#muse; rainbow road

[shycoconutt]

Life changed a lot after Nanami Kento came into it.

Nights alone in your apartment feasting on cup ramen with microwaved broccoli (for your health obviously), turned into homemade dinners under candlelight. The long ride to work in the back of an Uber turned into riding in the passenger seat of Nanami’s luxury car, hands intertwined over the middle console. Quick showers turned into long, steaming baths with essential oils. Winding down from a long day turned from nights out at the bar to nights in under the covers while he softly reads to you.

“Darling, hey, wake up,” you hear Nanami whisper in your ear as you feel your shoulders shake lightly. You groan in protest, not wanting to be broken away from the warmth and smell of him all around you.

“I know, I know,” he softly chuckles, “but we need to get ready for bed properly.”

You nuzzle into his side more and wrap your arms around him. Squeezing him slightly, you take one long, dramatic inhale of his scent in the crook of his neck, fluttering your eyelashes to give him butterfly kisses.

“What are you doing?,” he laughs, “It tickles!”

“Just taking some for the road,” you smile into his skin.

“You’re such a dork.”

With Nanami, everything always seems to be taken care of. There is no need to over-extend your brain power, because once a thought or worry passes through, you know it’s been meticulously mulled over by your other half.

Your appointments are scheduled and on the calendar. Your laundry is clean and neatly put away in the proper place. Your memories and photos are filed and categorized, with some of your favorites even framed and displayed in your home and offices. Your books, CDs and other media are sorted alphabetically in pristine condition.

“But wouldn’t it be cool if they were categorized by, I dunno, color? We could make a rainbow wall!” you suggest as you marvel at his work.

Nanami, who is currently kneeling on the floor putting the last of your books on the shelf, turns and gives you a disapproving glare, “Absolutely not. It would be a disservice to your collection.”

“A disservice to my collection?”

“What happens when a series contains books of all different colored covers? Am I supposed to just separate them?”

You blink.

“You’re right. I apologize for even suggesting something so foul.”

But, most importantly, over everything, your body, mind, and soul are finally at ease. Past anxieties rarely present themselves anymore, and, if they do, you never dwell. People say you’re glowing, and they aren’t wrong. Your skin is clear, your hair is shiny and smooth. Your favorite clothes fit a little better, and your shoes are always polished to look brand new.

“Nananmi Kento looks good on you, girl,” Shoko muses, watching you over her lunch in the breakroom.

You smirk, daring not to look across the table to conserve your blush, “Feels good too.”

“Gross!” 

You curl over in laughter as Shoko chucks a strawberry at your head.

All this and more, because Nanami cares, protects, cherishes, and respects you. He would never, ever in a million years try to hurt you in any way. He is honest and loyal, vowed by his duty to be a man. Ever since he was young, he put immense thought into its meaning, only to be confirmed by one look at you.

One look and he knew that you were the one he would spend the rest of his life with.

“I think I should take you out on a date, if you don’t mind of course,” Nanami stutters, gently pulling you aside after one of your meetings.

“You think we should date?” you question, head reeling.

“Yes,” he starts, “I think we’ve been friends for long enough and it’s time to move forward with our relationship.”

The disbelief you feel must be painted on your face because Nanami’s normally pale skin is flushed cherry red just looking at you.

“I mean, long term,” he’s babbling now, “I want to make you my wife. Well, I wanted you to be my wife from the beginning, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, but they always say the best relationships start from friendships, so I thought it would be best to take our time. Naturally, now is as good a time as any. We’re at good places in our careers, we already spend a lot of time together, our personalities mesh, and, I don’t mean to be coarse, but I think we’d look pretty good tog-"

Before your mind has a chance to catch up, you’re already cutting him off with a passionate kiss, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down close to you. After a beat, you feel Nanami’s broad, warm hands grab hold around your waist, pulling you to him. 

His lips feel so soft, and more plush than you anticipated. You part yours slightly in an invitation, and he’s quick to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip. You reciprocate and smile when you feel the vibrations of a small moan escape him.

You break the kiss first.

“I’d marry you yesterday if I could, Kento.”

Where he ebbs, you flow. With the few traits he lacks, you flourish. In social settings, you pick up when he doesn’t have the bandwidth to keep going. You can read his mind from his body language alone. You've shown him how to aim for the ideal, even when his pragmatic nature leads the way. You’ve taught him to slow down, even when life is relentlessly shoving him along.

“Kento, are you- are you crying?” you question in shock.

It’s difficult to process the information in front of you. You’re not seeing things, right? That’s definitely a tear falling down his cheek. Quickly, you bring your thumb to his face, swiping it away.

Catching your wrist, he brings your pulse point to his lips, giving you a small kiss there.

Here, feet in the white sand of the island of Redang, under the dark, starry sky, Kento goes down to kneel before you.

Recognizing the gesture, your heart swells and all the air leaves your lungs. Both your hands immediately cover your mouth, and the burn of tears forming ignites behind your eyes.

Through the blur, you see him smile. 

Regaining composure over your senses, you remind yourself to take everything in. The way his honey-brown eyes reflect the lights in the distance, the way his open collar ruffles in the breeze, the appearance of the new freckles from the Malaysian sun that decorate his exposed chest, how his unstyled, blonde hair moves freely, how one of his hands takes both of your own, while the other holds out a breathtakingly beautiful solitaire diamond ring.

Your eyes take him all in and land back on his face, one that displays the most loving, adoring expression you’ve ever received. 

“When you came into my life, everything changed. I knew, from that point forward, I would dedicate my existence to ensuring your happiness. Nothing matters to me more than seeing you smile. It gives me purpose—fills the air in my lungs. I have never, and will never need anything more.”

You watch the tears cascade down his cheeks, mirroring your own.

“Please do me the honor of marrying me and making you my wife.”

One second passes, and you squeal, “Yes!”

a/n: This was supposed to be smutty and turned into something fluffy. I can't help it! I just adore him so much. also, how do we feel about this format? I've never done something like this before!

[chosetherose]

The Fortnight video foreshadows the convergence of Taylor Swift and her brand

In her videos, Taylor has continually played with the idea of herself as a person versus as a brand. These portrayals have almost been adversarial in nature. Think about the relationship between the two life sized Anti-Hero Taylors. The hooded robot Taylor who got to exist in the world while her bare counterpart was trapped in glass. Etc.

The Fortnight video introduces similar characters but flips the script because there isn’t a me versus her dynamic anymore. Instead, there is a story about coming together.

A scene by scene breakdown:

Taylor Swift™️ is chained to a bed in a white gown with a spicy slit and garter. A faceless nurse enters walking upside down on the ceiling (a continued theme suggestive of PR games). The nurse presents “Forget Him” pills, arguably reminiscent of a dark time where the world thought they could “cure” homosexuality. After Taylor Swift™️ begrudgingly takes her dose, the nurse unchains her.

We then see Taylor Swift™️ approach a two way mirror and wipe the mask off her face, revealing face tattoos we know to be Post Malone’s in real life. This reveal is setting the scene that within this video Post Malone represents Taylor’s inner self, her true soul behind the veil of celebrity. I’ll call him True Taylor.

Next, the mask is back and we see Taylor Swift™️ walk out of the observation room and into the workspace. She goes from wearing a leggy white gown with garter to a fully covered black poet-esque dress. She isn’t dressed for voyeuristic eyes anymore, she’s dressed to work on her art. I love this light to dark transition because black can be seen as the absence of light. Fitting for a tortured poet who can’t live her truth in public with her sunny muse by her side.

Note that we don’t get to see black dress Taylor Swift™️ through the two way mirror. She exists behind the bright lights of fame, making art in a room hidden from our view. Maybe the pills numb her enough to twist the art for an audience who likes to her to be chained to a bed while they watch her suffer.

But wait Taylor Swift™️ and True Taylor are collaborating. They start work separately but their art eventually drifts out of their typewriters, combining into a white light that bursts into a rainbow. Remember how I said black light is the absence of light? Well white light is comprised of all hues on the visible light spectrum.

We know there are layers to Taylor’s music: the surface layers chock full with to red herrings for the grocery line Swifties and the deeper layers of Taylor’s truth. They both exist in the art, swirled together.

But here is where things start to feel different. We cut to True Taylor and Taylor Swift™️ away from all those faceless people - they are alone in the middle of a road. That in itself is ridiculously symbolic of being on the way to somewhere (maybe brighter days). But there’s more because they are dressed identically, laying inside Taylor’s head that is made up of their art. This scene is like bonking us on the head that these two people are one and the same.

Note: The silhouette here is from the Style video which also portrays Taylor’s inner self as a man.

Taylor Swift™️ runs to True Taylor and they embrace in the middle of the road as pages of their art float around them. In the chaos, Taylor Swift™️ reaches out to True Taylor.

Maybe this scene is suggesting the public version of Taylor is ready to embrace her real self.

Then we see Taylor Swift™️ strapped to a table, wild hair from dropping the hairpins we saw in the opening scene. The drugs aren’t working, it must be time to escalate to shock therapy. The men around her gather and there is literally a sign in the background that says “Master Control”.

But one of the men in the room making decisions for the brand is actually True Taylor, who has been there all this time.

Enough is enough when True Taylor can’t take the pain and pulls the plug on the procedure, freeing public persona Taylor from torture.

Next we see True Taylor, familiarly encased behind glass, on a phone call. Perhaps making plans while safe from the rain. Taylor Swift™️ is elevated on a pedestal, out in the storm, in her best dress FEARLESS! Credit to @rep-princess-witch who put the fearless connection together in another post.

I’ll say it again, that is the huge difference in this video compared to others. Here, Taylor Swift™️ is not an antagonist, she is ready to brave the storm.

So what does she do? She’s back in the workspace burning all the files. It’s not without emotion but it’s necessary. We then see a stoic Taylor Swift™️ with no regrets.

After burning the files she’s back in the observation room. It’s time to fight back against the voyeurs and she does so by smashing the glass between her and them. She regains her agency by squashing their ability to hide. Shes deserting her past life.

Note: We don’t see True Taylor back inside. This fight is specifically for Taylor’s public persona.

In the closing seen, we see True Taylor leave shelter, step outside into the storm, and reach for Taylor Swift™️. The person and the public persona are weathering the storm hand in hand.

*Please check out @heyitsmoog on TikTok - he shared thoughts there that inspired me to make this post.*

[inkyembers]

this ultimately stems with removing enver from bane’s influence to start. it’s clear that bane has a hold on him to the point that bane’s literally torturing him for the rest of eternity if he’s killed, right?

now. that does not excuse him of any of his actions, but he also was never given a “chance” do to good. it would be begrudging, and i think the starting point would be at the morphic pool where enver realizes how majorly FUCKED you are with the netherbrain.

late night melatonin infused bun thoughts but … i have. a “good path” enver ending

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

moving slowly on a fast lane | cl16, cs55

charles leclerc x original female character x carlos sainz jr [+18]

🏁 synopsis: If you ask her, Katie will tell you she’s a motorsports enthusiast and that she works as a model. However, the world has given her various labels – fangirl, groupie, escort, you name it. Regardless of the terminology used, the undeniable truth is that women like her play a crucial role in the industry. Every race weekend, she is there not just to be entertained but to contribute to the entertainment, whether it's by being a pretty face at exclusive parties or by providing more intimate company for the pilots. warnings: smut; loss of virginity; threesome; age gap; misdescription of f1 behind the scenes (W.c. 2K)

| listen to the playlist |

PART I — GROUPIE LOVE

“Because you’re different.” Carlos explains, not really looking at her.

Charles, his head resting on her lap, winces at the response, quietly disagreeing with his teammate's answer. The trio, as usual, lies together on a king-sized bed in a luxury hotel.

It's summer in Latin America, and they're wearing light clothes. The windows are wide open, and the gentle tropical breeze is getting Katie agitated. Yet, it's all in vain because Carlos doesn't even move his eyes from the TV, watching a random tennis match.

Carlos and Charles label moments like these as 'teambuilding,' and usually, Katie is very good at getting them both in a good mood – calm and tranquil. But not today. Today, it's Katie herself who needs calming down.

For the past year, every race weekend, Katie wears her prized credentials like a badge of honor. In no time, despite being quite young and new to the scene, Katie seamlessly transitioned from a wide-eyed newbie to a face you couldn't miss. It wasn't a difficult feat, considering she has an unforgettable face with killer feminine features and a confident personality that could give the racers a run for their money.

Her presence in the paddock has transcended mere fandom – she's not just there to watch anymore, in a way, she became an essential part of the spectacle.

Things are still all rainbows and sunshine for Katie. Her life has turned into a never-ending road trip, always traveling with a team. The pilots still appreciate her – she’s still their untarnished muse – and she hasn't lost the thrill of the fast lane.

But Katie has been around long enough to see that feeling change in other women – the ones who've been on the circuit for ages, who've seen it all and maybe gotten a bit tired of the whole thing. It's hard for her to even picture herself in that spot, to imagine life being any different from what it is now.

Especially during the Canadian Grand Prix, that's when someone special took notice of Katie. An insider from Ferrari, whose name shall remain confidential; a person with a lot of influence within the team and whose role is not entirely undisclosed. This insider handed Katie a golden ticket: credentials and an invitation to join them on the road. 

No longer having to jump from bus to bus, Katie arrived with the Ferrari roadies. The sound of tools clinking as the crew was setting up everything for the upcoming race created a magical symphony. In that moment, as a witness of the behind-the-scenes hustle and with the anticipation building up for the race, the thought of ever going home doesn't cross her mind.

"I just want to help," she whines.

They're in Mexico now, and it's Katie's first time in the country. But for their first day, Charles and Carlos decided to stay in, saying they needed to concentrate. For Katie, witnessing moments like these were a job, the reason she felt like a part of the circuit. She would linger in the center of the bed, offering words of encouragement or simply watching a movie together. Sometimes there would be other girls in the room, sometimes it was just her. Regardless, things never ventured further from that.

“No, you’re bored. And that’s dangerous, honestly.” Carlos stands firm on his answer.

It’s not like he’s not interested in what she’s offering, or that he hasn’t thought about it – it’s the reason why she’s asking that’s bothering him. Charles, on the other hand, has been waiting months for an excuse. But he had a deal with his teammates and a commitment in maintaining the appearances; so he kept his mouth shut, trying to appear as if he was agreeing with everything being said.

“Then entertain me.” Katie asks.

Maybe it's the uninspiring color of the walls or the constant thud of the tennis ball from the TV, but Katie is genuinely bored.

“Begging is not a good look on you.” Carlos says, finally turning to look at her. He playfully flicks her forehead, but there's a fire in his eyes that Katie takes mental note of, a memory she'll save to use against him eventually.

PART II — GASOLINE

The soft hum of a distant air conditioner mingles with the rhythmic clinking of ice cubes in a near-empty bar. The bartender, wiping down the counter, shoots a casual nod in their direction. Katie sits on a stool, a cold drink in her hand, condensation leaving delicate droplets on the polished surface.

Emily leans on the bar, an easy smile playing on her lips. The bar stools around them remain unoccupied and the only soundtrack is the soft chatter between friends and the occasional clink of glasses.

Emily was Katie's first friend in the racing world, and their connection came from their shared love for fast cars. Emily, being a couple years older and having a couple years more experience in the racing scene, became a sort of guide for Katie. So, when Katie talked about feeling unsure, Emily felt like she had to share some advice. Their talk wasn't just a casual chat; it was a mentorship.

“Baby girl, just be completely yourself. Be yourself to the fullest, unapologetically you." Emily declares. “Everything we do here is for love. Don’t worry, Artemis will forgive you.”

Katie, wearing her trademark graphic t-shirt and mini skirt, watches as the ice in her drink slowly melts under the Mexican heat. At 19, she's a college dropout who left her family behind to chase the adrenaline-soaked circuits of F1.

But being a young impressionable woman in this testosterone-charged arena came with its own set of challenges. She feels herself staring at the edge of an abyss, ready to jump, but held back by the fear of the unknown. The realization settles in – once she takes that leap, there's no turning back.

Emily, carrying the confidence of someone who took that jump long ago, continues, "And I know it feels like women are not allowed to love. Every time we're passionate about something, no matter how we express it, we end up as the punchline to some misogynist joke. Even if I wasn't sleeping with these guys, people would still treat me like I was. They already made up their minds about me long before they met me." Emily shares. She’s talking about the scrutiny they face, especially within the high-stakes world of the paddock, is a reality they've grown accustomed to. The lingering gazes of multi-millionaires, the subtle condescension in their voices – it's all part of the package. “And we’re not even getting paid!”

PART III — DARK NECESSITIES

It’s only in Vegas that she manages to put her plan into action. Getting Charles alone in a room is easier than she imagined. There are no distractions here – no photoshoots, no interviews, no fans asking for autographs –, no one’s watching. The city’s energy seems to fade and they are completely isolated in a hotel room.

The night unfolds in the heart of Sin City, the stakes are high, and in the quietude of the hotel room, Katie wonders if she's playing her cards right.

For a moment, Katie sheds the layers of her public persona, existing only as a woman whose body burns with an unmistakable yearning for the man before her; a woman with desires as palpable as the heat radiating through the room.

Charles breaks the silence that hangs between them. "Katie," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto hers, "are you sure?"

Katie, her gaze unwavering, listens to his words, simply nods. A silent affirmation, a surrender.

"Good girl," Charles whispers, his fingers gently brushing her hair behind her ears. His lips trail down her cheek, seeking the softness of her neck. In this moment, he's attempting to play the part of a gentleman, aware that this is Katie's first time. His breath, a subtle inhale, captures the scent of vanilla on her skin.

She feels a vulnerability she never felt before. Her body reacts instinctively, welcoming him as a lover. She has been waiting for this moment for too long.

“You’re gonna let me touch you, hm?” Charles's voice is muffled as he gently kisses her throat. “You’re going to let me be your first?”

A combination of trust and apprehension lingers within her.

“Yes. Yes.” Katie gasps. She leaves behind any trace of inhibition left and is ready to let him do whatever he wants to her.

Charles, driven by a mix of desire and curiosity, is eager to explore and to taste every inch of her. He takes her to bed and slowly takes off her shirt and bra, kissing her shoulder and leaving little bites along the way. He traces the curves of her breasts with the tip of his tongue, making her euphoric, arousing her even further – making her fully realize just how much she craves his touch. Charles captures her nipple between his teeth, gently sucking on it until it becomes erect under his touch.

He lets his hand slide, under her mini skirt and on top of her panties. Feeling the warmth of his hand on her clothed wet core, Katie lets out a sigh. For her it feels like it takes forever until they’re both naked and Charles has his head buried in between her legs. His lips touch her clit and he’s patient with his kisses, enjoying her innocent taste as much as he can. Charles drags his tongue through the length of her slit, parting her lips with his fingers and sending shivers throughout her entire body.

Charles takes his sweet time opening her up. The neon glow from the outside world seeps through the curtains; as the night deepens, the city pulses with life, unaware of the affair unfolding within the walls of the hotel room.

For a brief moment, everything fades away and Katie’s breathing accelerates, her hips buck involuntarily against his fingers.

“Don’t stop!” Katie urges, desperate to reach her climax. She surrenders to pleasure, moaning loudly as Charles’s tongue explores her more sensitive area.

That’s when they hear a knock on the door. Followed by another. Whoever is outside starts incessantly banging their fist against the wooden door. Startled, they exchange a brief, wide-eyed glance.

“Who is it?” Charles calls out, his voice tinged with irritation; Katie remains wrapped in the bedsheet.

Without receiving an answer, the door swings open, revealing Carlos's stern expression. His eyes flicker between Charles and Katie, registering the scene before him.

"What the hell, Charles?" Sainz's voice carries a mix of frustration and disappointment. 

Katie feels a sense of exposure, caught between the two men. Leclerc, caught off guard, stammers in response, "Carlos, I... I didn't think you'd mind. It's just..."

Carlos's gaze intensifies, his disappointment morphing into a subtle betrayal. "We had an agreement," he says, his voice strained. "You weren't supposed to do anything without me." Carlos's eyes shift to Katie, his demeanor changing to one of confidence and dominance. "And you, young lady," he asserts, "you got what you wanted?"

"Not yet," Katie answers, a spark of defiance in her eyes. The tension in the room escalates, the air thick with desire. She notices Carlos eyes lingering on her exposed body. It feels empowering, intoxicating. The anticipation turns her arousal to a fever pitch.

“I want to watch.” Carlos states boldly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since you decided you wanted to do this without me, at least be kind enough to let me watch.”

Katie doesn’t feel like she has a choice, her body has already decided what it wants. Charles lets out a quiet laugh, trying not to appear overly assured in this unexpected turn of events. He wraps his arm around Katie, pulling her closer. Her heartbeat quickens. When Charles reaches for her hand, she takes it, her eyes never leaving Carlos’s face. The pleasure pulsing through her is intense. Carlos moves and positions himself beside them. A second later, there is the unmistakable sound of Carlos's belt buckle being undone. He slips himself free.

Her attention turns back to Charles, who’s preparing himself to finally give her what she wants. She leans in to kiss him, inviting him deeper. Carlos’s eyes stay fixed on Katie as he watches Charles slip into position. Charles’s breath is hot on her ear, filled with lust and excitement. Her muscles are still tight from her lack of experience, but soon, she relaxes and lets go. 

He enters slowly, savoring each moment. Charles moans softly, eyes closing as he holds her close.  She bites down on her lip, managing to hold back her cries of ecstasy. This is her first time, so it hurts slightly, but also brings such blissful sensations that she can barely contain herself. The anticipation builds until, finally, she can take no more. "Charles," she whispers, reaching up to grasp his neck. Charles wraps his arm tightly around her waist, gently holding her in place. 

Her entire body shakes as her orgasm hits, her release ripping through her. When she comes down from the high, she hears Carlos exhale loudly. He doesn't move, only watches her in admiration.

She opens her eyes and looks up. Instinctively, Katie leans forward to take his member into her mouth. She enjoys every moment of his warm girth sliding down her throat. Charles continues to fuck her troughout it. She sucks harder, with passion, like she was made for this.  She realizes that, actually, she was. 

And with that realization, Carlos spills himself on her soft mouth. She pulls away from him, his seed dripping down her chin. She closes her eyes and returns her attention to Charles, still buried deep inside her, just in time for his release – he comes with a growl, guttural, moaning in her ear. 

Afterwards, they lie in bed together, recovering. Charles strokes her hair as Carlos cuddles with her. Charles gives her a gentle smile.  "You're really something special, you know that?" He whispers. 

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Masterlist 

The Flip Side (on hiatus?)

Part: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7, 8,  9, 10, 11,  12,  13

Ao3

Silver Springs

Part: 1,  2 ,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9, 10, 11, 12 (completed)

Ao3 

Growing Pains (post mob-life fic -- in progress🐢)

Part: 1,   2,   3,   4,   5,    6,   7 

Ao3

Silver Spring AU Drabbles

Ao3

Rescue ~ Adopting Boone 

Rivals ~ Y/n meets another mobster

Couched ~ Wanda gets in trouble

Recon ~ Wanda and y/n meet 

Sushi ~ First date

Burn out ~ Wanda gets sick

Faux pas ~ Pietro gets drunk

Midnight ~ Wanda visits after being away for work 

Surprise ~ Wanda gives Y/n a gift

Graduation ~ Wanda crashes a graduation party. (18+)

Decoy ~ Y/n and Wanda get a new addition to the family 

Bickering ~ Grocery shopping 

Nine lives ~ Fletcher visits the vet 

Don’t Blame Me ~ Y/n witnesses Wanda’s drug deal. (18+)

Sunrise ~ Proposal 

Crisis ~ Finding out we’re pregnant

Caught ~ Wanda gets in trouble…again

Dreams ~ Y/n deals with old demons 

Training ~Y/n and Wanda spar

K.O. ~ Y/n and Wanda spar part 2. (18+)

Trials ~ Navigating pregnancy and parenthood 

Not As Expected ~ Wanda has her baby

Role Reversal ~ Y/n, the mob boss

Intruder ~ Coming home to an unpleasant surprise 

Field work ~ Boone helps Wanda at work

Broke ~ Y/n is introduced to the darker side of Wanda’s job

Ambush ~ Y/n and Wanda have the odds stacked against them

Wrath ~ Wanda comes to Y/n’s rescue 

It ~ Movie night with Wanda

Birthday ~ Y/n celebrates a birthday

Minefield ~ Y/n meets Bucky

Aberration ~ Y/n meets Nat

Nerves ~ Y/n and Wanda get married 

Reunion ~ Y/n and Wanda go to a high school reunion

Reunion pt. 2 ~ Y/n sets things right with Wanda

Repair ~ Y/n fixes the dishwasher and Wanda is very grateful. (18+)

Ennui ~ Wanda comes out to her brother 

A Night Out ~ Y/n meets Pietro 

First Time ~ Y/n gets a tracker 

First Time pt. 2 ~ Y/n and Wanda begin to recover 

Troublemaker ~ The dogs’ babysitting skills are put to the test 

Anonymous ~ Pietro receives a disturbing letter 

Night In ~ Y/n is left in charge

Girls Trip ~ Y/n takes a trip to the beach with some friends

Serendipity ~ Y/n meets Wanda’s high school crush

Serendipity pt. 2 ~ Aftermath of Wanda’s reunion. 

Reminiscing ~ Wanda’s midnight musings 

Preparations ~ Y/n and Wanda get ready for their baby 

Infidelity ~ Wand realizes her wife is hiding something.

I Did Something Bad ~ Wanda carries out a hit

Abduction ~ An outing with Boone goes wrong  

Struggles ~ Real world attention problems

Traffic ~ Y/n and Wanda travel abroad

Mama ~ Just another weekly dinner with the fam

Cross The Line ~ Wanda takes her wife to a club

Anniversary ~ Y/n spends a special day with Wanda

Honeymoon ~ How Y/n and Wanda spend the last night of their honeymoon (18+)

Better Than Cake ~ Y/n and Wanda celebrate a birthday (18+)

Out of Commission ~ Wanda breaks her wrist 

Kinks ~ Pietro brings his sister a gift

Road Kill ~ Y/n learns something new about Wanda

Stealth ~ Y/n has a lapse in judgement

If Anyone Falls ~ Y/n and Wanda’s first time together ❤️ (18+)

Appreciation ~ A break from taking care of new baby Natalya

2, 4, 6, 8... ~ Pietro misunderstands his sister-in-law’s intentions 

Separation ~ Wanda makes a horrible mistake while arguing with her wife

Separation pt. 2 ~ Continuation of part 1  

Competition ~ Wanda catches her wife with another woman

Late Night ~ Wanda catches onto her wife’s sleepless nights

Coming home ~ Fletcher’s adoption

Feud ~ Wanda betrays her wife

Playdate ~ Boone and Fanny hang out at the compound

Nightmares ~ Wanda wakes up to an unpleasant surprise 

Cocaine Bear ~ Movie night

Wild ~ Y/n gets an unpleasant surprise 

Blackout ~ Y/n's first experience with expensive tequila

Phoenix ~ Lazy Sunday musings 

Decompress ~ Wanda helps her girlfriend relax after a hard day at work. 

Sick Leave ~ Y/n is forced to take some time off of work

Rainbow Bridge ~ Dog-centric drabble 

Trade off ~ Y/n saves Wanda’s life 

Breach ~ Natalya’s first break-in

Triage ~ Aftermath of Breach 

Stunts ~ Wanda makes a mistake 

Limbo ~ Important relationships landmarks  (18+)

Storms ~ Disruptive late night thunderstorms 

Karma ~ Family getaway

Negotiations~ Y/n sneaks out one night 

House call ~ Y/n receives an unconventional offer

Mile High Club ~ Y/n and Wanda fly to Europe

Better Help ~ Y/n goes to therapy 

Pretty Girls ~ Heart eyes 

Staying In ~ A lazy Sunday

The Sticks ~ Wanda needs a favor 

Something old, something new ~ New adventures  (18+)

Insomnia ~ Sleepless nights

Afterglow ~ Pillow talk

Let’s Groove ~ A night out 

Deprived ~ Sexting 

In The Night ~ Y/n getting into trouble

Routine ~ Wanda comes home 

Crush ~ Y/n is reunited with someone from vet school

Break In ~ Y/n’s given a reason to move to the compound 

Intervention ~ Wanda requires an intervention

Please Please Please ~ Wanda gets in trouble 

Game Night ~ Family game night 

Happy Birthday ~ An odd tradition 

Distracted ~ Y/n and Wanda spend the night at the club

Fireworks ~ New Year’s party 

Hardheaded ~ Cooking lessons with Y/n

Chase ~ Y/n’s memorable motorcycle ride

Into the Unknown ~ Wanda pregnancy drabble  (18+)

Boundaries ~ Y/n stands up for her wife

What I Need ~ Much needed post-pregnancy appreciation (18+)

Remiss ~ Y/n and Wanda have a late night chat 

House Guest ~Y/n brings home a new friend 

Hell Hath No Fury ~ An idiot faces Wanda’s wrath

Delusions ~ A familiar proposal is not what it seems

Alternate endings

Too late ~ Y/n dies

Laid to rest ~ Y/n dies part 2  

Complications ~ Wanda dies 

Headcanons: (where I will ramble about my favorite alternate universe)

Silver Springs AU

Extras: 

Little Nat Adventures :)

[applesontheground]

break what i borrow 🧩

hello, everyone.

this one got. long.

all i got to say is that anyone who's been here since *looks at calendar* june knew this was coming. and buckle the fuck up, because my favorite position to write him and the reader in is doing jigsaw goon work together.

just kidding, it's this one.

gif credit: x

NSFW | Word Count: 4,346 | Mark Hoffman x GN Apprentice!Reader contains canon typical/ment of canon character death, post-SAW VI & pre-SAW VII, that fucking facial scar, stalking/B&E themes, biting, light knifeplay, BDSM/gagging, brat taming, begging, that one position that rearranges guts, Jigsaw is used as a bedroom name so turn back now if that's too corny for you (bc it sure isn't for me) [Y/O] = Your Occupation

As all good things did, it had to end sooner or later.

The fact that when you said that you meant your apprenticeship under John Kramer would make most people snap to some disgusted attention. Fine, yes, you could admit the obvious: it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows what with… the opportunity.

Doing the dirty work, staying late fixing things in the wake of your mentor’s sickness, hauling bodies of individuals you were told to view as guilty until proven innocent – or as Kramer would call it, revived. You didn’t have good nights by any perspective that was rooted in a functioning world’s understanding while doing the bidding of a dying man with a new outlook on life – or rather, what to do with it now that his clock was reaching the end of its final wind.

That didn’t mean you didn’t find that sweet silver lining, seclusion in a dark warehouse with nothing but something to do with your hands and like minds, similar broken pieces there to slide together in the best fashion that you all could. You had felt the snug fit at times. Being John’s second trial that had pulled through to the other side, you had arrived with one already praying at the altar, Amanda Young, and then two more to come join in time, contributing to the cause for their own reasons.

Amanda was the one to propose you go into hiding well before this last trap that John was planning while he was alive, a family torn to shreds from the death of their son. Details were spared when he decided to dismiss you. John was growing weaker in his speech with each passing week you would visit, his movements deteriorating until he was bedridden, and more machines were placed into his body to keep some semblance of a consciousness. After those final words between them, you had to run and hide. You, Amanda, and John all agreed it was for the best, at least while the game was going; the other two would be filled in, you supposed in your inability to hesitate with little time between everything afoot.

When John told you to stay, you stayed. When he said to go, you went without a second look back. Jigsaw wasn’t ever going to be done with what you had started; you also knew this despite ignorance on the surface. You didn’t really keep a tab on what that meant as you found a new spot to take your roots.

There came a good crossroad. A relative offered their home to you, needing to travel for their high-end job and not wanting to hire someone to watch the property back in the states, take care of their animals out in the rural patch of land that they owned. You accepted, knowing they wouldn’t mention to anyone that they were asking family to do it. They didn’t need to know that there was a more intense investigation into the Jigsaw murders unfolding in the town miles over, and that if you didn’t take shelter in a place where the authorities wouldn’t think to search, you’d be named one of the notorious pig-faced accomplices.

It was better that questions weren’t asked all around. The setup wasn’t foolproof, but you figured it could be enough severance to keep authorities at bay. Then again, you sometimes mused as you would stare back towards the city, down the dirt road you had come in disheveled and teary-eyed, that it wasn’t airtight.

It was as sealed as you could make it and would take a real coverup to make sure you’d never be heard from again.

Another quiet evening was spent in the desolate living room, far too lavish for your one family member to have to themselves every night. You wondered how they lived in such a way, staring from the large bay window and nonchalantly to your shorts that were barely coming down to cover your thighs, just enough to be presentable enough should there be unwanted knocks on the door. A baggy shirt didn’t make it any better, swallowing everything above your abdomen if you didn’t roll it to sit on your waistband.

The closest neighbor wasn’t for a good few miles, so there was no reason to hide lest the pigs in the nearby field catch a glimpse. You were more fond of them over the horses and the few goats under your watch, and they seemed to like you in place of their owner just the same. There had been times you had ventured out here before unbeknownst to another living soul – including your relative – to bring the pigs a special delicacy. Courtesy of Jigsaw himself, who needed to get some “work” off his hands, and of course he knew the bonus to swine alongside their intelligent minds.

Your ears turned to the deafening weight of the silence, something empty and going down the two corridors that lead to the rest of the house. You had done some exploring, sure, but it would be exhausting to make the rounds every evening like you wanted. You kept all windows locked, curtains drawn everywhere except the four rooms you frequented, and all your possessions were kept in the closet in the guest room you found the most pleasant.

Somewhere deep in one of the suitcases you had hauled with you when leaving town was that mask, the heavy coat, and boots you would wear when you were "on the job". It'd be too incriminating to abandon those crucial pieces of the outfit back in the apartment you had left in the dead of night.

The last you heard, someone had gone and torched the place, expertly keeping it confined to the one unit with a lick of expertise in destroying evidence. A hand went up to your neck, uncomfortable to admit even in the safety of your head that you knew who had done it. It wasn’t Amanda, and it wasn’t Dr. Gordon.

A creak in the foundations from down one hallway, the one you weren’t inhabiting in your stay, made your mind snap back to the task at hand.

You tried to watch TV in the main room, but that bay window felt far too inviting to onlookers now that you were once again stuck in the throes of thinking about the life you were trying to singe your connection to, imagining voyeurs on the back of your shoulders, crawl up your spine until you had to draw the curtains. It was almost like clockwork to be walking to bed with a clouded conscience.

All those nights in windowless spaces made you far more adjusted to concealed areas, so when they were opened up? All of those bodies staring at you in frozen mercy for there was still no salvation after all this time. It was them, or the hypervigilance of keeping an eye on the neighbors, which you considered just as vindictive should they know anything past someone still living in this house, tending the livestock.

 It was only when you stepped into your self-assigned bedroom, eyes darting in the unlit space to see more curtains that you also felt the compulsion to draw, that same feeling was growing, practically on top of you now. It wasn’t anyone of the sort you were suspecting; no ghastly victims coming back for you, no neighbors…and certainly not Jigsaw himself.

At least, not the Jigsaw you recognized.

The figure at the corner of the room had been stock still, but walking a little further in gave enough leverage for them to turn their head slightly, like they couldn’t help themselves. You locked eyes with it, the snout clear as day in the thick darkness, and there was a brief consideration that it was all a hallucination from a sick apprentice, another attempt to stay collected that was snuffed when it wasn’t going away with a double take.

“Guess I’m not hiding as well as I thought.” You breathed, eyes adjusting once more to the dark. It moved immediately, making you shoot to the left, barrel halfway over the bed but to no avail. The fast approaching silhouette was encompassing, following the leap with a yank of your ankle and mob after you, one knee on the bed and pinning you fast.

“Can I ask-“You hiccupped as the forearm braced your windpipe against the mattress, a pressure already answering your question – or rather chasing your suspicions, “Who? Amanda, or…?”

Again, it couldn’t be Lawrence, the agile movement being far too fluid. Despite calling out for her, the stick of the jacket-clad arm was far too powerful. Then again, the woman could throw entire brick houses of people through glass panes, easily getting your many bodies to the floor with a single running start. You refused to put it entirely past her, but before you got too skeptical the mask peeled away in a brash movement, hitting the floor as he leaned in close with an exposed face.

“Who the hell do you think?” A gruff voice asked.

You didn’t look into his eyes. [Y/e/c]s burnt into the fresh, crooked slice in his cheek trailing from one corner of his mouth instead, stitches twitching at both the close contact of your skin, your hair, the gentle breaths between you two of disbelief mixed with terror – but your gaze trained on it was what truly made it burn, and before you could ask another question he pushed you down harder into the bed by your neck; making your eyes squeeze shut in response. You finally turned to look the man in the eye, and he was shaking from a very similar, deep-cut rage. You merely waited, unable to speak for the time as he continued to chastise.

“By the way? This is a terrible place to run to. Found you with one look at your phone records.” His arm left your throat, going to your shirt and pulling with a bend of his elbow, not caring that it exposed your chest slightly, letting cool air sweep over you from sudden movement. You blinked, catching your breath as he straightened his posture. You croaked with a hand trailing to where he had barred you, “Work’s treating you well, I’m guessing?” Your hand brushed back, trailing over your cheek in a halfhearted gesture.

It was only met with a sneer from the unmaimed side of his face. He grabbed your shirt a second time, tugging harder as your stance wasnt fit for him. It was too abrasive, your chest hit his and chin slotted over one shoulder from whiplash. Still, you caught your balance, on your knees and hands gripping his shoulders to push off.

You almost didn’t believe those thoughts had materialized into one of John’s other apprentices chasing after you, one you had tried to burn any remnants of alongside your old life, believing the brief connection between the two of you had to end, too – and more importantly, that he’d know it. Even agree with it.

Amanda told you she was going to make sure both Dr. Gordon and him had known you had gone, alongside telling them to consider doing something similar. John wasn’t done with any of you, as you had reminded yourself with another pained glance to the side of his face; he just needed you to disperse so whatever he had planned in his death could come to a more complete fruition.

“You gonna kiss me, or just keep staring at it?” He asked. You turned your head one way, and he didn’t even get to put his hands on you again before your lips pressed carefully under his jawline, eyelashes brushing the fresh scar and making him mutter under his breath, taking the slightest pressure still with newfound pain. Glove’s leather ghosted over your head and back of your neck, trying to will itself to pull you off, but he was dissuaded as you moved away from the wound, closer to his neck for the time.

“Well, sorry, Hoff.” You murmured into his skin, “When I haven’t seen a face like yours in months, I like to take count of what’s new.” The hand found its purchase against your scalp, scratching gingerly before taking hold and wrenching you away from his neck. Looking you in the face, you fixed your eyes to his and gave a bewildered, half-open mouthed smile.

“I’d say the same to you.” He retorted, taking in your [y/h/c] hair, the new scratches on your arms from all the moving you’d done. You blinked, eyes on it one more time before murmuring with a straight face, even a pensive tone of voice, “If it means anything, I don’t think it takes away from how you look.”

“Sweet talker. How many have you used that on?”

You smiled again, and spat, “Please, I’m about as quick to fill the hole all of this shit left as I was to even think about taking over the fucking family business when John and Amanda told me to get out, or to date? What do you take me for?” You shook your head, “It seems you’ve done fine in the wake of John’s cancer, anyways.”

Part of you wanted to ask about them but feigned when his eye now gained that bothered, uncomfortable twitch at the knowledge. You swallowed, breathing deeply now that there were settled qualms. As quick as the silence came, he let go of your hair. You lost balance this time, falling back down on the bed and propping yourself to one side with an elbow.

He was straddling you without another word, and you felt a prod against your stomach that made you roll your neck, looking up at him as you complained in a gentle voice, “Oh, come on. What, you think we’re just gonna do this right now? That you can just walk in-“

“Walk in? I could’ve walked into your last day job-“ He pushed your shoulder closest to him, once again positioning you completely on your back. One leg hiked up from the bed in a reflex, and he finished the job in another abrasive pull with his hand, settling it over his hip, “Asked everyone there where that little [Y/O] of theirs ran off to, and since you can’t save face worth a rat’s ass they’d say right where you went. Believe me, I followed your tracks, and I’d find you all the same. You would’ve let me do it, too.”

“…But you still took time to burn my apartment down so that no one else could?” He stilled in his adjustments as you prodded, head rolling from one side to the other against the bed, “Did the investigative work just to be sure?” You then gasped in a mockery, laughing before he finally broke, leaning in with a cold glove trailing up your shin, settling on your knee to press your thigh against the outside of his leg, and to snuff your snark by lowering himself.

He couldn’t help groan against your tongue, another noise of a long-awaited need that you returned with keeping yourself from completely falling back just yet. Meeting in the middle, you were still propped on elbows as he adjusted on top of you, a hand on your cheek to steady both of you.

“I know,” You laughed as you broke away, watching him refuse to let up just yet and crane downwards again if you weren’t going to let him at your lips. Your voice grew airy as he was finding your neck, eyes closed as you gave him more leverage with a tip of your head to one side, “I should be flattered.”

He used his teeth at the sound of that, making your words still in place of a yelp. He released you after that warning, and paused to breathe shallowly against the shell of your ear. He spoke in that voice he knew made you squirm, pushing up against where you both needed it.

“I’ll show you how flattered you should be, [Y/N].”

You barely had another second to breathe before he ducked lower, tossing the shirt you wore up to your chest. Unnecessary, he seemed to concur as he found what he wanted underneath: your soft stomach clenching as his lips touched you again, the same awareness forged in working together that you liked the trail down just as much as what was coming. You shuddered against his lips, clenching your legs together with knees going into abdomen in a last-ditch effort to keep him from you, a game too fun not to play with the live wire.

He appreciated the challenge, hands sliding through slick sweat on your thighs and the gloves’ surface catching slightly which made you hum in a pathetic gesture. His hands found a good spot to hold, squeezing a bit before prying them apart. Trying to sound downright angry, he barked, “Don’t stop me,” before sinking down. His shoulders kept your legs pried, and the hands moved to frame your hips.

“Gentle, gent-“ You couldn’t even speak, ravaged as he brandished a blade – You couldn’t tell, pocket knife or something larger that you may see on one of you – it sliced the fabric with a ginger saw that brushed the skin of your crotch but didn’t break skin. It hadn’t even felt like it had left a scratch.

He tore through the cut down the inseam of your shorts, underwear going with it. You adjusted slightly, muttering under your breath about liking those clothes, but was quickly quelled with his gloved digits touching [the soft skin of your cock/the entrance of your cunt]. You strained against clenched teeth, head falling back slightly but quickly picked up so you could look at him again and spat, “Are you going to keep toying with me, or do you want to-“

“That fucking mouth.” Fed up, he suddenly pulled away, glaring at you and his hand now clawing at the tie tucked under his jacket, revealing his shirt and loosening it with his middle and ring finger as he started to pull it all off. You watched cautiously, knowing he was going to use that for something other than keeping the appearance up.

He yanked it from around his neck, then came inches away from your face, using it in a horizontal hold to pin your head back. You gave him a resistant glare as he easily fit the fabric past your teeth. Lingering cologne and sweat on it quelled you without so much as a shiver of your tongue against the gag.

“You gonna bite me, tough [guy/girl]?” He asked, giving a testing look over your face, down to your jaw as his hands lingered by your mouth, almost brushing the edges of your molars. You held the stare in consideration, but simply huffed against the fabric. He let go, and you caught the glimpse of satisfaction in his eyes before he pushed your shirt up again.

“Should’ve done that ten minutes ago.” He commented, and you tried to appear offended, but it was hard when the hand returned to your [cock/cunt], force tenfold and making you inhale audibly. It was a release your body, your restless thoughts had needed. It wasn't exactly an idea of yours to pound it out physically, but then again, the mediation you tried to do hadn't necessarily been working either.

He [released your growing member, watching it twitch from the loss of his hold/ took his fingers from your pussy after a few prods in and out], almost contemplating what to do next with finally pressing that button in you to get you to shut up. You merely responded with shallow breaths, avoiding eye contact and taking the breath to consider you really need to draw those curtains now.

The attention needed to be back on him, it seemed. You flinched at the sound of his zipper, and he warned, "To think I'd be able to wait any longer..." You furrowed your brow at that, but merely stayed still for him, something waiting at your entrance making you huff audibly, a noise of recognition it wasn't going to be a nice one.

He had been smart to gag you, the question of whether it was going to be something worth your frayed nerves, your lonely disposition, or a ‘blow your load then hit the road’ sort of deal was forced back. Still, he seemed a little pressed from your lost attention for another second, yourself not getting too excited now to consider it was just going to be the latter at the end of the night.

Still, it was a sign you were going to need some winning over in his mind. The leg around his hip was yanked up, and your hands went to brace the mattress underneath you as the backs of your shins now rested on his shoulders. One wide-eyed glance told him there wasn’t anything for you to do with a tied mouth.

He pushed in after a few strokes, holding your legs against his flanks to keep you still and to get a perfect view of what happened to your face: eyes crossed, then rolled back as you groaned at the pain. Tensity made you brace, clench around him as you tried to push against the pull, the leather-clad hands on your legs as he merely watched, his own sensations stalled in favor of what it did to you.

"Gee, I appreciate it, detective."

Still, he wasn't exactly known for his restraint. He pushed all the way in just to pull out slightly, and a few dry drags hurt to the point where you were squirming far too much.

"What a baby," He muttered, pulling out just to spit on his hand, but you muttered clear enough through the gag for him to catch it.

The rhythm he immediately formed when he slid back in. A grit of his teeth and a laugh in response from you was enough to finally throw the worries for the future to the floor along with your ripped shorts for the time, lolling your head slightly to spasm at the intrusion once more, loudly whining from behind the tie. It made you fixate on every detail in a frenzy, in and out of your head, in and out and in.

Even if it would end in the blink of an eye, the flash of a camera in your memory, you had to throw it out there. Begging behind the tie, all of your noise caught his hazed attention.

“Jesus Christ, don’t fucking stop. You feel so good, I missed you-“ You were nearly weeping, just saying anything you could think to in the heat of the moment, fitting together in a way you hadn’t in ages, and all that came with the assumption that you won’t get to again. Whatever was going on nearly took his face off, a story reminder it could all end at any day.

John had once mentioned how important it was to focus on the moment at hand, don’t try to guess what could come next. When you did that, just enjoying the throb within your walls and unable to push your legs together, squeezing his hips from where he was fit with no sign of leaving, you suddenly fell from grace.

“Ah, ah- I’m fuckin’ coming, I’m gonna-” Your speech garbled, constricted into a pathetic whine against the fabric, arching your back and barely noticing it had shaken his balance, pulled his steady roots as his hands went from the spot just above your ankles to your hips, grabbing like you were about to slip out from under him and suddenly showing no restraint, no mercy as he hammered into you and you continued shaking. “That’s what I fucking thought, that’s it, [Y/N].” He began to babble himself, “Not such a fucking comedian with Jigsaw’s cock tearing you apart, huh, baby?”

“Jigsaw…” The word barely came out from the gag, going limp as you now knew how to finish him, giving the same care and remembering to what turned him on so much. Clawing at the sheets underneath you and mindlessly whimpering, “Please, I can’t-”

You choked on your own mantras as he pulled the tie out, and your head swiveling back to stare upwards, you nearly mewled at the manic glower on his face: he wanted to hear what you had to say now, and you gave it with another shudder, the fucked out state making your throat dry but words still tumbling out, desperate and cracked with your voice.

“Jigsaw, fuck me.”

His panting stalled like a car, grip uncurling from where they had rubbed their leather-clad fingertips against the skin of your sides to a point of rawness. Sliding to your stomach, his noises were ragged, catching up with his breathing as he started spilling inside of you. Your ankles slid from his shoulders, framing him as he careened down again, still thrusting his cock in and out with each shot.

Your hands found his hair, trying not to pull on it as they traveled to the back of his neck, pulling his entire body into you instead. He slumped into you, cock slipping out as his mind pulled out, too; breathing against the nape of your neck and saying something about how you were still tight after all the time spent apart.

“Why would I fuck anyone else?” You asked, eyes closed as you tried to breathe under the weight of him, but still didn’t let go just yet. Another good thing was going to be gone when you did. There was a strong recognition, your brain reminding you just how much of a death sentence it all was.

You must’ve gotten a tighter hold on the man for a split second at the thought, because he was tucking his mouth in the crook of your neck, already only half awake, but coherent speech made you wonder just which one of you he meant when he said it.

“Not going anywhere.”

[justanotherrpmeme]

Major Arcana

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3]

Bold those which apply to your muse:

The Chariot: determination, ambition, overcoming obstacles, drive towards success, assert your willpower, staying focused on goals, victory wreath, road, perseverance, focus, leadership under pressure, over-controlling, rash decisions

Justice: accountability, advocate, seek fairness and truth, advocate for equality, accept accountability, weigh options carefully, resolving disputes, blindfold, books, objectivity, integrity, truth-seeking, ethical decision-making, moral clarity

The Hermit: isolate, contemplate life's mysteries, find wisdom in silence, discover inner peace, withdrawing from society, cave, snow-capped peak, wise old tree, journal, self-awareness, reflection, independence, loneliness, escapism, secrecy

Wheel of Fortune: evolve, transform, adapt, trust in destiny's plan, adapt to unexpected twists, dice, pendulum, opportunity recognition, flexibility, change management, belief in fate, impulsive behavior, over-confidence

Strength: resilience, self-control, empowerment, overcome adversity with grace, stand firm in your beliefs, find courage in difficult times, showing compassion, taming impulses, oak tree, patience, bravery, physical strength

The Hanged Man: transform, accept delays gracefully, let go of control, sacrifice for greater good, halo, acceptance, non-conformity, belief in seeing things from a different perspective, passivity, feeling stuck, self-pity, victim mentality

Death: face inevitable changes, surrender to endings, embrace the unknown, embracing rebirth, releasing the past, facing mortality, feeling trapped, phoenix, acceptance of change, closure, belief in the inevitability of transformation

Temperance: patience, healing, compromise, calm, seek inner tranquility, flow with ease, practicing moderation, water, river, rainbow, moderation, diplomacy, peace-making, emotional stability, belief in finding middle ground, over-indulgence

Tagged by: Tagging: @thornew @reflective-muses @insanislupus @eekaoo (our biggest fans), & you!

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep1 Musings - Dreams, Nightmares, and Faith

Wow. 😍 I love the new title card, with the bomber jets & explosions over upside-down...Paris? Romania? IDGAF--it's cool! I am SO glad AMC took us through war-torn Europe!

Something I found so interesting was the question of whether vampires dream or not.

(Armand stfu omg, him & Les both calling Claudia Infant Death 😅)

In the books, AR's vamps go into deathlike sleep--they're not really conscious, don't get woken up by much unless THEY'RE ready to wake up, and don't dream.

Vamps are like the dead, but UNdead--they're DAMNED. The damned don't get to wish for rainbows when they dwell in darkness. They die with their heartaches and grief, and spread it to others as harbingers of death.

In WWII Europe, societal vampires (Nazis, Soviets, etc) and actual vampires coexist, each preying on the innocent & vulnerable. Louis & Claudia literally tear through the battlefields and waypoints. I was wrong about them eating the dead/blown up body parts--they were feeding on dying soldiers, not ones already dead, but TBH at this point I don't know which is worse?

You feel sorry for Darciana and her revenant "child," sure, but there's also Morgan & Emilia--and what about everyone in that bunker (all those old women & kids), who'll probably starve now that their sole hunter/trapper can't get food for them anymore? Just so these serial killing vamps can eat!?!

Louis thinks "the blood is bad here" cuz they're drinking "misery and hopelessness" in war survivors & POWs etc; but really the misery & hopelessness is IN THEM. LOUIS is miserable (without Lestat). CLAUDIA feels hopeless (with Louis/her own companion). THEY (as vamps) bring misery wherever they go, internally & externally.

You're the walking DEAD, Louis. :( You will ALWAYS be cold. U_U

It's bad EVERYWHERE--love & community is what keeps people going--

--even in the middle of what seems like an apocalypse--be it WWII, or the "flying vampire apocalypse/Great Conversion." Even in a hellish place like the Theatre and the Children of Satan/Darkness. We all need/want a HOME.

Louis & Claudia have been stuck in a figurative nightmare, walking through the valley of the shadow of death along the Devil's Road. But poor AMC!Claudia has actual nightmares. 😭

She tells herself (through her diaries) that she doesn't dream, denying the suffering she goes through, trying to stay strong and not give her trauma power.

The tabula rasa of "infants" and child-like innocence that Armand refers to is just The Void for her. By avoiding her troubles, she's probably giving more power to the things that scare her the most.

AMC KNOWS what they're doing! Claudia's in denial too, and DreamStat's calling them BOTH out on it--but like Delainey said: unlike Louis, Claudia doesn't need a hallucination version of Les to tell her what she already knows--he's in her; he's her father--moreso than Louis, who only ever gets called "Daddy" now when they need to fake it! (Or is it REALLY fake for her? When she gets hurt, she yells for Daddy Lou's attention....)

There's her behavior with Louis', and her nightmares, compared to DreamStat. Cuz Louis' not asleep--he's wide awake, but being awake for him is like living in a nightmare with his eyes wide open. Louis said his own dreams were "erratic and often," but which ones is he even talking about, REALLY? His actual dreams? Or DreamStat; the figment of his imagination he admitted to "inviting" inside his head?

The Disney song goes "Have faith in your dreams and someday...the dreams that you wish will come true." For Louis his dream is obvs Lestat, and obvs by PLatRoA and Blood Communion Looustat's dream finally comes true. But for Claudia her dream is companionship, but also knowledge. She wants/demands answers.

(Only for us to find out 2 books later that all the legends really ARE true!)

Louis's having a crisis of faith--he is SCARED of his dreams, and what it says about himself, and has accepted his damnation with fatalistic & willfully blind cynicism--just like Armand does with the Childrren of Darkness/Satan, he's slowly losing his religion/faith in God (read: their "dead" exes: Lestat & Marius), while doubling down on the idea that they are damned and that all that exists is Hell/Damnation/Satan/etc.

He'd rather believe that baboons are roaming Europe than face another vampire who might reveal more about him than he's ready to accept.

He talks down to Claudia just like Lestat did; and constantly crushes her dreams by being a wet blanket. He gives her NOTHING positive or affirmative to look forward to.

Daciana's suicide is a wake-up call: she IS a good vampire (reltively speaking, ofc). She has dreams and wishes and loving feelings, too. She's visibly in emotional turmoil & pain, which Louis can relate to; acknowledging her as human, and finally looking forward to the future Claudia wants for all of them: companions sharing stories & knowledge & love; "we're a family?"

Louis COULD'VE followed Daciana into hopeless misery, but luckily he DOES have Claudia; them helping e/o to stay out of the fire.

And as sick as it is, Lou also has Lestat, and the comfort of knowing that no matter how bad he acts/gets, he's still alive.

There's still that glimmer of HOPE: "a spark in the dark."

As an aside:

Romania as the "ancestral home" of vampires is hilarious. Claudia's desperate to find out the truth--and she's close, for sure, as there are obviously vamps crawling all over Europe--but my heart just aches thinking about how mind blown Claudia would be if she found out that the REAL ancestral home of AR's vampires was Egypt.

Cinematic poetry, putting AR in the same frames where Louis talks about Dracula--only to drag vampire superstitions a few minutes in, as Louis and Claudia bicker over garlic & crucifixes. XD

[forpiratereasons]

meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. fourth prompt: rainbows!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

-

“The fuck is that?”

Rough start to the morning, if Iz was in this early. Ed didn’t look up from the drawing he was fiddling with: an ice cream cone, couple of sprinkles. Cherry on top. He hadn’t done this sort of thing since his apprenticeship.

“Had lunch with a guy yesterday,” Ed said. “Reminded me of an ice cream.”

Izzy frowned. “Not your usual style.”

That was probably the nicest thing Izzy was physically capable of saying about it. Ed ignored him, picked a turquoise from his palette. Thought of the ring Stede had been wearing. Big ring, big hands. Broad shoulders. Built like a fridge.

Ed wanted to open him up. Rummage around inside, a bit. See what else was in there.

“Thought I might do a little flash sheet,” he mused. “Something for Pride, maybe. Summer vibes.”

Izzy snorted. “You’re a bit beyond that, don’t you think? People don’t come to Blackbeard for little rainbows and smiley faces.”

No, they didn’t. Mostly they came to see Blackbeard for blackwork: sprawling geometrics, florals cut from endless blackouts, abstract patterns sweeping over skin like laying down lace. It wasn’t tā moko like Ed had set out to do, it wasn’t even usually kirituhi—but it was something. It had made his name.

It had made his name so well, in fact, he hadn’t done flash in years.

But the progress pin Stede had been wearing stuck in Ed’s head, and he was suddenly itching to create something, to transform it. He’d whipped out a dozen designs overnight: old school flags and diamonds, winged hearts and roses. Even a fucking unicorn.

Anything that could be filled in with pride. With colour.

After twenty years in Blackbeard’s black lines, black fills, Ed was aching for colour. Pinks and blues and purples, deep emeralds, rich indigos. Soft oranges and brilliant aquas and slashes of red. All of it.

The whole goddamn rainbow.

“Maybe I want to do little rainbows and smiley faces for a bit,” Ed shrugged. “Change of pace, Iz.”

Izzy wasn’t big on changes of pace. Izzy changed paces at around the same speed as a fish trying to grow legs and fund a retirement plan.

Stede, though.

Stede had a bookshop that Ed knew had only opened a couple of months ago, a tan line on his fourth ring finger, and a penchant for fiddling with the pin on his chest, like he was checking that it was still there. He talked about his life like it had only just started a month ago; he’d changed paces so fucking fast, it seemed, he’d left the whole fucking road behind.

Like it was that easy. Like you could just do that: change everything.

Izzy snorted, fucked off to the front desk. “Have you got that geometric done for tomorrow? Client’s in at ten.”

No. Not even half the draft. Boring as hell. “Yeah.”

Turquoise ice creams weren’t boring. Ed tried to think what flavour that might be as he deepened the shadows on the twist, laying colour down in waves: blue raspberry, probably, or cotton candy. Bubble-gum.

Could be anything, the Stede in Ed’s head chimed in. Marshmallow. Almond. Just vanilla. Did you know—

Ed didn’t know, so he couldn’t think of what Stede might say, but he was pretty sure Stede’d have something. Stede had a lot of something to say. Ed had only gotten three hours worth, sitting on that bench by the water and eating hot dogs, but he felt like he could’ve spent three days, and when Stede noticed the time Ed had caught him by the hand and said, d’you wanna do something weird? before whispering a question into Stede’s ear.

I’ve never, Stede had stuttered.

First time for everything, Ed had assured him, and Stede had turned pink, turned red.

Said, yes.

Ed had kissed him. Three hours that should’ve been three days, and Ed had kissed him, brief and chaste, just at the corner of his mouth. Kissed him, and split away, laughing, said goodbye in front of the arcade and all its flashing lights.

First time for everything, Ed had said, but he hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

“Hey, Iz,” Ed said, picking out a pink, a red, for the cherry. “What’s a good spot for a first date?”

[goodsgraces]

accomplished getting down to single digit drafts again which means i get to post my monthly little starter / plotting call while i get to other things . . . like this and i'll dm you to chat & ask for your preference !

existing muses i want to write :

jesse erickson . harris dickinson . tattoo artist . he / they .

margot dai . havana rose liu . nanny . she / her .

beau kinsey . kyle gallner . mechanic . he / him .

tyler dupont . zendaya . figure skater . she / her .

alexis laurent . madelyn cline . musician . she / they .

tori cabrera . nailea devora or jenna ortega . fashion intern . she / her .

charlie xu jett . chase sui wonders . dj . she / they .

emerson caine . josh o 'connor . filmmaker . he / him .

test muses :

camden barrett reid . callum turner . museum guide . he / him .

reece marlowe . alex fitzalan . waiter / biology uni student . he / him .

jackson bailey . louis patridge . musician . he / him .

delilah madden . ella purnell . photographer . she / her .

bianca flores . fiona palomo . pastry chef . she / her .

desired plots :

bones and all - esque plot . . . two c*nnibals on the road together who are literal partners in crime . likely started as total strangers and we can start there or plot something more established .

midnight mass - esque plot . . . residents of a small town start to notice the town begin to change after a newcomer comes to town . tragedy ensues . can be the preacher like the show or can be a new resident !

something based on what happens in vegas . . . two strangers have a fun , drunken night out where they get married and win a jackpot . when they sober up , they realize they'll have to act married to ensure they get to split the money .

a plot based on my best friend's wedding . . . two muses made a pact to get married by a certain age and one is getting married at the exact age they said they'd marry one another .

any sort of exes plot . . . i'm craving angst and turmoil , i fear .

more wlw and mlm plots ! i'm waving my silly little rainbow flag !

anything from my wishlist tag .

[thatbanditqueen]

Smash!

An Elvis Presley fan fic one-shot

Summary: Eadie is walking up the canyon to her uncle's house when a beautiful stranger almost runs her over, out on a car ride to clear his mind. Inspired by a memo from the amazing Hal Wallis before Easy Come, Easy Go, complaining that fans and movie theater owners think Elvis looks bad, his hair is too fluffy and black, and he "doesn't look like a Navy frogman...."

A response to the writing prompt to write a scenario involving Elvis and a car/

WC: 2.7 K

Warnings: None, a non-deadly car crash, and probably typos. I tend to leave these writing prompts to work on during the day Sunday, and I am not sure this one turned out very well... but oh well I said I was posting it.

Tagging my compatriots @vintageshanny @be-my-ally @arrolyn1114 @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime

Friday, September 9, 1966

Countyline Beach, the very edge of Malibu

It was getting harder to read in the evening light, and Eadie decided to give up, placing Valley of the Dolls down on her blanket. Setting back, she lingered on the beach, watching the orange and pink hues follow the sun and dance across the water in a rainbow of reflections just for her. It was lonely back at the empty house, but also a welcome reprieve from the hustle and bustle of Jakarta, which had been home for the last three years. Los Angeles was its own foreign terrain, a fact she had discovered after stepping off the plane last week, and she had yet to learn the rhythms and practices of its natives.

Looking out at the water, she stood, and wiped the sand off the bottom of her thighs, readying herself to walk back across the highway to canyon where her uncle lived. Eadie covered her eyes and looked over at Neptune’s Net, the run down, biker bar on the other side of the highway, and considered going for a beer and maybe some human contact. But she still didn’t yet feel confident using US money, and the line of Harley Davidsons out front gave her pause.

So, instead, Eadie slipped her sandals back on, threw everything in her bag, and walked leisurely across the empty two lane highway that stretched between the burnt, brown  foothill of the Santa Monica mountains to the beach. Looking over her shoulder as she started up the hill, she mused at how lucky she was to be here in the first place, housesitting on the beach in America, and made a mental note to ask how she could help out more when Uncle Ian returned from New York.  She wanted to be the kind of useful, grateful, houseguest he would invite to stay as long as she liked.

The sun was almost completely gone as she trekked up the hill, and Eadie startled when, lost in her own thoughts, she saw a large, chocolate poodle running down along the other side of the road. She walked to the middle of the lane, slapping her thighs and whistling, then slowly taking another step. Her stomach was a ball of nerves thinking of the highway 30 yards down the canyon, and what could happen to the dog if she didn’t catch it.

“Come here, boy, come here.” Eadie whispered in a slow, friendly voice.

The dog paused and quirked its ears up at her, and the recognition in its big brown eyes made her smile.

“That’s a goooood boy.”

Confident she was gaining its trust, Eadie slowly stepped towards the animal, and was just about to take another when the sudden loud roar of a car engine bounding down the canyon startled the dog into the brush. Eadie jumped back and fell down in the wake of the black convertible that swerved into the big rock on the other side of the road.

Eadie opened her eyes. The sounds of metal crashing and tires squeaking, followed by a stream of steady expletives, filled her ears. The swearing got closer as she heard a rush of footsteps that brought a tall, dark-haired man into view above her. She rubbed her eyes again, trying to focus. His blue eyes were terrified, and his face was pale, drained of blood, as he leaned down to prop her up from the dirt.

“Hey, hey hey hey hey, now, baby. You’re ok, you’re ok.”

Eadie put her arms around him, instinctively, before looking over at the crunched, smoking engine. Still in shock, she slapped his chest several times before realizing her palm was skinned and she was smudging blood all over his blue shirt.

“What the devil! Do you have any idea how reckless you are? You bloody fool, you could have died, or killed someone, driving down the canyon like that.”

The man shook his head, wiping her hair out of her face.

“And I s��pose where you come from, standing in the middle of the street is considered safe, huh?"

Then she remembered why she had been in the middle of the road.

“Wait, wait, I was in the- it - was - there was - oh no, there was a dog, there was a dog, put me down, we have to go save it.”

Eadie tried to stand, but stumbled, leaning on the man as she tried to walk another step, turning and looking around for the poodle. She almost went down completely on her next step, and so she didn’t protest when he scooped her up into his arms, but she continued to look around anxiously. Her stomach was tight again as she imagined the dog running out into one of the roads nearby.

“He was just here, please, I cannot bear to think of him running around loose, he’ll get run over, please. go see if you can catch him.”

The man shifted, his arms fixed around Eadie as he swung around in a circle, unable to ignore the intense urgency in her voice.

“Honey, there ain’t no dog here, wouldn't know which way to go.”

“Please, you’ve got to go look for him, I’ll never forgive myself, just set me down on your boot. There. He went off that way.”

The man looked deep into her eyes as he set her down on the trunk of his car, and walked over to grab her missing sandal and her other things laying in the middle of the road. He knelt down, wiped off her foot and slid her shoe on, in an almost maternal manner, then rubbed her calf before he standing all the way back up. He stared at her expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to say something. So she did, gesturing toward the brush

"Please."

“Listen, I can’t go chasing after some dog, lil girl, but I bet you dollars to donuts he's gone on home. Dogs are smarter than we give 'em credit. But I can't go a wild goose chase, baby, I gotta  figure out what I’m gonna do about this goddamn mess.” He kicked the front wheel of his car.

Eadie frowned, a wave of guilt washed over her. The dog, his car, the evening had turned into a fiasco in the blink of an eye. She bobbed her head in agreement, the guy was right, and she felt even worse noticing the smoke that was still coming out of his smashed hood.

“Oh, and your car. Think it will run?

“Oh sure, it'll run, alright. Run right into the junk yard. Ya not a mechanic, are you? The engine's gone, but also once a car gets all smashed up, it ain't never drive right again. Needs to be put out to pasture. Gonesville."

She watched as he looked past her, out the ocean, and his eyes got a sort of far away look, as if he were no longer talking about the car, but something deeper. His voice was so melancholy, Eadie's face crumpled in sympathy and a whimper escaped her throat. She wiped her eyes.

"Ugh, I think I'm in shock, still. But I'm sorry about your car, I really am. I feel so horrible."

The guy forced a half smile. "Aw, don't cry ,baby, I hardly had a chance to get attached.”

As if on cue, one of the gaskets popped and another furl of smoke went up from the engine.

“Oh it was new, that's even worse. And such a lovely car, though the steering wheel still seems like it’s on the wrong side, to me.”

“English?”

“Mhmmm, I’m Ian’s niece, I just got into town. You one of his neighbors?”

The man put his hands at his waist, or rather right below, and tapped his fingers over the top of his thighs as he leaned forward. He paused, lip hanging open, as he looked up from under his eyebrows at the road he had just come down and the handful of houses jutting out from the hills.

“Am I one of Ian’s neighbors?” He repeated back, the hint of an indignant smile curled at the side of his mouth. As if she had asked the set up to a joke.

“I haven’t met all of you, just Sarah and Mack, across from him. I’m Ian’s, niece, Eadie.”

She stuck out her hand, waiting as he hesitated, shifting and clicking his tongue before he shook it.

“Huh. Yeah, I think you might still be in shock honey, maybe you hit your head. How many fingers am I holding up?”

He passed his forefinger in front of her eyes, watching as she tracked it.

“Two. Look, I , I  - I think I’m ok to walk back to the house. How far up are you?”

The man shifted, mumbling something to himself under his breath that she couldn't make out. “Well, that sonofabitch mus really be right, people ain’t even recognizing me.”

He met her questioning eyes, and spoke up.

“Ugh, nah, I don’t live up there, jus took a turn off Mulholland to go for a drive along the coast, blow off some steam. It’s been a rough week, boy, been a rough week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, what line of work are you in?”

Eadie pushed off the car as she spoke, testing her balance and pulling her sun dress down over her scraped knees. She was just beginning to really feel the sore twinge running through her back from the fall. Looking over at him, it struck her that the stranger was standing in a way that almost suggested he was posing for her, and it made her giggle inwardly. He coughed again, running his hand through the tuft of black hair hanging over his forehead.

“I - I’m an actor.”

Eadie patted his shoulder, apologetically.

“Ah, right, well, that it explains your rough week, doesn’t it. I imagine it can be very hard going out here for you.” She looked up the hill, then back at his car. “Listen I’m not really in the habit of inviting strange men over. But, I, well, I feel somewhat responsible for your car. Is there someone you can call for help? Maybe a garage you can hire to come tow your car?”

“Huh, yeah, I reckon I know a guy or two I can get to come help me.”

“Promise you’re not an insane killer. Or rapist. Or burglar?”

The man grinned, looking down. “Whoo boy, no, no, no ma’am. You know women have asked me a lot of weird questions over my lifetime, but that one takes the cake. How do I know you ain’t the one trying to get me alone, so you can pounce on me, huh?” He winked at Eadie, grabbing his black satin sports coat from the back seat before setting out to follow her cautious gait.

“Is that something American women do? Go about attacking men?”

“Uh, well, lil girl, you’d be surprised. ”

**********************************

Eadie had her misgivings as she led him into her uncle’s house, but there was something about his eyes, and the quiet way he mumbled inaudibly into his shoes that made her trust him. She changed into a nice pair of grey linen capri pans and a silk blouse, fixed her blonde hair neatly back with a headband, then looked around her uncle’s closet for some clean clothes for her guest.

Coming back downstairs, she stood for a moment at the landing, watching his tall, lanky silhouette shift back and forth in front of the large, open windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He held the phone cord in his hand, twisting it, before he turned, at the sound of her footsteps, and grinned, still speaking into the mouth piece.

“Yeah, I know it’s a new one. Nothing doin’.  Better get someone to come tow it, and then you come and pick me up too, huh? I’m on - where are we, honey?”

Eadie put the clothes down on the bar in front of him.

“Decker Canyon, just above the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“Got that Joe? We’re 'bout a mile off the PCH, street is Decker Canyon, right below Mulholland Drive. S' a ways out - anything round here?”

She gave him the only landmarks she new, the bar and a gas station a few miles before it, then bounced over to  see what she had in the fridge.  At the click of the phone, she turned back to her guest.

“Hungry? I can make us some omelets? Or bacon and egg sandwiches?”

“Sho, whatever’s clever, baby.”

Her eyes shifted over his body, noting the dirt all over the knees of his tight, white pants, and motioned to the clothes.

“I think you might be more trim than my uncle, and more stylish. But I brought you some clean clothes, if you want them. Your belt will probably do the trick.”

“Trim, huh?”

Eadie paused as she cracked some eggs, frowning at the wounded look on his face.

“Look, you don’t need me to tell you you’re handsome, I’m sure you know it or you wouldn’t be out here in Hollywood, trying to break in to your field. Right?”

He shook his head, and laughed as he strode over to her. Suddenly Eadie’s knees felt weak and it wasn’t from the crash. She dropped the egg shells she was holding.

“So you think I’m handsome, huh?”

“Well, from an objective view point.”

“Don’t think I look too fat?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, because she was too overwhelmed by the proximity of his body, his smell, the mix of sweat and spice and burnt rubber from the car crash.

“Or that my hair is too fluffy?”

Eadie forget all of the etiquette she had learned from the foreign finishing schools she had been to in India, Ceylon, Indonesia. She confidently ran her fingers through his hair, as if they were old friends or lovers, and not strangers who had just met.

��Whoever told you that is crackers. It’s just perfect.”

He grinned, and stepped back, walking off to change.

“You’re sweet, baby, know that?”

He hardly spoke when he came back in Ian’s clothes, mainly asking her about herself and what it was like to grow up as the child of an ambassador. Eadie answered his questions as they ate simple cheese omelets and drank the very sweet screwdrivers he had mixed for them.

“Ever get to the movies?”

There was a sly edge to the way he looked at her as they spoke, and she kept getting this eerie feeling of deja vu. As though they had met, perhaps he had been sitting in front of her on the plane and in the midst of jet lag, she had completely forgot about some small conversation they had. Something about his blue eyes poked at the back her mind. But she shook it off, and tried to summon all the charm she could muster.

“Sometimes they bring things in English for the Embassy, but it’s often drek. Or out cheap, British stuff. Everything from here, it takes a year of more to make its way around the world, and the dub it into Mandarin, Hindu, French, Jawa. I just saw West Side Story for the first time last month! Boy, that was a good one, dontcha think."

He pursed his lips, nodding as he ate.

"Everything in Tanzania was in French, but I that was always my worst class at school. They haven’t even got television in most of Africa yet. They set up the first station in Jakarta.”

He slid his hand over hers, and she stilled, feeling a swarm of butterflies take flight in her tummy as his thumb rubbed over her knuckles.

“American's liable to bore you, after all that.”

“Oh no, everything in America is so beautiful.” Eadie blurted out, then blushed at the smirk that grew on his face. “I - I mean the ocean, the landscape. It’s all so.” She inhaled, trying to give herself time to think of something more clever than just the same word over and over again. But she couldn’t. “Beautiful.”

His knee had just grazed hers, causing a whole other swarm of butterflies to flitter across her chest, when the doorbell rang, and Eadie jumped up to find a short, balding stout man with a wide grin, a big fancy car behind him in the drive. And before she had the chance to say beautiful ten more times, the stranger was kissing her on her cheek, his fingers linger on her neck for a beat, before bidding her farewell.

Eadie did the dishes, and wandered through the house, watching the lights of what must have been the tow truck take the black convertible away.  As she made her way upstairs to bed, Eadie noticed that he’d left his dirty, tight white trousers in the downstairs bathroom. Unsure what to do, she picked them up, and realized his wallet was in the back pocket. You could hear her shriek echo through the canyon when she looked at the driver’s license. His name was as well known in Asia as it was back in England.

“Elvis bloody Presley. I asked Elvis blinking bloody Presley if he was a rapist.” She let her head crash against the glass shower door. “Ughhh, Edith Elizabeth Isaacs, you are the idiot to end all idiots.”

She went to bed wondering if she should try to return his wallet for a chance to see him again. Or keep it as a memento to remember how Elvis Presley almost ran her over one time.

***************************************************************

thanks for reading,

xoxox

norah

tagging as always @literally-just-elvis-fics

[gemmahale]

a little late but re: WIP ask game -

MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE

WIP Ask Game

Oh Mads. You and your love for Museum Muse will never cease to delight me. (And there is no such thing as too late, I promise.)

You clarified in DM's that you were curious about how their first DM goes. I haven't gotten there yet, so I don't exactly know. 😅 I just know the circumstances.

So, instead, I'll offer you this: the stories behind their usernames and some of the forums they are frequent in. (Usernames fuckin' suck to come up with, okay? Especially because John and Daisy are both alive at the advent of the internet.)

Under the cut because I...I did world building again. 😅 Sorry not sorry.

Divider Courtesy of @thecutestgrotto

John's username: TinkerKelpie93

In my canon, kiddo John was the kid that took everything apart and put it back together - just to see how it worked. The radio, the clock, the lawn mower, you name it, he could fix it (most likely). Kid was building inventions in the garage where his father worked with scrap parts cast aside from the vehicles repaired.

His granda (his Da's dad) encouraged him up until his death when John was in his early teens. He told stories to wee John about his ancestors, the Scottish Travellers (from my research, they're similar to/adjacent to Romani populations in Scotland- if a Scot wants to correct my history, please do! I want to do this right. 💚) who are/were called "Tinkers" (usually in a negative connotation - literally meaning "itinerant tinsmith").

So Tinker is a bit of a historical nod to his family history and his tendency to "tinker" with things when he's thinking (hello neurodivergency, it's good to see you. 😅)

His love for Scottish Mythology (and the Kelpie part of his name) is courtesy of his Gran (Mum's Mom). She was a school teacher, and loved teaching the mythos of the region. They had a place on the edge of a small loch, and she would always warn him away from the water with a reminder of the stories about the kelpies trying to drown children. As he grew into his artistic practice, he did this detailed Kelpie artwork to give her for the holidays featuring her house, the swing by the loch and the landscape with the fearful mythological creature in the center of the lake that still hangs over her mantle. This John loves oil pastels and charcoal (it's the tactile part), but will make do with pencils when he's in country.

And 93 because, well, he was born April [redacted], 1993. This man's an Aries, y'all. (Bite me on the date. I have my timeline to back me up.)

Divider Courtesy of @thecutestgrotto

Daisy's username: IrisOfTheLake

Daisy's a symbology and history nerd. (Her love for mythology and art is how she ended up getting a degree specializing in the Still Life paintings of the Dutch Golden Age by female artists, but that's another story. She almost studied Arthurian Legends instead, but decided art history and preservation were her true academic love.)

Her aunt has a prolific collection of irises - she's incredibly active in the British Iris Society and Daisy spent many many seasons after school helping her dig and divide them to share with the neighbors and the other members. She even helped her aunt with cross-pollinating and some breeding attempts (though her aunt didn't progress very far down that road for reasons).

Iris is also the Greek Goddess of messages, often said to arrive on rainbows. Iris flowers hold a number of meanings in the floral language, including hope and wisdom. (Can you see where I'm going with this? I hope so.)

"OfTheLake" directly refers to the legends of King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake. (I told y'all, she was a nerd about this shit.) Y'know, the one that gives the sword Excalibur to Arthur and disposes of Merlin? That Lady of the Lake. Badass bitch if I ever heard of one, who holds a lot of wisdom and knowledge to help others achieve their goals.

Why IrisOfTheLake? It sounded good and smashed two of her early fascinations and hobbies together. 😊 (And the irony of our girl having not one but two flower nicknames makes me giggle.)

Divider Courtesy of @thecutestgrotto

Both John and Daisy recognize each other from lurking and posting in a number of forums together, including art history and BDSM. John regularly shares his more refined drawings (usually done on leave or during long waiting periods), and Daisy is regularly active in the floral symbiology threads, talking about the language of flowers and meaning and bullshit like that. (I just realized I have to write all this, fuck me.)

Anyway, they bond over some dipshit in the BDSM forum espousing some gender essentialism bullshit - men are doms, women are subs, blah blah blah. Daisy has an eloquent take on it, John just wants to thrash them for being so black and white and says as much.

Who reaches out first? To be seen. (I have to leave you some mystery lol.)

[hoshizorax]

i love building bonds so much, you have no clue. there is just something about those platonic, romantic, familial, and antagonist bonds that just hit right for me. a character having a best friend with another, found family types, slow burn romances (even better when it's childhood friends to lover when they are adults), and even enemies/rivals. i enjoy all of them so much.

i need more things delving into getting to know other muses. i love pre-established things, too, don't get me wrong but the long road relationships just hit different. there's a history there. it's reinforced over time and there's more to it as time goes on.

there needs to be ups and downs, y'know? the more i talk with other muns and really get out there more, the more i realize i want to experience the good and the bad. the fights, arguments. maybe even friends have a misunderstanding and don't talk for months or even years only to come back and reunite and realize it was all stupid. lovers have an argument about something and work through things. communicate.

i get it that some/most people come to escape the shittiness of the real world and to relax, and there is nothing wrong with that, but i absolutely adore the work that goes into characters bonding and such. learning favorite flowers, what style the other wears, their favorite book or movie. do they collect things? what's in their collection? do they have trouble with crowds? even someone knows more about their rival/enemy to even minute details.

it may just be me, but i need more of it in my life. not everything is so fast, not everything is sunshine and rainbows. you gotta put the work in sometimes. i don't know, i've been thinking about this a lot. again, i love the pre-established things so much but i also love knowing the finer details of your characters more than just what you write on your bios. it's hard (for me at least) to discern how a character is going to mesh with mine and doing such things can help.

[stellarspecter]

STWG daily prompt 6/11/24: aromantic (+ 6/5/24: asexual)

platonic stobin and mario kart shenanigans! (divider by thecutestgrotto)

read on ao3

“I'm aro,” Steve starts.

“And I'm ace!” Robin finishes. The two of them grin, arms slung around each other's shoulders.

Eddie chokes on a laugh. “Did you rehearse that?”

Steve pouts unfairly cutely. “...No.”

Eddie snorts. “You so did.”

From the other side of the couch, Argyle shoots them a thumbs-up. “That's awesome, brochachos. You're like two halves of one whole spectrum. Radical.“

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Robin gasps like Argyle is dispensing real wisdom and not just perpetually high and saying words. “You know, I've always thought that!”

Argyle nods sagely. Steve leans into Robin and she supports his weight surprisingly well for someone who probably weighs half as much as him. “Me and Robbie were separated at birth,” he sighs. “After she took all the romantic attraction in the womb.”

Robin giggles and shoves him. “Okay, horndog, don't act like you didn't also take all the sexual attraction.”

Steve laughs and straightens up, just leaving his elbow propped up on her shoulder. She's not even that much shorter than him, so it doesn't look that comfortable, but she doesn't seem to care enough to stop him. “What if we just... combined. Would we be aroace or alloallo?”

“What, like Steven Universe?” She asks.

“Clearly, you'd split into two people, one who's completely aroace and one who's a bisexual lesbian,” Eddie adds dryly.

Robin gasps and turns to Steve. “Babe! We'd be so controversial!”

Steve takes her hands in both of his. “Robs... if we were fictional characters in Steven Universe, I'd be honored to start discourse with you.”

“Aw, Stevie...” Robin looks genuinely touched.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Sorry to interrupt this touching moment. And sorry for encouraging it. Can we get back to Mario Kart?” He gestures towards the TV, still stuck on the character selection screen. “I've still gotta beat your asses on Rainbow Road.”

Steve and Robin grumble, but sit back down where they left their controllers. “As long as we can all agree that Daisy is the hottest character.”

“What about Rosalina?” Argyle muses from his corner. “I like that she's from the stars.”

“She has blonde emo bangs. Pass,” Robin says.

Eddie cracks up at that, bending over and clutching the controller in his hand so hard that he accidentally presses the button to start the next round. “No, wait! No! I didn't mean to --” He stares mournfully up at the screen displaying his new character: Baby Mario.

Robin cackles as her Daisy sets up on her bike. “That's what you get, Munson.”

“For what?” He cries.

Steve just shrugs as he sends Peach careening down the track. “You don't even believe that we're twins separated at birth.”

Eddie splutters. “What — Of course I don't!” He's trying to catch up, but he missed the boost at the start and he's stuck miserably in twelfth place.

“You gotta believe in them, Edster,” Argyle adds, gracefully piloting Yoshi to a solid third place. “They're literally drift compatible.”

Robin makes a noise like she would agree loudly and point at him if she wasn't completely absorbed in the race. Eddie sighs. “If I got to be Waluigi I would be kicking your asses right now,” he mutters. “Just you wait.”

“Don't be aphobic, Eddie,” Steve peacefully retorts as he leaves a banana peel for him to slip on.

“I'm literally not — okay. I'm not talking to you until I win.”

Steve and Robin shoot each other triumphant smirks. “Have fun being silent for the rest of your life, then,” she snarks back.

“You mean for the next two minutes?”

“Is that talking? Is someone talking to me?”

Eddie gets the message and quiets down, laser focused on the TV.

A couple minutes later, he slumps in defeat as Argyle swoops first place and he languishes in a measly fifth.

“How does it feel, Edward?” Robin taunts.

He crosses his arms stubbornly. “I'm not talking to you.”

“Oh, Steve, did you hear something? Was that — a reply?”

“You know, I think I did hear something,” Steve replies, smirking before he even drops the punchline. “The sound of losing.”

Eddie throws his head back and groans. His friends just laugh at him and start another race.

“No, wait, don't leave me as Baby Mario —! Motherfuckers —“

[penna-nomen]

Music Monday on whatever today is

I've lost all track of what day of the week it is! Thanks for the tag @a-noble-dragon!

Rules: Choose a few fics you wrote that were inspired by a song - not just with song lyrics in title - and share the tune and the link to the fics. If anyone wants to guess which goes with which go for it in comments or tags!

This made me laugh, because a big part of my Caffrey Conversation series is the idea that the Caffrey family is obsessed with music. Many of the stories were inspired by multiple songs, which are featured in the story either as being sung or as chapter titles or both.

For instance:

Caffrey Conversation, set in December 2003. Songs: Meet Me in St. Louis, Little Drummer Boy, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, The Alphabet Song (yes, as in A B C D...) -- I had a lot of fun with loopy Neal

Caffrey Choirboy, set in December 2003. Songs: Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming, Various songs by Coldplay and Muse, Young at Heart

In the Driver's Seat, set in December 2003. Songs: Dream a Little Dream of Me, Stormy Weather, O Holy Night, Respect

By the Book, set at the end of 2003 & start of 2004. Songs: BBC's Pride & Prejudice soundtrack, My Sacrifice, The Reason, My Own Worst Enemy, My Immortal, With a Little Help From My Friends, Candle in the Wind

Caffrey Flashback, set in February - March 2004. Songs: Me Against the World, Broken, Young at Heart, Let it Be, Roads Untraveled (not released in 2004 but inspirational for the funeral scene), Nobody Knows the Trouble, The Waiting, Au Clair de la Lune, Coldplay's Trouble, Nothing Else Matters, Fix You, Yesterday, You're so Vain, Why Can't You Behave, You Are My Lucky Star, Wanted

Caffrey Disclosure, set in summer 2004, where one of the cases involves taking down a corrupt music executive by pretending to be up-and-coming rock stars. Songs: Liszt's La Campanella, Let Me Be Myself, Are You Happy Now, Firework (yeah, not released in 2004 but still inspirational for the 4th of July chapters), Carry on Wayward Son, Danny Boy, My Hero, Disappear, Runaway Train, Muse: Apocalypse Please & Time is Running Out, It's Hard to be Humble, I'm Too Sexy, Easier to Run, I Wanna Be a Cowboy, I Love a Rainy Night, Ave Maria, Help Me Rhonda, A Spoonful of Sugar, You've Got a Friend, Eye of the Tiger, Sailing, Fly Like an Eagle, Steve McQueen, I Am a Rock, Hanging by a Moment, I'll Be, Here I Go Again, Tomorrow, Someone Waits for You, Everybody Hurts, The Embassy Waltz

Caffrey Aloha, set in Dec 2004 - January 2005. Songs: Somewhere Over the Rainbow, If Only I Had a Brain, Let There Be Peace On Earth, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, Silver Bells, Footloose, Sorcerer's Apprentice song from Disney's Fantasia

Lavender Dreams, set in summer 2006. Songs: Once Upon a Dream, Dream a Little Dream of Me, All I Have to Do is Dream, A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes, Day Dream Believer, Nessun Dorma, River of Dreams, Impossible Dream, Dream On, Purple Rain, Zing Went the Strings of My Heart, Lay Your Hands on Me, La Bamba

I could go on, but you get the idea...

And I'll tag @thesymphonytrue because I know you're into music, too. Open tag to anyone else who's tempted

[yutzen]

The Mandatory(?) Masterpost

Welcome to my page! ...again. Website shutdowns aren't going to stop my sinful hands, but hopefully that won't be a problem.

Expect stories about weird underground creatures and their troubles most of all, but there will be other tales to be told here (and possibly actual illustrations in the future, but that's gonna take a while). A lot of this started as prompt stories spun completely out of control (this will be a recurring theme), so be warned about that one. I'll be outlining what I have under the break to browse more easily if you want to see more, as well as providing a couple extra links if you want to read my work in other sites (or just follow me elsewhere too). Here goes!

First things first: Other accounts to track me in

Archive Of Our Own (I'll probably link to it for cross-posts. Also contains stories that are either too 18+, too fanfic or too personal for me to toss out here)

DreamWidth (May be easier to read)

BlueSky (Maybe you want to be updated easier, but obviously I can't post whole stories there)

Next up: Tags to keep track of when it comes to my stuff. This will probably be the main way for me to sort these things out, since I got used to it back on Cohost and still know the value of proper tagging. Much as there's a few other things I don't know.

#yut-fiction - Any story I actually write will be going under this, no matter the origin

#yut-musings - This one's gonna be stray thoughts and occasional shitposts probably.

#subterraneum (yut) - Subterraneum stories, no matter who they follow and where they're set

#subterraneum: lightless road - Subterraneum stories following what I call the main crew.

I also keep individual characters diligently tagged whenever they recur (or I think they may recur), if that helps!

Finally: Stories so far! I will try to keep this updated but feel free to hit me with a question or comment if I forget anything in the future.

The Subterraneum: Lightless Road - Days in the life of an outlaw gang, plying their trade across the seemingly caverns that form the Subterraneum, the world beneath worlds

A White-Knuckle Climb

The Hard Way

Where the Thrills Lie

Left in the Cold

Reminiscing by Candlelight

Trial by Fire

Of Silk and Fangs

Where the Heart Is

The Subterraneum: Restless Compendium - The caverns are grand, and full of mysteries, and with mysteries come those eager to figure them out for the world to see. Here are fragments from the work of one such individual, one only known by the title of "Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh"

A Quick Biological Primer on Subterraneum Citizens (not in character)

Rock Bottom: The Subterraneum and its Known Exits

The Last Time Around

The Tree and the Worm

Perfect Echoes

Until the Rains Come

The Subterraneum: Other Tales - Day-to-day life in the caverns can be quite a thing. Here, a smattering of tales about other individuals, away from smuggler and scholar alike.

Rainbows in the Dark

Party-Crasher

Just Prime

The Events of Windchime Hill

What's in a Name?

A Raven's Rambles - Just because you're a grand necromancer hungry for conquest and treasure doesn't mean you can't have off days. Here, a few less serious stories about Raven Lord Kaspar Swartrabe and his faithful shrike, Al-Kaud.

Animal-Proofing

Cramped, or Cozy?

Written in Blood(?)

Other stories - One-shots unrelated to any of the above. For now; just about everything before this point started as a one-shot too, once.

The Silver Revolution - In which a dragon finds himself involved in politics just for doing what he always did

More Times than You Could Count - In which an ever-stretching series of time loops is finally put to an end

The Rise and Fall of the Emporium - In which the idea of mid-dungeon shops is given a closer look