#need to change my name but I still don't know what to change it to

[jockwrites]

pillowtalk - p.b

warnings: smut, pet names, (baby, ma yk all that) idk what else tbh

a/n: i loved her in the dallas jersey i needed to make a fic abt it. also barely proof read lol

the dallas wings arena thrummed with the cheers of the crowd as your girlfriends final basket sank cleanly through the net, securing her team's victory. the blonde haired, blue eyed beauty grinned broadly as her teammates swarmed her, celebrating their hard fought win.

as the post-game pandemonium subsided, you navigated the bustling locker room, heart pounding with anticipation. paige, still in her sweat-soaked blue dallas wings jersey and shorts, was in finishing conversation with a reporter. seizing a window of opportunity, you approached, clearing your throat softly.

“paige, you did amazing,” you complimented, stepping up beside the blonde athlete as she wrapped up her interview. paige turned, blue eyes gleaming with unshed sweat and triumph, a wide, cocky grin spreading across her face. “glad you got to see it,”

paige excused herself from the lingering reporter and pulled you into a tight embrace, her strong arms wrapping around your waist. “i'm all sweaty, i'm so sorry,” she apologized while laughing, pulling back but keeping her hands on your hips. “that's okay, i don't mind,”

“i'll be right back,” she said, giving you a quick kiss before heading into the locker room to change out of her uniform.

as paige changed, she couldn't stop thinking about you. she quickly shed her uniform, her hands trembling slightly as she removed each piece of clothing. she tossed her gear into her locker and grabbed a change of clothes, her mind racing with thoughts of you waiting outside.

she couldn’t wait to get you home, or to the car?

paige emerged from the locker room, dressed in a blue-ish black tracksuit, her blond hair damp from the shower. she scrubbed a towel over her buzzed head, her broad shoulders relaxed. “sorry 'bout that,” she said, flashing you a grin.

paige tossed the towel aside and sauntered over to you, her movements slightly different. she stopped a foot away, looking you up and down appreciatively. “you're a sight for sore eyes,” she said, her voice low and husky.

you chuckled and playfully rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. “what’s got you sore hmm?” you asked paige, smirking at the joke. paige laughed, her deep voice rumbling.

“nothing yet, but ima be sore in a minute if ion get you home,” paige said, her voice dropping an octave. her eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze as you giggled. her biceps flexed slightly as she uncrossed her arms.

paige licked her lips, her eyes still locked with yours. “you ready?” she asked, her voice a low, suggestive purr. she reached out and gently grasped your wrist, her calloused thumb brushing over your pulse point. “my car right outside…”

you laughed as she tugged gently on your wrist, urging you to leave with her. “c’mon, let's get out of here before i lose my patience entirely.”

paige led you out of the gym, her hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you walked towards the parking lot. once at her car, she hit the remote unlock button and opened the passenger door for you. “thank you,” you grinned.

you climbed into the car and pulled the seatbelt across yourself, watching as paige leaned in to make sure it was secure. “why d’we gotta leave so soon anyway?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at her.

paige raised an eyebrow as she straightened up, closing the door behind you. she leaned against the open window, her arms crossed over the door. “why you askin like you got sumn’ in mind?” she asked, her tone curious.

but i think she knows exactly what you wanna do.

paige smirked, leaning closer to the open window, her eyes glinting with mischief, “if you’re thinking what i’m thinking, once we start i ain't sure ill wanna stop.”

you grinned, leaning forward. “get in the car p. ‘m sure you don’t wanna keep waiting yeah?” your eyes filled with challenge and flirtation as you jerked your thumb towards the driver's seat. “clock’s ticking.”

paige slid into the driver's seat, her hand immediately finding your thigh as she leaned over. “you can't just say stuff like that and expect me to hold back," she growled, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

paige growled against your lips, her hands gripping your hips and lifting you clean out of the passenger seat. she deposited you on her lap, so you were straddling her. “come on baby, tell me what you wanna do.”

paige's hands slid up your sides, her thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your shirt. her hips shifted beneath you, the hard press of her muscles against your backside. “i want you to fuck me in this car,” you whispered against her neck.

you placed your hands on her shoulders for support, biting your lip as you rocked your hips forward. paige's eyes darkened, her voice dropping to a husky growl. “like this?”

paige's hands slid around to grab your ass, squeezing and guiding your movements as you rocked against her. she captured your lips in another hungry kiss, biting at your bottom lip. “you feel so good,” you breathed. she panted against your mouth, her hips starting to roll up to meet yours.

you gasped as you felt the continuous heat building between the two of you, your bodies moving together with growing urgency. you tangled your fingers in her hair, tugging lightly. “fuck, p...” you dragged the nickname, voice thick with desire as you ground down harder against her.

“just like that,” she breathed, tilting her head back against the headrest. you moaned softly, burying your face in her neck as you continued to move against her. “god i’m gonna cum,” you whispered, your voice hitching as she slid one hand down between your thighs, pressing her palm against your core through your leggings, “paige...”

you whimpered, bucking against her touch. “paige please...” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. she looked at you, her eyes filled with lust. “please, what, ma?” she murmured, slowly rubbing her hand against you. “do you want more?”

you panted, squirming under her touch. “more... please, paige. i need...” you broke off, moaning softly as she slipped her hand under your waistband, her cool fingers brushing against your bare skin. “you need what, baby?”

you trembled, your hips rocking against her hand. “i need your fingers... inside. please...” you whispered urgently, your heart racing in your chest. paige smiled, her thumb rubbing gently against your clit as she pushed two fingers inside you. “like this?”

you gasped, your body arching into her touch. without hesitation, you started to ride her fingers, your movements desperate and needy. “fuck, paige... yesjustlikethat” you panted, words stringing together as your hands grip her shoulders for support. you chased your pleasure.

you rode her fingers furiously, your inner walls clenching around them as you sought relief. paige watched you, her own arousal growing at the sight of you losing control. she curled her fingers inside you, rubbing against that sensitive spot within you. “fuck, you're so tight, and wet...”

you slowly lowered yourself up & down onto her fingers, feeling them stretch you open as you took them in inch by inch. paige looked up at you, her eyes locked onto yours as she slowly curled her fingers inside you, gently massaging that spot deep inside. “look at me.”

you met her gaze, holding it as you began to rock your hips, slowly sliding up and down her fingers. paige watched you, her thumb rubbing gentle circles against your clit as you moved.

you slowly guided yourself down onto her fingers, gasping softly at the fullness. she watched your face intently, adjusting her pace to match yours. her thumb was a constant tease against your sensitive clit, while her two fingers moved rhythmically inside you. “does that feel good ma?”

your reply was an exaggerated nod, your mouth falling open as you continued to rock your hips, slowly guiding yourself up and down her fingers. paige continued her gentle, rhythmic movements, her thumb still teasing your clit as she murmured, “you like that?”

paige paused her fingers inside you, making you whimper and try to shift your hips downwards. “answer me,” she commanded, her voice low and insistent. “say it.” she prompted, her thumb still rubbing slow circles.

you bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you realized she wanted you to say it out loud. “fuck, i like it.” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. paige chuckled, her fingers slowly curling inside you. “louder, baby.”

“i like it..” you whimpered louder, your body tensing around her fingers as she hit that spot deep inside again. “and what am i doing to you?” paige prompted, her fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. “speak up... am i fucking you right now?” she cooed.

her three fingers slowly pushed in and out of you, curling upwards to hit that spot deep inside that made you whimper and try to sit lower on her hand. Her thumb was a constant, soothing presence against your swollen clit. “am i?”

you let out a shuddering breath, your hips rocking down to take her fingers deeper. “fuck,” you whispered, your face buried in her neck. “you’re fucking me paige.” you added, your voice growing louder and more confident with each word.

her fingers slid in and out of you with deliberate slowness while her thumb maintained its steady pressure on your clit. She nipped at your neck, breathing heavily in your ear “that's right... tell me how it feels. my fingers... deep inside you?”

“fuck, paigeee,” you moaned her name as her fingers curled purposefully against your g-spot, pressing firmly while her thumb continued its measured pace on your clit. her other hand slid up to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple through the fabric of your shirt “you're getting wetter... can you feel it?”

her fingers moved faster now, plunging in and out of your dripping pussy. “fuck yes, god,” you moaned as her thumb pressed down hard on your clit, rubbing it in quick circles. the hand on your breast slipped under your shirt to palm your bare breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between her fingers.

her fingers curled inside you, pressing hard against your g-spot as her thumb rubbed your clit in fast, tight circles. she leaned in close, her hot breath against your ear. “cum for me, baby.”

she continued her relentless pace, her fingers moving in and out of you with a quick, steady rhythm. her thumb rubbed your clit in fast circles, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “cum on my fingers, now,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

as soon as the words “god, paige i’m gonna fucking cum, please,” left your lips, she removed her thumb from your clit and curled her fingers deeper inside you, hitting your g-spot over and over as she allowed you to finally climax. your legs shook, your voice became hoarse as you begged.

your orgasm hit hard, your pussy clenching and unclenching around her fingers as you gushed all over them, cumming so hard your vision blurred. she held still, letting you ride out the waves of your pleasure as she watched your face, a satisfied smile on her lips.

then, she gestures to the backseat, eagerly pointing her thumb; this was gonna be fun.

a/n: i wanted to write scissoring but lost motivation and got writers block so ill save for another ok bye 😕

[aviad1b]

I have some very mixed feelings about this.

I'll start by saying that I've been talking about the possibility of such a project for a long time now. I considered trying to do it by myself for myself just as a proof of concept.

So TL;DR: I'm conflicted, but in general - a fan?

On the one hand, I can see where David is coming from: yes, extending a language's grammar like that seems kinda... impossible. Especially with Hebrew. People tend to get fixated on these things, and Hebrew doesn't really have this sort of thing naturally.

On the other hand - didn't we ravitalize the whole goddamn language? And yes, it was never truly dead in the first place, not in the way that gentiles like to think of at the very least, but it wasn't developing as much and we changed that.

And also, think about it - how does modern Hebrew handle gender inclusivity at the moment? With notation such as את/ה and רוצים/ות, etc. It wasn't always the case. Think about it, it used to be that to be gender "neutral" you just use the male form. Then developed into masc/fem, then "neutral/fem" (which isn't even a good name for the notation because את/ה exists).

The truth is that while Hebrew is a very "kept" language, very protected, in the sense that it's vocabulary and grammar haven't developed that much in over a millenia - it's also kinda the most evolving, in a sense? In what other language are words still constantly made, constantly developed, all in a way that fits perfectly fine with everything that already exists? I don't really know many languages at all, but comparing to English at the very least, it's seems kinda crazy to me. Hebrew is a very flexible language, and I've been saying that the only way she's not flexible in is gender - why does it have to stay that way?

We proved that we can make major changes to the very way that people speak - or write, at the very least.

When I think about such changes... No, not just changes - developments, in the Hebrew language, I also find my thoughts wondering to something else - gentiles, antisemites especially, like to claim that modern Hebrew is completely different to traditional Hebrew (which is a claim that we all point and laugh at, since modern Hebrew natives can read and understand traditional and even ancient Hebrew perfectly fine). Maybe the reason I'm somewhat conflicted about this is because it will further support this "nerative" (lie) that it's become a different language? But that's dumb, languages develop and involve all the time, Hebrew happened to be a more protected language. Allowing it to be a bit more flexible doesn't make it any less "real". And besides, why should antisemites get to dictate what our language is like? That's just not right at all.

A problem that I still do have with this tho, has to do with vowels. In day-to-day, people don't write vowels in Hebrew. That isn't going to change and I don't think I'd even want it to change honestly. But it does make this more challenging - without vowels, how will one manage to differentiate בַּת from בֶּת , and אַתָּה from אַתֶּה ?

Or maybe that's a good thing? Because it'll make people able to "stealthily" use it, sneak it in without people realising and protesting? But then this isn't really the way I want such a notion to be used, do I?

The thing about developments in general, and in language specifically, is that they come out of need. If Hebrew fails to satisfy the needs of its speakers, what guarantee do we have of it surviving tomorrow? Pardon my pessimism, but being Israeli and Hebrew (yes I still use the old notion of Hebrew as in the ethnicity/people), I see more and more Hebrew natives approaching English more rather than Hebrew. Maybe even including myself - it's kinda my entire blog. I started catching myself thinking in English sometimes - I managed to come to the conclusion that a major part of this is because Hebrew forced me to think of myself in gendered terms. English does not.

This is what I mean when I say on my blog that I love Hebrew but she doesn't love me back

I've seen people use אתם/הם as pronouns in Hebrew. If it works for them then good for them, but to me, I simply cannot accept that this is the "best Hebrew can do". That's... still gendered. It doesn't suffice. I refuse to accept it as enough. It's not.

And yes, a major part of English influence on Hebrew natives (and Jews in general) is the fault of the internet. But, I do feel like there's more to it - for some at least, there's a need that isn't answered.

We Jews are experts at adapting "old", traditional concepts onto whatever the current times are; why should our language be any different? Perhaps we should consider that our very language is more like us than we think?

Can we get people on a major scale to fundamentally change the way in which they speak? probably not. Can we add another gender notion for people who want to use it tho? I'd like to think so. I like to think about it somewhat like neo-pronouns in English: when they were first introduced, almost nobody used them and people in general thought that they were weird. Heck, people STILL do. But it have some people, even if just a few, a new way to finally feel more comfortable with the language that is used for them - and that, on its own, should suffice. In my humble opinion, at least.

To sum it up, while my feelings about this are mixed, I also feel like if ANYONE could achieve such a project - it's us, the Hebrews, the Jews.

And I'm sure we will some day.

I can't believe anything else.

Because Hebrew is a gendered language, the Nonbinary Hebrew Project has created a third grammatical gender system! They are building a bigger tent for nonbinary Jews, guided by Torah and Talmud which teach us to rejoice that which cannot be neatly categorized.

The project is free, open-source, community-based, and grassroots. It lives and grows and changes with every single person who uses and adds to it.

Here are some example usages: Candlelighting Blessing: with gender-expansive God language

בְּרוּךֶ אָתֶה ײַ, אֱלֹהִימוֹתֵינוּ מַלְכֶּת הָעוֹלָם, אֲשֶׁר קִדְשֶׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתֶיהֶ וְצִוֶנוּ לְהַדְלִיק נֵר שֶׁל שַבָּת

Bruche ateh Adonai, Elohimoteinu Malket ha’Olam asher kidshenu b’mitzvoteihe, v’tzivenu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat. Blessed are You, God, Ruler of the universe, who sanctified us with the commandment of lighting Shabbat candles.

~~~

Kiddush: with gender-expansive God language

בְּרוּךֶ אָתֶה ײַ,  אֱלֹהִימוֹתֵינוּ מַלְכֶּת הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרָאת פְּרִי הַגָּֽפֶן

Bruche ateh Adonai, Elohimoteinu Malket ha’Olam, borat p’ri hagafen. Blessed are you, Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.

~~~

Blessing over Bread: with gender-expansive God language

בְּרוּךֶ אָתֶה ײַ, אֱלֹהִימוֹתֵינוּ מַלְכֶּת הָעוֹלָם, הַמּוֹצִיאֶה לֶחֶם מִן הָאָרֶץ

Bruche ateh Adonai, Elohimoteinu Malket ha’Olam, Hamotzi'e lechem min ha'aretz. Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has brought forth bread from the earth.

~~~

Waking-up Blessing: with gender-expansive language for the speaker, but traditional God language

מודֶת אֲנִי לְפָנֶיךָ מֶלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּם, שֶׁהֶחֱזַרְתָּ בִּי נִשְׁמָתִי בְּחֶמְלָה, רַבָּה אֱמוּנָתֶךָ:

Modet ani l'fanecha, melech chai v'kayam, shechezarta bi nishmati, b'chemla, raba emunatecha.

I give thanks before you, King living and eternal, for You have returned within me my soul with compassion; abundant is Your faithfulness!

~~~

Morning Blessing substitutions: with gender-expansive language for the speaker, but traditional God language

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, שֶׁעָשַׂנִי בֶּת חוֹרין

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-Olam, she-asani bet chorin.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has made me free. ~~~

Soulmate Blessing: written by Ariel Ezekiel Tovlev, with gender-expansive language for the speaker's soulmate, but traditional God language

ב��ָרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה אֶת יְדִידֶת נַפְשִׁי

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, asher asah et yedidet nafshi. Blessed are You, Ruler of the Universe, who created the companion of my soul.

~~~

Wedding-Enacting Words: with gender-expansive language for the one the speaker is marrying and for the ring, but traditional God language

הרי אתה מקדשה לי, בטבעת זת, כדת משה וישראל

Harei ateh m’kudesheh li, b’tabaet zet, k’dat Moshe v’Yisrael.

Behold, you are sanctified to me, with this ring, according to Moses and Israel. ~~~ For more examples, as well as charts explaining the grammar system, check out the website! A note from Jewish-LGBTQ: The Nonbinary Hebrew Project is primarily being created in the diaspora and is used for ritual purposes; queer communities in Israel have their own system for creating gender-expansive Hebrew. The Nonbinary Hebrew Project should be understood as creating a third grammatical gender for liturgical and ritual Hebrew, rather than for everyday, spoken Modern Hebrew.

[ma-sulevin]

Rook is going to check on everyone. She’ll visit them in their chosen rooms, ask how they’re feeling, make sure they have what they need, listen to them complain about their problems while the world is ending around them all, and she’ll find a way to fix everything. That's what she does. It's what she’s always done. It's how she keeps herself feeling okay in the face of everything.

She’s going to check on everyone, she will, but for some reason she finds herself climbing the central stairs and heading to Emmrich’s tower first instead of checking on anyone else.

“Oh, hello, Rook!” Emmrich looks a little surprised to see her but not at all upset by the fact she showed up without knocking. In fact, he’s smiling at her despite the exhaustion she can clearly read on his face, the thin lines around his eyes deepening as his smile grows. “How can I help?”

“I just wanted to… see how you're doing,” Rook says, pausing long enough to push the door closed behind her. “After Weisshaupt. How are you feeling?”

Emmrich keeps his eyes on her as she walks closer, his hands clasped in front of him as usual, and answers, “Very well, thank you. How–”

“Did you have any injuries?” She barely registers that she interrupts him, her gaze snagging on the firelight glinting off his rings. “The darkspawn, did they get close enough to bite you? Scratch you even?”

“Not at all,” Emmrich says, voice lower now that she’s standing close. “I did have to throw out my boots, but–”

“Are you sure?” Rook knows she cuts him off this time, not caring about the boots, already willing to replace them as long as he isn't hurt, still unwilling to think about what that feeling means for her. “The Blight only needed the smallest of wounds to enter your body before, and we still don't understand the changes Ghilan'nain has made to it.”

She’s still staring at his hands, unable to look up at his face to see the expression in those kind eyes, and she grabs his wrists without thinking. She pulls his hands closer to her face so she can see his knuckles, unbroken from the fighting, then turns them over to check his palms.

They're calloused from holding pens and staves for so many years, the hands of an academic, unlike her warrior-mage hands, hardened from fighting darkspawn for nearly a decade now. His hands are uninjured, but as she moves to look at his wrists, his forearms, he pulls them away from her grasp and cups her chin instead.

“Rook.” His voice is even lower now, laced with an emotion she doesn't know how to name, and she drags her eyes up to finally, finally meet his.

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and wraps one hand around his wrist as she looks up at him. The silence stretches for a long moment before he finally breaks it.

“I am fine, I assure you. How are you?”

His voice is so warm, his expression so soft, the concern so genuine that all it takes is his thumb brushing against her jaw for her carefully built facade to crumble.

She bites harder on her lip, but that doesn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. She tries to pull away, to put that safe amount of space between them again, but the soft clicking of his tongue stills her movements.

“Oh, my dear Eira.” Instead of letting her go, he pulls her in, letting her face rest against his chest.

She stands stiff for a heartbeat, then another, then she feels his hand cupping the back of her head and his chin resting against the top of it, and she breaks.

She breaks, and Emmrich holds her together.

It’s okay, just this once.

[silversurfersx]

pleaseeeeee give us a part 2 of filns of anger PLEASEEEEEEJSJDHNDE IM BEGGING

Christmas pressnt to us maybe?!? 🙏🙏🙏🙏😔😔😔😔

It’s the first of December, close enough, haha

Had the beginning of this actually in my notes since I posted the first part, but I hadn’t really finshed it, but I saw a few people now ask for a part two so here it goes.

I don’t really know how to feel about this, but anyway

Happy December, guys 🎄

Films of Anger | pt. 2

Part one

sebastian vettel x schumacher!reader

summary: basically brocedes 2.0 (with a happier ending), childhood friends turned rivals turned back into friends in a sappy way

warning: a bit of angst and fluff, swearing

It's been weeks, almost months, since you last spoke to Sebastian and it started to get to you. You weren't used to this kind of cold distance.

Distance as such was never much of a problem, seeing as both of you were busy in different places around the world. But this was not like those times.

You saw Sebastian almost all the time, he was always there like your own shadow, but just like it, he didn't speak a word to you. He didn't even dare to look at you (at least not when you were). He only ever did look when he knew you weren't.

There was a heavy feeling building up in his chest when he noticed you around and wanted to talk to you, hang out with you, just like you always did, but something stopped him.

You felt similar. You wanted your best friend back. The one who would always play video games with you after training. The one you would sneak out with to eat stuff you weren't supposed to. You wanted your other half back. The one that was so close yet so far out of reach. It pained you to look at him and there were times, especially after a bad race, when all you wanted to do was run to him for comfort. But you couldn't. Or at least you felt like you shouldn't.

Michael watched the whole situation from the outside. He saw the longing looks the both of you threw at each other. His own heart felt heavy at the thought of your friendship ending. Corinna and him witnessed the joy brought to your face whenever his name was called. Though now there wasn't anything like it, quite the opposite actually. And it was painful to witness for both him and his wife, knowing that the tight bond knitting the two of you together was broken over something like that. They wanted to do something to stop it from breaking any further, but both felt like only you could do that.

Your brother and sister alike noticed the lack of Sebastian around. Mick and you were playing a game of one on one, something you had done since he was very young. Both inspired by your fathers own love for football.

"Why don't you hang out with Seb anymore?" He asked shooting the ball towards your goal, but you blocked.

You didn't want to tell Mick what truly had happened between the two of you, because you weren't really sure either. Dribbling past him, you used the distraction as a way to hold off your answer. Needing a moment to think anyway.

Of course you had an accident, which you still didn't think was on you, but that wasn't new. The two of you had a few crashes over the years, sometimes caused by either one of you, but you always reconciled. But not this time. Something was different. Or maybe it was just you. Maybe the two of you had just drifted apart over the years, at minimum speed, that it only took one moment of anger from the both of you to cut the string that held you close.

"I don't really know Micky. We had a fight and need some time to calm down, I guess." You answered your brother, who knocked the ball away from you.

"Hey!" You shouted watching him kick the ball inside the net of your goal.

Mick grinned at the goal, before turning back to you. "But you are still friends, right?"

You didn't answer, not sure yourself. It still felt like you were friends, even if neither of you spoke. You reckoned that that would never change. But you didn't know how he felt, so you just answered for yourself. "Yes."

"Good. You too sappy without him." Mick nodded, taking the ball, you had just talked out of the net with your feet, away from you and once again dribbling it away from you, once again scoring. You laughed shaink your head at his cheekiness.

"There was a time when I used to beat you all the time."

"Yeah, when I was five." Mick chuckled, preparing to once again take control of the ball.

"Ey, be quiet." You gently pushed your brother. The blonde laughed while you tried not to be hurt being beat by a 12 year old.

The next race weekend approached quicker than you'd hoped and over was the small break you had at home. You and your father both packed your bags and got ready to race once again.

"Fernando!" You called out to the Spaniard, running down pit lane, nodding at him when he turned around.

The both of your wearing the familiar Ferrari red, marking you teammates.

"Good morning, y/n." He greeted you stopping for you to catch up and walk down the pit lane together.

"Morning, Nando. How was your time off, done anything fun?" You started the conversation, holding your hand up to cover your eyes from the bright sun.

You had to admit you missed what Fernando was saying, as you just passed the RedBull Garage and you unintentionally made eye contact with a very familiar RedBull driver. You held eye contact, neither of you ready to break it.

The usual distance you recently felt coming from him wasn't there. It was as if the short break betwene the races kind of reduced the anger, or whatever it was, from his mind.

You had turned your head away from him, back to Fernando, but you could have sworn you saw him frown sadly as you broke eye contact.

It wasn't a big change in behaviour, but it still felt weird in your mind, not used to him being so nice once again. Or at least civil. And to even acknowledge you properly.

You hoped that it wasn't just some kind of mind play, from him, but you knew that that wasn't his thing. At least it hadn't been with you.

It was during the qualifying session that you were in a somewhat fight with Sebastian. It wasn't much of a fight as you knew that this was just quali and not the race, yet.

So neither of you intentionally raced the other, but you did aim to beat his time. And it appeared he did too, as your time kept getting beaten by him.

Everytime your engineer told you your time, you requested to know Sebastian's as well, which he did give you, even if he was a bit unsure if he should. But as long as it encouraged you to drive faster, it wouldn't hurt. He thought.

Meanwhile you relived moments of your childhood. Back when your father and spent your evenings after school at the karting track. When no one else was present and it was only the two of you. His voice, soft but stern, was sounding in your head over the sound of the engine.

You remembered the moment you finished your lap, and took one of the corner as late as you dared to do. It took your breath away, but in the end you set your new personal lap record.

"That corner, yeah," Your father started. "If you take every corner, like you did that one, you'd beat them all."

You always followed his advice of course, but there was also always the possibly to do more. To go further. So you did.

And you went too far. Breaking too late, added with a strong wind in the wrong moment, suddely sent you into the wall.

Weirdly enough, the first thing you thought of when the car stopped was how horrible the media would react to yet another crash. The first one with Sebastian, was on you, according to them. The other times, after the initial crash, when you started to get a bit more aggressive with each other, was because of your hormones.

The times when you made just the tiniest mistake, was picked up by the media instantly. It was as if they were only waiting for you to slip up, to throw insults and doubts at you. To question whether you truly belonged in the world of formula one or if it was just there because of your family name.

Sebastian used to talk it all good. He mocked the media's stupidity to make you feel better. But of course, that didn't happen recently, which is why you felt even worse about all the comments being made, which only led to you doubting yourself more, with lead to you making even more mistakes. It was an endless circle.

Maybe adding onto your odd thoughts was your pounding head. Hopefully not a concussion. You tried to act tough, hiding your sick feelings, and aching body, quickly replying to your race engineer and pushing yourself out of the car.

You took a moment, after climbing out, to calm down. Sitting down on the body of the car, pretending liked you did that because you had to wait for the safety car and not because your body gave you a hard time.

'No weakness. Show no weakness.'

The voice in your head repeated. You kept your helmet on, even if you wished to just take it off to breathe better.

Marshall's surrounded you, made sure you were alright and then lead you towards the arriving safety car, while taking care of the crashed car.

___

"I don't know why I keep messing up so bad, Papa." You told him as you left the medical centre. The impact you had sustained was hard, 30G. But you tried to push through the aftermath. Michael came over to the medical centre right after qualifying and interviews (which you gladly didn't have to attend), to walk you back to the hospitality and then to the hotel. He wanted to make sure that you rest.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Your father started. "that is what makes you mess up. You lose confidence and get scared."

Michael wasn't known for talking around the point when it came to racing. He felt that if there were words that can help you get better, they should be said, no matter how hurtful they may be. You knew that, it was always something you appreciated.

"I'm not scared." You replied honestly.

There may be some fear in your body when you drove, but that only fueled you to go further, to press for more. It wasn't the kind of fear that led you to be scared, but to go even harder than you thought would be possible. You loved the adrenaline, when you did something dangerous. It gave you an extra boost. "I think I just can't concentrate. I feel so... I don't know.

Michael watched you for a moment, halting in his words, as he let it sink in. Deep down he had his suspicions what might cause your loss in concentration.

"You need to talk to Sebastian." He announced. You bit your lip, but didn't say anything.

Michael was right, of course. He was most of the time. But you didn't know if you dared to speak to Sebastian, yet. You weren't scared of driving your car dangerously, but to talk to Sebastian. You were not that brave. Not yet at least.

Your father didn't really mention anything regarding Sebastian after that. He took you back to the hotel and insisted that you'd spent the rest of the day in bed, just as the medical team had ordered you to do. You didn't resist that order as you felt your body ache from every movement. You head was feeling liked it would explode. It was difficult for you to move your neck and raise your arms as the G-force hit you straight on.

After your father left, it wasn't difficult for you to fall asleep. And you stayed that way until you were awaken by a knock on your door in the late evening hours.

You didn't realise who stood in front of you for the first few moments, still too drunk on sleep.

"Sebastian?"

"Hey." He whispered, almost unsure if he should be there. "Uhm, your father gave me your hotel and uh room number, I just wanted to-"

You didn't know why you did what you did, but it just felt right to hug him right then and there. You felt Sebastian suck in a breath, before carefully hugging back, his grip so light in fear of putting a hand wrong and pushing you away from him.

Slowly you let go of him, frowning over your own actions. "Sorry, I don't know why I just did that."

Sebastian shook his head, smiling softly. "No, it's alright."

"I saw the crash today. It looked bad, I just wanted to make sure your were alright. I know we, uhm-" he looked for a word to describe your current relationship. "We haven't really talked in a bit, and I know that's kind of my fault, but I just felt so helpless, not being able to visit you after a crash like that because I felt like I'd lost every right to do so."

"You would never lose the right." You interrupted his rant, watching his hands nervously knit each other, while he watched them too scared to look at you. You remembered your fight with him and th way the words had stung. You were so angry with him whenever you remembered them, but now that he stood here, in front of you, looking like a sad puppy, you couldn't help but want to forget all of it.

"Well, after the shit that happened between us-" Sebastian argued.

"I know." You felt the same way, like you'd lost your right to care about anything regarding him. "I think we're just idiots."

Sebastian chuckled, nodding agreeing. "Yeah, we are. You more than me."

"Oh?" You replied teasingly, a tone which he didn’t quite pick up on. He looked up eyes wide, his mouth opening as apologies spilled out, in fear that he had pushed it too far once again.

"Hey, hey. It's alright, I was only joking. Probably not the best time to do that." You quickly replied to calm the poor guy down.

"No, you're fine." Sebastian stated. "I just… I want to fix what went wrong between us. I miss you. It was stupid to let such a thing do all of this. I was so wrong for doing this to you.“

You noticed how you still stood in the doorway, which probably wasn't the best place to have that type of discussion.

"Do you maybe want to come inside?" You stepped aside and held the door open for him.

"Oh." He whispered, also realising where exactly he was standing. "Yes, of course."

Sebastian stepped inside, and you closed the door. You turned back to look at him. He looked more than unsure of himself. Nervously fiddling with his fingers, wipping on his feet as he let his eyes move around the room, taking it all in.

“Listen, y/n. I know I messed up badly, I said things that were so incredibly shit. It was wrong for me to say all those things, to throw the same shit at you that the press does. I know that you didn’t get into f1 just because of your name, I should know that better than anyone else. I don’t know why I said that. I hate that I said those things and I regretted the words right after I said them.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” You asked, watching him patiently. Sebastian gulped before shaking his head. “I don’t know, I think I felt too ashamed and embarrassed.”

“That was really messed up, Seb.” You crossed your arms, frowning at him. Your chest felt heavy.

“I know. I know how you hate to be reduced to only your name, but I was just so angry at everything in that moment, that I let it out on you. It was so wrong and I am so incredibly sorry, y/n.”

You nodded, your own head filled with the moments he referred to.

Sebastian hesitated, his eye taking you in, analysing the way you feel. He knew you inside out, every little habit you had, he knew the meaning of. So he saw the hesitation inside you. How the voices in your head argued over whether to forgive or to fight him further.

"Please forgive me." He whispered, trying to aid the side of you wanting to forgive him.

Internally, that decision had been made some time ago. You knew Sebastian just as well as he knew you. You knew how he ticked and how he sometimes struggled with idioticy. Talking before really thinking, especially after being pumped on adrenaline.

He never truly means the words he spoke in anger. Sebastian was never the type to insult people, especially you. You could only think about the regret he had been carrying around these past weeks, almost overshadowing your own anger at him. Almost.

A part of you didn't want to forgive him just yet. It wanted prove that he really meant it, ignoring all the times he had already proven it. The times he cheered you up, speaking words of affirmation after the press made some ridiculous statement and spoke highly of you afterwards to everyone who'd listen, just to make them forget any bad word ever uttered.

And the more you thought about where or not to forgive him, you realised that you had already forgiven him. But you weren't able to fully admit that, yet.

"I'm really glad that you came." You answered instead, breaking the silence that started to build up.

"Yeah?" Sebastian asked, looking hopefully at you. His big blue eyes held a distant fear much like the one you felt when you thought it might be over. Which was now overshadowed by the light of hope for a rekindling.

"Yeah." You agreed honestly. "And I missed you too."

"Good." Sebastian smiled. "Then I don't feel sappy on my own."

"No."

"How are you, then?" Sebastian continued, looking you over. "I haven't heard much about the crash, only that it was like 30G. I've been worried."

You smiled at his words, the care in his voice brought a familiar warmth, one you had missed over the last few weeks. You went over to sit down on your bed, gesturing for Sebastian to join you. "I’m feeling better than earlier today, but still a bit weak. My head is pounding and I'm having a hard time with my neck and shoulders. But other than that I'm surprisingly fine."

"Are you cleared to drive tomorrow?" Sebastian asked while sitting down beside you.

"Yeah." Nodding you ran a hand through your hair. "They still want to do a check in the morning, but they said that I should be alright."

"So, you're gonna race?" He continued a bit worried, but he knew that even if he tried he wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

"What, scared I'll beat you?" You chuckled looking at his soft expression. Sebastian chuckled as well, shaking his head. "Always. No, but I was really worried. It looked a lot worse than how it ended up being. I though you might get seriously injured. And I know that that's part of the sport, but all I could think about was that I never apologised. That you might always believe that I couldn't stand you."

"Seb-" You halted in your words, before throwing your arms around your best friend. Pulling him towards you, his own arms pulling you closer. "I didn't think that you couldn't stand me, at least I hoped."

"But still. I wouldn't have known, that you didn't think that." He muttered against your shirt.

"You know now, and that is what counts." You reminded him, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

"Could we talk things through, get on common ground and get this over with. I really don't want something like this to happen again." Sebastian asked now with more confidence. " I don't want to lose you again over silly things."

"I don't want to lose you either over silly things, Sebby." You agreed using the nickname you hadn't used since you were kids. His groan of annoyance at fueled your laughter.

And for an moment then, it was like back when you were just kids, fueled by nothing but passion, friendship and capri-sun.

___

a/n: I feel like I should have added more drama, like a bit more beef between the two before they rekindled, but I didn’t have any ideas for more dialogue, lol.

[silverirony]

hi can i be insane for a sec

sorry to be an archaeologist (archaeo student, but still), but I can't stop thinking about this. i know nobody else cares about this the thing is I don't think you understand just how right gordon is here. I don't think even gordon understands. the foundation of (we live in a) society really is all about the ability to store surplus of food.

that's the difference between hunter-gatherers and farmers, between nomadic and sedentary lifestyles, this is the neolithic revolution. Storing the food we don't eat immediately allowed us more freedom to focus on technology, art, and architecture. this is the reason we only see monumental structures being built after we settled down and started pretty much hoarding as many resources as we could. this is the foundation of society, of social hierarchy, of religion, you name it.

the world that exists now exists because of salt, honey, vinegar and ice. I appreciate this perspective so much because we rarely take a culinary approach to the changes and revolutions in pre- and ancient history. we tend to focus on the emerging power structures and elites, the conflicts and warriors, the cities and empires - pretty much all the things that divide people. so, looking at this from the perspective of food, specifically food preservation, is actually so nice and refreshing and I want to know what article Jon read for this (give me that jstor link)

SECond of all. the history of mummification make me unwell. theres So much that I think people miss about it bc it's always like mummies > ancient egypt > pyramids > aliens (I'll kill you im so fucking tired). I could go on and on about how burial rites are the purest expression of love and care that humans have ever developed but the mention of chinchorro culture actually took me out.

I need everyone to understand that the chinchorro mummies are the oldest mummies we've discovered. because I will never forget when my south american archaeology prof spent like half an hour explaining to us that the oldest mummies in the world are children because child mortality rate was so high that losing so many children became so overwhelming they did the only thing they could to keep them alive - they removed soft tissues and covered them in clay, sculpted the features of each one of them and mourned. there's evidence that they displayed those mummies in public spaces - not cemeteries but main squares of settlements or built special structures to house all of their dead. this makes me insane bc 1. the idea that in antiquity and middle ages ppl would lose so many children they became desensitized to it is wrong - they literally could not get over it so much they invented a completely new way to bury somebody (or really, keep the alive) and 2. the desire to keep our dead with us forever, in any way we can, for as long as we can, is literally over 7 thousand years old. it's older than bronze metallurgy, it's older than any empire, any country, it's older than domesticated horses and bees. insaneeee.

and I think this is an interesting contrast to how human preservation is portrayed throughout most of red valley, which is - rich people trying to avoid the consequences of their own actions while damning everyone else, or as a punishment, a new type of prison. the chinchorro mummies are literally the difference between all of that and gordon and warren being frozen for 44 years to give them a better chance, a new life. it's the preservation of someone you care about born from the refusal to let them go, the inability to face reality, the complete defiance of the natural order of things. Aubrey freezing them - and thus not letting them die - is literally no different from the chinchorro mummies, and egyptian mummies, and bog bodies, and scythian kurgans, and roman hypogea, and every great monument. archaeology is a study of everything we had and how we lost it and how we grieved it. someone hold my hand.

[jarl-deathwolf]

GREAT STUFF once again! I've added a bunch to my notes, this'll be great to flesh out scenes but its also given me some inspiration to change some future scenes. But I'll get to that in a bit.

Thank you! I'm pretty happy with how the map turned out, all things considered. Its actually really fortuitious that the celtic rainforests will be on the eastern side of the Fells since I'd earmarked Realm 4 as being the domain of the Archdruid - having half the realm be a verdant, beautiful rainforest would be pretty fitting for that!

I would be delighted if you wanted to tell me about likely tidal and beach patterns! Just to clarify in case it matters the Citalen Republic is something of a mediterranean climate and Hydris a cold, nordic climate.

The Great Oak would probably not go by Old Man Oak. He's more majestic and formal, likely more invoking awe than Grandad. Grandad is visited regularly by locals - he's beloved but he is too close to be elevated like the Great Oak. For what its worth, the Great Oak's role in the story is as guardian of the last physical relic of King Arthur, and keeper of uncorrupted lore about that time.

(Its a whole thing in this story, the disconnect between the story of King Arthur, the version that we know, corrupted by time and the Conquest, and the original story, which is largely lost. Figuring out the real story is a major thread of Llywela's journey)

Very interesting thought about Taid - the one who calls him Grandad is in the Fells, speaking Fellish when she talks about him, but she leaves the Fells after the first book. It might be a cool point for her to be calling him Taid after that, to show her still thinking in Fellish.

(That book is not the one I originally sent this ask about, for clarity. King Arthur book is #4, Grandad's appearance is in Book #1. I have a tumblr blog for story stuff that I really need to get around to putting more of my own stuff on.)

Also very intriguing about the yews. It makes me think that maybe the yew Dagfolk have a special purpose as guardians of gates to Annwyn. The only gate that appears in the story is guarded by the lady of the lake, but I can't imagine it is the only one. Or maybe the eldest of the Dagfolk is a wizened old yew tree? Something that I'll be chewing on, I'm sure of it.

SUPER fascinated about all that bardic lore. Especially because, as I alluded to above, I do have an archdruid of the Fells who is visited as part of the story. It would add a whole new layer to that interaction if Llywela had been Chair'd for her passion in keeping the Fellish legends alive, and then meeting the Archdruid again as she attempts to REALLY bring the legends to life.

Is the bardic name only used for competitions? Would it be something she introduces herself by, as a title? Or is it purely meant as a way to conceal her identity for fairness in competitions - in that case, would it be a good name to use when going undercover as Just Another Bard?

I definitely want to give Llywela a bardic name now, even if it solely comes up during her interaction with the Archdruid. I'll need to think about what she would name herself, but I'll get back to that. Ooo, secondary reading! I'll look through that over the next couple days. This is a fairly high magic world, so faeries and the like are a very real concern for the Fellish people!

Also love love love the list of foods - I get the feeling I'll be mentioning cawl fairly frequently as a go-to meal for travelers in much the same way I would bring up stew in previous stories.

And even if some of those dishes don't show up in this book, I have another Fellish character traveling with a skilled cook, so I'm eager to work in a scene with them getting a taste of home in the next book with that set of characters.

And as for the cheeses, it seems I'm back to another reason I've got to get around to naming those 24 realms ;-; I did end up going with mead flavored with meadowsweet for the feast scene - so I'll go back and use the Meddeglyn name after establishing what it is - but its good to know that I have a good range of local options for future scenes.

A weakness of mine is usually defaulting to the same set of dishes across stories, so having a full on menu split between upper and lower class meals is a godsend. Especially with Llywela, since she can be found at a tavern or in a lord's hall.

Thank you for answering all these questions! I appreciate taking the time to talk about it. I'm sure I'll have a new set of questions soon-ish, as I press on to finishing Act 2 and realize something I didn't even know that I did not know.

Hi hello! I'm writing a story in my original world, set in a Fantasy Wales. A King Arthur Returns type story, if that matters.

I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about Welsh ecology? And possibly also some cultural details?

Thanks ahead of time! And I understand if you decline or don't respond!

YES OH MY GOD YES HELLO

[always-just-red]

Hi! Hope you're having a good day!

Just found your blog yesterday and read Onychinus' Finest. I've been STARVED of Kieran and Luke fics, not enough people appreciate them, so I come with a request! (Most of what I'll say is totally optional. I believe in the author's creative vision overall so if something doesn't fit feel free to change and adapt whatever you'd like.)

Either hunter or assassin MC, where they're at a mission, and they're ambushed. One of the twins gets hurt protecting her, maybe even taken, and she just goes on a rampage to get him back. They've never quite seen her so protective and yet so vengeful. She might go by herself? When Sylus wants to plan ahead properly since his own miscalculations lead them to get attacked in the first place. The twins are loyal to him, the other brother won't go without his permission despise his brother being missing or hurt. I'm just picturing her finding a broken mask, half of it missing (she's never seen their faces before.)

Happy ending. 🥺 Just fluffy you know? I want the twins melting into her, one with gratitude for finding his brother and the other just with disbelief and affection that she's do all this for him.

Special mention to any heads on her lap like overgrown puppies, just holding her close. They're sweet boys I think, especially if their guard and masks are finally down.

You can take this as platonic or romantic, she could be with Sylus and still have grown to really care and look out for the twins, or she could love them. (I don't know which ones angstier)

Thank you for even considering this even if you decide it's not worth your time!

AAAAAAA HEY!! You had such a vision for this and it was so fun to work with-- I hope it's everything you imagined! You've always been so so so supportive and kind, so I low-key went all-out on this, that's half the reason it took so long. 😭😭 Think this is my longest fic so far oh my gosh? Love it though, all the action scenes took me RIGHT back to my Assassin's Creed fanfic writing days haha Anyway! This is set in the same canon as the last fic because I loved that dynamic ngl. Not a direct sequel though!

Beneath The Mask

Luke and Kieran x Reader 🎭

Summary: Sylus and Kieran are useless, as always, so you take matters into your own hands

Genre: angst + fluff + ACTION!! *karate chops*

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, swearing, descriptions of violence, injury, broken bones, killing (don't @ reader, she wants her man back!!), but also some humour 😌

| Word count: 4.6k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sometimes, you think you’re the only member of Onychinus who isn’t completely out of their mind.

You’d think it was Sylus, your indomitable leader. Smiles-with-a-knife-at-his-throat Sylus. Has-the-situation-completely-in-hand Sylus. It used to inspire you: that crimson gaze of his, always alight with a fire that’s never, ever, quite out of control.

How does he do it? You’d wonder in awe, like a wide-eyed child enthralled by a magic trick.

How does he do it? You’re wiser, now. You know it’s a lie, now, but you still can’t see through it. It’s driving you mad.

You watch as the man works away at a large, glass monitor, his fingers gliding across the screen with their usual grace. You get glimpses: names, faces, contacts. He’s testing the cords of his network— an intricate web— and he’s hoping someone’s caught something he can sink his teeth into.

He’s been at this for two hours, ever since you dragged yourselves back here with your tails between your legs. There’s a gash on his forehead that hasn’t yet healed, and the blood is still drying, dark on his face. Has he thought to heal it? Or— there’s a smudge on his finger— does he like his guilt a little warmer to the touch?

“We need an order, boss,” you seethe, because you’re tired of standing beside him, unacknowledged.

“You have your order.” He types out a message. Dismisses another. “Wait.”

“I meant an order that isn’t complete bullshit.”

He shoots you a glance, his eyes embers of warning. “Careful, sweetie. You forget yourself.”

Your fists ball. “Oh, spare me.”

“What would you have me do?” he mutters, gaze returning to the screen. He isn’t rising to the challenge, or should you say— stooping to it. He’s so goddamn noble.

“They have Luke, Sylus.”

“I know.”

“So let’s fucking do something! Let’s go back, let’s get him. They caught us off-guard last time, that’s all. They got their hands on some Ever tech, so what? We know that, now. They don’t stand a chance if we just—”

“Charge in there, guns blazing?” Sylus finishes for you, lips curled in derision.

It sounds stupid out loud, and he wants you to hear it. You do; you don’t care. “We don’t need all of this,” you beseech, your hand waving over the monitor. “We have you, boss.”

“Me?” he chuckles, and it’s so, so bitter.

Is that the guilt you’ve been looking for? It isn’t enough. His eyes are still pools of calm— spilt blood, unreciprocated. How does he do it?

“We have to do something,” you say limply. “Please, I can’t… I can’t do this, Sylus. All this nothing. Tell me what to do. I’ll go back alone if I have to. Just say the word and I’ll—”

“Look at this,” he interrupts, stepping away from the screen so that you can take his place before it.

It’s an order, even if it isn’t the one you want. You roll your eyes as you obey, and you begin to scour the intel he’s gathered. Eyewitness accounts, rumours, surveillance footage— some courtesy of Mephisto— and it’s all centred around two things. One: the aspiring new gang you’d set out to dismantle earlier, and two: a link to Ever. A solid link to Ever. 

“They didn’t steal Ever’s tech,” you release on a sigh of understanding. “They’re working together.”

“Mmm.” Sylus’s hand clears the screen before you. “We should have known. I should have known.”

Your mind is so caught-up by the revelation that you almost miss the confession.

“This was my mistake,” he continues, watching you. “And you are all my responsibility. Believe me…” He taps the screen and live surveillance footage springs up: an outside view of the compound you’d raided earlier. “I want to burn that place to the ground as much as you do.”

But… “No collateral damage,” you murmur, eyeing the guards on patrol.

“No collateral damage,” Sylus nods. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, boss.”

And maybe he is burning with just as much anger. Maybe the fear is making his heart drum, and the guilt making his skin crawl. It’s the same, old trick, isn’t it? Done to death:

The mask without a mask— just where does he hide all that?

Maybe he doesn’t.

There’s only so much faith you can have in something you can’t see.

…

Clink.

You slot a bullet into the magazine of your pistol, then follow it up with another. Clink. Then another. Clink. You’ve never relished this quiet— not like Sylus does. To him it’s an art. To you: a chore. You glance about the armoury, and you’ve never resented your shelves of options quite like this before. Antiques. Prototypes. So many means of dealing death.

You’ve never seen the beauty in it, but a shot through the heart means something different to Sylus than it does to the rest of you. It can be intimate. Symbolic. He can die for something, someone, and he can do it over, and over, and over again. How poetic.

You holster your loaded weapon, then reach for another.

“What’re you doing?”

The voice makes you jump. “Gods, Kieran. You want a bullet through your head?”

“No.” He misses the meaning of your words. “Why— wanna shoot me?”

“Right now?” you ask cynically.  

He laughs like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Liar. You’ve finished loading the second gun so you slide it across the table to him wordlessly. The beak of his mask lowers as he regards it; he doesn’t pick it up.

“You’re being weird,” he says after a moment. “It’s cool. I like it.”

You roll your eyes, wandering over to a rack of weapon attachments. There are different sights. Silencers. (Is that how you want to play this? Quiet?) “I’m going back for Luke,” you state as you muse it over. “You want in, or not?”

The rest is implied: Sylus doesn’t know. He isn’t coming. All of that’s evident from the fact that you’re here, rifling through his precious collection, and not ensnared in the tendrils of his Evol somewhere. A toddler could connect the dots. Kieran will get there. Give him a minute.

It takes half a minute. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. An ambiguous apology.

“It’s fine, Kieran.” He was never going to come with you. “I can do this alone. I can—”

A weight lands on you, tackling you into the weapons rack, and you land on the floor amongst the attachments you’d just been perusing so calmly. The weight stays on you, pinning you: hands are on your wrists, twisting you around. “Kieran!” you protest.

The man pulls away, leaving you slumped in your new, uncomfortable seat.

“Wha—” You try to stand up but you’re jolted back; your wrist is fixed to something. You turn your head, eyes widening as they fall on the pair of handcuffs you’ve been restrained with. They’re padded— lined with a soft, velvety material. “Where the hell did you get these?”

“Boss’s room. Luke and I had a bet,” Kieran shrugs, now towering over you.

“You win?”

“Heh. Yeah.”

You’re still trying to squeeze your hand out of the cuffs. You pry at them. Twist and wriggle your fingers— none of it’s any use. You glance up at Kieran, admitting defeat with a sigh. He brushes his hands together in a ‘job well done’ sort of gesture, his eyes fixed on you, well— you have to imagine they are.

Instead of windows to the soul you’re faced with red-glass imitations, impossible to read, and you’re tired of all the guessing.  

“How do you do it?” you ask with a quiet desperation. “How do you act like everything’s fine?”

“Boss will come up with a plan,” the twin says simply, like he hasn’t really thought about it.

“And what if it takes too long? What if we’re too late? I mean… think of all the shit he knows, Kieran. Everything about us, about boss— it’s priceless. Do you really think they’re holding back?”

Kieran huffs. “You worried he’ll snitch or something?”

“I’m worried they’re hurting him!” you snap. “What the hell is wrong with you!? He’s your brother! He could be dead and you’re acting like, like..”

Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him hopelessly. There’s nothing to see— no tension in his body, no harsher rise and fall to his chest, betraying a nervous, racing heart. All the usual signs are missing. He isn’t shifting on his feet like he does when he’s anxious. Is he that good at pretending, or…

Does he really not care?

You shake your head, looking down at the floor; you’re so sick of red eyes. He’s crazy. Sylus is crazy.

There’s nothing for it, then.

“You know what?” you chuckle dryly, under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. This isn’t all bad, I mean… when’s the last time you and I had any one-to-one time, huh?”

Kieran is silent. He lowers himself slowly until he’s crouched before you— forearms resting on his knees. His head tilts inquisitively: Go on.

“Maybe,” you lilt, “this is an opportunity.” You’re practically whispering, and the man leans in, not wanting to miss a word. Your free hand reaches for a horn of his hood and you use it to pull him closer; he doesn’t even resist. “How about we…” you speak into his ear, “go look through Luke’s stuff?”

Kieran draws back, those false eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes you think, for a second, that you’ve gone too far.

“You’re the best,” he breathes out, suddenly fiddling with the handcuffs, slotting the key into the lock. “Just… the absolute best.”  

Got him.

The cuff springs open and you’re on top of him, tackling him to the ground and pinning his arms by the side of his head before he can think to stop you. “Oh,” he grumbles, going still beneath you, and it sounds like his eyes are narrowing, “you’re not the best. You’re sneaky.”

His compliance lasts all of a second, and then he’s fighting back— using his strength to throw you off balance and wrench his wrists free. He rolls on top of you, trapping you just as effectively as you’d done him, and he laughs like a child, having ever so much fun.

With a grunt of effort, you manage to push him aside. You turn onto your stomach, scrabbling away as you look for space, opportunity, and— if you’re being honest— something you can throw at him. A hand connects with your shoulder and you thrust your elbow backwards on instinct. It hits something hard.

“Ah, shit! Wait, wait, wait… time out.”

You freeze instantly.

Kieran’s voice is different; it’s acquired a clarity that tells you his mask his away from his face. Don’t move. You stare down at the floor with a patience that’s almost sacred. He’s taking a while, though…

“You ok?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His voice is different again, like he’s holding his nose. “Nosebleed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

You sit up with your legs crossed while you wait, but your eyes are still trained downwards. You can hear Kieran’s breath, a little ways behind you— so much clearer without the mask— and the intimacy is always sobering. Realising he’s vulnerable, knowable, and all you have to do is turn around. 

He doesn’t rush, though: doesn’t scramble to pull the mask back down, or insist you keep looking away. The silence, the stillness— all of it is trust.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye; he’s set the mask down on the ground while he bleeds.

“I’m worried too,” he admits softly, and you’re not sure what’s more foreign: his voice, unhindered, or the honesty it carries. You don’t want to scare either away, so you do nothing. There’s more: “I can’t leave boss, though. Who else has he got?”

“The hunter?”

“Nah,” he dismisses. “She’s hot stuff, y’know? A lot of players in that game.” He taps at his mask idly. “Heard one of them’s a doctor.”

You’re quiet again. Thinking.

“Boss always has our back,” Kieran asserts. “We have to look out for him too… That’s the job, right?”

He’s not really asking you; you came to this late, after all. It was their job long before it was yours.

You’ve nothing to do but look at your hands and listen, biding your time. The passing seconds are still restless, useless, but the sensation slips when you feel hands on your waist, pulling you back. Kieran’s arms wrap around you. His chin settles on your shoulder, and you close your eyes.

“Stay,” he says. “Please?”

His pain is harder to sit with than your own. Minutes ago, this was something you wanted. Now it’s just another wound you don’t know how to stitch up; too deep, too late.

You let your head rest against his, but you don’t say a word.

…

This was easier when you were relying on Mephisto’s guidance and not hazy, disjointed memories. The last time you were here you were running, Kieran at your side and Sylus not far ahead. You weren’t thinking about what corners you turned or what directions you travelled; you were thinking about everything behind you. Shouts. Gunshots. The subtler rush of your leader’s Evol, still crackling, still faltering, courtesy of whatever technology your attackers had managed to appropriate.

It all happened so quickly.

Every corridor feels longer, now. Each moment— slow. Your body is aching. You’ve lost count of how many encounters you’ve had, but there’s a new bruise or scrape for every body in your wake. None of it has been easy. You ran out of bullets just getting inside this damn place, and the rest has been messier: up-close and personal.

You’re catching your breath, so you toe the rifle of your last adversary, lying a short way from their limp, open hand. They never got a chance to use it, and you were lucky; it would have been loud. Every guard in this run-down labyrinth is looking for you. The last thing you need is to send out a homing beacon.

Glance around. Try to work out your bearings.

This was once a police station. Old-world. Eroded beyond recognition, almost. These places were the first to fall victim to the backwards evolution of the N109 Zone. The bones are the same, but the skin is different. Every wall is scrawled with anti-Association sentiments.

It makes you smile, despite everything.

Your footsteps are deliberately quiet as you carry on down the corridor, turning into the next room— you’ve been tackling them one-by-one. There’s a narrower corridor before the room opens out, and then…

Cells.

A short line of them— five in total. Your heart wants to beat faster with hope, but your mind is holding it back: insisting this is wrong. It seems abandoned. Forgotten. You walk by the first cell, and then the second. Nothing. The third. Nothing.

There’s a sound behind you, and you almost don’t hear it. You spin, only to find a hand wrapped around your throat, tight and unforgiving. A guard thrusts you up against the red-brick column that divides two cells, and you’d cry out in pain, but there’s no breath to carry it. Your eyes water. You try to prise the hand away, and it’s desperation that possesses you— not skill or experience.

You kick out and hit nothing, but the second time, you catch the man’s shin. He shouts, his grip failing just enough for you to slip your fingers beneath his. A few seconds of advantage. You grasp his wrist, using your other hand to wrench his forefinger backwards— crack. He staggers with a cry and then you’re dodging his frenzied attempts to recapture you: weaving behind him, seizing the back of his neck. Your foot trips his. He’s teetering, off-balance, and you use the momentum to crash his head against a bar of the cell.

Metal rings out. Flesh splits.

The guard crumples at your feet and you almost go down with him. Your lungs are pulling for so much air that it makes your throat sting. Adrenaline laps your limbs, celebrating in sheer, ecstatic disbelief; you’re alive.

Someone wolf-whistles and you swear you feel everything stop.

Your gaze shoots up, lit by hope, but it’s quickly snuffed out. A young man is watching you from the fourth cell, his arms threaded through the bars. There’s a shameless grin as his eyes flit over you. All of you.

“Fuck off,” you sneer as you step over the guard. You turn to leave.

“Rude.”

Your eyes go wide. You spin back. “Luke?”

The man cocks his head like you’ve asked a trick question. “... Yeah?” It takes a drawn-out moment of you staring at him, motionless, for him to recognise your confusion. “Oh, right. Here—” he draws up his hood and the horns are missing, so he emulates them with pointed fingers— “this help?”

You lunge forwards, trapping him in a hug through the bars of his cell; you barely notice the separation. He chuckles as he hugs you back: “Miss me?”

“Yeah,” you exhale in relief, even though he was definitely setting you up for a joke. You break away from him, forcing yourself to look at anything but his face. Gods, his face. Pretend you don’t already want to look again. “Are you hurt?” you ask. “Did they—”

“Nope!” he interrupts with what sounds like a smile. “I told them everything.”

You glance up; you can’t help it.

He winks at you. “I lied. Glad you got here before they figured that out, though. Sheesh, that would not have been fun.” His hands wrap around the bars. “Can you get me out of here?” He tugs at them. “Pleeease?”

Right. “Yeah.” You glance around. You just need to find the—

“Key’s with the dead guy,” Luke says. “What a jerk, huh?”

It still feels like there are hands on your throat. “Totally.” You wander over to the body, bending down to rummage through the man’s pockets. After a brief search, you produce the key.

Luke slow claps. “My hero.”

You laugh softly as you return to the cell, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The twin strides through, giving a little bow as he passes, then stretches his arms like he’s just been set free from a much smaller cage.

“So…” He speaks in a sing-song sort of voice, sniffing the air like it’s sweeter. “Where’re boss and Kieran?”

“Um. Home?”

Luke narrows his eyes at you— vaguely resembling the slits of his missing mask. “You went rogue?”

You wince. “I did go rogue.”

You’re still being studied warily. Luke has raised an eyebrow and it’s so starkly expressive; is this a look he gives you often? You have a feeling it is. Then he shrugs and it’s gone. “That’s hot,” he quips. He crouches down beside the dead guard, lifting the body and puppeteering one of the arms to wave at you. “Look— this is gonna be you when boss finds out.”

You cross your arms. Luke laughs, dropping the man back down with a thud. “Just you and me then?” he clarifies, holding a hand out to you.

Are you supposed to know what to do with it? “You and me,” you confirm. Your hand goes out too.  

Luke slaps it gently one way, then another. He entangles your fingers. Pulls back. Does a few more slaps in sporadic directions, and— is this a secret handshake? You don’t have a secret handshake.

“Nice,” he beams once the ritual is complete. “Let’s go, let's go!”

…

Luke is hanging close to the wall across from you, waiting— listening— as you both brace yourselves behind the turn of yet another corridor of the rival base. He sneaks glances around the corner.

“Anyone there?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t press on, either, because it’s odd; you’d both thought you’d heard something. This isn’t your usual strategy— playing it safe. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke err on the side of caution, but he’s concentrating, even closing his eyes so he can listen harder.

You take advantage of the moment in a way you shouldn’t: letting your gaze linger on his face. Even with his hood up— shadows lowered like a veil— he’s still a stranger to you. You want to know him; you know him already. He’s been smiling at your jokes forever, but tell him one now, and it’ll be the first time.

His eyes open, meeting yours. Could he sense you watching? He grins, poking his tongue out at you.

“Stop it.”

“You stop it,” he retorts. The coast must be clear, for he comes away from the wall and rounds the corner with a spring in his gait.

You sigh as you stand to follow him. One less-enthusiastic step forward, and something snakes around your ankle. Your gaze drops like a stone, but it isn’t fast enough. You’re hauled into the air, voice failing, vision swimming as the world flips upside-down and you’re strung up from the ceiling. “Luke!” you manage in warning.

Are those his footsteps, coming back? You’re facing the wrong way and you try to lift the lower half of your body so you can reach for your ankle, but you’re already exhausted. Your muscles burn. After a few, futile inches, you give up, going limp.

There are footsteps behind you. “Oh, hey boss!” Luke exclaims.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

An unwitting pendulum: you can’t keep your body from turning, ever so slowly, until you’re staring the right way down the corridor. You can’t see much of it, though.

Sylus is in front of you, so close that you can almost feel the heat of his eyes.

“Hey, boss,” you echo reluctantly.

He says nothing, and behind him, Luke slides a gloating finger across his own throat: you’re dead! And you’re turning, still. Sylus lifts a hand to the top of your head and swivels you back to him. “What happened to that trust of yours, sweetie? Hmm?”

You half-laugh, nervous. He doesn’t seem quite as amused.

Releasing your head, he steps back with a huff of disappointment as you start a slow rotation once more. He taps a finger to his chin pensively, like you’re a masterpiece he’s convinced might be a forgery, now that he’s looking more closely. “Reckless little thing, aren’t you?” he tuts.

There’s maybe a smile, but it’s short-lived; the dark rope around your ankle whips you into the air. You shriek with shock as you lose all bearings, all vision, all sense of reality. You’re falling.

Someone catches you.

“My reckless little thing,” Luke grins, jostling you into a more secure position in his arms. “Mine.”

You want to protest, but your breath is gone.

“You can’t afford her,” Sylus speaks over his shoulder; he’s already taken the lead in guiding you out of here. Mephisto squawks somewhere up ahead, appearing in a cloud of smoke and feathers.

Luke gives a defensive hmph as he holds you a tighter. Then he smiles down at you, and though it’s new, you know it’s far from the first time, and even further from the last.

…

“Are we really doing this?” you ask Sylus sceptically.

“Lighten up, sweetie.” He clicks his fingers.

Not far from you, currently oblivious to your presence, Kieran stands at the door of your leader’s study, still waiting for an order. The air above him changes: it swirls with a dark, scarlet mist. Luke drops out of it, landing straight on his twin’s back.

“What the—” Kieran splutters, but his brother’s arms are over his shoulders, around his neck. “Get off!” he squeaks out.

“No way. I was a prisoner,” Luke chortles. “You have to be super nice to me. Carry me everywhere. Boss said so.”

“He did not!”

And with those words, Kieran flips his other half the rest of the way over his shoulder; Luke lands on the ground with an unceremonious splat. All four limbs are sprawled. “Ow!” he whines.

Sylus has already strode the rest of the way into the room. “Play nice,” he scolds as he steps over Luke, then passes by Kieran.

“Yes, boss!” they chime, stilling obediently as the older man disappears into his study. The moment the doors close behind him, Kieran throws himself down. He wrestles with Luke, both of them laughing and rolling around as they try to hurt each-other.

It makes you think of those old, vintage cartoons you used to see on TV. You can just picture the cloud of dust, the colourful stars and shapes flying with every traded punch. Idiots.

You leave them to it, slinging yourself down on a couch and closing your eyes. Gods, you want to sleep. There’s blood dried to your hands and face, but you’ll shower later. There are grazes and cuts still bleeding, but you’ll tend to them later. Everything can wait.

The room has gone quiet. Too quiet; you open your eyes.

Luke and Kieran stand in front of you ominously, their figures symmetrical. The illusion of reflection is broken by Luke’s absent mask, but his eyes are just as unreadable.

“What?” you cave.

“You went rogue,” Kieran states, and his brother is nodding gravely, like this is a very serious infraction.

You smile. “I did go rogue.” More shameless than last time. “I got a free pass, though. Luke said it was hot.”

Kieran’s mask turns to face his twin, slow and resentful. Luke shrugs. “What? It was.”

There’s an impasse: long enough to make you think they’re having some kind of secret discussion. Both twins look at you. You smile sheepishly. You don’t think you’ll ever really know the entirety of what goes on in those heads, but it’s for the best. You value your sanity.

“You went rogue,” Kieran carries on, as if his speech had never been interrupted, and his authority not just completely undercut. He moves closer, slinking down beside you, and Luke plays the part of his mirror image. “There will have to be a… punishment.”

The word is elongated for effect, and it’s remarkably similar to Kieran’s ‘ghost voice’— which you know, thanks to the time he roped you into that ‘the base is haunted!’ prank. (Sylus did not, in fact, fall for it.)

“Bring it,” you murmur, closing your eyes again. “I just stormed a whole enemy base single-handed. I think I can handle the two of—”

Your voice meanders to a stop as Kieran nuzzles against you. His mask is off; you feel the soft of his face and the bridge of his nose. His breath is light on your neck. You smile, slipping deeper into your seat and then his embrace as his arms go around you. He’s warm. Really warm.

There’s a weight— Luke’s head on your lap— and he hugs you too, arms lower around your waist. His breath tickles your stomach. You hum in contentment, running your hands through his hair. 

He's safe. You're all safe.

They were never going to say thank you; it’s not in their nature. Their language isn't superficial. It isn’t words spoken aloud or feelings worn on the face— it can’t be. A smile is too easily read by the rest of the world, but a smile behind a mask? It’s private. Reserved only for those who’ve learnt to hear it in your voice, or see it in the way your body relaxes when you hold someone you care for.

A language of tiny, intimate details.

Kieran has never nestled his face quite so closely against you. You don’t think you’ve ever known Luke go so long without talking.

[empthy1]

sugar mommy!tashi bc i need her. thank you for breaking me out of my slump once again ms tashi. ms duncan. wrote this in one night, so any errors are unintentional. i can't seem to stop imbuing unnecessary amounts of worldbuilding into every single thing i write. 941 words.

Somehow, some sixteen months after taking the internship of your dreams, you ended up here—sprawled on a beach for the second day in a row, baking comfortably under the Tahitian sun after quitting said internship the week before.

Tashi didn't intend on ending up with a sugar baby. Didn't intend to be hoodwinked by a young woman ten years her junior.

Doesn't mean she didn't kickstart the process, however unintentionally.

So she showed up to your little corner cubicle eleven months ago, tugging you from your laptop by the collar of your blouse and taking you out to a far-too expensive lunch. She doesn't exactly know why, either.

She was intending to take lunch, anyway, but usually she'd just have her assistant have it delivered, still steaming, to her high-floor office. Sit, alone in the white room decorated with her accomplishments, and eat as she kept working. The magazine waited for no one, after all, and she had a deadline.

Yet, as she'd checked the employee logs sent to her every day, detailing work hours and project progress collected by her subordinates, she'd noticed far too many hours being worked by one sweet little intern.

She'd only met you once before, when she'd dropped by to introduce herself during intern orientation—as is routine. Your smile that day was different than the one shown in your employee photo. Shyer, almost bashful at the handshake she'd culled you into and at the fingers she'd strummed along your palm during the lengthy release.

She'd hoped you'd do well. It seems you were doing a bit too well. You'd put in at-home work, contributed meaningful things to projects far above your pay grade, and smashed through every task will increasingly ruthless efficiency.

You reminded her of her, a million years ago. Crashing through barriers and putting in an unprecedented amount of hours. But it would catch up to you. It caught up to her, one day, when she was fifteen.

It's not a long story, or a particularly important one to anyone. It barely even headlined the local news, even in their small town—Local Tennis Player Passes Out from Exhaustion in the Hot Sun was ran on page 4B, tucked deep into the newspaper and only given a small segment in the sports section. But it was important to her.

It marked a moment where her ambitions were not stunted, but contained. She couldn't practice twenty, thirty hours a week and compete—she'd harm herself. Firm earfuls from both her worried parents and her stern coach confirmed it.

It changed the way she worked, the way she lived. She still watched her tapes over about a trillion times—but she did it relaxed and in bed, instead of on the court as she obsessively attempted to hammer out a flaw in her footwork. She carved out times for actual meals instead of protein bars and fruit.

She wanted to make sure you don't do the same thing to yourself.

This is how she ends up leaning into your cubicle, nose wrinkling at the impersonal area. There's barely any note that someone even spends time here, other than the barest hints of a gifted plant—price sticker still molded to the cheap plastic pot. Hm. It's definitely not suitable for any worker, much less one that puts in as many hours as you do.

"Hello?" She calls out with a quiet murmur of your name, voice curling in the air and seeping past the cushion of your headphones.

She sees the embarrassment on your face. She can practically taste the confusion. What's Ms. Duncan doing here? The surprise on your face makes the slightest smirk tick her lips.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go to lunch with me today."

An unexpected proposition. But who are you to say no?

She'd picked a little vegetarian spot she'd frequented. Based on the charges she's seen on your cafeteria card for meals and such, you're like her—not the biggest fan of meat.

You both settle in to a little corner booth. The angle doesn't force you to meet her eyes; it seems like you've been avoiding that, head tucked almost permanently to your chest. Out of awkwardness or embarrassment, she doesn't know, but she'd like to rectify it.

First, though, pleasantries. The head chef's already ambling over, arms outstretched and a smile curling her face. A nice older woman, with greying roots (she swears she'll let it grow out this time) that whips up the best pasta in the city. She's come out to take their order personally.

"Anything for an old friend and her date." The stressed syllable and the rather unsubtle wink she sends her way is not lost on her. Or you, it seems, she muses to herself as your head dips further.

She'd been rather invested in her life since her divorce. The thought makes her feel the lightness of her ring finger for the first time in months.

No worry, though. She won't let a nosy (if well meaning) friend ruin her date lunch meeting and attempts to pull you out of her shell.

Once the chef had left—but not without shooting her another wink—she is quick to engage you in conversation and sink into the lull of your chatter. She wants to see if the witty, smart person she's seeing in your work and hearing from others is really the truth.

You were, she muses, months later, laying next to you on that beach. And even more than that.

Your ring finger's looking a little bare. She'd never had reservations about buying you jewelry before, though.

these were meant to be headcanons but turned into a blurb. might still write the headcanons though. maybe.

[storiesaplenty]

Jelly Bracelets (14)

Eddie Munson x f/Reader (18+)

Jelly Bracelets Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy, though.

Warnings: swearing. P in v sex. Unprotected sex. Pussy fingering. Missionary position. Creampie.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me: 1st gif: @psychecreations

WC: 1149

©️ storiesaplenty 2024: Do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

Black (18+) - the wearer will have regular "missionary" sex

Eddie Munson may be the freak of Hawkins, but he is your best friend. Who is always willing to teach you new things, even when you get new bracelets from your cousin. Eddie will even go as far as teaching & showing you what each one means.

Eddie Munson's Pov:

Her and I made the spaghetti in my small kitchen.

This isn't the first time we made food together, but time it felt more intimate.

Even as we sat across from one another, talking about what we have been up to when we haven't been with one another.

It's like nothing has changed, but yet, everything has changed between us.

It has only been a month since her and started whatever this is between us, and I have no idea what is going to happen once this is all over.

Will her and I go back to how it was before this started?

I don't think I can. Not when just the thought of her with another person makes me instantly jealous.

"So I was thinking that we can go to the movies tomorrow afternoon." She said, bringing me from my thoughts.

"Just us or will Steve and Robin be joining us?"

"They have to work, and even though I love Robin, I would love to hear the whole movie this time, instead of her asking a question during every important scene."

"Okay, it's a date. I mean, not a date, but you know what I mean." I started to ramble, until she placed her hand on top of mine.

"Eddie relax. I know what you mean." She softly smiled at me.

The rest of the meal went off without me acting weird.

For once.

Her and I are sitting on the edge of my bed, making out. Her hands were playing with my hair as I kissed my way down her neck, nipping here and there.

The soft gasps that fell from her lips had my cock twitching in my pants.

My hands trailed down her body, stopping to grop her tits, making her back arch into me.

"Eddie." She whined, leaning her head a bit more as I kissed down to her shoulder and then back up her neck again.

"Spread your legs sweetheart." She did as I asked, and I groaned as I felt how wet she was through her panties.

"This all for me?" I said as I moved her panties to the side and trailed my two fingers up and down her pussy, still not believing that I am the one causing her to be this wet.

"Yes." She mewed.

"Shh, shh. I got you." I said as I inserted two fingers, fingering her, making her grip my arms.

"Need you to cum for me, before I fuck you, yeah." I sped up my fingers, and I felt her cum before she cried out my name.

Her pussy clenched around my fingers tightly, making me groan at the thought of her doing that around my cock soon.

"That's it. I think you are ready to take me now." I snapped the bracelet with my free hand, as I am still fingering her, not wanting to stop.

◆

She is naked on my bed, propped up on her arms as she is watching me look around my room for a damn condom.

"Eddie." She said my name.

"I know I have one here." I said, as I opened drawer after drawer, pulling empty boxes out.

So close.

So damn close to finally fucking her and I don't have a condom.

"Eddie, I'm clean and on the pill." I stopped looking and looked at her.

"Come to bed Eddie." She spread her legs and my eyes zoned in on how wet she still was for me.

I crawled between her spread thighs, looking over at the black jelly bracelet that is on my night table, not believing that this actually happening.

I gripped my cock, rubbing the outside of her pussy to try and collect some juices, which I spread around my cock as I jerked myself off, before placing my cock at the entrance to her pussy.

Her and I are staring into one another's eyes as I pushed just the tip in.

"Shit."

"Fuck."

We both swore as I slowly pushed in. I am watching her face for any signs of discomfort, but the moment my hips were flushed against her body, I groaned, loudly.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as soft pants fell from her lips.

"You doing okay sweetheart?" I asked her through gritted teeth.

"Anyone ever tell you how big you are, Eddie?" I wanted to laugh but she clenched her pussy around my cock, which turned my laugh into a low moan.

"Once or twice." Was all I said before I pulled by hips back to gently thrust back into her.

I fucked her gently, until she started to raise her hips, whimpering for me to go faster.

I wrapped her legs around my waist, rutting against her, trying not to just flip her over and fuck her so hard, she can't walk straight.

I pulled back and then slammed back into her, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as I fucked her hard and fast.

"Just like that Eddie. Yes, yes, yes." The last bit came out like a chant, as I put her legs over my shoulders as I leaned over her body, folding her in half almost.

I was hitting her deeper, and it was like her eyes glazed over as I angled my hips to hit her g-spot.

Her mouth is open slightly, a bit of drool forming at the corner of her mouth as I fucked her into my bed.

Her pussy started to flutter around my cock.

"Oh yes sweetheart. Go on and cum for me."

Her hands gripped my biceps hard, as she came. Her nails digging into my skin making me groan before smashing my lips against hers as she came.

Her pussy fluttering around my walls as I fucked her through her orgasm.

One, two, three, and I was done, moaning into mouth as I came, my own hips stuttering against her as I filled her pussy with cum.

Her and I kissing through it all, as my cock continued to twitch inside her pussy, as it slowly softened.

I pulled my face away from hers, just to make sure she was okay.

She gave me a soft smile, and that was all I needed to leave her alone for a second, to grab a wet cloth, to clean her and I up.

I put my sweaty hair up, as the two of us got dressed in our pj's.

"I heard there is a new Miami Vice on." She said, and I was playfully rolling my eyes.

"Come on Eddie, just one episode and then we can watch whatever you want." She said, as she pretended to bat her eyes at me.

My heart fluttered in my chest as I told her fine.

As the two of us watched TV, she leaned into my side, and I couldn't help but imagine that we are actually together.

♣︎

Glittery Green (18+) ♥︎ Glittery Blue ~ Final Part (18+)

[raichoose]

CHRISTMAS STARTERS!

Feel free to revise as necessary to fit your muse's speech, change pronouns, etc.

Sentences

"Did you get a tree yet?"

"Can you help me decorate the tree?"

"How are we out of garland? We always reuse it!"

"Oh, shoot! I broke an ornament!"

"Should we use the red and green lights, or the yellow lights?"

"I got a new reindeer for the yard. It lights up and moves its head."

"I got a nativity for the yard."

"Don't interrupt me! Decorating for Christmas is a delicate process!"

"Can you hold the ladder for me? I have to hang these lights up."

"Can you help me decorate the house?"

"I bought all this when it went on sale on the 26th last year. Best time to get Christmas decorations, you know?"

"Look! Reindeer candles!"

"Look! A Santa candle!"

"I'm baking cookies. Come taste the dough."

"I can't get enough of these gingerbread cookies!"

"I got new cookie cutters. Santa, trees, reindeer, snowflakes ... "

"You can't go wrong with classic sugar cookies and icing, you know."

"Want to help me decorate the cookies?"

"Should I make a ham or a turkey this year?"

"Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet?"

"I always make my presents by hand. It feels more meaningful to me."

"I have no idea what to get [NAME] for Christmas. What did you get them?"

"I hate when it snows!"

"I love when it snows!"

"What's your favorite Christmas carol?"

"Would you rather host dinner on Christmas Eve or Christmas day?"

"What do you want for Christmas?"

"Tell me what to buy you for Christmas and then forget you told me, okay?"

"I might just give everyone money this year."

"Are you okay with getting a gift card?"

"You don't need to get me anything. Your company is enough."

"Want to go sit on Santa's lap?"

"Did you write a letter to Santa?"

"I always go to mass on Christmas Eve."

"The park has a Christmas village set up! We should go!"

"I'm winning the neighborhood light contest this year! Bet on that!"

"Here. I got you reindeer antlers for the party."

"Here. I got you an elf hat for the party."

"Here. I got you a Santa hat for the party."

"No mistletoe allowed!"

"You know that's holly and not mistletoe, right?"

"I love eggnog. Wish it was around all year and not just the holidays."

"Debate time: fake tree or real tree?"

"Debate time: eggnog or apple cider?"

"Debate time: cocoa with milk or cocoa with water?"

"It's so cold out!"

"I'm going to get a fire going."

"I need to buy a few more stocking stuffers."

"If you don't stop sing-screaming Christmas carols, I'm shoving a candy cane down your throat."

"I hate Christmas music."

"I love Christmas music!"

"I'm so tired of going to Christmas parties. I just want to stay in and sleep this weekend."

"I can't wait for all the parties this year!"

"I hate peppermint, to be honest."

"I wish pumpkin spice was still around."

"Bring on the peppermint!"

"I always bake like a fiend in December."

"I made you some hot chocolate."

"I dare you to try the fruit cake."

"I bought candy canes!"

"Let's buy those gag candy canes. You know, the ones that taste like hot dogs and sardines?"

"If you don't like The Muppets Christmas Carol, are you even human?"

"Christmas is my favorite holiday."

"I hope it snows this year. I don't like a warm Christmas."

"Should I wear the red dress or the green dress to the party?"

"Christmas is about spending time with friends and family."

"Please come over on Christmas. No one should be alone, not then!"

"Wait, you mean I have to try to replace every bulb until I find the one light that's actually out?!"

"It's the most wonderful time of the year, just like that song says!"

"I'm always happier this time of year."

"I always feel melancholy this time of year."

"Merry Christmas!"

"Happy holidays!"

"Bah humbug."

Actions

Send "TREE: SELECT" for our muses to look for a Christmas tree.

Send "TREE: DECORATE" for our muses to decorate a Christmas tree.

Send "COOKIES" for our muses to bake cookies.

Send "CHEFS" for our muses to cook a Christmas dinner.

Send "CAROLS" for our muses to go caroling. (Feel free to specify a song!)

Send "HOUSE" for our muses to put up lights and other Christmas or winter decorations.

Send "LIGHTS" for our muses to go look at Christmas lights in the neighborhood.

Send "COCOA" for our muses to drink hot chocolate (on the porch, by the fireplace, etc.).

Send "SNOWMAN" for our muses to build a snowman.

Send "SNOWBALL" for our muses to have a snowball fight.

Send "SHOP" for our muses to go gift shopping.

Send "MUSIC" to listen to Christmas music with my muse. (Feel free to specify a song!)

Send "MISTLETOE" for our muses to meet under the mistletoe for a kiss.

Send "CHURCH" for our muses to go to Christmas mass.

Send "PARTY" for our muses to attend the same Christmas party.

Send "SKATE" for our muses to go ice skating.

Send "SKI" for our muses to go skiing.

Send "VILLAGE" for our muses to go on a walk through a Christmas village (at a park, a garden, etc.).

Send "WRAP" for our muses to work together to wrap presents.

Send "SLED" for our muses to go sledding.

Send "WISH" for my muse to tell yours what they hope happens in the new year.

[menofsweaters]

Okay, I finally broke down and read the MHA epilogue leaks and I'm throwing my thoughts at the wall here so they'll get out of my brain. I fully did NOT seek these leaks out, but I was inundated with them all over tumblr, Insta, and even TikTok.

First and foremost, canon genuinely means very little to me. 90% of my enjoyment of MHA comes from fan works, including creating my own AUs and whatnot with friends, so like... canon being bad can't hurt me. I'm also old and have lived through way worse queerbaiting and fandom wars. There's also probably a lot lost in translation that we don't know yet and won't know until the official release. 🤷‍♀️

In no particular order, here is my brain dump on:

Izuocha and shipping in general

- as mentioned above, I don't really care about canon and I don't think ships need to be canon to be meaningful and enjoyable. I'll ship characters who never meet. I'll ship characters from completely different fandoms. Who's gonna stop me? In general, I think the shippers need to stop putting so much emphasis on a particular ship being canon.

- ALL THAT BEING SAID, BKDK was my first MHA ship and it's incredibly important to a lot of people. I think Hori had the opportunity to do something with that relationship that would have been groundbreaking, and he chose not to. He also had the opportunity to simply not focus on any ships and he didn't do that either, soooo... yeah. I think it's okay to be bitter that we still can't have a canon queer ship in shounen. It's reasonable to be disappointed. BKDK and Togachako were the most moving and complex relationships portrayed in the entire manga, in my humble opinion, and it does sting that they got pushed aside.

- I am not a fan of Izuocha, even though I generally like Ochaco. I just find it boring. I'm not enthused by het ships in general, but Izuocha in particular has zero chemistry in my eyes. They're also very similar characters in their mannerisms and personality, and I prefer "opposites attract" type ships that are more dynamic. I prefer Izuku and Ochaco as besties. They went through such similar traumas during the war, being unable to save someone that truly mattered to them, I would prefer to think of this ending as them helping each other move past their PTSD to rekindle a closer friendship.

- ALL OF THAT BEING SAID, while the chapter did not explicitly pair up ANY couples (except apparently Mushroom Girl and Vantablack? which is?? cute but random???), it's definitely implied that Izuocha is pursuing a romantic relationship. Feel free to tell yourself something different but it is what it is.

The hero rankings and other random plot crumbs

- the rankings also felt so incredibly random to me?? Best Jeanist dropping below Mt. Lady? what??

- good on Lemillion being number one though, I always imagine him in the top spot and I think the MHA world needs a hero like that to lift their spirits after the war. It makes sense that he's popular.

- also makes sense that Shouto is number two but wtf do you mean AIR CONDITIONING HERO

- so many of the updated character designs on the adult heroes are BAD, but Jeanist looks slick

- they changed Shinsou's hero name? for why? and gave him a bad haircut??

- absolutely no mention of how Hawks and All Might are working to revamp the hero rankings system, do not accept this

- Mirio is one of my favorite characters but his scene was weird af

- so many inconsistencies in the art style and messaging

- people randomly saying ominous things with no follow through like "heroes won't be around for much longer" or whatever

- I saw someone mention an implication that Bakugou is married to a woman but I didn't find any sign of that in the leaks, so I think that's fake. I know everyone is upset about Dynamight being number 15, and I agree that's too low, but that irritation is low on my list of grievances.

- the whole conversation between Baku and Deku about joining his agency was confusing and unfulfilling? I get why Deku would say no to being a sidekick, but I also don't feel like that's what Bakugou was offering, and they had the conversation in the car with Kirishima... just awkward. Which segues into my next talking point

Horikoshi's writing as a whole

- I think you can easily track the degradation of Hori's writing from the vigilante Deku arc to now. It's disjointed, confusing, often strays from established themes, and meanders around on weird tangents. It's... not great. It's not awful, but not great, especially for an epic climax/epilogue. Which is fine! He's a human being, not a content machine! But I think it's fair for fans to be disappointed that the writing has gone downhill, especially since the art has improved and become much more dynamic and interesting at the same time.

- in my view, it's incredibly easy to see that Hori lost his passion and was completely burnt out on MHA as we approached the end. The writing reflects a desire to wrap up everything quickly. Vital details are written in text rather than shown on the page. Storylines and themes are abandoned. Characters die, fail, or excel completely off screen. Hori spends more screen time and puts more emphasis on random side characters (see: Dai and the figure escaped a basement and was saved by that grandmother) rather than main characters, probably because it would be too difficult to give better endings to the main characters.

- you can also see the difference between the complex symbolism and plot points set up since the very beginning in earlier chapters, and all of that complexity and the hopeful vibes are bled away at the end. It's sad, actually.

- I saw an interesting take that this final chapter is Hori trying to make everyone happy - implying Izuocha while leaving BKDK still kind of open, making Deku a teacher AND a hero, listing all of the rankings, etc. and I think this is the theory that makes the most sense to me. He's taking a safer route and trying to please as many fans as possible, while unfortunately disappointing everyone.

- I've also heard that there's pressure from editors or Shounen Jump to have the series end this way, but I don't know about that. I'd think they would want to keep milking this cash cow forever. Maybe that partially explains the lack of queer canonical ships.

- SPEAKING OF WHICH, I've heard consistently from the fanbase that Hori is more progressive and more queer-friendly than other mangaka, but I honestly haven't seen any proof of this. Feels like wishful thinking. I've also hear that he's had other canon gay and trans characters, but the only ones I know of are Magne and Tiger, both characters that are simply implied to be gender nonconforming and maybe trans. But these are also not necessarily great portrayals, even if they are intended to be canon. Maybe there are characters in other works of his that I don't know about.

- maybe I'm jaded, but I also can't shake the assumption that Hori purposefully implied Izuocha at the end because he doesn't like his main characters being seen as gay. We've seen this in many other fathoms. Even if Hori didn't want to make BKDK canon, there are other popular queer ships that could have been given a tiny spotlight if he really wanted to have that representation.

- this is going back to shipping a bit, but Hori had this entire manga to create a meaningful relationship between Izuku and Ochaco and he just... didn't? Instead he literally and figuratively pushed them together at the end? Why not show them going on cute dates and getting closer? Why not a kiss? It just feels like a half-hearted cop-out. Ochaco has more chemistry and more screen time with Toga's ghost living in her brain than with Izuku. I am not exaggerating.

- I think Hori has a major case of "oops I accidentally wrote a powerful queer love story" syndrome (see also: Destiel) and just didn't know what to do with that. There's so little room for chemistry with other characters when you make the entire story about Bakugou and Izuku's relationship. 👀

- I think a lot of fans put Hori on a pedestal and expected perfection, but it turns out he's just one guy and he can't please everyone. I never got the vibe that he was a particularly great writer, and I never got the vibe that he was going to make BKDK canon. I think he (kind of like a certain JKR) created an amazing world and beloved characters, and then really fumbled at the very end when all the pressure was on.

Okay, I think I've cleansed my brain enough of all this.

TLDR: I think Horikoshi's writing has unfortunately been going downhill for a long time and this is the culmination of that. I feel bad for the man because he's probably under so much pressure and so burnt out - he wants to be done. Maybe we would have gotten something better if Hori could take some extended breaks or hand off the manga to someone else.

I'm disappointed about BKDK but more in an "I'm disappointed that we couldn't have this representation in 2024" way than a personal way. I would have preferred no ships. I'll keep enjoying fan content of lots of different ships that aren't canon and you should too! The canon can't hurt you! I hope we get the queer shounen we all deserve one day.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Unlike Anyone Else – Glen Powell

Masterlist

Glen walked into the coffee shop, hiding his cringe behind a smile when people started noticing him. He walked up to the counter and ordered his coffee from a very excited barista. This has been happening a lot more since his role in Top Gun: Maverick. It got even crazier after Twisters.

As he waited for his coffee, he stood off to the side, using his phone to avoid making eye contact with anyone. When his name was called, he walked up and grabbed his coffee. He turned around but pumped into someone.

"I am so sorry," Glen panicked. "Did I get any on you?"

"Don't worry about it," the young woman shrugged. He looked up at her, instantly noticing how beautiful she was.

"I didn't spill my coffee on you?" He double-checked.

"I'm all good," she chuckled.

"Coffee for Y/N!"

"Excuse me," the woman smiled. Glen was slightly shocked as she walked past him and got her drink. He expected her to walk back over and talk to him, but she sat down at a table in the corner. He couldn't help but watch her pull out her laptop from her bag. She took a drink of her coffee and over the cup, noticed Glen was still watching her.

She sent him a wink before going back to work. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him debating something. She hid her smirk behind her coffee when he made up his mind and walked over to her.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," she smiled as she sat back. "But can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he shrugged as he sat across from her. 

"You always stare at a woman after almost spilling your coffee down her shirt?"

"Only the special few," Glen winked at her.

"Last time I checked, there weren't twisters in LA," she smirked.

Glen chuckled awkwardly as he ran his fingers through my hair. "You know," he sighed, "for a second there, I thought you didn't recognize me."

"Please," Y/N laughed, "the second you walked in, everyone recognized you. I doubt you can go anywhere without being noticed."

"That is true," he sighed. Y/N studied him.

"You okay, Hollywood?"

"I'm fine," he laughed a little too forcefully.

"It's okay not to be," Y/N shrugged as she took another sip of her coffee. "After a rough day at work, I got to the nearby bar and drink and drink and drink. If it's a really bad day, I go home with a sexy stranger."

"That sounds like a wonderful plan," Glen chuckled. "What do you do for work?"

"I'm a lawyer," she explained, "currently working toward partner."

"That's awesome. You close?"

"Hell yeah," Y/N laughed. "I basically do everything in the office. Not only do I handle my cases, but my coworkers always seem to need my help."

"Damn," Glen smirked. He looked down at her empty coffee cup and had an idea of how to keep her here. "You got time for another coffee or do you need to rush back to work before the firm falls apart?"

"I've got some time," she shrugged. "If you're buying."

"I'll be right back," Glen winked. He stood up and ordered another coffee for her. As he waited at the counter, he looked over his shoulder and watched Y/N answer her phone. He watched as her whole demeanor changed as she spoke to whoever was on the other side of that phone call.

She hung up as he walked over. "Everything okay?" He asked, suddenly worried she might have to leave.

"Everything is fine," she sighed, not sounding convincing. "Just morons at my office that don't know how to staple paper, let alone talk to a client." She looked up, her face slightly reddening when she saw him staring at her. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice lightening up. "Work is just. . . a lot."

"Sounds like you need something stronger than a cappuccino," he tried to tease.

"That's for sure," she mumbled. "Then again, it's not even 10 o'clock. But I will definitely be making a stop at a bar after work."

* * * * *

They spent the morning, talking about their jobs and their lives. The entire time, Glen couldn't believe that this amazing girl didn't care who he was. Not once did she treat him like a famous actor.

Y/N sighed when her phone rang for the third time. "I'm sorry," she sighed before answering her phone. "What now, Caleb?"

Glen sat back and watched as her facial expression changed. "We have gone over this so many times," she sighed. "The case files are not. . . Yes, the client. . . You know something Caleb, I'm getting awfully tired of doing my job and the job of my assistant."

She hung up and her eyes softened when she looked at him. "I should really go. I'm half-expecting my office to be on fire when I get there."

"Well," Glen sighed as the two stood up, "if your office is on fire, call me."

"And what are you going to do about it, Mr. Hollywood?" She smirked.

"Run into the building and save you," he said like it should've been obvious.

"Can't have you doing that," she chuckled. She reached up and patted his face, as she added, "This pretty face is your job. Can't risk anything happening to it."

* * * * *

Glen tried to go about his day, but his mind was constantly on the woman he met at the coffee shop this morning.

"What's with you?" His manager, Andrew, asked when he walked into the hair and makeup trailer and saw Glen staring absentmindedly at his phone.

"Nothing," Glen stuttered. "Just. . . distracted."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Only a woman can make a man. . . distracted," Andrew laughed. "Who is she? Coworker? Neighbor? Friend?"

"Nothing like that," Glen sighed as he put his phone down. "Just a random girl I met at my coffee shop this morning."

"Wow," Andrew chuckled as he sat next to him. "What's her name?"

"Y/N."

"By the look on your face and the way you smiled when you said her name, something tells me you actually talked to her."

"I did," Glen chuckled. "We talked for over an hour, but her work pulled her away."

"What does she do for work?"

"She's a lawyer."

Andrew studied Glen as Glen thought about Y/N. "Did you ask her out?" Andrew asked.

"No," Glen sighed.

"Did you get her number?"

"No," Glen said, clearing his throat.

"Do you know what law firm she works at?"

"No," he said, looking down at his phone. "All I know is her name is Y/N, she is a lawyer, and she likes to go to the bar close to the coffee shop."

"There you go," Andrew shrugged.

"What?"

"You know where she's going to be, right?"

"Well, yeah. I do, but. . .Oh."

After work, Glen headed to the bar. The second he walked in, he searched for Y/N. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw her sitting alone at the bar.

"Fancy meeting you here," Glen chuckled as he sat at the bar next to Y/N.

"Really?" She smirked. "You just happened to show up at the bar I was telling you about this morning?"

"I always come here."

"Mmhmm," she rolled her eyes as she took a drink.

"Can I buy you a round?"

"How about more than just one?"

* * * * *

The next morning, Glen woke up to an empty bed. He ignored the feeling of disappointment when he realized Y/N was gone. He spent the entire morning, slowly getting ready for the day.

As he drove to the set, his thoughts were only on Y/N.

He thought about the coffee shop. He thought about the bar. He thought about the night they spent together. He thought about the feeling he got when he looked down and saw her asleep on his chest.

He hated himself for not getting her number. He hated himself for letting her leave without kissing her goodbye. He hated himself for not asking her out on a proper date.

He vowed to do whatever it takes to find her.

[thanquan]

A letter from Muken (Aizen Souske x Male!OC)

A letter written from a particular prisoner.

Set in post-TYBW arc.

From Muken, where time has lost all meaning,

To my dearest lieutenant.

I write this letter with a hint of curiosity, mixed with the rare amusement I seldom grant anyone. You might be surprised to receive it, but I can’t help but wonder: what is it about you that caught my attention? Is it the way you act toward me, or the apathetic viewpoint of you toward everything - neutral, detached under all of that flimsy enthusiasm? Or perhaps I am simply drawn to your existence – like a moth rushing toward the flame, unaware that it’s burning itself alive.

I don’t blame you, of course. Even here in Muken, where light cannot reach, I find it intriguing to think of you. Someone like me – labeled a demon, a betrayer – finding joy in recalling the look in your eyes. That gaze of yours is so peculiar. It wasn’t the look of someone in fear, nor was it the look of admiration. You looked at me as though you have known me since the birth of Hell. As if you thought I was an old puzzle being praised and looked at for over a thousand times, yet unsolved. A melancholy look, dare I say, yet almost sympathetic, and I wonder why.

Though, let me share a secret with you, and only you my dearest lieutenant: I am not a puzzle. I am the answer.

But do you know what’s most interesting? This answer is never fixed. It shifts, it evolves – and I can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought that perhaps you’re the same as me. A being always changing, always seeking something far beyond itself.

I once thought I was the only one like this. But then you appeared.

Isn’t it ironic? Someone who once stood at the pinnacle, controlling everything at will, is now imprisoned in darkness. Yet even in this darkness, I can feel your presence - from miles, far far away from above, perhaps somewhere in the barracks of Gotei 13. You are a question without an answer – and I, though I find it rather unpleasant to admit it, find myself drawn to unraveling you.

No, I’m not saying I love you, Lieutenant Quan. Love is far too cheap a word for this, and I know you don't do "love". You are not like me, but you are also not like anyone else. You are a contradiction: rational yet emotional, caring and uncaring being put on top of each other and repeating that for a hundred times. Perhaps it is precisely this that caught my attention. I'm not sure what this feeling is – I don't usually name things I don't understand. But I know that if there is one thing that makes me not regret looking back on everything, it is that I met you. I would call this a game between us. A game in which both you and I are not just the players, but also the rules. Do you find that intriguing, Quan?

Think of this letter as an invitation. An invitation for you, even if only in your dreams, to step into my world. And if you are bold enough to reply, surprise me. I enjoy surprises – especially from you.

I don’t expect a reply. Partly because I don’t think you will write, and partly because I don’t need one. But if you do write, I will read every word. And if you don’t, I will simply smile, like someone who already knows the outcome of the game but still relishes every moment of it.

Sincerely,

Aizen Sousuke

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 98 (Questioning Bay Security & Grim Pays an Unwanted Visit)

cw: pet death

While Conrad looked over his case files at the precinct, Detective Zion Spangler approached him. "Can you help me with the manager of Bay Security? He's resisting attempts to book him, and he says he won't talk to me."

Conrad knew J Huntington III through parent-teacher nights and school assemblies. Though his focus was meant to be on the search for Rafa and not the investigation into the suspicious death of Jimmy Stefano, Conrad was still frustrated by a lack of leads and agreed to talk to him.

"I don't have a clue what you brought me in for," he groused as the sergeant took his fingerprints.

"Questionable bookkeeping, Mr. Huntington, just like you were told when the detectives picked you up."

"Well, like hell I'm gonna talk to some green young nobody on the same force that needs our help to keep anyone safe in this town!"

Conrad sighed. "Well, if you don't talk to me, I can't promise you'll be home tonight for dinner with your wife and kids."

"Come on, Sargent. It's a few days before Winterfest and I promised my kids I'd take them out shopping for their mom."

He grew more cooperative after that, following Conrad into the interrogation room while Zion and a few others watched from the other side of the glass. J looked across the table with a sneer while Conrad pointed out where the cameras were inside the room.

"We're just trying to figure out why a security company with a monopoly at the docks was off duty that night, and there are some questions about the books. Really, there's a question about the lack of much in the way of books."

"We're a legal company. You should be talking to George Brindleton, not me. He said pull the guys, I pulled the guys. It's my job to do what he says."

"George is wintering in the sun, but if you don't give us enough to work with, we'll have to call him in for questioning when he gets back. You and I both know he won't like having to talk to us."

The thinly veiled threat was enough to get J to look at photos of the crime scene and give insight into his work for George Brindleton.

"We do what he wants and he signs big checks. He paid us to make up the loss in paid time so close to the holidays."

"He told our captain he was cutting costs in the dead season, but if he's paid you, regardless, he had another reason."

J shrugged. "Talk to George. I don't ask questions. It doesn't serve me."

"And breaking kneecaps to manage what goes in and out of the port serves you, instead?"

"That's the problem with law enforcement these days. You're too good. But people are terrible, Sargent Gordon."

"Is that what you tell your kids?"

"Your son is a Landgraab, Sargent. What do they know about being good?"

Conrad held his hands in his lap. "Ash is a lot like his mother."

J scowled and Conrad changed tactics. This wasn't getting them anywhere. "We looked into Bay Security, and we know George Brindleton is an arms-length investor. So why do you do strictly what he says?"

"There's a lot of simoleons in legacy families."

"What does that matter to you? J Huntington the Third, is it?"

"That's a joke. There's no J Huntington the First or Second, but my makers thought it'd be funny. It's not, and maybe you can guess why I don't speak to them these days. I named my son Caiden."

"What does George have on you?"

"On me? Nothing. I came into this job with the deal already in place, and it's better for my family if I just accept things as they are. I don't need to be a hero. I know a good cop like you wouldn't understand."

Conrad knew he was no hero. "Not one of your guys was hanging around the docks and saw anything the night of the murder? Isn't there a Friday night poker game in one of the old fishing boats?"

"If we don't have to break knees, Sargent, we don't. I don't keep tabs on them when they're not working."

"You've never seen the victim in Brindleton Bay before?"

He shook his head. "Not until you showed me that picture of him dead at the docks."

With little learned from the head of Bay Security, Conrad let J Huntington go with nothing gained in their search for Jimmy Stefano's killer. Ximena was still at large, but he was grateful she hadn't turned up around him or his family in the weeks since the murder, at least.

Winterfest was just a few days away, and Heather and Conrad planned to forge ahead with the holiday as if nothing was wrong. Heather, especially, was loath to let Ximena ruin her children's Winterfest, and they didn't want Ash to notice anything amiss.

But though they were wary of the threat posed by Ximena, they still faced unexpected tragedy right before the holiday break.

Heather's old cat, Boomer, got sick with hot feet. She took him to her clinic and tried to help him, but she soon realized there was nothing she could do. He was twenty-one; it was his time.

The fuzzy white mixed breed died of old age the night before Winterfest Eve. Heather had brought him home from the clinic so he could pass comfortably. When the time came, the Nesbitt-Gordon household was visited by a new friend.

After Grim helped Boomer cross the rainbow bridge, Heather invited him inside from the cold, and he comforted her over the loss. "Grief is a privilege reserved for those fortunate enough to know love," he said wisely.

Heather had many pets, and she dealt with loss at her clinic, but it didn't take the sting away. Not tonight. Still, she was grateful for Grim's kindness and sent him on his way with a smile. "Bella Goth's probably expecting you. Thank you for caring for Boomer tonight."

Grim disappeared with a pound of his scythe against the floor. Despite the advice, Heather was heartbroken, and the holiday season began under a cloud of sadness at the Nesbitt-Gordon home. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: In game, J Huntington III is married to Liberty Lee and they have two kids, son Caiden and daughter Alexis. J breaks kneecaps and Liberty's an astronaut, apparently.

[g-on-ef]

Vivzipop has to make every character dumb in order to prop up Stolitz.

Let's start off with the grimoire okay if this book is as powerful as every single sin claims it is why on earth is it not under better protection ??? !!!

You would think the higher ups of Hell would keep a closer eye on it and make sure it is heavily guarded and that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands or gets stolen.

Like you mean to tell me not once did any of the sins or Lucifer caught wiff of what was going on that a powerful object was being misused to kill people ???

Not a single royal took notice that imps were traveling to the living world with a powerful object ??? !!!

Like Blitz knew where to find it and easily stole it you would think again you would think someone would've caught wiff of it if this object was so powerful and would realize it was stolen especially since it was shown on a commercial for all of Hell to see {and yes while he air it on a channel that no one watched you would still think the higher ups would keep track of their objects and at least have some type of tracker or something to let them know it was stolen !!!}

Like they made such a huge deal of the grimoire but honestly the book lost all its credibility when we knew about the crystals and when they themselves don't even care about it even if it's at the hands of a prince/royal they would still try to keep a better eye on it !!!

Now with the whole Stella and the other bird {I forgot his name} again yall mean to tell me they never realized that Blitz is using the book to gain access to the mortal world ???

Like how the freak did Striker knew about it but they didn't ??? !!! How did Striker knew Blitz had access to the book but Stella and her gross brother didn't ???

And if yall tell it was Millies parents why would they tell a stranger about it ??? Either way it makes no sense that Striker knew but two royals didn't !!!

Striker oh my baby you were such a manipulated suave sophisticated character and viv destroyed you !!!

I said it before and I'll say it again I would die on the hill if Norman was still voicing him he wouldn't be this dumb down nor would he be whatever the hell Viv has done to you.

But anyways back to the subject at hand.

The court room oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy first of all I'm not gonna get into the sheer stupidity of Stella's Brothers plan others who can articulate it better have already spoke on it so imma just focus on how Viv needs to make everyone stupid for Stolitz to succeed

Now onto the case someone explain to me why Ozzie didn't tell the court the full truth ??? He knew about Stolas and Blitz deal so why didn't he defend Blitz when he had the chance ??? Why didn't he tell Satan that hey listen they had a deal but it's off because now he's using one of my crystals ???

Like why didn't he step in like he did when Mammom attacked Fizz and protected him ??? He knew about the deal and yet *makes hand gesture at the mess*

Now let's get to the world building

Imma talk about Striker and

Listen I'm bias on striker so what I'm about to say is my personal bias !!!

My own personal opinion Harvest Moon Striker is what Viv wants Blitz to be.

from Striker's introduction he hated royals he was the first to openly mock them he was the first to try and kill a royal {I know it was an Assassin job but it still doesn't change the fact he was the first to try and kill him} and he was the first to call out Hell and how the system was rigged against him and his people !!!

Not only that but it makes me laugh so hard that people were praising Blitz for calling out all the deadly sins in the courtroom but hated Striker for doing the same to Stolas but than again Blitz wasnt stabbing their beloved bird so I guess it don't count.

If Norman still voiced Striker Viv would've given Striker that storyline the one that involved Striker getting revenge for his people and actually tried to kill the higher ups !!! But he doesn't so Viv is giving him every mistreatment she can think of.

Also Viv you cannot call your character that's calling out how the system and how two of his kind basically became what Imps are expected to be {fiz a "pet" and Blitz a sex toy} a supremacist and than have your other character do the same calling out the system and how royals treat them !!! Like lady do you even know the words that you are using or are you just calling your characters every big word to sound smart ???

Like Viv just needs to kill Striker cause at this point every time she has him on screen she is either making him dumb or making him contradict himself like please just kill my snake boy off

Striker you deserve better and in a talented writer's hand you could've been one of the greatest villain/morally grey character ever written

Now back to the world building imma be honest mastermind and the whole court trial means jack shit because throughout the show we are shown that imps and all other hellborns are treated fairly !!! {Ironically the only time we saw them being treated badly was when Striker was first introduced}

Other than that they basically are treated decently !!!

Like if imps are treated so horribly why

Blitz and Co are able to run a successful company that they have "a shit tone of clients" and sinners already know about them once they are dead ???

Moxxie was able to not only get reservations at a high end restaurant but also preform there ??? {Let's also not forget Moxxie wasn't punished for disobeying a royal because Ozzie basically told him his club only allows derogatory things to happen there and the fact that after Ozzie told him to sing about it and chose to sing about romance and basically insulted a royal by not listening to him (yall can say I'm reaching but the fact that in other media if this happened the culprit would have punish) and he still sang it even after being told no

Millie got away with hurting Ozzies partner {in other forms of media if someone hurts a royals partner they would have been killed at the stake}

Fiz was not only able to quit working for Mammom but also insulted him and humiliated him in front of a large crowd and still got away with it {even if he was with Ozzie the other sins and royals would still punish Fiz}

Tex and Fiz are able to openly date royals

Loona was able to insult a royal and get away with it

Blitz was able to book an appointment at one of the best hospitals in Hell that they even treat Royals even if it takes years he was still able to book one.

And so much more like again the only time we the audience are reminded of the awful treatment of imps is when Striker is there like *makes wild hand gestures*

Octavia my sweet Octavia you deserve better you fucking deserve better !!!

I've seen a lot of people hate on this scene but me personally I love it

Stella didn't have to look for Via she didn't have to look for Via but she did she went to look for her daughter knowing she'd be hurt and comfort her.

Sadly I just know viv is gonna destroy this relationship so for now imma enjoy these little moments.

Helluva boss would've been a great show if Viv stuck to her original plan of them hunting down people and becoming a fou d family instead of turning it into the stolitz show sadly we are stuck with this shit show for as long as Viv wants it

[lottielovelace]

technically

(Valeria Garza x Reader)

summary: You're working as KorTac's reserve medic on an assignment in Mexico, leading you to a "nameless" woman.

You don't know her name. You don't know what she's done and who she's killed. All you do know is that she is very dangerous, very powerful, and you're going to have to do surgery on her. In a bikini. No pressure!

Prior context if you haven't read the prior installments: Reader is König's long-lost half sister. Code name Prinzessin (Sinn for short). Recently graduated from Med school. There is more, but it's not relevant to this specific fic so I'll leave it unspoiled in case you end up reading the series. For people who have been following the series, Ghost x Reader is still endgame, but they aren't together yet and I think Reader's life shouldn't solely revolve around him. Plus she's going to go through the wringer later, so let her have some fun now. And in case it's not obvious, since this is in second person and you don't know Valeria's real name, you know her as Bravo-Three for most of this fic.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 2.2k)

Rating: E

Relationships: Valeria Garza x Reader

Ao3 Tags: Improper Medical Procedure / Cunnilingus / Flirting / One Night Stands / (though actually more like a two night stand)

this is a part of a series

Many thanks to @xstanceh3x for beta-ing!

Technically, this was a work trip.

Only technically.

In everything but name, this was a reward. Your reward for graduating with flying colors: a trip to Mexico.

Now, technically, you were a reserve medic for König, Horangi, and their allies. But you weren’t working in the field—not yet at least. Instead of being in the thick of the action, you were nicely holed away in the villa of their contractor. Not half-bad.

Hell, so long as no one got hurt, it was a free vacation.

So of course midway through your pool lounging, your radio crackled with Horangi’s voice.

“Sinn, are you there? Over.”

“Loud and clear. Over”

“Bravo-Three got hit, I’m taking her to you.”

“How bad is it?”

“Stable, but needs immediate care. I could try taking the bullet out myself, but I figure your stitches will leave the smallest scars.”

“I’m not afraid of another cicatriz,” an accented voice drawled out. Bravo-Three. You didn’t know her name—it was redacted from the files assigned to you—but you knew her face. You’d been briefly introduced when you arrived at the house—her house. The files didn’t say it, but your brother privately divulged that she was the one bankrolling this entire operation.

She was beautiful, stunning in a way that kinda made you forget everything for a second (just enough time for her to gut you). She had a quiet confidence to her. If you looked close you noticed that, while lacking the bulk of her male compatriots, her frame was bound with muscle. Not that you’ve been staring at her, of course. 

Horangi made good time. You were barely able to get out your equipment before the elevator dinged.

Shit, you didn’t even have time to change. You hastily slapped on a mask and gloves. A bikini may be impractical, but so long as it was paired with other PPE, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Horangi stumbled in, Bravo-Three leaning on him. He gently deposited her on the sofa. Her forehead was slick with sweat, messing up her normally immaculate hair.

“This is your medic?” Bravo-Three sneered through gritted teeth.

“Graduated top of her class,” Horangi reassured.

You smiled at her, “I would offer my hand, but I think it’s best for the both of us that these gloves remain sterilized.”

Bravo-Three’s eyes traced your attire with an unimpressed eyebrow but an appreciative gaze.

“I see you have proper scrubs on.”

“Well you did catch me a little off guard.”

“You should be better,” Bravo-Three reprimanded. “This is a job, not a vacation.”

Her tone was firm, but she was not being nearly as harsh as she could be. You remembered overhearing her dress down a subordinate last night (something about some “product” being missing, you weren’t sure, you didn’t speak Spanish). It’d been terrifying (and a little exhilarating). Bravo-Three could be very cruel and very scary when she wanted to be. This was neither. Maybe she had a soft spot for you. Or maybe she was just taking pity on you (or the piss).

“If you want me to change, I’ll change. But I would rather treat this wound immediately.”

“Fine,” the woman relented, a shark’s smile emerging on her face. “At least it’s a nice view.”

You couldn’t stop your blush. You know she saw.

She takes the bullet extraction like a champ, barely wincing as the forceps pull the metal out. It lands onto the living room ashtray with what feels like a deafening clatter.

Changing your gloves, you allow yourself to breathe. Step one down.

Antiseptic in hand, you cleaned her wound before beginning to suture. Even though you were scared out of your mind, your hands didn’t shake. You were too well-trained and practiced for that. Still, your anxiety was noticeable.

“You’re nervous,” Bravo-Three all but purred.

“You’re kinda a big deal. I wouldn’t want to screw it up.”

“I already told you, I’m no stranger to scars chula. No matter how big or small it ends up being, it will be in good company. As long as it heals, all is good.”

She pulled the neckline of her tank top down to give you a visual demonstration. You paused your work to look up and scold her for moving, only to be struck dumb by the sight of bare skin.

Tattoos and scars crisscrossed over her tanned skin. She still had her sports bra on—just as clothed as she would be in the gym—but something about this felt incredibly intimate. Maybe it was the way her dark eyes stared into your soul.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“Just don’t take it out on my brother and Horangi. No matter what happens, pay them in full.”

“Don’t worry, I keep my promises. How did you know, I’m—”

“Your body armor. It’s the good stuff.” A half-truth. You weren’t going to rat on your brother, and her body armor was expensive (your time at the KorTac base taught you that operators had THOUGHTS on armor brands and styles). “Done.”

She looked down at your handiwork.

“Not bad… Princesa, isn’t it?”

Your call sign rolled off her tongue in a way that made you shiver.

“Yes.”

“Nice, very nice.” The woman leant in. She looked even prettier up close. “You know, I don’t like being indebted. I ought to repay you.”

“You don’t need to do that,” your voice was breathless. “Just doing my job.”

“Let me thank you.” Her hand found its way to your waistband. It rested there like a promise. “Would you like me to show my gratitude?”

Want thrummed through you, but your tongue refused to comply—still shellshocked that someone like her would want you. You settled for a nod.

The woman sank to the ground.

You still didn’t know her name. You didn’t know what she’d done and who she’d killed. All you did know was the following three things:

She was dangerous. She was powerful. And she was on her knees for you, wanting to make you feel good.

She parted your legs with one hand, untying your bikini string with the other.

Her touch was gentle but firm. She had a job to do, she knew how to execute it, and she was damn well going to see it through.

You hated to interrupt her but, “Wait, what should I call you?”

“What do you know me as?”

“Bravo-Three.”

“And nothing else?"

“I’ve heard… whispers,” you conceded.

Bravo-Three looked up at you, intrigue now mixed with her lust. “Yes?”

“That you’re known as… the nameless one? I don’t know. I don’t speak Spanish. Either way it doesn’t really roll off the tongue, especially in the heat of… the moment.”

The woman thought about it for a moment, before deciding: “You can call me V.”

“V,” you tested the name on your lips. Clearly another pseudonym, but you didn’t mind that. It was yours to use for, yours alone.

You had only one more request before you surrendered yourself completely.

“V, please don’t tear your stitches.”

----------

She started with soft, little licks. Exploring the way your body reacted. Learning what made your breath hitch and insides clench. She didn’t want to break you, not yet at least.

As she began to get a feel for you and the way you… tick, her movements increased in both speed and confidence. You always prided yourself on being able to keep your mouth shut, but V had this… unpredictability to her that allowed her to pull moans and gasps and other little sounds from you with embarrassing ease.

The noise seemed to embolden her. But you know what they say about cockiness.

She’s skilled. Obviously. Undeniably talented and experienced. But slightly and frustratingly off target.

She’s so damn close to where you need her, but ever so off.

“Harder,” you moaned out.

V’s tongue didn't move. 

But after you add a desperate “Please”, her lips do.

With a jolt you realized that she was smirking. She knew damn well what you needed and was pointedly refusing.

You couldn’t help but let a groan of frustration slip out.

Fine. Guess you have to do it yourself.

You began grinding your hips, rocking her tongue into your cunt, riding her face .

V paused her gloating for a moment, reveling in your movements.

She made a muffled noise. It rumbled against your lips, tantalizing vibrations that only brought you closer to the edge. A laugh, you realized.

Teasing you was fun, but she’d had her fill of it.

Lifting you with ease, she pinned you against the wall—tongue still buried in you. Safely against something sturdy, she started writhing her tongue like a woman crazed. It’s intense, setting every nerve of yours ablaze. Scrambling, practically getting fucked silly, you reach for something— anything to steady yourself. Your hand winds up tangled in V’s beautiful locks, much to her apparent delight.

In the end it’s her canine—not biting, but instead—grazing against your clit that does you in. The shock of cool enamel, the reminder of danger, of the sharp teeth hidden in her plush mouth… your brain went numb.

Your head snapped back and for a second everything was blinding white. For a second you didn’t feel the wall behind you, or V’s grip on your waist, or her arms holding you up. All your body could even comprehend was euphoria.

When you finally came to, it’s to those same goddamn teeth, smiling at you through lips covered in your slick.

----------

You do end up having to redo her stitches. V has enough self control that they remained intact while she went down on you, but when you returned the favor she got… carried away. Arched a little too quickly and they reopened. When you said you wanted her gushing, that wasn’t what you meant.

“It’s a compliment, cariño,“ she reassured as you fixed her up again.

“Yeah, yeah.”

----------

“Well done, the wire transfer should process in two to three business days.”

“That’s good to hear.” Even though your absence perturbed Horangi, the fact that El Sin Nombre was walking around and discussing financial details—relaxed and fully stitched—was a good sign. “How did Sinn do?”

“Nicely. She’s very good with hands. Talented.”

He didn’t like the smug smile plastered on Valeria’s face.

“Where’s she now?”

“Resting. She worked hard. Very hard.”

Horangi thought about it for a moment before deciding, “I don’t need to know the details as long as she’s safe and on the flight home tomorrow.”

Valeria rolled her eyes.

“Yes sir.”

Her words held neither ire nor deference.

----------

You woke up to V’s voice. You groggily opened your eyes to find her on a phone call. Even though she didn’t seem angry with the caller, her voice was sharper than it ever was with you. This was business. Talking in rapid fire Spanish, you didn’t understand a lick of what she was saying—and judging from her ease at discussing such sensitive information with you present, she knew it.

You sat up, eyes still half lidded. At the sight of motion from you, V hung up, redirecting her full attention to you.

“Looks like someone’s a dormilona.” You groaned in response. “There’s some breakfast in the fridge.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You had quite the appetite yesterday.”

“That’s not…” you began to nod off before a gentle nudge from V woke you up once more.

“Come on, I know something that’ll wake you up.”

She ends up leading you downstairs, dressed in her pajamas, still half asleep. You two wind up at a door. V barked something at the guards down the hall. After getting acknowledgement from them, she opened it and flicked on the lights. Blinking away, your eyes adjusted to the brightness revealing a private shooting range.

“What are—”

“I’m not a very popular woman. I have enemies, enemies who’d like to hurt me through any means possible. Even if I never see you again, you’re still in danger. I would like to ensure you can defend yourself.”

“You do care.”

“You have such a pretty face. I’d hate to see it ruined. Can you shoot?”

“Long distance yeah, close range no.”

Her eyebrow leapt.

“How’d that happen?”

“Sniping is a family tradition. Plus the boys aren’t the biggest fan of the idea of me being in close combat.”

“With a chica like you, it’s a matter of when, not if that will happen. You know how to load a gun?”

You demonstrated for her. She tsked.

“Needs to be faster. While you’re fumbling for a round, someone else will have unloaded one into you. But speed only comes with practice, which we have no time for right now. Though when you get home… Anyway, let’s see what you can do.”

You tried your best to get into position. The handgun’s weight felt so unfamiliar, center of gravity completely different.

“This isn’t sniping. You can’t wait for the perfect shot to align. You need to make do. Your enemies already see you. You won’t be giving your position away.”

Her hands made their way to you. One landed on your waist, the other on your shoulder. After she noticed that “Dios you’re stiff,” she let her lips rest in the crook of your neck, accompanied by a simple order: “Relax.”

BANG

Even with noise protection, the gunshot and its recoil were more than enough to wake you up.

“Not bad, cariño. Again. Faster.”

Several rounds later V declared, “I think that’s enough for today. You have a flight to catch. And you should probably shower, I don’t know how your brother would react to you coming home smelling of me.”

You smiled at her from under your eyelashes, “All by my lonesome?”V chuckled, “Eres una chica muy traviesa, ¿lo sabías?”