! Fucking come inside me. Fill me up.”

“Fucking gonna pump you full.”

Your final orgasm comes out of nowhere and happens mere seconds before his. The hot slick wetness of his release fills you so much that your body can’t contain it. Even as he’s still fucking himself through his pleasure, you can feel him leaking out of you, dripping down your ass and onto the rumpled bedsheets. Another stain for him to deal with at some point.

Eddie leans forward and now you really are bent in half, if only for a second. Long enough for him to give you one more kiss, teeth clacking together in your excitement as his hips stutter for a moment, then finally stop.

All is quiet except for the sounds of you two trying to catch your breath.

Your ankles slip from his sweaty shoulders and Eddie pulls back. “Fuck, babe. That was the fucking best.” He’s still inside you, somehow still twitching even in his afterglow. He stares between your spread legs, watching his cock slide out and admiring the mess he’s made.

“All mine now, sweetheart,” he coos, a hand reaching out to stroke your thigh. His eyes meet yours, his lips pulled up into that grin you love so much.

“I was always yours, Eddie,” you pant.

Sitting up, you reach for him as he reaches for you, his hand cupping the back of your head and yanking you into another hungry kiss. He moans into your mouth, tongue continuing its exploration from before. Already you can feel your desire building again, although did it ever really go away? No, no it didn’t.

Your cunt is a sticky mess and when you and Eddie finally break away you say, “I should probably clean up.”

With a smirk, Eddie’s nose brushes yours. “It’s my mess. I’ll do it.” Before descending between your legs.

Needless to say, you don’t get much sleep that night. Nor do you study much the next day.

Eddie passes the test on Monday anyway, and when he proudly shows you the grade, you reward him with another sleepover.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #joseph quinn #eddiemunson #josephquinn #stranger things

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purplespaceace · 3 years ago

Text

very few characters actually have adhd in media, and when they do, what people mean by that is just that they fidget a lot, not that they have adhd. the only character with adhd I can think of where I’ve watched/read it and I’ve gone, “oh, this character actually has adhd” is Jake peralta from Brooklyn 99. so, here’s my take on how to write adhd, with examples from Brooklyn 99.

I’ll do the best I can to separate them into three categories; the three things people look for in adults with ADHD, which are rejection sensitivity dysphoria, an interest-based nervous system, and emotional hyperarousal.

I’ll also randomly bold and italicize bits so people with ADHD can actually read it.

Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria, or RSD

Rejection sensitivity dysphoria makes people with ADHD overly sensitive to criticism, even if they perceive a rejection and there actually isn’t one. Their emotions are also very strong generally. Because of RSD, people with ADHD become people-pleasers and can develop anxiety because they’re so eager to please.

For me, RSD makes me cry an embarrassing amount for any little reason. in your writing, make your characters overdramatic, criers, and/or people-pleasers. They’ll have trouble saying no. They may also be over competitive, as their perceived rejection may include losing.

how does Jake show this in b99? When Jake comes up with a catchphrase and Rosa says it’s terrible, jake is far more hurt than he should be. He hates losing, and he gets overly upset whenever someone says they don’t like him or don’t trust him, etc. he’s also a people pleaser who has trouble saying no.

An interest-based nervous system

An interest-based nervous system includes hyperfocuses and an inability to pay attention. It stems from the fact that we can’t make as much dopamine as neurotypicals. This means that while neurotypicals get dopamine after completing a task, people with ADHD don’t. That means that people with ADHD don’t have any reason to do tasks, especially those they don’t like. This leads to executive dysfunction—people with ADHD will know they have to or want to do something, but they can’t seem to do it. people with ADHD hyperfocus on things that bring them dopamine. I was obsessed with warrior cats for three years. But hyperfocuses can also last a short amount of time—I’ll have a drawing idea in the middle of class and won’t be able to concentrate on anything else before I finish it. this is where our impulsiveness comes from. we can leap into things we think will give us dopamine without thinking, which can lead to injury. We also tend to tell people personal things they don’t want to hear because of this, and don’t have very good boundaries. We sometimes say whatever comes into our head, which can also result in us being rude on accident. Our voices can also get very loud or we can interrupt people frequently because we’re so impulsive. When people with ADHD hyperfocus, they can forget about anything else. I’ll forget to eat if I’m busy reading a Wikipedia article about feminism in the 1850s, and won’t go to the bathroom or drink water either. It’s also important to note that taking away distractions doesn’t help, because we can do things like pick at our skin and daydream—something that people with ADHD do a lot of. Because of executive dysfunction, people can call people with ADHD lazy or irresponsible.

people with ADHD can also be extremely indecisive because ADHD affects our executive functioning, and making decisions requires planning and prioritizing, and task initiation, which are both executive functions!

people with ADHD also have poor memory for important things, but tend to remember random bits of trivia. Poor memory leads to object permanence problems, which means people with ADHD can forget to call a friend back for weeks, forget that they need to read library books in a closed cabinet, or forget that the vegetables they got will go bad. People can sometimes say that people with ADHD don’t care about anything because of this.

people with ADHD can also be prone to depression because of under or overstimulation. Boredom feels painful for people with ADHD. If we’re overstimulated, we can experience sensory overload—if things are too bright or too loud, if too many things are touching us at once—often it’s not because the thing is too intense, but because too many things are happening at once.

We also have something some people call dolphin brain, where we jump from one thing to another. From the outside, it looks really random, but I find that when I’m talking to another neurodivergent communication is generally easier. For instance, someone with ADHD might see a bee at a baseball field and tell their team about the time they saw whales at seaworld because their little brother was also stung by a wasp there. people will see no connection on the outside, but it makes perfect sense to the person with ADHD.

people with ADHD can also be overachievers, either because they hyperfocus on schoolwork or their RSD makes it so that failing at something isn’t an option. people with ADHD can also be very controlling and stubborn, probably because we hyperfocus on something and cant handle it being any different, and any change to our plans can be seen as rejection.

we can also have a hard time ordering our thoughts or doing stuff like math in our head. a lot of the time I number my thoughts like, 1. this reason, 2. this reason, etc. even if theres only two or sometimes I just need the 1. as a transition for my brain. when I don’t write it down or organize it like that it feels like I’m trying to grasp ropes that have been covered in oil (it’s not going to happen) and then my brain gets all jumbled and I have to restart at the beginning. this is probably just me, but it feels the same way when I’m reading long paragraphs of something uninteresting, or even short bits of historical documents because the way they phrase things is really pompous and hard to process.

also, stuff like caffeine calms us down and helps us focus. people who don’t take medication (me) often drink coffee or caffeinated sodas to focus.

another random tip, but if your character with ADHD also is genderfluid or genderflux, they might have a hard time figuring out their gender sometimes, because we can be known to have a hard time putting our feelings into words or our brains will just go, “nope, not thinking about that right now” and move on, which can be pretty frustrating.

people with adhd also have a trait called time blindness, where we have no idea how long something takes and therefore can’t manage our time very well. this often results in us being late or just sitting around the house because we got ready way too early.

we also have something called consequence blindness—we do things and are completely unaware of the consequences. if I don’t brush my teeth, I get cavities. but I don’t think about that when I’m deciding I’m too tired to brush my teeth.

in b99, jake regularly stays up all night solving cases and watches documentaries on random topics. He’s also very distractible—when they’re trying to find the person who sent Captain Holt death threats in the train yard, Jake says he and captain holt should take a train trip together sometime. Jake says that he’ll forget Amy if they don't work together because he’s like a goldfish.

Emotional hyperarousal

This is the only thing people tend to include when writing characters: the fidgeting. People with ADHD tend to need more stimulation than others, so we’ll do things like draw during class and chew on pens.

people with ADHD can also have apd, or auditory processing disorder. we tend to watch shows with subtitles on and may take a second to process what you’re saying, or hear it wrong. The subtitles thing may be partially do to creating just the right amount of stimulation, but if I don’t have subtitles, me and my other friends with ADHD will watch tv with the volume turned up very high. People with ADHD also can have a hard time interpreting other people‘s tone and have a hard time controlling their own. They can be bad at social cues and have poor manners because we don’t pick up on that stuff.

people with ADHD also tend to observe everything or nothing at any given time, mostly based on the amount of stimulation they have—if they dont have a lot in their main task, they’ll need to take in something else at the same time. Likewise, if I’m hyperfocusing on something I often don’t notice anything else, like if someone asks me a question.

in b99, Jake fidgets with things a lot. In the intro, he’s picking up and examining a figurine on his desk, likely because he was bored with paperwork or some other task.

#adhd #writing #writing adhd #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #brooklyn99 #Jake peralta #Adhd Jake #neurodivergent #writing tips #adhd problems #adhd misconceptions #nd #neurodivergence

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solemnly-mischievous · 3 years ago

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Could pls you write something where the marauders and you are taking about your safe word and boundaries?!

Thanks! <33

hell yeah! remember kids, if you're gonna engage in Practices of Dominant and Submissive Dynamics, these talks are always very important and essential and good. consent is sexy. stay safe. all that.

also, i'd never claim to be an expert on the topics they talk about - if i get anything off or word anything poorly, do tell me and i'll amend that.

anyway also the things they put on their hard limit list are not off the table for future fics, so keep that in mind :)

Contains: Fluff, discussion of bodily fluids & cnc, mentions of degradation and praise

Word count: 1.5K

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It's about one AM in the Gryffindor common room, and all your housemates are asleep—the only sound you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the sound of pages turning as Remus flips through his book.

You're laying in Remus' lap, his fingers combing absentmindedly through your hair and massaging your scalp. It feels so good.

"Oi—watch the cakes—"

"You watch your stupid feet, Prongs, you're stepping on my cloak—"

"—I swear to god if you drop the pumpkin juice, I'll throw you and your bloody cloak into the fire—"

"Merlin, James, shut up, you're so loud—"

You hear Remus huff a soft laugh and you smile along: Your boyfriends are many things, but stealthy and discreet are not one of them. One would think the infamous pranksters of Hogwarts would be better at sneaking around in the dead of night—but then again, who needs to be light on their feet when there are charms and Invisibility Cloaks?

James and Sirius enter the common room as quietly as they can manage—which is to say, not that quiet at all—each bearing a large plate full of midnight snacks and drinks they've retrieved from the kitchen. (The house elves are always more than happy to see them.)

"Aw, look at them," Sirius murmurs to James, and he nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he looks at you and Remus. It's certainly a heartwarming scene, and you'd be content to stay there forever, but something's missing.

"C'mere," you whisper to the boys, holding your arms out and making grabby hands. "Cuddle."

They're more than happy to oblige, setting the plates on the table in front of the couches and piling on, Sirius leaning against Remus' shoulder and James sitting on the floor in front of you and Remus. You reach out and tug at his curls affectionately—he leans into the touch.

"We brought you your favorite chocolate cakes," James murmurs to you. "The elves made more just for you—even they know you love them. Oh, and Remus—there's pumpkin juice for you."

"Thank you," Remus says warmly, ruffling James' hair as he reaches by to grab a goblet. "Did you say hi to the elves for me?"

"Yeah," Sirius says, "they miss you and they're going to file for divorce if you don't visit them soon."

"Divorce? From all of them?" Remus' tone is laughing. "I don't think I could handle the legal fees."

"Who'd get custody?" you wonder.

"Besides, Moony knows he's married to us, if not legally but in spirit. When you think about it, Moony's a homewrecker," James jokes, and Sirius cackles in delight.

Your eyelids droop as Remus scratches along your scalp lightly, and Sirius catches you. "Hey, hey, wait, we're not sleeping yet. We have things to talk about."

"Talk about them faster," you mumble, and James laughs.

"Alright, alright," Remus says amiably. "We'll make it fast so you can get to sleep soon, alright? But you're gonna need to be coherent and awake right now, okay?"

"Fine," you whine, and you ease into a sitting position so you aren't tempted to fall asleep right there.

"Good girl," Sirius murmurs, and you shiver involuntarily.

"Okay, none of that right now—clear heads, all of us," Remus says. He looks at you and gives you a small smile. "There'll be plenty of time for that later."

"So how do we start?" Sirius asks. "Do we just... talk about what works, what doesn't?"

"I think we should start with the safeword." Remus hums thoughtfully. "You guys know the stoplight system?"

You and James shake your heads; Sirius nods.

"Green for go on, yellow for slow down, red for stop," Remus explains. "It's important to check in consistently, so we can be sure everything's alright."

"Wait, so yellow is..." You trail off.

"Yellow is, er, we don't need to stop, but I'm not one hundred percent comfortable or confident in what we're doing right now, so can we slow down and talk about it or change what we're doing?" Sirius explains, and you nod.

"Ah." You think about it. "Right, yeah, I think the stoplight system sounds fine."

"Same," James says, and Sirius voices his agreement.

In all your time at Hogwarts, the early years especially, never in a million years would you have thought you'd be here right now—in a polyamorous relationship with the troublemakers of the grade, discussing safewords and kink negotiations.

But what's life without a few surprises?

"We can all use the colors," Remus adds, "even if we're not the one subbing. Anyone can check in at anytime. Okay?"

Once that's been established, he pushes forward with, "Okay, so nitty-gritty: What are our boundaries? What do we not want to touch with a ten-foot pole?"

"No bodily fluids," James puts forth, "except for, well, you know. Just spit and come, I think. No blood or piss or anything like that."

You nod. "I don't wanna draw blood. Pain is okay, like bruises and bitemarks or the like, but I don't know about actual... wounds and stuff. For now, at least."

Remus nods. "Absolutely."

"Oh," Sirius says, looking vaguely bashful—which is a sight, because the Sirius Black, looking shy? "Um. I like to dom, right? Like usually, I do. But when I switch and sub, er, I don't like to be degraded. I love doing the degrading, but I don't know about being the degraded one."

Knowing Sirius' past, you understand completely. The rest of the Marauders nod as well, and James shifts towards Sirius, leaning against his leg in a comforting gesture. Sirius smiles at him, soft and affectionate.

"How about you, Moony?" you ask Remus.

"Hm." He thinks about it for a second. "I don't think I would want to do consensual non-consent."

"What's that?" James pokes at Remus' leg.

"Like, when you agree beforehand that a scene is going to be... Non-consensual. Usually, it's so the sub can pretend to struggle and protest and fight back and such. It's a fantasy, kinda like a coping mechanism, and I get it, and I respect people who do like it, but I don't think it's for me."

"So, all in all," Sirius summarizes, "No bodily fluids, no blood, no forced fantasies."

"Sums it up about right," James agrees. "And no degradation for when you're subbing."

"Yep."

"If at any time we think of something that we want to add to the hard-limit list," Remus says, "just say it. Even if it's the middle of a scene or anything, consider this a priority."

Sounds of agreement and understand come from the three of you.

"Also, just for a semi-reference," Sirius says, "I'm a switch, with a lean for being dominant. Remus is... I think, just dominant?"

Remus inclines his head. "I've never had the urge to sub, yet. Again, things might change."

Personally, you thought the idea of Remus on his knees, begging for the three of you, was very appealing, but that's up to Remus to decide.

"I'm also a switch, but I don't know if I have a lean," James pipes up. "I enjoy both equally, it just kind of depends on the moment."

Sirius nods, then looks at you. You're in the middle of leaning over James' head to nab a chocolate cake from the platter—the epitome of grace and dignity.

"I'm a switch," you say, chocolate cake in hand, "with a submissive lean. Like, I think... I think one day, I'd like to try to dom. Maybe. But usually I'm more than happy to sub."

"What a well-balanced group we are," James comments, and Remus snickers.

You yawn right on cue, and Sirius laughs. "Getting too tired, are we?"

"Yeah, but! I was absolutely clearheaded through all that. Fully concentrated. No distractions."

James eyes your chocolate cake.

"One distraction."

"I suppose we can talk about other things another night," Remus says, as your eyelids flutter again with tiredness.

"Other things?" James asks.

"Yeah. Specific kinks, stuff we'd like to try. Rules, corresponding punishments..." The werewolf winks at you. "Rewards."

"I like rewards," you murmur sleepily.

"For another night," Sirius agrees, yawning as well. He looks sadly at the two plates of goodies stacked on the table. "We got all that food for nothing."

"Nah, we can bring it back up to our dorm and charm it so it doesn't go bad," James says. "No worries."

"Right, right. Alright, you grab one plate, Remus grabs the other, I'll take her back up."

"Hey, why do you get to take her?"

"Because I said it first," Sirius maintains, like the dignified adult he is, and scoops you up before any of the other Marauders can protest.

You fall asleep that night on James' bed, in his warm embrace and surrounding by the calming sounds of your boyfriends' steady breathing. All in all, it hasn't been a bad night at all.

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