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holy-puckslibrary · 11 months ago

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━ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄

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pairing(s) — (soft)dark!QUINN HUGHES x gray!reader word count — 4k

note — i am so sorry for this (not really)

recommended viewing — sorority row (2009)

bingo squares and additional content warnings under the cut.

bingo squares —orgasm control, non-consensual voyeurism (+ pictures taken) and implied past mutual masturbation (dubcon — you’ll see) additional content warnings — dom!reader + subby-as-hell!quinn (ngl he’s kind of a pathetic loser here, but that’s why we love him), m!receiving oral (perhaps too much idk you tell me) + cum play x2, quinn rendered dumb and speechless by his raging humiliation kink and his need for degradation (and an itty bitty bit of praise — quinn: new kink unlocked), i have been plagued w ball play as of late so im subjecting yall to it, mention of edging and orgasm denial, oh and just some pheromone kink bits and a cute lil oral fixation moment or two, nothing to see here!

QUINN HUGHES WAS ENAMORED the moment he saw you.

Three rows from the front. Laptop cracked, but more for show than anything. All your glittery, coveted attention fixed on the cellphone resting in your palm while you tapped away, your lips loosely draped over the pen you were gnawing on.

You were positively mesmerizing.

He briefly contemplated sliding into one of the open seats beside yours, but a gaggle of your insipid "sisters" beat him to the punch.

As if he would’ve been able to capitalize on the golden opportunity anyway; it took half the semester for him to form a full, coherent sentence in your vicinity.

Ironically, Quinn was far more comfortable when you weren’t looking.

Or, rather, Quinn was more comfortable when you didn’t know he was looking.

He didn’t interact much with anyone outside of his coding cohort and the club team—athletic prowess only garners state-school clout when your sport is top dog, and this was a football school, through and through. As such, and at the hands of his tragic awkwardness, he rarely spoke to women, if ever.

And he never got face time with any as effortlessly beautiful and interesting as you.

Discovering that your large bedroom window faced the secluded side street he took to get home from practice each night felt like a sign. He’d struck gold, and it would be a shame not to put the knowledge to good use.

In his own shadowy domain, he could be whatever and whoever he wanted; he could be the guy who got the girl.

It was exhilarating, really.

Quinn supposed some of that rush should be attributed to the feeling of unbridled control his daily routine sorely and consistently lacked. He hardly, if ever, felt like an active participant in his own life.

But in the privacy of his own head—and the safety of the very curb he’s stood on now—there were no alpha douche-canoes to eat up your finite attention or loud airheads to crave your tutelage.

Between sundown and sun-up, you were his and his alone.

— Even if you were none the wiser.

As benevolent as you may appear, he knew you would never give a guy like him the time of day. Quinn was a lot of things, but stupid's never been one of them.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence if it weren’t for your shared smaller sessions on Thursday mornings. Just you and him… and ten other students, with the occasional appearance of your slacker TA—how romantic.

And if he couldn’t even get a moment alone with you, he definitely wouldn’t get a night inside of you, either.

So, he settles.

Quinn puts up with the bugs and tolerates the bushes, swallowing his pride (and his mortification), and takes what he can get.

He's accustomed to maneuvering in the dark—this stretch of pavement in particular—but he stumbles through the dimly lit street like he’s got two left feet that only grew in yesterday.

If you were privy to his impromptu audition for Bambi, you don’t mention it.

And if you clocked the obnoxious bulge tenting his jeans, you don’t acknowledge that, either.

Quinn isn’t entirely sure this is happening in his real, waking life; it’s far too good to be true.

This is not at all where he thought the night would go when your name flashed across the screen.

When he hesitantly clicked ‘accept’ and brought the phone to his ear, all while still palming himself to the memory of your head tossed back in ecstasy—the way it was before the lights went out abruptly —Quinn assumed he’d soon be gripping steel bars.

“H-How’d you get this number?” he asked after hearing his name.

You whispered it so ardently he could almost feel your breath on his cheek. It made him shiver and, momentarily, forget he’d likely been caught red-handed—literally.

“You made the group chat for our section, silly.”

Instinct compelled Quinn to chastise himself, but knowing you remembered that minute detail—a nothing of a fact, really—was enough to override the urge entirely.

And the complete lack of ire in your voice lured him into a false sense of security yet to be disproven.

He gulped and willed his hand to stop moving. “Oh, right. Uh, is there something you need? Did the outline for next week not go through? Because if not, I can just re-send it ri—”

“Meet me at the same door as last time,” you sliced through his rambling with a tone that was neither foreboding nor comforting.

Then, the line went dead.

For once, Quinn was grateful to be so eager to please. If not for that zeal, he couldn't have walked up to the service door of Delta Nu.

Risking the wrath of your underlings was never a goal of his, but considering how quickly they turned up their plastic noses at him when he came by to drop off notes from the class you missed, Quinn couldn’t imagine worse circumstances for Round Two.

When the backdoor swung in, you spoiled him in all your glory and the assurance of an empty house.

Out of pure exhaustion—and in his excitement to resume his ritual after a long week away—it slipped his mind; tonight is the best and biggest Kappa Tau rager.

Hence the ghost town

“Do you stand out there all night, stalker?”

Quinn’s head bobbed despite the apt insult. Then, he remembered you couldn’t see his reply, given that you were leading him up a staircase.

“M-Most nights, yeah.”

At that, you spun on your heel. Quinn shook like a leaf as you stepped forward. Gripping the railing, a hand on either side of his shrunken form, you invaded his personal space for the sole purpose of degrading him further.

The sneer hadn’t reached your eyes, but it speared him just the same. “God, you’re fucking pathetic.”

Quinn launched into an attempt at groveling, but his own verbal clumsiness rendered the effort futile.

However, his sputtered half-thoughts and litany of sentences that went nowhere were brought to a screeching halt by a single, manicured finger. Unable to process the touch and the wicked grin on your otherwise cherubic face concurrently, he froze.

His predicament worsened when you gently breached the tight seam of his lips to rest your interruption against his tongue.

You stepped closer; he saw stars. “I like that.”

It was at that moment Quinn realized you came straight down to the side-yard...because he could taste you. As you massaged his tongue with the pad of your finger, effectively rubbing your essence into his body, it took every ounce of strength to keep himself from busting right there in your foyer.

Still, he managed the mortification he sought to avoid.

“Are you… Are you humping me?” you barked with an incredulous snort.

Humiliation blurred his vision as you backed away from him; it wasn’t his fault your perfume elicited a Pavlovian bodily reaction.

You kept your finger in his mouth as you bit back genuine laughter, but that just made him harder.

“Y’know,” you hummed, contemplative. You paused to watch your pointer finger slowly thrust in and out of his needy mouth. Your smirk was noticeably wider when you spoke again. “My last boyfriend couldn’t even text me back—or remember that he was in a monogamous relationship.”

Quinn blinked. “Your last boyfriend?”

The question was garbled by your finger—and his own sucking. It didn’t matter, though. His reply wasn’t necessary.

At least, not yet.

“Mhmm, my last one.”

You repeated yourself as if you were speaking to a child and not to the grown man whose boner was digging into your skin.

It made him whimper. Your condescension was his kryptonite, apparently.

“But...I know my next one will be different; you’re too devoted to hurt me.”

He wasn’t given time to respond because as soon as you got your desired reaction—mewling akin to a bleating lamb and the whites of his eyes—you were dragging him up the remaining stairs and into the president’s suite.

Quinn’s spent countless hours wondering what your bedroom looked like, and even more fantasizing about what might happen if he ever saw it firsthand. His mouth splits after working up the nerve to compare the reality of your space to his mental notes, but before he can shove out any words, you’re backing him across the room with a devious glint in your eyes.

“W-What are you doing?” he asks when his back hits glass.

Right now, he’s pressed against his standing window into your most private moments. It feels wrong to be on this side of the wall.

Quinn gets none of the bubbly warmth he assumed he would if he ever found himself here. Instead, he feels unbelievably small as he drowns in a sea of poor choices.

“I think a little exhibitionism would be good for you, Hughes.”

"I-I don’t understand…”

You smile. His stupid heart flutters.

God, love’s fucking embarrassing.

Again, you crowd his space. This time, though, until there’s barely enough room between the window pane and your body for his wilted one. You press a single, fleeting kiss to his pulse point, your breath fanning over his clammy skin. His hitches in his throat.

“I want you to see things from my point of view.”

The words seep into his neck. Your intentions slam into him like a semi-truck going full speed. Anyone walking on the path—his path— would need only to venture a peek at your window to know exactly what was happening.

It would be too easy to watch him the way he’s watched you for weeks.

A taste of his own medicine.

The candy-coated threat shouldn’t have the effect that it does. Given how emotionally charged the air’s become—for him, at least—it makes sense for his body to get some wires crossed; the same sticky emotion causing him to wither in fear should not be making him harder than ever.

He isn’t expecting you to kiss him, so it takes Quinn’s mind a beat to catch up. Still, he melts into the affection like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Though, as soon as Quinn regains enough composure to actually participate, you kill the kiss as swiftly as you brought it to fruition.

He chases after your mouth, much to your amusement.

“What, sad there was no tongue?” you tease as if you weren't the one to ruined the moment.

Quinn doesn’t find you very funny right now.

“We’re going to play a little game.”

Your lips brush his as your hushed words march out, but he remains still. He knows better now than to ask questions prematurely. You hum in acknowledgment, satisfied.

Quinn beams. He's always been a quick study.

You take him by the wrist and guide him into the space you just vacated.

Physically, he knows he’s stronger. It wouldn’t take much to overpower you, but that means nothing in the face of your mental sway. Quinn can’t move because you don’t want him to—because you haven’t told him he can.

And any hope of gaining the upper hand crashes out onto the concrete the moment your bare knees hit the carpet.

Quinn knows he’s a dead man when your hands coast up his thighs.

“Put your hands on the window sill.” He does without hesitation. “Keep them there. You move, I stop. Understand?”

“Yes, I-I understand.”

“Good boy,” you say.

It’s more of a taunt than true praise, but his bulge twitches all the same before your eyes. The slight betrayal announces the internal chaos in the wake of the unexpected praise.

Quinn knew he liked that, but he didn’t want you to know it, too. What little control he managed to horde dissipates.

The delight on your face confirms the worst; you plan to do with that information what he hoped you wouldn’t. “God, I am going to have so much fun with you.”

It's an uphill battle, trying to keep his eyes open and his hands where they are supposed to be.

Quinn tastes nirvana when you finally flick the tip of your tongue over his cherry-red tip, the skin having adopted a luminous intensity courtesy of the few street lamps nearby. Glowing, after too much teasing.

Normally, he veered toward edging and denial JOI content, especially if the voice actor sounded anything like you. Tonight, he’s never hated a concept more. Still, he's making sure he behaves because he knows you’ll reward him handsomely.

You can be sweet when you want to be.

Like right now, for instance. You’re snuggling your face into his body, generously nuzzling his painfully stiff length with your cheeks. Whenever the friction mounts to anything substantial, you pull back to decorate his hips and inner thighs with little pecks.

They're reminiscent of the chaste parting kisses you’ve given his cheek in the past just to make him squirm.

You lap up what you can of the escaping arousal, hungrily drinking down all he has to offer. You do your best, you really do, but there’s just too much. The successor to each puddle arrives faster than you expect, and quicker than you can keep up with.

So, you stop trying.

You’re both so desperate, anyway.

Quinn bites back a scream when your dominant hand loops around the base of his cock; the cruel, beautiful beast only settling once the middle finger finally reaches the accompanying thumb. The pressure is light, but encompassing enough to make him dizzy.

So dizzy, in fact, that he actually appreciates your one rule.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what torture you enact next.

Blinking up at him, you rub the leaking tip over and between your lips. With one hand braced against his bare thigh and the other unchanged, you gently tug downward as you suckle the bulbous head.

The sensation is unlike anything Quinn has felt in his limited experience, which he wears like a scarlet letter. The little huffs that make him feel like a dog panting in mid-July remind him that while he's gotten a blowjob or two before, they were nothing like this one. They weren't from you. It might be unfair to lump those instances in with the magic of your mouth.

You can’t compete where you don’t compare.

So, Quinn showers you in soft, airy whispers. Even when you pull back until only the ridge preceding the tip rests past your spit-stained lips, he goes on and on about how good your mouth feels and how much he adores you.

And, if he were slightly more coherent, maybe he would’ve caught the obvious squeeze of your thighs at his flushed cheeks and the reciprocal effect your lazy teasing.

His hips go rogue when you try to swallow him a little deeper, jerking forward and sending the firm tip to the back of your throat. Naturally, you lose your grip and gag around him, your eyes watering more and more with each subsequent unintended impact.

Quinn is bashfully apologetic, but you’re quick to remove him from your mouth.

“Shouldn’t you already know I like to choke on it?” your raspy voice goads.

You shoot him a wink before hollowing your cheeks to accommodate his wide girth, your tongue flattened and pressed tautly to the underside.

The shallow movement triggers images he shouldn’t have, bright and flashing through his head: of you, on your knees like this for that jerk-off ex-boyfriend of yours—of you, from a distance and fuzzy, forever immortalized in a single film unit pinned to the back wall of his closet.

Quinn does know you like to choke on it. He knows you like to be choked, too.Quinn knows a lot of things about you—likes, dislikes, sleep patterns, study habits… sexual preferences.

Your bizarre reaction to his Peeping Tom antics makes him wonder what you might know about him…

He’s given no time to fall down that rabbit hole on account of your nose brushing his public bone once more. Quinn cannot fathom how his length disappeared down your throat so smoothly, and it's useless to try, given how thoroughly muddied his head’s become with your tongue gently petting the delicate skin of his sack.

With your lips stretched around the base—and your thumb tucked into your palm to subdue innate reflex—you begin massaging what you can. Until you realize quinn has absolutely zero volume control. As crazy as his loud and breathy moans make you, you’ve come too far only to get this far.

Viscous, glasslike threads hang between your withheld mouth and his anguished cock in the lower fringe of your vision. Above you, Quinn is struggling, whimpering like a lost puppy caught in a storm.

Lips parted ever-so-slightly, his forehead rests against the frame, limp. He's white-knuckling the historic, but recently refurbished wood, trembling in your barely-there hold because he’s that aroused. Mindlessly teetering on the border of “too much” and “not enough," all the while mumbling unintelligibly between choppy breaths.

You could get drunk on those pretty sounds; you’re sure of it.

Maybe next time, you will.

“I know I said everyone was out, but I don’t think you want Ms. Patty busting through the door before you have a chance to.”

The thought of your sixty-year-old, strict-as-fuck house mother catching him with his pants around his ankles is just horrific enough to coax him a bit closer to the ground.

Quinn bites his lip in a show of good faith.

“Good boy,” you hum your approval while stroking him. “Now, tell me what you want. Tell me what you need to cum in my mouth, Quinn.”

“I need—f-fuck!” he grumbles, at war with himself. Ultimately, primal need overpowers the fickle social invention that is a shame: “I need you to play with… with my b-balls again—please.”

Delaying his wish, you wrap your mouth around him one last time. You need to elicit that one-of-one sudden, uneven intake of air—the giveaway gasp, the tremor of truth. Insatiable, you fill your throat to the brink. The distinct, thick scent of the day’s natural musk swirling with the sheen of hard work on the ice keeps you there until your vision blurs and drool pools under your tongue.

Motivated by a sticky, overdue reward and a whine bursting from deep in Quinn’s throat—the sweet sound of total surrender—you succumb to your own desire to make him feel the best he’s ever felt.

You lick at them gingerly at first, and with a doughy, flattened tongue. You meant to test the waters, to take things slow and drag out his orgasm, but a string of colorful language tumbles from his pretty, pink mouth to derail your plans.

With the dam crumbling, you have to suck one into your hot, wet mouth.

His reaction does not disappoint.

Your spit-soaked hands rise to his recently abandoned length as you devote equal attention to the pair with your mouth. Quinn swells and heavies on your tongue and everything is throbbing.

Including the tight heat between your knees, pulsing around the mere thought of him fucking you there instead.

“S’close, ‘m gonna c-cum soon—Shit!”

Amidst the drawn-out expletive, you detach in order to aim his release on his behalf (though very reluctantly), knowing full-well Quinn is far too gone to be capable of anything.

His eyelids flutter seconds before snapping open, intent to watch you watch him fall apart.

Oh, and fall apart he does…

Crude and ear-piercing, and over faster than either of you would’ve preferred, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little flattered by it. You enjoy how easy he is—how pliable.

His hips jerk too easily and his hands wander aimlessly, and you can’t bring yourself to chastise him, entirely consumed by the show unfolding at your hand. It's like he can’t help himself; can’t help but twitch and drip, can’t help but whimper and beg for anything and everything.

He won’t even let you pull away to catch your breath without whining. At one point, whether by accident or designed to keep you from retreating, Quinn’s knees squeezed together, effectively caging you in from both sides.

A messy concoction of cum, spit, and tears paints the lower half of your face. Quinn’s chest heaves as he watches it collect and drip down your neck and into the valley of your chest, soiling your delicate pajamas beyond repair.

Unfazed, you leave the emotionality to him while you lick your fingers clean. Once you’ve finished, you mop up the dissenter spray on your cheeks, chin, and décolletage, and greedily swallow it down, too. It's when you delve between your tits to scoop out the remainder of his spill that Quinn just about keels over.

He falls back against the window, and you shift back into your heels.

He rights his pants, and you wipe your mouth with the corner of your bathrobe.

For a while, you observe one another, having not been this close—or alone—together before.

That’s not to say you didn’t notice him, though.

You actually struggled not to, and it drove your now-ex insane. His enmity toward Quinn came to a head this afternoon. Unable to deny your raging, juvenile crush, you finally pulled the trigger on something that was a long time coming—and for reasons beyond that not-so-unfounded jealousy.

“C-Can I have a head-start before you call the c-cops?” Quinn asks.

He’s so timid, you can’t help but laugh. He blinks down, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he rifles through yours, searching for malicious intent or knotted strings—fury behind an unspoken threat.

You let him look; this is a conclusion he needs to reach without you holding his hand.

When the investigation runs its course having turned up nothing dubious, he slides down to the floor beside you. He’s reverted to avoiding eye contact, unfortunately. Quinn watches the tremor in his fingers instead.

“I am sorry, y'know, about… Well, uh, you know.”

You find the way he dances around committing a felony (repeatedly) weirdly endearing.

While you very well could put him out of his palpable misery—you can actually smell it on him—there's no fun to be found in that. As such, you force Quinn to wrestle with his words a bit longer.

Eventually, you offer him a shrug that isn’t the least bit pacifying.

“You’re going to make it up to me, don’t worry.”

His eyes snap to yours just as you knew they would. His throat quivers in the wake of a sharp gulp.

The nervous tick cracks your nonchalant demeanor. You roll your eyes. “If you’re going to keep watching, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Quinn’s eyes narrow, perplexed. You grin in anticipation.

“My vibrator’s dead, and I can’t find the right charger. Time to get your ass off the bench, Hughes.”

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chrismcleaneatspants · 11 months ago

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General season 2 opinions. MASSIVE TDI 2023 season 2 spoilers ahead (as well as a huge wall of text.) You've been warned.

Ok, so here's everything I like about the season (I can count them on my fingers)

-There were some funny jokes

-MKulia was entertaining and it's now in my top 5 favorite ships, but it's not perfect, as I'll explain later

-Hockey dudes were a joy to watch I suppose

-Bowie stole the show as usual

-There are a lot of neat challenges (The canoe, slide, and dog challenges was a particular stand outs to me)

-MK herself was really funny

-MacArthur's cameo was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one, and she bounces off of Chris really well

-Duncney is still broken up lol

Honestly that's about it in terms of positives, cuz I have a million other negatives for this supposed sequel to (imo) the best written season of the show.

-The Relationships were the single worst aspect about this season full stop. Ripaxel and Praleb are probably the worst couples the show has ever subjected me to. For Ripaxel, they basically removed anything interesting Ripper had going on and Axel wasn't allowed to live up to any kind of hype she created because one lame ass poem turned her into Ripper's girlfriend for the remaining duration of her run, only for the both of them to be tossed aside in episode 7 in perhaps the worst double elimination in the entire show.

-Praleb started off ok. I thought it was gonna be a one-sided crush plot initially before Episode 6. They had a couple cute moments before episode 8, of which their screentime became suffocating because afterwards is was this painful back and forth where Caleb tried explaining himself and Priya would be mad at him, then ally with him, then be mad at him again like it was so tiresome. By the time they got together in the finale again, I was wishing they had just followed up on Pramien instead. Caleb by himself was funny in the first half of season 2 and Priya was great in season 1, but the two of them together were insufferable

-Speaking of Priya, she went from one of the best characters in season 1 to one of the worst in season 2. Why did she have to make it all the way to episode fucking 12 after winning season 1?? Just for some generic heterosexual romance? They also made her so dumb with shit like knowing Julia is manipulating her but then getting a surprise Pikachu face when Julia manipulated her??? You spent your entire life preparing for this show, how the fuck did you not see this coming???

-Segwayying into Julia, she's the worst antagonist full stop. I've never seen such an absolute downgrade of a character. She was a goat in season 1 who was aware of her situation and acted accordingly because the stakes were real. Here? Reality basically warps around her just to keep her in the game. She does things characters would never fall for in season 1 and they just go with it?? They insist on keeping her in the finale and do basically nothing interesting with her. She's not even as funny as Island Heather at the end of the day.

-I mentioned MKulia earlier, so I'll just get to it here: I like it in concept. Two evil sapphics causing chaos together is really fun. My main issue is that it was very sudden. They both were not fans of each other at the end of season 1 and now I'm supposed to just believe they became friends off screen? I mean, I guess, but it's kinda cheap. I would have really liked it if it was straight up enemies to lovers ngl. Also the fact MK had very little agency outside of being Julia's lackey doesn't help either. I want to point to the fake contract thing, for instance. Why did Julia do that? That sounds like an MK thing to do.

-Time to dive into other characters: Damien is an absolute fucking tragedy. At the end of season 1, Damien had one ambition: win next season. They kinda did that, sure, but they regressed Damien into being a complete coward to do so, not to mention he didn't even go all the way either. Damien didn't get a W until episode 6 and tbh that was his only W. By the end of his tenure, I was left confused on what the point of his run was. (I'll come back to this later.)

-What was the point of Nichelle? Like seriously, what did she contribute to the season at all? They didn't do the ironic underdog story with her, and considering she was getting all egotistical and aggressive, i thought she was gonna be the antagonist for sure...until Julia got rid of her in episode 5 in a way that really shouldn't make sense cuz like Nichelle is an actual celebrity that stars in blockbuster movies, I'm pretty sure she could sniff a fake contract a mile away, right?

-Hockey dudes were great, but I felt like they were very dumbed down at times? Like they were just generic dumb dudes that just meandered around a lot of the time (Wayne in particular just straight up floated away from a challenge at one point)

-Bowie was alright too. His line delivery is great as usual, but let's not kid ourselves: In a well written season, he'd be going straight for Julia the next time his team lost. Bowraj was nice to see even if the season didn't really do a whole lot with it

-Am I the only one who thinks this season is a tad bit misogynistic? Like this is the shortest them phase the show as ever had (to the point where i'd argue teams don't really matter) and 4 of the 5 team phase boots were girls. Millie and Emma in particular were really bad. Like, you could make Millie a team phase boot without like shitting on her that hard. And Emma got like fuck all closure outside of breaking up with Chase off screen like wow, way to utilize such a high potential character, Fresh. And this is saying nothing about how the girls that did make it to the merge had plots basically dominated by romance and like nothing else. And then there's MKulia which is apparently intended to be a friendship but like is written like a romantic one at times. It gives me all-stars gwourtney vibes and (as a fan of gwourtney myself) not in a good way. At least MK and Julia were somewhat in character I guess, but they had their edges really sanded off and honestly as a friendship (situationship?) it's a complete downgrade from Millie and Priya in so many ways

-And another thing: who's the protagonist this season? Outside of Praleb, who am I supposed to care for? Who am I supposed to root for? By the halfway mark, the show doesn't really make any convincing arguments to root for like anyone there outside of maybe Damien? And he went gone in episode 10, so like, hockey dudes? No one has an interesting enough narrative for me to care.

-The immunity idol stinks as usual. Like, why did Damien do THE SAME FUCKING THING HEATHER DID IN ALL-STARS?? That actually pissed me off so much holy shit. The immunity idol as it stands in the show is basically a shitty plot device made to keep characters in as there's no real strategy revolved around it.

-Oh and another minor thing: Owen's cameo sucks, and that's entirely due to him not being physically aged up at all and just being a vehicle for the same dumb jokes they always make with him. so stupid

-Anyways, I spend an entire season with two shitass straight relationships taking up screentime, a whole multiude of potential plotlines from last season (pramien) and this season (scary girl's revenge, millie being the new ripper, damien's comeback, julia having internal conflict over her friendship (feelings?) for MK) being set up and just nothing being done with them, and characters in general just being nerfed or borderline out of character (Ripper) and what am I rewarded with?

-Soar Losers. The most boring nothing finale in the entire show. The choices for finalists suck, Wayne, while being the least bad option for a winner (and i do still like him a lot), is still a mid ass winner in the grand scheme of the entire show. And more praleb drama? fuck off I hate them so much. The challenge did not feel finale worthy at all, and honestly it was the worst challenge in the whole season. On top of being a bunch of nothing, the show decides to bring back the worst trope it ever had: losing hair as karma. I almost ragequit the episode on the spot that shit makes me so irrationally mad. I think it's even worse here because Julia still had hair after the fact, which makes it seem like they were aware it's not a popular TD trope but wanted to half commit to it anyways for the sake of tradition or something. Terrible finale to an already decently sized letdown of a season, but it has some ok MKulia moments I guess. The finale was just emblematic of the entire season, where things just happen and you're just expected to go along with everything. (Also side note how come Chase wasn't the one to jump off of the cart for pizza immediately?)

TL;DR reboot season 2 imo was a step down in every conceivable way from season 1 apart of i guess comedy and it's left a very sour taste in my mouth. I'm probably missing a few points that I'll add onto later but man it feels nice putting my opinion out there.

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cranberrv · 7 months ago

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i think it’s finally time to fill u guys in on my roster LOL.. be prepared for blood sweat and tears

geography:

his name is geography cuz i met him in geo class for the first time! he looks like a skinny matt dillon w lighter hair, and he’s literally 6’1”. i used to like him sososooso much and when we sat together in a desk change i went feral!!!1! he’s sooo funny and i lowk miss when he was normal cuz he used to be so cute and awkward but now he’s so weird and immature ughhh. he asked me out last semester and i said no and i kinda regret it but idk i wanna like him so bad cuz i literally liked him FIRST but ig hes more like a friend. we argue a lot (teasingly) and its sooo obvious hes flirting with me and its so cute but i dont know.. maybe high school sweethearts maybe not (bye pov him to our future kid “ya ur mom liked me first then rejected me and then hated me and now likes me again and we r married and we had you”)

riverdale:

hehehehe hes so cute! he is blonde and goes to the school im transferring to and hes totes my type! (but then again my type is toxic red flags) we snap a lot and i quickadded him (whoops) but ive had my eye on his forever because his pfp on tiktok is so cute and we have mutual friends and i have been waiting for him to appear on my quickadd for forever! he wants me to move to the new school and thats sweet and he apologized for losing our 50 day streak :((( he was like “whoops mb” and i was like “abt what lmao” and he said “for losing our streak!” like awwwhhh u care! hes lowk depressed (i stalked his reposts) and he doesnt do super well in school but i can help him! hes my moms fave boy

mickey mouse:

i added him as a joke cuz hes only a couple years older than me and hes related to a celeb i like and i found his snap and he added me back and we’re snapping me full face and stuff. hes SO cute and i only just met him but he seems so sweet i stalked his insta

jeremiah:

dw thats not his actual name its an inside joke! anyway the way i describe this is gonna sound like true love but i swear its not hehehe <3 ive known him since gr6 and we instantly clicked on a canoe trip and got along sooo well, talking to him for the first time is a core memory. we were homeschooled together during the pandemic and we started liking each other and it was middle school so it was obvs so innocent and adorable! he got me flowers and chocolate for secret santa when we were 12 :(( i lost feelings but he liked me for a whole year after and i promised we would date in high school and now its high school and i broke my promise. i feel bad lowkkk.. but anyway i heard me might like me again! we have been kind of distant recently because he became one of the “cool kids” and i became one of the “popular girls” so ig we’ re in super similar and close circles but idk we never talk. i ran into him at the gas station and hes still so cute tho

person d:

thats who i left jeremiah for LMFAOO we met in gr7 and he was in gr8 and i was instantly head over heels, he has a big nose and dusty brown hair and brown eyes and hes so cute awww :(( we barely talked in middle school but then we added each other and started full on talking! he was soooo sweet but he had his days when he was kind of a jerk. we argued a lot and i think he thought it was teasing each other but it does get a bit tiring. we stopped talking for a bit but were kind of back again, its so off and on. when its good its so good.

#🎀 announcements #tumblr is my diary

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thecrimecrypt · 2 years ago

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Crimes That Shook Britain (North East)

John Darwin In March 2002, John Darwin, 51, paddled out to sea in his canoe near his Hartlepool home. He never returned Coastguard rescue teams and police searched for him, but all they found was Darwin's paddle.

Several weeks later, the wreckage of his canoe washed up on a beach. With no body found by April 2003, John Darwin was declared dead. His widow Anne and their two sons grieved. Until December 2007 - when Darwin walked into a police station, claiming to have amnesia.

John Darwin was reunited with his sons and Anne, who'd moved to Panama, was delighted. Only, a pjoto emerged of Anne and John in Panama, together in 2006. The couple had actually faked John's death to claim his £250,000 life insurance.

Both Darwins were jailed for over six years - him for obtaining cash by deception, her for deception and money laundering.

Michael Atherton New Year's Day 2012 - taxi driver Michael Atherton, 42, shot dead his partner Susan McGoldrick, 47, her sister Alison Turnbull, 44, and niece Tanya Turnbull, 24, at his home in Peterlee. He then turned the gun on himself.

His stepdaughter survived after fleeing via a window. It emerged Atherton had a history of domestic violence. He blamed Alison for his arrest in 2008, after a row. When he discovered Susan had gone out with her sister that night, he said there'd be trouble if he saw Alison at his home. He said he'd stay in a hotel.

Yet the women arrived home before he'd left. A row erupted and Atherton got his gun from the car.

Mary Bell On 25 May 1968, the day before her 11th birthday, Mary Bell strangled Martin Brown, 4. His body was found in a derelict house in Newcastle.

Two months later, Mary enlisted a 13-year-old friend to help strangle Brian Howe, 3. His mutilated body was found on waste ground. When detectives questioned local children, Mary and her friend acted strangely, their stories changing. Officers soon realised Mary was a killer.

The friend was acquitted and gave evidence against Mary. The court heard Mary committed the crimes 'for the pleasure and excitement of killing'. Mary Bell was convicted of manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility. She was sentenced to life in detention, released aged 23, and given a new identity.

Raoul Moat Two days after being released from prison on 3 July 2010, Raoul Moat, 37, from Newcastle, went on the rampage with a sawn-off shotgun.

First he shot his ex Samantha Stobbart and her new partner Chris Brown. While on the run in Rothbury, Moat shot police officer David Rathboand in the face. Brown was killed, Stobbart injured and PC Rathboand blinded.

Police deployed armed officers in one of Britain's biggest manhunts. In a letter left with a friend, Moat declared war on officers, saying that he wouldn't stop 'until I am dead'. On 9 July, police tracked Moat to the river Coquet, leading to a stand-off. Police negotiated, but Moat shot himself the next morning.

Sadly, David Rathboand later took his own life.

Billy Dunlop - Double Jeopardy Pizza delivery girl Julie Hogg, 22, disappeared in November 1989. Eighty days later, her mother Ann found her decomposing, partially mutilated body behind a bath panel in Ann's Billingham home.

Julie's ex Billy Dunlop was charged with murder, yet juries at two trials failed to reach a verdict. He was cleared. The double jeopardy law (which meant Dunlop could not be tried again) meant he thought he'd got away with murder for 17 years.

Ann fought for double jeopardy laws to be scrapped and, in 2003. MPs backed changes allowing serious cases with compelling new evidence to be reopened. Dunlop pleaded guilty to murder in 2006, was jailed for life.

Gary Vinter = Freed to Kill Again Gary Vinter killed colleague Carl Edon, 22, in a railway workers' cabin in 1995. Vinter stabbed him 37 times, puncturing every organ. He was jailed for life, but released in 2006, after serving 10 years.

In July 2006, he married Anne White. But Vinter was recalled to prison after a New Year pub brawl. Released again in early 2008, he separated from Anne after attacking her at their home in Eston, Middlesbrough. That February, Vinter bundled his estranged wife into a car.

After holding her hostage at his mother's house, he stabbed Anne to death. He was jailed for life. In 2011, Vinter attacked Roy Whiting - killer of schoolgirl Sarah Payne - in jail.

In 2016, he received a third life sentence for trying to murder fellow 'life' Lee Newell behind bars.

#murder #truecrime #tc community #tcc family #serialkillers #killing #true crime community #blog #serialkiller #crimes that shook britain #england #billy dunlop #mary bell #gary vinter #john darwin #faked death #michael atherton #north east england

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koolkat9 · 2 years ago

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The Deepest Mysteries

Rating: T

Pairing: NedCan

Word Count: 581

Matthew was a mystery to many. He was quiet, kept to himself, keeping only a small group of friends and family close to him. Even those friends and family didn’t know everything, for there were a few things Matthew didn’t let anyone see.

Except with Jan.

It was a chilly autumn morning when Matthew and Jan set out in a canoe for a small day trip on the lake near Matthew’s cottage.

“Any particular destination?” Jan asked as they both started to paddle.

Matthew shrugged. “We’ll know when we get there.”

Jan shook his head with an affectionate smile. Spoken like a true adventurer.

They paddled for an hour or so before they reached a lovely cliffside. Jagged pikes poked out of the side every which way. Copper and soot blended together along the cuts of rock. And when the sun hit it just right, the whole cliff twinkled.

Matthew stopped, and Jan followed suit. Matthew turned towards the middle of the canoe and grabbed the canvas and paint set he had packed. The Dutchman quirked a brow, not having realized the paints until now.

“You paint?” Jan asked as he watched Matthew set everything up.

“Sometimes…” Matthew replied half-heartedly. He was already becoming engrossed in his task.

Jan watched intently as his lover pulled, pushed, pressed, and flicked the brush across the canvas. He had only ever seen Matthew’s eyes that sharp when he had come to Jan’s run-down house when Jan was on what he assumed was the brink of death. Something was alluring about it that sent Jan’s heart into a frenzy.

Every time Matthew looked over at the cliffs again, Jan tried to steal a glance at how the piece was coming along. From Jan’s angle, it was rather abstract, but as Matthew added more and more details it started to come together. It was still a little abstract…or perhaps surreal was a better description as the painting did resemble the cliffs. But it was more wild and free, like a dream or the essence of nature itself.

When Matthew finally realized Jan’s staring he pulled the canvas close to him.

“It’s beautiful,” Jan commented.

“Ah…w-well…it’s nothing special…Just a hobby.”

“It’s good. Very you.”

Matthew frowned, not sure how to take the comment.

“I-I mean that in a good way,” Jan quickly added, “Wild, untamed, but… so beautiful.”

Matthew’s blush darkened, eyes falling to the canvas. “W-We should have lunch,” Matthew proposed, putting his painting to the side.

For a moment, Jan worried he had made Matthew uncomfortable. He gave Matthew’s knee an affectionate squeeze before reaching into the cooler for the food they brought. “Got to keep your energy up with all that wonderful work.”

Matthew giggled slightly and accepted the sandwich Jan handed to him. “Thank you. I genuinely appreciate having at least one fan. I’m just…”

“Not used to it?”

“Exactly.”

“You should be.”

Matthew buried his face in his hands, but Jan caught sight of his grin. “God Jan, you’re going to make my heart explode.”

Jan leaned forward and kissed the back of Matthew’s hands. Matthew pulled his hands apart slightly to look at his lover.

“I love you,” Jan beamed.

“Love you too…”

Jan was lucky. He was one of the few to see Matthew for who he truly was. Timid and quiet sure, but also talented, creative, with more love in his heart than any other person Jan had met. And Jan was lucky enough to call that man his.

#hetalia #hws #hws netherlands #hws canada #nedcan #fluff #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction

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rjalker · 2 months ago

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HG Wells is mostly crap at writing.

This one at least has an interesting *premise*. The same cannot be said for most of them.

Æpyornis Island by Herbert George Wells

almost 5k words. It can be at least a writing prompt for people who know how to write an interesting story.

The man with the scarred face leant over the table and looked at my bundle.

“Orchids?” he asked.

“A few,” I said.

“Cypripediums?” he said.

“Chiefly,” said I.

“Anything new?—I thought not. I did these islands twenty-five—twenty-seven years ago. If you find anything new here—well, it’s brand new. I didn’t leave much.”

“I’m not a collector,” said I.

“I was young then,” he went on. “Lord! how I used to fly round.” He seemed to take my measure. “I was in the East Indies two years, and in Brazil seven. Then I went to Madagascar.”

“I know a few explorers by name,” I said anticipating a yarn. “Who did you collect for?”

“Dawsons. I wonder if you’ve heard the name of Butcher ever?”

“Butcher—Butcher?” The name seemed vaguely present in my memory; then I recalled Butcher v. Dawson. “Why!” said I, “you are the man who sued them for four years’ salary—got cast away on a desert island—”

“Your servant,” said the man with the scar, bowing. “Funny case, wasn’t it? Here was me, making a little fortune on that island, doing nothing for it neither, and them quite unable to give me notice. It often used to amuse me thinking over it while I was there. I did calculations of it—big—all over the blessed atoll in ornamental figuring.”

“How did it happen?” said I. “I don’t rightly remember the case.”

“Well—you’ve heard of the Æpyornis?”

“Rather. Andrews was telling me of a new species he was working on only a month or so ago. Just before I sailed. They’ve got a thigh bone, it seems, nearly a yard long. Monster the thing must have been!”

“I believe you,” said the man with the scar. “It was a monster. Sinbad’s roc was just a legend of ’em. But when did they find these bones?”

“Three or four years ago—’91 I fancy. Why?”

“Why?—Because I found ’em—Lord!—it’s nearly twenty years ago. If Dawsons hadn’t been silly about that salary they might have made a perfect ring in ’em.—I couldn’t help the infernal boat going adrift.”

He paused. “I suppose it’s the same place. A kind of swamp about ninety miles north of Antananarivo. Do you happen to know? You have to go to it along the coast by boats. You don’t happen to remember, perhaps?”

“I don’t. I fancy Andrews said something about a swamp.”

“It must be the same. It’s on the east coast. And somehow there’s something in the water that keeps things from decaying. Like creosote it smells. It reminded me of Trinidad. Did they get any more eggs? Some of the eggs I found were a foot and a half long. The swamp goes circling round, you know, and cuts off this bit. It’s mostly salt, too. Well—What a time I had of it! I found the things quite by accident. We went for eggs, me and two native chaps, in one of those rum canoes all tied together, and found the bones at the same time. We had a tent and provisions for four days, and we pitched on one of the firmer places. To think of it brings that odd tarry smell back even now. It’s funny work. You go probing into the mud with iron rods, you know. Usually the egg gets smashed. I wonder how long it is since these Æpyornises really lived. The missionaries say the natives have legends about when they were alive, but I never heard any such stories myself. (No European is known to have seen a live Æpyornis, with the doubtful exception of MacAndrew, who visited Madagascar in 1745. H. G. W.) But certainly those eggs we got were as fresh as if they had been new-laid. Fresh! Carrying them down to the boat one of my [racial slur] chaps dropped one on a rock and it smashed. How I lammed into the beggar! But sweet it was as if it was new-laid, not even smelly, and its mother dead these four hundred years perhaps. Said a centipede had bit him. However, I’m getting off the straight with the story. It had taken us all day to dig into the slush and get these eggs out unbroken, and we were all covered with beastly black mud, and naturally I was cross. So far as I knew they were the only eggs that had ever been got out not even cracked. I went afterwards to see the ones they have at the Natural History Museum in London: all of them were cracked and just stuck together like a mosaic, and bits missing. Mine were perfect, and I meant to blow them when I got back. Naturally I was annoyed at the silly devil dropping three hours’ work just on account of a centipede. I hit him about rather.”

The man with the scar took out a clay pipe. I placed my pouch before him. He filled up absent-mindedly.

“How about the others? Did you get those home? I don’t remember—”

“That’s the queer part of the story. I had three others. Perfectly fresh eggs. Well, we put ’em in the boat, and then I went up to the tent to make some coffee, leaving my two heathens down by the beach—the one fooling about with his sting and the other helping him. It never occurred to me that the beggars would take advantage of the peculiar position I was in to pick a quarrel. But I suppose the centipede poison and the kicking I’d given him had upset the one—he was always a cantankerous sort—and he persuaded the other.

“I remember I was sitting and smoking and boiling up the water over a spirit-lamp business I used to take on these expeditions. Incidentally I was admiring the swamp under the sunset. All black and blood red it was, in streaks—a beautiful sight. And up beyond, the land rose grey and hazy to the hills, and the sky behind them red, like a furnace mouth. And fifty yards behind the back of me was these blessed heathen—quite regardless of the tranquil air of things—plotting to cut off with the boat and leave me all alone with three days’ provisions and a canvas tent, and nothing to drink whatsoever, beyond a little keg of water. I heard a kind of yelp behind me, and there they were in this canoe affair—it wasn’t properly a boat—and perhaps twenty yards from land. I realised what was up in a moment. My gun was in the tent, and besides I had no bullets—only duck shot. They knew that. But I had a little revolver in my pocket and I pulled that out as I ran down to the beach.

“‘Come back!’ says I, flourishing it.

“They jabbered something at me, and the man that broke the egg jeered. I aimed at the other—because he was unwounded and had the paddle, and I missed. They laughed. However, I wasn’t beat. I knew I had to keep cool, and I tried him again and made him jump with the whang of it. The third time I got his head, and over he went, and the paddle with him. It was a precious lucky shot for a revolver. I reckon it was fifty yards. He went right under. I don’t know if he was shot, or simply stunned and drowned. Then I began to shout to the other chap to come back, but he huddled up in the canoe and refused to answer. So I fired out my revolver at him and never got near him.

“I felt a precious fool, I can tell you. There I was on this rotten, black beach, flat swamp all behind me, and the flat sea, cold after the sunset, and just this black canoe drifting steadily out to sea. I tell you I damned Dawsons and Jamrachs and Museums and all the rest of it just to rights. I bawled to this [racial slur] to come back, until my voice went up into a scream.

“There was nothing for it but to swim after him and take my luck with the sharks. So I opened my clasp-knife and put it in my mouth and took off my clothes and waded in. As soon as I was in the water I lost sight of the canoe, but I aimed, as I judged, to head it off. I hoped the man in it was too bad to navigate it, and that it would keep on drifting in the same direction. Presently it came up over the horizon again to the south-westward about. The afterglow of sunset was well over now and the dim of night creeping up. The stars were coming through the blue. I swam like a champion, though my legs and arms were soon aching.

“However, I came up to him by the time the stars were fairly out. As it got darker I began to see all manner of glowing things in the water—phosphorescence, you know. At times it made me giddy. I hardly knew which was stars and which was phosphorescence, and whether I was swimming on my head or my heels. The canoe was as black as sin, and the ripple under the bows like liquid fire. I was naturally chary of clambering up into it. I was anxious to see what he was up to first. He seemed to be lying cuddled up in a lump in the bows, and the stern was all out of water. The thing kept turning round slowly as it drifted—kind of waltzing, don’t you know. I went to the stern and pulled it down, expecting him to wake up. Then I began to clamber in with my knife in my hand, and ready for a rush. But he never stirred. So there I sat in the stern of the little canoe, drifting away over the calm phosphorescent sea, and with all the host of the stars above me, waiting for something to happen.

“After a long time I called him by name, but he never answered. I was too tired to take any risks by going along to him. So we sat there. I fancy I dozed once or twice. When the dawn came I saw he was as dead as a doornail and all puffed up and purple. My three eggs and the bones were lying in the middle of the canoe, and the keg of water and some coffee and biscuits wrapped in a Cape ‘Argus’ by his feet, and a tin of methylated spirit underneath him. There was no paddle, nor in fact anything except the spirit tin that one could use as one, so I settled to drift until I was picked up. I held an inquest on him, brought in a verdict against some snake, scorpion, or centipede unknown, and sent him overboard.

“After that I had a drink of water and a few biscuits, and took a look round. I suppose a man low down as I was don’t see very far; leastways, Madagascar was clean out of sight, and any trace of land at all. I saw a sail going south-westward—looked like a schooner, but her hull never came up. Presently the sun got high in the sky and began to beat down upon me. Lord!—it pretty near made my brains boil. I tried dipping my head in the sea, but after a while my eye fell on the Cape ‘Argus,’ and I lay down flat in the canoe and spread this over me. Wonderful things these newspapers. I never read one through thoroughly before, but it’s odd what you get up to when you’re alone, as I was. I suppose I read that blessed old Cape ‘Argus’ twenty times. The pitch in the canoe simply reeked with the heat and rose up into big blisters.

“I drifted ten days,” said the man with the scar. “It’s a little thing in the telling, isn’t it? Every day was like the last. Except in the morning and the evening I never kept a look-out even—the blaze was so infernal. I didn’t see a sail after the first three days, and those I saw took no notice of me. About the sixth night a ship went by scarcely half a mile away from me, with all its lights ablaze and its ports open, looking like a big firefly. There was music aboard. I stood up and shouted and screamed at it. The second day I broached one of the Æpyornis eggs, scraped the shell away at the end bit by bit, and tried it, and I was glad to find it was good enough to eat. A bit flavoury—not bad, I mean, but with something of the taste of a duck’s egg. There was a kind of circular patch about six inches across on one side of the yolk, and with streaks of blood and a white mark like a ladder in it that I thought queer, but I didn’t understand what this meant at the time, and I wasn’t inclined to be particular. The egg lasted me three days, with biscuits and a drink of water. I chewed coffee berries too—invigorating stuff. The second egg I opened about the eighth day. And it scared me.”

The man with the scar paused. “Yes,” he said—“developing.

“I daresay you find it hard to believe. I did, with the thing before me. There the egg had been, sunk in that cold black mud, perhaps three hundred years. But there was no mistaking it. There was the—what is it?—embryo, with its big head and curved back and its heart beating under its throat, and the yolk shrivelled up and great membranes spreading inside of the shell and all over the yolk. Here was I hatching out the eggs of the biggest of all extinct birds, in a little canoe in the midst of the Indian Ocean. If old Dawson had known that! It was worth four years’ salary. What do you think?

“However, I had to eat that precious thing up, every bit of it, before I sighted the reef, and some of the mouthfuls were beastly unpleasant. I left the third one alone. I held it up to the light, but the shell was too thick for me to get any notion of what might be happening inside; and though I fancied I heard blood pulsing, it might have been the rustle in my own ears, like what you listen to in a seashell.

“Then came the atoll. Came out of the sunrise, as it were, suddenly, close up to me. I drifted straight towards it until I was about half a mile from shore—not more, and then the current took a turn, and I had to paddle as hard as I could with my hands and bits of the Æpyornis shell to make the place. However, I got there. It was just a common atoll about four miles round, with a few trees growing and a spring in one place and the lagoon full of parrot fish. I took the egg ashore and put it in a good place well above the tide lines and in the sun, to give it all the chance I could, and pulled the canoe up safe, and loafed about prospecting. It’s rum how dull an atoll is. When I was a kid I thought nothing could be finer or more adventurous than the Robinson Crusoe business, but that place was as monotonous as a book of sermons. I went round finding eatable things and generally thinking; but I tell you I was bored to death before the first day was out. It shows my luck—the very day I landed the weather changed. A thunderstorm went by to the north and flicked its wing over the island, and in the night there came a drencher and a howling wind slap over us. It wouldn’t have taken much, you know, to upset that canoe.

“I was sleeping under the canoe, and the egg was luckily among the sand higher up the beach, and the first thing I remember was a sound like a hundred pebbles hitting the boat at once and a rush of water over my body. I’d been dreaming of Antananarivo, and I sat up and holloaed to Intoshi to ask her what the devil was up, and clawed out at the chair where the matches used to be. Then I remembered where I was. There were phosphorescent waves rolling up as if they meant to eat me, and all the rest of the night as black as pitch. The air was simply yelling. The clouds seemed down on your head almost, and the rain fell as if heaven was sinking and they were baling out the waters above the firmament. One great roller came writhing at me, like a fiery serpent, and I bolted. Then I thought of the canoe, and ran down to it as the water went hissing back again, but the thing had gone. I wondered about the egg then, and felt my way to it. It was all right and well out of reach of the maddest waves, so I sat down beside it and cuddled it for company. Lord! What a night that was!

“The storm was over before the morning. There wasn’t a rag of cloud left in the sky when the dawn came, and all along the beach there were bits of plank scattered—which was the disarticulated skeleton, so to speak, of my canoe. However, that gave me something to do, for, taking advantage of two of the trees being together, I rigged up a kind of storm shelter with these vestiges. And that day the egg hatched.

“Hatched, sir, when my head was pillowed on it and I was asleep. I heard a whack and felt a jar and sat up, and there was the end of the egg pecked out and a rum little brown head looking out at me. ‘Lord!’ I said, ‘you’re welcome,’ and with a little difficulty he came out.

“He was a nice friendly little chap, at first, about the size of a small hen—very much like most other young birds, only bigger. His plumage was a dirty brown to begin with, with a sort of grey scab that fell off it very soon, and scarcely feathers—a kind of downy hair. I can hardly express how pleased I was to see him. I tell you, Robinson Crusoe don’t make near enough of his loneliness. But here was interesting company. He looked at me and winked his eye from the front backwards like a hen, and gave a chirp and began to peck about at once, as though being hatched three hundred years too late was just nothing. ‘Glad to see you, Man Friday!’ says I, for I had naturally settled he was to be called Man Friday if ever he was hatched, as soon as ever I found the egg in the canoe had developed. I was a bit anxious about his feed, so I gave him a lump of raw parrot fish at once. He took it and opened his beak for more. I was glad of that, for, under the circumstances, if he’d been fanciful, I should have had to eat him after all.

“You’d be surprised what an interesting bird that Æpyornis chick was. He followed me about from the very beginning. He used to stand by me and watch while I fished in the lagoon and go shares in anything I caught. And he was sensible, too. There were nasty green warty things, like pickled gherkins, used to lie about on the beach, and he tried one of these and it upset him. He never even looked at any of them again.

“And he grew. You could almost see him grow. And as I was never much of a society man, his quiet, friendly ways suited me to a T. For nearly two years we were as happy as we could be on that island. I had no business worries, for I knew my salary was mounting up at Dawsons’. We would see a sail now and then, but nothing ever came near us. I amused myself too by decorating the island with designs worked in sea-urchins and fancy shells of various kinds. I put Æpyornis Island all round the place very nearly, in big letters, like what you see done with coloured stones at railway stations in the old country. And I used to lie watching the blessed bird stalking round and growing, growing, and think how I could make a living out of him by showing him about if ever I got taken off. After his first moult he began to get handsome, with a crest and a blue wattle, and a lot of green feathers at the behind of him. And then I used to puzzle whether Dawsons had any right to claim him or not. Stormy weather and in the rainy season we lay snug under the shelter I had made out of the old canoe, and I used to tell him lies about my friends at home. It was a kind of idyll, you might say. If only I had had some tobacco it would have been simply just like Heaven.

“It was about the end of the second year our little Paradise went wrong. Friday was then about fourteen feet high to the bill of him, with a big broad head like the end of a pickaxe, and two huge brown eyes with yellow rims set together like a man’s—not out of sight of each other like a hen’s. His plumage was fine—none of the half mourning style of your ostrich—more like a cassowary as far as colour and texture go. And then it was he began to cock his comb at me and give himself airs and show signs of a nasty temper.

“At last came a time when my fishing had been rather unlucky and he began to hang about me in a queer, meditative way. I thought he might have been eating sea-cucumbers or something, but it was really just discontent on his part. I was hungry too, and when at last I landed a fish I wanted it for myself. Tempers were short that morning on both sides. He pecked at it and grabbed it, and I gave him a whack on the head to make him leave go. And at that he went for me. Lord!

“He gave me this in the face.” The man indicated his scar. “Then he kicked me. It was like a cart horse. I got up, and seeing he hadn’t finished I started off full tilt with my arms doubled up over my face. But he ran on those gawky legs of his faster than a race horse, and kept landing out at me with sledge-hammer kicks, and bringing his pickaxe down on the back of my head. I made for the lagoon, and went in up to my neck. He stopped at the water, for he hated getting his feet wet, and began to make a shindy, something like a peacock’s, only hoarser. He started strutting up and down the beach. I’ll admit I felt small to see this blessed fossil lording it there. And my head and face were all bleeding, and—well, my body just one jelly of bruises.

“I decided to swim across the lagoon and leave him alone for a bit, until the affair blew over. I shinned up the tallest palm-tree and sat there thinking of it all. I don’t suppose I ever felt so hurt by anything before or since. It was the brutal ingratitude of the creature. I’d been more than a brother to him. I’d hatched him. Educated him. A great, gawky, out-of-date bird! And me a human being—heir of the ages and all that.

“I thought after a time he’d begin to see things in that light himself, and feel a little sorry for his behaviour. I thought if I was to catch some nice little bits of fish, perhaps, and go to him presently in a casual kind of way, and offer them to him, he might do the sensible thing. It took me some time to learn how unforgiving and cantankerous an extinct bird can be. Malice!

“I won’t tell you all the little devices I tried to get that bird round again. I simply can’t. It makes my cheek burn with shame even now to think of the snubs and buffets I had from this infernal curiosity. I tried violence. I chucked lumps of coral at him from a safe distance, but he only swallowed them. I shied my open knife at him and almost lost it, though it was too big for him to swallow. I tried starving him out and struck fishing, but he took to picking along the beach at low water after worms, and rubbed along on that. Half my time I spent up to my neck in the lagoon, and the rest up the palm-trees. One of them was scarcely high enough, and when he caught me up it he had a regular Bank Holiday with the calves of my legs. It got unbearable. I don’t know if you have ever tried sleeping up a palm-tree. It gave me the most horrible nightmares. Think of the shame of it too! Here was this extinct animal mooning about my island like a sulky duke, and me not allowed to rest the sole of my foot on the place. I used to cry with weariness and vexation. I told him straight that I didn’t mean to be chased about a desert island by any damned anachronisms. I told him to go and peck a navigator of his own age. But he only snapped his beak at me. Great ugly bird—all legs and neck!

“I shouldn’t like to say how long that went on altogether. I’d have killed him sooner if I’d known how. However, I hit on a way of settling him at last. It’s a South American dodge. I joined all my fishing lines together with stems of seaweed and things, and made a stoutish string, perhaps twelve yards in length or more, and I fastened two lumps of coral rock to the ends of this. It took me some time to do, because every now and then I had to go into the lagoon or up a tree as the fancy took me. This I whirled rapidly round my head and then let it go at him. The first time I missed, but the next time the string caught his legs beautifully and wrapped round them again and again. Over he went. I threw it standing waist-deep in the lagoon, and as soon as he went down I was out of the water and sawing at his neck with my knife—

“I don’t like to think of that even now. I felt like a murderer while I did it, though my anger was hot against him. When I stood over him and saw him bleeding on the white sand and his beautiful great legs and neck writhing in his last agony—Pah!

“With that tragedy, Loneliness came upon me like a curse. Good Lord! you can’t imagine how I missed that bird. I sat by his corpse and sorrowed over him, and shivered as I looked round the desolate, silent reef. I thought of what a jolly little bird he had been when he was hatched, and of a thousand pleasant tricks he had played before he went wrong. I thought if I’d only wounded him I might have nursed him round into a better understanding. If I’d had any means of digging into the coral rock I’d have buried him. I felt exactly as if he was human. As it was I couldn’t think of eating him, so I put him in the lagoon and the little fishes picked him clean. Then one day a chap cruising about in a yacht had a fancy to see if my atoll still existed.

“He didn’t come a moment too soon, for I was about sick enough of the desolation of it, and only hesitating whether I should walk out into the sea and finish up the business that way, or fall back on the green things.

“I sold the bones to a man named Winslow—a dealer near the British Museum, and he says he sold them to old Havers. It seems Havers didn’t understand they were extra large, and it was only after his death they attracted attention. They called ’em Æpyornis—what was it?”

“Æpyornis vastus,” said I. “It’s funny, the very thing was mentioned to me by a friend of mine. When they found an Æpyornis with a thigh a yard long they thought they had reached the top of the scale and called him Æpyornis maximus. Then some one turned up another thigh bone four feet six or more, and that they called Æpyornis Titan. Then your vastus was found after old Havers died, in his collection, and then a vastissimus turned up.”

“Winslow was telling me as much,” said the man with the scar. “If they get any more Æpyornises, he reckons some scientific swell will go and burst a blood-vessel. But it was a queer thing to happen to a man; wasn’t it—altogether?”

#public domain #writing prompts

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milkinghomelander · 2 months ago

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Also work is REALLY FUCKING HARD like I know I bitch about it regularly, but it was fine before. It was a routine. Now, large equipment breaks every other day and I’m always the manager on duty and at least one person a shift calls off and when another manager is there it’s usually the GM, which intimidates the fuck out of me. I think she likes me and doesn’t hate the work I do so idk why but man does it make me extra anxious. Just bc authority figure. Idk. But I already have sm to keep track of that I have to keep like 13 alarms in my phone every time I work and now I’m working associate jobs on top of it. Today, I went on a canoe river clean up w school all morning. It was like 4 miles of canoe-ing and grabbing trash when we saw it. Then I go home, shower and get dressed at the speed of light, and go to work and the sewer pump is broken. Workplace smells like ass and balls. On top of it, I’m missing two positions and lm the closing the manager. The GM is there when I get there and is just like, “the plumber is coming. Re-open when he’s done” and leaves. They haven’t been telling me certain ppl have had breaks. They come up to me and hr before their shift ends while I’m busy and tell me they haven’t had a break. This isn’t their fault btw. It’s the manager handing me the shift that told me they had a break’s fault. Today was one of the VERY few times an associate didn’t get a break on my shift and it made me so upset. Probably more upset than him, but I feel like I failed the dude. I hate when associates feel the need to comfort ME like it’s not my job. I’m like falling apart. I feel like I can’t keep my standard at work anymore. I’m also the maintenance manager and there’s weekly and monthly cleaning tasks. I’ve been doing them and assigning them to associates. I’m the only one thats been doing so. The workplace is falling apart and I can’t get people to like, help clean garbage cans let alone keep equipment steady. I’ve put this in the manager group chat twice. My GM told me after the first time that I needed to say something in the chat. So, ignoring the fact that I already did, I did it again and still got ignored. My AGM hates me and throws away my cups. Not to be a whiny bitch, but I have OCD and very much got used to and now prefer using blender bottles for my ice water and lattes. This is important bc I’m a college student that works full time that needs the caffeine and also drinks 100 oz of water a day. She throws them away if I leave them. They don’t throw other peoples cups away. They’re like $20 a bottle. She threw out the one that had the not broken lid. I only had 2. I hate her. I asked her if she threw it out and she told me she didn’t but was acting like the whole situation was funny (I didn’t tell her why it bothered me, just asked if she threw it out. I don’t express how I feel about the cups openly bc I don’t need ppl knowing I got OCD like THAT). I also work with teenagers that make fun of me and I am in a FRAGILE STATE. Just get me out of there. I think I have 4 days off next week bc they made me use PTO to have my moms bday weekend off instead of just scheduling me those 2 days off? Whatever. I kind of need it. They’re just really really on my nerves.

I’m so sad and I gotta let it out bruh

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jnixz · 2 years ago

Photo

Thank the pn2 vol.3 album art for reigniting my mood to finish this piece, drawn In the early days I saw that early pn2 concept poster art.

Man just gotta wonder what the plot was like with the old designs they had....

Old overworld hub designs -- specifically old motherlobe and quarry map design, the ones we see in DF youtube as pn2 was being made

also that vehicle thing, wonder if that’s like the canoe or if it can dive into a deeper part of the lake

Sasha and Milla off on a mission on a cold location, with what looks like a spear/harpoon/maybe detector thing? Looks like they’ve been there for a while

Morry with a spooky well, which honestly gave me that necromancy plot when I first saw the poster after the trailer is nudging about that topic

Ford (notably w/o psitanium on his back) riding off without a saddle on a horse with an explosion going off behind him (at least the album version has reigns now, the concept art one didn’t have it. Anyway back then I squinted so much at the image to figure out what outfit he was wearing only to find the clearer image of this didn’t really have any detail at all so like ‘what is going ooonnnn with this part’)

Lili behind Raz who doesn’t have a cool jacket but with a blue swirl(most likely hinting at hydrokinesis part of the ~ mystery~ )

and then the Spooky buildings with brain on it so is that a psychonauts owned location?

and what looks like *squints* a spaceship? blasting at the entrance?(Could be real, could be owned by opposing organizations, could be a mindscape thing... possibilities possibilities) OR WAIT is that a sled thing blasting out from the entrance?

also that constellation lookin swirls on the spooky clouds, i see you *looks at aquato fancier clothing*

One wonders if this had more overworld exploration/settings to travel to in the jet like Lady Lucktopus mission, or if its just other characters off doing things. I can see the question of “but why would Raz accompany them” or “how would Raz witness these events happening to other characters as our player POV” or even the simple question of how long these events happen from each other because boi Sasha got a stubble

#psychonauts 2 #ford cruller #milla vodello #sasha nein #morceau oleander #fanart #jnixartz #pn2 spoilers

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f1nalboys · 3 years ago

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the collection live post thing lol

-i like this opening scene way more than the first one i’ll say that

-also asa is literally just going 😡🔪🪓🧨 like go do ur job

-just waiting for everyone in this party to violently die

-asa thot dropping on the light fixtures he’s such a whore

-where’s my sexy man arkin

-there he is <3

-ooooh i like how they show the traps in this one ALSO THE FUCKING TURBINE SHIT??,, BAD ASS

-douche canoe gets to live w only a pinky cut off? 🙄

-this bitch didn’t help arkin like ??? what else can u do????? annoying as mf

-again how does asa even find the time/energy to make these traps?

-why would she stay there while he friend gets crushed to death? id hate to see that

-CMON ARKIN LETS GO BAE

-do car alarms just not go off when someone lands on them LMFAO

-ok so why did they handcuff him? my man was KIDNAPPED

-taken meets the avengers

-this mf breathes like he’s 89 years old and an avid smoker

-arkins accent heheh heheheheh

-lmk when a bra strap can actually open a fucking chest

-asas kind of stupid

-asa more like assa amirite

-this guys a douche when is he dying

-‘you already abandoned the girl once you gonna do it again?’ man go fuck yourself SHE ABANDONED HIM FIRST U CUNT

-be nice to arkin or asa will kill u

-i wanna reas the wiki you see if paz dies so badly i love her

-can they just fix the mfing lights already!!???? I CANT SEE W THE FLASHING U BITCH

-my sister can’t watch this bc of the flashing lights so now i’m gonna have to do a play by play

-arkin what is with u man you were in this fucking place for however many months why r u not looking where u walk and put ur hand 🙄 i love my men stupid

-we got arkin in that sexy grey undershirt now 😝😝 i would drink his sweat sorry idk who said that i was hacked

-asa is a little bit of an artist as you can see

-freakazoid

-asa is so mean can’t the man give it a rest for just a second

-also he’s stupid as hell arkin was literally not even 2 feet away from him and he somehow misses him 😐 i think this guy likes the chase

-go find paz u bitches

-these mfs could’ve been saved if they had listened to arkin just sayinggggg

-don’t trust abby that bitch she’s a liar

-can lucello die already i want paz to live forever and ever

-question r we supposed to care abt elena or whatever her name is? bc i don’t

-i like abby i feel bad for her

-abby is a cunt nvm

-haha she died literally quick as all hell hehehe

-OOOH THE SCENE OF ASA KICKING THE DOOR OPEN LOVE JT

-damn rip the dogs my bitches haven’t done anything wrong

-tubi is giving me too many ads 😐

-would the third collector movie be called the collected 🤔

-NOOO HIS ARM 🤮🤮

-elena was a little too happy to break arkins arm 🤔

-asa is such a bitch like man let them leave 🙄 he rlly killed paz and for what????? bc she was a girlboss??

-arkin get tf up and get outta there let the other mfs die idc abt them

-paz should’ve lived i hate asa

-stab him in the FACE don’t punch him

-OH MY GOD HE JUST STABBED ARKIN IN THE FACE

-i was talking to arkin abt u asa god damn

-genuine question here, asa LITERALLY caught on fire so how did he survive?

-anyways

-arkin dropping to his knees abt to die in the fire us so dramatic king u could’ve jumped over the fire but at least elena was literally thinking at all

-ok i didn’t realize how far away from the door he was LMFAO ur forgiven babe

-damn arkin been through a lot :/ i don’t give a single fuck abt elena or her storyline i care abt arkin am i a misogynist

-so annoying that asa somehow made it out of there it rlly makes no sense but i’ll let it slide bc if the end scene

-yesss arkin beat his ass!!! lock him in the trunk king!!!!!! i hope the collected 3 is arkin torturing asa like he deserves <3

-oooh was asa the little boy that they mentioned on the radio? abt the dad going crazy and killing the family and setting them up at the table for thanksgiving bc he ingested chemicals from taxidermy???? interesting

-‘you here to kill me?’ boy get in the trunk

-nice punch arkin babe 😝 do that to me while we fuck

-hacked again sorry

-the stupid animalistic growls asa lets out r so funny to me

#the collection #the collection 2012 #asa emory #arkin

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ohallows · 3 years ago

Note

how is our flag means death? I see everyone talking about it and it looks great but I'm a bit uncomfortable with RPF and I'm worried it will feel awkward since Stede Bonnet and Edward Teach were real people :/

so, as someone who is also wildly uncomfortable with RPF - its basically a similar level of 'rpf' as something like black sails or hamilton, you know? so if those made you wildly uncomfy for rpf-specific reasons as opposed to content (or fandom....) reasons, you might have the same reaction to ofmd. hamilton i think is a bit worse - it sticks pretty closely to the historical side of historical fiction, whereas black sails (based on my limited knowledge of piracy in the 1700s) and our flag means death definitely hew closer to the fictional side of historical fiction, if that makes sense. which is great for kinda.. tempering the issues i have with rpf.

genuinely, my main discomfort with stuff focusing on real people has to do with people who are alive now, or who were alive more recently. like, if there was a show in progress about [spins wheel] obama and [pulls a card] harry styles falling in love, i would be SO uncomfortable with it (and, i think, rightly so). but there's a certain level of disconnect with watching a show about a real person from the 1700s, where historical records can only do so much, that makes it feel MUCH less weird, and i was able to get through black sails and ofmd with zero discomfort whatsoever related to rpf stuff!

with ofmd as well, i think both ed and stede (and izzy, i suppose) are very much so... vague allusions to who they were in real life. based on what i do know about him, i dont think the irl stede bonnet was a dandy fancyboy who just wanted to be kind all the time and used a 'people positive management style' with his crew, and blackbeard was definitely not a polynesian jewish man w heart eyes who decided to give it all up for an aristocrat he met on the high seas who, frankly, sucked shit irl.

(israel hands may have been a horny little freak irl, but i don't want to know. thats his business.)

there's also a specific level of handwaving in ofmd that makes it feel more baked in fiction than anything real - the characters are able to row across entire oceans (i guess????) in fucking canoes, there seems to be fast travel implemented based on how quickly they move around, and it very much so is 'oh this is convenient for the plot but doesnt make sense at all? put it in' which i actually found really enjoyable. (genuinely, there's a scene in which stede sails IN A DINGHY on THE OPEN OCEAN to a remote island with ZERO knowledge as to where the island is OR why he should be going there. but he shows up in a day. the show truly said we dont care and i love that for them.)

also, when i was watching ofmd (and black sails, which i know you didn't ask about but i WILL plug anyway), it was very easy to sort of... forget that they were real people and just enjoy the characters and the story! i think david jenkins (+ the other writers) do a really good job of sort of. taking the people's names and making them into characters of their own.

sorry this got long im rambly. yes ofmd is basically rpf, but the show itself feels so removed from the real blackbeard and stede bonnet that it's very easy to ignore that stuff.

honestly, give it a try! the show is an absolute delight and might genuinely be one of my faves of the year (yes its only march i am still confident in this). the discomfort about rpf is incredibly valid and i'm in the same boat as you (pirates, boat, get it), but our flag means death didn't kick up any of that for me, and i've watched the show three times now bc i am mentally ill. i would really recommend you give it a chance, and then if it does feel uncomfortable, you can always stop watching or just enjoy the supporting cast, which are basically all ocs there to be gay and cause problems.

#our flag means death #anonymous #truly the show didnt twig any of my rpf discomfort #weirdly i prob wont read any fic about it (i also didnt for black sails although for slightly different reasons #and also wont for wwdits for slightly similar reasons)#but watching the show was like. i was fine the whole time. clearly because ive watched it three times haha #but you are also valid to be uncomfy with it!! i would just try it out first to see if its smth you can ejoy #bc its genuinely wonderful

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hansols-yoda-boxers · 3 years ago

Text

Camp North Star - June 22nd

AFAB!Reader x Jeon Wonwoo

Word Count: 1706

Contents: fingering

“Wow, it looks good in here.”

You nearly jumped at the sound of Wonwoo’s voice. You’d spent the afternoon in the canoe shed, reorganizing and cleaning shelves to make the summer easier. Wonwoo had spent it finalizing the lesson plans for the practice lesson days. You had barely talked to each other since Saturday night.

“Yeah, I- uh- just keeping busy I guess.”

Wonwoo sat down on an overturned canoe. “Should we talk abou-”

“What is there to talk about?” You asked too quickly.

“You’re avoiding me,” he retorted.

“I-I’m not!” You weren’t. Were you? You hadn’t really talked to him much but you were just… waiting to feel less awkward about it.

“It really seems like you are,” he said.

You signed and sat on the canoe next to him. “Fine, what do we need to say though? It happened. Things feel a little awkward now.”

“To you,” he said. “You do realize you’re the only one being weird about this, right?”

“I-I-” You stopped, trying to figure out if that was actually true.

“Look, if the kiss weirded you out that’s okay. I didn’t really think about it. It just kind of happened. We don’t really have to talk about it that much but if you needed to h-”

“It’s-” you cut him off with no clue what to say, but feeling the heat rising through your face. “It’s not- I mean I wasn’t expecting it but I’m fine.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?” He questioned.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just- It felt awkward, I don’t know. I didn’t think you wanted to do it and you were quiet the next morning so I thought…”

Wonwoo seemed to soften a bit. “Okay, the next morning I was tired, but I wasn’t upset or weirded out. Honestly it was kind of nice to do something so casually. I didn’t think it would be but…”

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah, 7/10 would do again.”

“Okay,” you relaxed a little before processing his words. “Wait, what do you mean 7/10?”

“Pretty good, but there’s room for improvement,” he said.

“What do you really think you’re better at it?” You scoffed.

“At jerking myself off, at giving a handjob, or at what would be the equivalent on you?”

“I-”

“Either way the answer is yes.”

“Okay wait, no of course you’re better at jerking yourself off but if you think you can finger me better than I can-”

“My fingers are pretty long.”

“It’s not about length,” you said. “It’s about technique.”

“I’m aware,” he said cooly. “I’ve got long fingers and good technique.”

“You talk a big game for someone who hates initiating things.”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s easier since you started it. Either way, you might be onto something with this no strings attached idea.”

You sat up a little taller. “Are you actually offering to finger me right now?”

Whether he was just rolling with it or if his words were just catching up to him you didn’t know but a blush finally crept up his cheeks under your surprised gaze.

“I- Yeah? If you want.”

You just stared at him. Was this just a one off or the start of a fling? Did it actually matter to you? As much as random hookups were fun so far he made a good point didn’t he? Being with someone more than once let you actually learn about each other. You could have some pretty fantastic sex with him after a while.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Show me what you’ve got.”

A nervous smile tugged at his lips as he grabbed your hips. He sat you between his legs, pulling your back against his chest and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“This better be at least a 7/10.” You chuckled, making him laugh as he undid your shorts and started to slip them down your legs.

“If it’s more than that, does that mean you owe me more?” He questioned, letting his fingertips run up your inner thighs as you let your legs fall open. The sensation raised goosebumps on your skin as you relaxed back against him.

“Is this going to turn into a cycle of us owing each other a little more?” You giggled.

His fingertips drew shapes into your skin, taking their time as he let his voice go softer, murmuring in your ear.

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

A grin tugged at your lips. “I don’t think it would.”

“There’s fun in seeing someone again.” Very slowly and gently he let his fingers drag slowly through your folds. His other hand came up against your stomach, holding you close.

“There is,” you sighed at the feeling, pushing your legs out a little wider. “I don’t know how much good sex I’ll actually have this summer.”

Wonwoo let out a low chuckle. “Humans do have mediocre sex natrually. Good sex takes more practice.” He started to rub circles into your clit and you bit down on your lip, enjoying the feeling. Small sparks of pleasure were curling through you slowly from the movements of his fingers.

“I will admit, this already feels good,” you hummed.

“Of course it does,” he murmured. “It should when it’s just your clit.”

“You would think it would be that simple, but not everyone can figure out a good movement. Or even find it.”

“There’s a story there,” he chuckled, moving his fingers just a little faster. Your hips started to rock just a little against his hand. The feeling of pleasure from your core built very slowly, a welcome sensation, and the warm, safe feeling of the moment.

“Oh god,” you laughed. “My first boyfriend was just, bad. So bad. It was like he couldn’t find anything.”

Wonwoo laughed, fingers slipping lower. “Luckily, I know what I’m doing.”

You let out a quiet moan as he pressed a finger slowly into your heat before pulling it almost fully out.

He started with slow thrusts of a finger. With each one he watched your reaction and listened. Finding just the movements that you liked the most. You let your head fall back against his shoulder and your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers found just the right spot inside you with little exploration.

“Yes, there. Fuck, you are good at this.” You said breathily.

“I pay attention,” he murmured. “It’s not that hard to figure out what you like.”

“Are you calling me easy?” You snorted.

Wonwoo chuckled. “I’m merely saying,” He slowly pressed a second finger into your heat, drawing another moan from you. “That it’s easy to figure out what you like. You react, you communicate.”

His words piqued your interest, well what of it wasn’t taken up with the mounting pleasure inside of you.

“Mmm sounds like you know from personal experience.”

“Let’s just say, I like that I know how you feel.”

His fingers started to curl a little faster. You let out another lazy moan, hands traveling out along his thighs and gripping them for stability. Your head back against his shoulder as the coil started to curl in your core, slowly building to your release.

“Still,” you couldn’t hide the breathiness in your voice and now you didn’t want to. “I think you’re louder than I am.”

“Maybe we should compare that sometime,” he murmured, his hand on your stomach starting to travel down.

“Now that s-sounds like an idea.” Words became harder to form as you soaked in the sensation of his fingers moving into you, little by little moving faster in your core, finding just the right spot over and over. Quiet moans cascaded from your lips, starting to climb higher in your voice.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed as the fingers of his other hand found your clit. “Oh that f-feels so good.”

“I know,” he hummed. “I told you I was good at this.”

“Y-You really are.” More moans started to fall from your lips. His arms kept you close, keeping you from slipping off the canoe as your hips rolled and bucked against his hands. Pleasure rushed through your body as his movements on your clit sped up, using your own slick to go faster in motions that had you melting back against him.

You came closer and closer to your edge with each movement of his fingers, gripping his thighs tightly for some small sense of stability. The sounds of your moans mixed with the lewd, wet sounds of his fingers moving in your core, only making the heat of the afternoon in the small shed that much hotter.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned.

“Can you imagine if I did?” He joked, laughing more when you let out a whine and dug your nails into his legs.

“D-Don’t-”

“I could just leave you right now. It might be fun seeing you so frustrated.”

“Don’t you d-dare,” your voice was much more of a whine than a demand.

“You don’t think that would be fun?” Now he was just teasing you.

You rolled your hips down on his fingers, desperation filling you at even the mention of stopping, joke or not.

“No, It w-wouldn’t. F-Fuck.”

His fingers suddenly moved much quicker, thrusting into you much harder than they had a moment ago.

“Then cum for me,” he purred.

You let out a cry as you came, clenching hard around his fingers and your release dripping down his hand. Pleasure washed over your body, drawing tremors through every inch of you as you rode out your high until sensitivity set in.

“O-Okay,” you said shakily, pushing his hands away from your core. Wonwoo wrapped his arms around you, holding you against him as your body slowly calmed down.

“So?” He asked.

“So?” you said, still catching your breath.

“7/10 or?”

You chuckled. “I guess that was a little better than 7/10. 7.5.”

Wonwoo scoffed and started to get up but you held onto his arms tight.

“Okay okay I lied.” You said quickly. “It was like, a 9/10.”

“That’s more like it.” He said smugly. “I guess that means you owe me now, doesn’t it.”

“Don’t you worry,” you hummed. “I’ll rock your world, you just wait.”

#camp north star au #cns au #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #jeon wonwoo imagines #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut

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kookie-doughs · 3 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything is now ruined.

Chapter 22: Then It Ended

As soon as we came, Annabeth ang Grover tackled me. We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we'd won some reality-TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honor, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.

Annabeth's shroud was so beautiful—gray silk with embroidered owls— Percy told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched him and told him to shut up. Percy being the son of Poseidon, he didn't have any cabin mates, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make his shroud. They'd taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X'ed-out eyes around the border, and the word LOSER painted really big in the middle.

As I was still unclaimed, Hermes cabin had made me one. (Just... IDK go crazy with your shroud IG) It was fun to burn. As Apollo's cabin led the sing-along and passed out s'mores, Percy and I was surrounded by my Hermes cabinmates, Annabeth's friends from Athena, and Grover's satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand-new searcher's license he'd received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past." The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they'd never forgive us for disgracing their dad. That was okay with me. Even Dionysus's welcome-home speech wasn't enough to dampen my spirits. "Yes, yes, so the little brats didn't get themselves killed and now they'll have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...." Going back to the cabin I finally had time to talk to Luke. Who just expressed his relief of me being fine, and how he was scared when Annabeth told everyone about me. No wonder everyone was so shocked seeing me come back with Percy. On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors. As Annabeth, Percy and I were spreading a picnic blanket, Grover showed up to tell us good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human. "I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know." I tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. I'd only known Grover a year, yet he was my oldest friend. Annabeth and I gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on. I asked him where he was going to search first. "Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan ..." "We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?" "Yeah." "And you remembered your reed pipes?" "Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat." But he didn't really sound annoyed. He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway. "Well," he said, "wish me luck." He gave Annabeth and I another hug. He clapped Percy on the shoulder, then headed back through the dunes. Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware. "Hey, Grover," Percy called. He turned at the edge of the woods. "Wherever you're going—I hope they make good enchiladas." Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him. "We'll see him again," Annabeth said. July passed. I spent my daysplanning out strategies with Luke for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava. From time to time, Percy and I would walk past the Big House, he'd glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle.

I tried to convince him that its prophecy had come to completion. "You shall go west, and face the god who has turned." "Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades." "You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned." "Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades." "You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend." Percy recited. "Ares had pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us. That must be what the Oracle meant.... Or maybe Nereid?"

"And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end." He sighed. "I had failed to save my mom and lost you..."

"So why are you still uneasy?" The last night of the summer session came all too quickly. The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads. Percy and I got our own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.

"This is so beautiful..." I smiled to Percy. "The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!" The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause. I'm not sure I'd ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I'd finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year. * * * The next morning, Luke called me. He gave me a paper, telling me to fill it out, and asked me to meet him as soon as I could. I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear (WRONG NAME) , If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit. Have a nice day! Mr. D (Dionysus) Camp Director, Olympian Council #12 That's another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still don't know what to do. I had no where to go to. The only option I had was Percy's or maybe Hades was not joking about inviting me back to the Underworld. Sighing I decided to just meet Luke before filling it for second opinions. The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp's shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport. I was walking around looking for Luke. I jumped when I felt someone tap me from behind. I instinctively unsheathed my knife and turned only to see Luke with his hands raised.

"Whoa! Calm down just me." He laughed.

"Kinda weird seeing someone laugh at a knife pointed at them." I smirked sheathing my knife.

"I only laugh since its you." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Are you done with everything?"

"Not really. I don't know whether to leave or not yet. That's why I came. Help me?" I asked him.

He turned to me and to the forest. "How about you hear me out about something... important and private... then decide?" He gestured towards the forest.

"Not planning on killing me are you?" I squinted at him.

He gasped. "Not you. Never. I would never hurt you."

I let him lead me to a shrouded area of the forest.

"How serious is this thing that you can't let anyone see? I am blindly trusting you here Luke." I laughed nervously. But when he didn't reply I felt something was off. "Luke, okay this isn't cool. How deep into the forest do we have to go?"

"Y/N remember when you said... You want to be the person I trust...? How you promised to help me?"

"Luke?" He took my hand and pulled me sharply. I winced at how hard he pulled me. "That hurts! Let me go!"

He snapped back and let go of my wrist. "I-I'm sorry... Y/N..."

As much as I knew I had to leave, I couldn't I was worried about him. I reluctantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's happening?"

"I did it..." I said and sat on the ground. "I swear I didn't mean to get you hurt. But, I confess to everything. I stole bolt and helm, I summoned the hound, I gave Percy the cursed shoes... And just now, I tried to kill Percy Jackson." He looked at me with empty eyes.

I shot up and looked at him in emotions I couldn't put in words. "W-Wh---" I wanted to leave and check on Percy. But once again, seeing him right now... I need to stay with him. "Why are you telling me this...?"

"Join me... please?" his voice was weak. He sounded vulnerable. "Let's serve my Lord together..."

"L-Luke... no. I-I can't do that!" I took his shoulder, "Y-You should stay with me instead. How about that, huh? L-Let's explain to Chiron and the others... come on please. I could help you!"

Nothing was working.

"Come with me..." He muttered.

"Luke, I won't join you. You have to change your mind. You can't do this."

"I can't change my mind."

"I can help you with that? How about you go with me huh? I could spend all my time doing this and that. Please, just change your mind."

He didn't reply for a while until he whispered, "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You'll stay with me."

"What? Luke I wo--"

"You won't join... Just...don't stay here for the year... and stay with me."

"I-If I stay with you... what would that mean?"

"Yo-You... might change my mind."

"I'll go." I replied with no hesitation. "I'll leave camp for the year. And I'll find my parent to prove to you that Gods and Goddess aren't all bad. We'll find my parent together."

"I do my lord's bidding--"

"You can still do it. If you want to. But whatever happens... stays only between us. I'll stay with you until I change your mind. And I'll bring you back to camp."

"I would never do anything to ruin your trust in me." He knelt down. It was kinda awkward but hey... "I need you."

Worry not hero. We shall stay.

"Please..."

We'll meet again. Wait for us, we shall join you soon. Now leave.

I had no idea what happened since when I came to Luke was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere. How were we going to st---

We will meet him once we leave. Now go as our hero needs us.

I suddenly remembered Percy's state that Luke had told me about. So I ran. I ran to the Big House

***

Percy finally opened his eyes. He was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the Big House, his right hand bandaged like a club. Argus stood guard in the corner. Annabeth and I sat next to Percy, I was holding his nectar glass and she was dabbing a washcloth on his forehead.

"Here we are again," Percy said. "You idiot," Annabeth said, "You were green and turning gray when we found you. If it weren't for Chiron's healing..." "Now, now," Chiron's voice said. "Percy's constitution deserves some of the credit." He was sitting near the foot of the bed in human form. His lower half was magically compacted into the wheelchair, his upper half dressed in a coat and tie. He smiled, but his face looked weary and pale, the way it did when he'd been up all night grading Latin papers. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Like my insides have been frozen, then microwaved." "Apt, considering that was pit scorpion venom. Now you must tell me, if you can, exactly what happened." Between sips of nectar, he told them the story.

I bit my lip trying to keep what happened between Luke and I private. It was a risky move that would not be approved by anyone after all. The room was quiet for a long time. "I can't believe that Luke..." Annabeth's voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. "Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest."

Percy was looking at me as if checking what was my reaction to his story. "This must be reported to Olympus," Chiron murmured. "I will go at once." "Luke is out there right now," Percy said. "I have to go after him." Chiron shook his head. "No, Percy. The gods—" "Won't even talk about Kronos," Percy snapped. "Zeus declared the matter closed!" "Percy, I know this is hard. But you must not rush out for vengeance. You aren't ready." "Chiron... your prophecy from the Oracle... it was about Kronos, wasn't it? Was I in it? Y/N? And Annabeth?" Chiron glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Percy, it isn't my place—" "You've been ordered not to talk to me about it, haven't you?" His eyes were sympathetic, but sad. "You will be a great hero, child. I will do my best to prepare you. But if I'm right about the path ahead of you..." Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the windows. "All right!" Chiron shouted. "Fine!" He sighed in frustration. "The gods have their reasons, Percy. Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing." "We can't just sit back and do nothing," He said. "We will not sit back," Chiron promised. "But you must be careful. Kronos wants you to come unraveled. He wants your life disrupted, your thoughts clouded with fear and anger. Do not give him what he wants. Train patiently. Your time will come." "Assuming I live that long." Chiron put his hand on Percy's ankle. "You'll have to trust me, Percy. You will live. But first you must decide your path for the coming year. I cannot tell you the right choice...." I got the feeling that he had a very definite opinion, and it was taking all his willpower not to advise me. "But you must decide whether to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, or return to the mortal world for seventh grade and be a summer camper. Think on that. When I get back from Olympus, you must tell me your decision." "I'll be back as soon as I can," Chiron promised. "Argus will watch over you." He glanced at Annabeth. "Oh, and, my dear... whenever you're ready, they're here." "Who's here?" Percy asked. Nobody answered. Chiron rolled himself out of the room. I heard the wheels of his chair clunk carefully down the front steps, two at a time. Annabeth studied the floor. "What's wrong?" Percy asked her. "Nothing. I ... just took your advice about something. You ... um ... need anything?" "Yeah. Help me up. I want to go outside." "Percy, that isn't a good idea." Percy slid his legs out of bed. Annabeth and I caught him before he could crumple to the floor.

I said, "I told you ..." "I'm fine," He insisted.

He managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on me. Argus followed us outside, but he kept his distance. By the time we reached the porch, his face was beaded with sweat. But we had managed to make it all the way to the railing. It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun. "What are you going to do?" Annabeth asked us. "I don't know." Percy replied. "I got the feeling Chiron wanted me to stay year-round, to put in more individual training time, but I'm not sure that's what I want. I also don't want to leave you both with Clarisse only." Annabeth pursed her lips, then said quietly, "I'm going home for the year, Percy." He stared at her. "You mean, to your dad's?" She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia's pine tree, at the very edge of the camp's magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be waiting. The man was holding a backpack that looked like the one Annabeth had gotten from Waterland in Denver. "I wrote him a letter when we got back," Annabeth said. "Just like you suggested. I told him... I was sorry. I'd come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided... we'd give it another try." "That took guts." She pursed her lips. "You won't try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least ... not without sending me an Iris-message? Both of you?" Percy managed a smile. "I won't go looking for trouble. I usually don't have to."

"You already know my plans."

"When I get back next summer," she said, "we'll hunt down Luke. We'll ask for a quest, but if we don't get approval, we'll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?" "Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena."

She held out her hand. Percy shook it. She gave me a hug. "Take care, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth told Percy. "Keep your eyes open."

"You too, Wise Girl."

Then turned to me, "Good luck on your own quest Droopy."

"Of course Peabody." We watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia's pine tree, then allowed herself to be lead over the crest and into the mortal world. "I made my decision." Percy said. "What's yours?"

"I'll be leaving camp... I'm going to look for my parent..." He looked at me in shock. "I'll be back next summer," I promised him. "I'll survive until then."

"Alone?"

I smiled at him.

"Don't you want to stay with us? Mom said---"

"I want to find my parent. I need to. I'll be fine Percy."

I helped Percy to his cabin so he could pack and went to mine. To my surprise I see a middle-aged man with an athletic figure slim and fit with salt-and-pepper hair, and a very familiar sly grin. He had bags at his foot.

"Delivery for Y/N L/N."

"Uhm..."

"Hermes." He said.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Personally packed. As a thank you for what you're about to do." He smiled softly and handed me the bags.

"H-Huh...?"

"For helping Luke."

"I..."

Don't forget her mail!

Ooh! And tell her to bring us snacks next time we meet since it'll be often now!

No it wouldn't be often! She'll be with Luke!

"Both of you keep quiet." Pulling out a mail he handed it to me. "Luke... prayed to me telling me about your plan. He asked me to help you. I don't know what or why he did it. But I know he'll change thanks to you. So do guide him."

"Sorry you lost me at the talking air..." I blinked.

Hermes laughed and showed a caduceus. "It's just George and Martha."

"Hi?"

Hello!

"I just wanted to let you know. No god or goddess could see you. No matter how hard they tried. So your secrets.. are really secrets. Good luck on your travel."

Next time we meet you should have snacks.

Then he vanished.

Staring at the letter on my hand, I was stunned seeing it was from... my mom and dad.

Sweetie,

You've made quite a friend here.

-Mom and Dad.

I immediately knew where to look. I hurriedly took my bags not bothering to check the contents. I ran to Percy's cabin and helped him out so we could leave.

Percy got a cab and looked at me worriedly.

"I'll write you. Stay safe Arthur Curry." I ruffled his hair and watched him go.

I didn't know where to go so I just went to the first secluded area I saw.

"You have more stuffs than when you arrived." I heard someone behind me.

"You prayed to your dad. I hope he knows how to pack." I sighed turning to him. Turning around I barely made out Luke from the few days I last saw him. "You okay?"

"Do you know where to look first?"

Call upon our hound.

I whistled, I don't know why. But when I did, D/N came out of the blue. Luke looked at me and my dear dog, who was probably bigger than the hound he'd summon back then. "How do feel about L.A?" I said riding on D/N and making space behind me for Luke.

~~~END OF BOOK 1~~~

Previous | Book 1 Masterlist | Series Masterlist

END OF BOOK ONE!!! THANK YOU FOR READING YLATHB I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I'LL PUBLISH BOOK 2 WHEN I'M DONE OR EVEN AT LEAST HAVE WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS OF THE BOOK 2 ;))

I HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT TIME!!!

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