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tradgedyinwaves · 19 days

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Touch - Ch. 2

By the time the other three members of Task Force 141 made the drive to Ghost’s hometown, he had already determined where you were living by following you from the market and was back in his own flat, swirling a glass of whiskey. The team sat down to make a game plan, almost treating you as if you were one of their missions while sitting around Ghost’s beat up old dining table. You’d be theirs, one way or another.

A Week Later, Saturday.

Bleary weather had plagued Manchester for the last few days, gray clouds hovering overhead while you attempted to find your motivation for your job. It wasn’t helpful that you’d received news from your mom that your cousin and Kit would be getting married soon. A brick settled in your stomach at the news, ending the call with your mom quickly as you forced down the tears you refused to keep crying over him.

In an effort to cheer yourself up, you headed out of your flat and down the street to the sweet little flower shop you’d found your first week in Manchester. The owner, Magda, was a kind, gentle old lady who essentially took you under her wing when you had trouble finding your footing in the new country. She’d been a boon to you, telling you the best shops for everything from groceries to clothes. You’d helped her find her cat when the mangy thing had slipped out the back door to fight the stray living behind a neighboring shop.

The bell chimed above your head, banging against the worn wood. You were immediately greeted by the scent of the most beautiful flowers and Magda’s voice talking a man through the best choices for an apology bouquet. You caught her eye over his shoulder and waved, a soft smile on your face as your eyes drifted to the back of the man’s head.

He easily stood a foot and a half taller than the elderly owner, cropped mohawk adding to the already egregious height difference. His shoulders were broad, though not quite as broad as your masked man back in New York. Why were you thinking about him all of sudden? You shook your head, clearing your mind like an etch-a-sketch and headed straight to the hyacinths and lilacs, wanting the sweet scent of your favorite flowers to brighten up your flat and completely missing him turning to take you in.

“Pretty flowers. Almost as pretty as you.” A low voice startled you out of your reverie, spinning on your heel to face the man Magda had been helping previously. Now, you could see that his eyes were a shocking blue and the lopsided smile he provided you made your heart stutter against your ribcage. But the size of him was what intrigued you.

You’d accepted that this was the way you were now. Despite doing months of working out and eating well, your body hadn’t changed much from when you’d left the States. The cleaner food of England helped you feel better though, breathing a little life back into you after everything you’d dealt with. But that also meant that men weren’t as courageous in approaching you, their bravado faltering in the face of society's expectations. So when an attractive man approached you, blatantly flirting, your first response was to think it was a joke, snort and walk away, effectively blowing him off.

A gentle hand on your shoulder a few minutes later had you whipping around to ask what the guy's problem was, but was greeted by Magda instead. Immediately, you looked around for the mohawk guy, but he was nowhere to be found and you could have sworn the bell hadn’t dinged against the door. Weird. Bringing your gaze back to the elderly woman, you raised a brow at the scrap of paper in her hands. “That sweet young man paid for your flowers and left this as well,” Magda handed you the piece of paper with a number and a messy name scrawled at the bottom.

Johnny.

You’d gone home with your overly expensive bouquet and the scrap of paper after, staring down at it as if it would burst into flames at any moment. You took a deep breath, telling yourself “Why the hell not?” as you punched the number into a new message chain. 🪻: Uh, hi. Is this Johnny?

🧼: Ay, it is, Petal.

🪻: Petal?

🧼: Well, I don’t know your name, do I?

He made a good point, making you sigh as you released your own name to him in spite of your reservations. But maybe, just maybe, you could manage to make a few friends if he ended up not being interested in you.

The next few days were spent lounging around your flat, going to work, and texting Johnny. What you didn’t know, though, was that he was reporting everything back to his boys. It had only taken Simon’s word and the one picture to have each of them wagging their tongues and readying their arms to protect what they now saw as theirs.

By the time you were winding down on Wednesday night and brewing tea that Johnny had insisted you know how to make, you were smiling at your phone that lit up every few minutes with his messages. The two of you had discussed everything from your favorite color and food to what had brought you to England. When he’d heard the details of that night, sans your interaction with Ghost, and paired it with Simon’s recollection, he’d been furious. His fingers tightened around the phone to the point that Price had taken it from him in an effort to not have to buy another replacement.

Simon had been in the same boat as Johnny, opting for stomping out of the flat to walk off his rage and guilt, feeling it gnaw at him for not stepping up before and then abandoning you after. His feet carried him to your building, watching from the ground as you paced around your space. When your pacing brought you in front of the window, you paused and looked through the glass, heart hammering as you saw a dark shape of a man standing on the sidewalk. But the light of the lamp posts made one thing stand out very clearly,

the white skull painted on his mask.

______________________________________________________________ I didn't want to offend any Scots with trying to type out Johnny's accent. I have a feeling this is going to turn into some long winded fic, so buckle in if you're ready for that.

Thank you so much for your support!

#call of duty x reader #captain john price #simon riley x reader #poly!141 #task force 141 x reader #cod fanfic smut #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #touchau

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mizusnose · 3 months

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An Orange for My Love

mizu x reader June heat

hello again. been a while, huh? life’s been busy and moving fast. here’s a little something to make up for it. more writing in the future i hope. send in some requests :)

———

The heat of June makes you sweat around the edges of your hairline. You can feel the dry heat stick to your skin and cover you like a thin sheen of fabric. It’s suffocating and the AC unit has broken down, and now the windows are thrown open despite Mizu’s assurance that she felt fine. You knew she didn’t.

Somehow, the work you’d both been doing had sludged fo a stop, fragmented bits of your productivity melting off with each minute of the summer heat.

You glance Mizu’s way, a tired lazy grin on your face. She’s wearing huge basketball shorts that go past her knees when she stands up fully. The ones you bought her from the thrift store in town. Her wrists and arms and shoulders are out. Covered only by the chunky tank top that dips low and shows off her collarbones, freckled and red from the heat. Your thirst only grows as she smiles lazily back at you.

“Floor time?” You ask, unsurprised by Mizu’s eye roll.

“Fifteen minutes tops. Gotta get some stuff in.”

“Lame.”

“That’s adulthood” Mizu shrugs, slipping down past the coffee table and scooting off your thrifted carpet.

“Adulthood sucks” You sigh, meeting Mizu’s gaze once you’re both on the floor. You stretch your arm out and tip your fingers towards Mizu. There’s a patch of sun making its way towards you both, but not quite there yet. It creates a halo glow around Mizu’s body. Her hair staticky and frizzed from the humidity.

Time passes like this: you both drifting in and out of bird song and breezes that shift the tree leaves. Eventually, Mizu stands and groggily makes her way to the kitchen.

“what’re ya doin’” you mumble, too heat-soaked to properly pronounce.

Silence. Only the sound of a drawer opening and closing, the clatter of plates, and Mizu sniffling.

You don’t bother following. Content to stay put and not do anything until nightfall when the cicadas become silent and the air thins out to see the stars overhead.

Mizu’s foot pokes you in the side and you’re met with her long limbs and longer hair that she’s adjusted into a bun.

“Up. Eat.”

You listen only because Mizu sits next to you and helps you up. Her touch burns hot and you blame the weather, the season. Anything but the thunder in your chest, a quiet frenzy in your bones.

“Oranges.” You declare. Like a little kid learning colors and shapes. Mizu nods proudly regardless of the childlike wonder.

The thick orange slices are washed and cleaned, their skin ripped to reveal the glisten of the fruit. Color like sunset and lava, you take a bite and hum appreciatively.

Mizu sets the plate between you. This way, its thigh, plate, thigh. The glass the only thing separating you both.

“Good?”

You nod, swallowing quickly to answer: “Farmers market?”

Mizu nods, taking one for herself.

The sun spot that had started at the edge of the wall is now sitting cozily on Mizu’s hip. It splashes up her ribs and dips to her bellybutton. It’s undoubtedly hot, yet Mizu says nothing. Instead, she rips the skin of the orange slice off decisively, suddenly licking into the fruit.

It’s no use. She’d pulled too hard and the juice runs down her arm and collects at her elbow, into the crease of it. It catches the light and you start to stare as it drips onto Mizu’s basketball shorts.

“Shit—let me..”

And her lips are back to the fruit, a sharp suck sounds and mizu hums as she rips the skin away and eats the entirety of the orange slice. The juice only multiplies and is now creating a small puddle on the fabric of her shorts. It stays for a second before soaking into the cloth.

“Sorry. Messy.” Mizu jokes, lifting her arm and licking the juice off, starting from the elbow to her fingers. She sucks the rest of the juice from her fingers and wide palms. The sound makes you shiver despite the bead of sweat making its way down the center of your back.

“All good. Oranges are a mess—uh, messy. They’re messy. Not your fault at all!”

You fear Mizu will finally find out about your feelings for her because of an orange of all things. Yet, when you meet her eyes, they’re closed. Crinkled in a bright smile.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

The summer heat doesn’t die down for a while after that. But even when the night arrives, your cheeks still burn and your blood runs hot.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #headcanons

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writing-zelda-brainrots · 1 month

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The Apothecary’s Travel Guide Chapter 1

Quickly, before we begin, I want to set some things straight about this little fic series.

This fic will use Fem!Reader in both pronouns and body descriptions. I usually stick to gender neutral stuff, but this fic just works better with a female main character in mind (or at least I think so).

While I won’t be going into actual nsfw stuff (maybe in the future, I haven’t decided), this fic will still contain sexual themes and scenarios. This fic is meant for older teens and up. I don’t write with a young audience in mind, both for this fic and in general.

For those of you who are not familiar with The Apothecary Diaries (wtf are you doing here, go watch it), the series takes place in a fictional version of Imperial China. You don’t absolutely need to watch it to read this fic, but you will have a better understanding of things if you have (also, it’s just a really good show, very well written with one of the best female protags I’ve ever seen).

Also, this fic starts before Sunset, so the whole “Twilight is Wolfie” and “Hyrule can heal” things are not known yet.

–

It felt a little strange to be back in the busy streets of the pleasure district after spending months in the rear palace. But it was the good kind of strange. The smell of grilled meat skewers that you missed so much, the paper lanterns hanging overhead, people haggling for better prices in the street side shops, playing games on the side of the road, or drinking tea in teahouses. And of course, beautiful women calling men over to offer ‘special services’ in the many brothels.

It’s a sight you’re all too familiar with. Having grown up here, raised by the women of the famous Verdigris House, these things did not phase you. One would think that working in the palace would be quite the change of pace, but if there’s one thing that you’ve learned over the past however many months, it is that the palace and brothels aren’t all that different. A beautiful caged garden full of flowers for the emperor to enjoy looking upon.

In truth, if you had the choice, you would not want to have anything to do with the imperial palace, but given your situation, what could you do? You certainly didn’t ask to be kidnapped and sold off to the palace back then and you didn’t ask to be promoted to lady in waiting to one of the four highest ranking concubines. You were doing just fine as an apothecary back in the pleasure district, thank you very much.

You had originally attempted to stay low, worked as a simple, low ranking servant until your contract expired and then head home. You hid any signs of value that could get you promoted; you hid your ability to read and write, as well as hid your ‘true beauty’ so you wouldn’t become a concubine (even if a servant could only ever become a low ranking concubine). Any extra money you would have earned from those promotions would just be swiped by your kidnappers, anyway. At least you still got paid for your regular work.

Had things originally gone according to your plan, you would have worked hard and been released within three years. However, now that goal post has been moved quite a bit.

But you shouldn't be thinking about work right now; it was your day off, after all. You were back home (after managing to haggle your way into them letting you leave the palace) and that’s all that matters right now.

I should get some radishes and chicken for soup tonight. You thought as you walked down the street of the makeshift market. You hoped that your father had been eating well. He was never all that good at feeding himself. If he was starving for a few days, the old lady from the Verdigris House would force something down his throat.

Speaking of the Verdigris House, you should probably head there later. Both to say hello to your ‘big sisters,’ but also so you could take a bath there. They’d likely want some medicine, too, now that you thought about it. The last time you delivered medicine there was the day you got kidnapped.

Heh. Even on my day off I’m running errands.

With your little morning shopping excursion done, you stuffed the ingredients into the basket you carried on your back and started heading to that familiar little shack you affectionately called home. Dad should be in the fields tending to the plants right now. Honestly, he was getting too old for that trek, especially with his busted knee, but you couldn’t deny that he loved that little garden he’s cultivated over the years. Not like you were any different when it comes to your passion for medicinal herbs. As your master, he taught you everything you know about medicine; what herbs work in which situations, what to use and what to avoid, how to make medicine, what plants, mushrooms and animals were poisonous and which weren’t, etc. He was a very learned man, having studied both eastern and western medicine. With a few more years of teaching, you might be as good as him, or you hoped so, at least.

Finally you reached the calm little neighbourhood you grew up in. It was on the very outskirts of the city, not even protected by the tall stone brick walls. Looking at the small sizes of the houses, barely larger than your average shack, told people that this was where the poor lived. It wasn’t much, but it was home. Truth be told, your father was an excellent medical expert, even having worked in the palace before from what you’ve heard, but for all his skill and knowledge, he had terrible luck, which is why he ended up living here instead of somewhere more fitting for his stature.

But when you got to your little childhood home, you were met with a worrying sight. A woman you didn’t recognise, worry and uncertainty written on her face, knocking on the front door of your home. That’s strange, did she need medicine? You didn’t recognise her servant uniform, but she seemed to be from one of the inns in the area.

You called out, catching her attention immediately. “Are you looking for the apothecary? He’s currently out, but I can leave him a message.”

“Please help, it’s a medical emergency! Someone’s been poisoned!”

Your face immediately turned serious as you dropped your belongings before running inside the shack to retrieve an emergency med kit. “Lead me to them.”

People had gathered around the doorway of the inn, clearly all in a panic, but not sure on what to do.

“I brought the apothecary. Please step out of the way.” The two of you moved past the seemingly small army of staff and patrons.

What you saw seemed to match what the woman had told you before. A man lying on the bed, restless, breathing erratically, hands clenching at the fabric of his clothes right over his heart. Immediately you entered your ‘work mode,’ practically diving next to the man. First, a physical check up.

You pried open the man’s eyes, looking into them; you checked his pulse and stuck a finger into his mouth. Judging from the spittle running down his chin and trace amounts of sick on the bed sheets and his blue scarf, it’s safe to say that he had vomited. Still, you pressed down on his solar plexus to induce more of it. It would help expel whatever caused this reaction, but it would also dehydrate him. There was a hrrk, and spit came pouring out of his mouth, which you wiped away with the bedsheets you had gripped.

Suddenly, a new man with brown hair and eyes came running through the door with what seemed to be a waterskin in his hands.

He was just about to offer the water to the man you were tending to, but you shouted at him: “Don’t let him drink that! Charcoal- we need charcoal!” The startled man dropped the item onto the floor, but recovered just as quickly, running off once again to retrieve the required item.

You repeated this process several times on the victim; making him vomit, wiping the bile away ad nauseum until nothing but stomach acid came out. The man was able to breathe much easier now, no longer hyperventilating. Thankfully, at your request, the charcoal had arrived just in time, which you quickly ground up with your mortar and pestle.

“This’ll be rough on his throat, but it’ll flush the toxins out of his body.” You spoke as you poured the fine powder into his mouth. Some of the men, who you assumed to be the patient’s associates, had gathered around the two of you, clearly worried.

“Wa… Water. Please…” Those were the first words you heard him speak, weak, but nonetheless a sign that he was recovering.

“Not yet. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to endure this a little bit longer.”

Though unhappy, he accepted and resigned himself to his scratchy and dry throat for the time being. Finally you were able to remove yourself from the bedside, letting the other men move the patient while the inn’s servant ladies removed the soiled linens.

First damn thing in the morning and I already have to deal with an emergency. I only just got back. You grumbled in your mind as you looked at your filthy hand. Ugh. I really need a bath. You sighed both from relief and exhaustion.

“You doin’ okay, Captain?” One of the taller men with brown hair asked while holding him up so he could stand.

The patient - now identified as ‘Captain’ - took a breath. “Much better.” He then turned his attention towards you. “Thank you. I was certain that I was a goner.”

“I am simply doing my job. There is no need to thank me.” Utilising some water in a pitcher that one of the servants offered, you wiped your hands with a damp cloth.

You then took out a wooden slip, wrote just a couple characters on it and handed it over to the servant woman who you first encountered. “Deliver this to doctor Luomen and bring him here. He should be by the south wall.”

With that, the servant gave you and everyone else in the room a small bow before leaving.

The man with a blue hat turned his attention to the patient, who had once again been laid down onto the cleaned up bed. “Now I know that stuff took you out; you didn’t even try to flirt with your “guardian angel”.”

“So that’s your impression of me?” The sarcasm in his voice was evident. “Glad to know that it took me almost kicking the bucket to change your opinion.”

Within about half an hour, the servant had returned, your father in tow. It took longer than you had hoped, but given your father’s age and condition, it wasn’t all that surprising.

He took a good look at the patient and asked some questions.

“I suppose you did an adequate job here.” He gave you his trademark gentle smile after he was done with his examination.

“‘Adequate’?” You ask, annoyed.

A man who you assumed to be the owner of the inn came into the room. “Thank you, doctor Luomen. You are the best medical expert one could ask for.”

“Don’t thank me. My daughter did all the hard work.”

“Tell me, how much do we owe you? Name your price.”

“There’s really no need-”

You nudge your father’s side with your elbow. “Can you pay rent this month?”

“Ah… Well, in that case, I’ll take the usual fee.”

This was one of his habits; undercharging for his work, or even failing to charge at all, much to your distress. You understood the desire not to take money from people who were already struggling to get by, but this was not the case.

A tall blond man in heavy armour came up to you, holding out a small-ish sack. “Please, allow us to reimburse you as well. We owe you a lot.” Seeing no reason not to, you accepted the item.

With that, your father and the inn’s owner head into another room to discuss payment, leaving you to gather up your tools.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed a few of the men fidgeting nervously or giving each other glances. They obviously wanted to say something. You didn’t know why they were hesitating. Sure, you might have sharp, mean-looking eyes and you didn’t smile all the time, but there’s no reason for these numerous grown men to act like this around you.

“Can I help you?” You broke the ice. No point in delaying this.

The one who you assumed to be the leader cleared his throat. “Actually, we’d like you to answer some questions we have. We’re travellers from afar, you see, and we don’t know much about this place or nation.”

They came all this way here and they don’t know the first thing about where they are? “You’re in the country of Li, specifically in the capital city of both the nation and the Central Province. I’m not going to judge how you choose to spend your time, but if you wanted to go sightseeing, I wouldn’t exactly recommend coming to the pleasure district first.” You raised an eyebrow. Just who were these people?

You saw that a few of the mens’ faces had turned bright red when they realised where they were. “Ha! Told you that this is where we ended up.”

“Are you implying that you frequent these kinds of places, Captain?” It sure seemed like these two had a penchant for arguing. Even during the time while you were waiting for your father to arrive, you noticed that they kept butting heads.

“Enough, you two.” The oldest shot them a quick glare. “Either way, it’s good we left Wind with Four back at the city outskirts. Both because of the inappropriate nature of this place- no offence…”

You shrugged. “None taken.”

“... But so that they wouldn’t have to see you get in trouble like this.”

“You are the apothecary here, right? If so, then you should be familiar with people who have gotten injuries.” You nodded. “Have you heard anything about encounters with any strong monsters, particularly those with black blood?”

Alright, now you were really confused. Monsters? Black blood? Was this some kind of way of informing you of a new disease spreading among the troops of enemy nations? But if so, why not tell this to an army physician instead of a random apothecary?

“Can’t say that I have.” You spoke up after having given it some thought. “Though I have to admit that I have been working in the inner court for the past few months, so I’m not caught up on the goings on outside the palace walls. But if you are telling the truth, I’m certain I would have heard rumours.” Thinking back, Xiaolan - a girl you had grown a friendship with when you were a simple servant at the palace - sure loved her gossip, and if there was one thing she loved more, it was sharing that gossip with you over tasty snacks and food.

“Thank you anyways.”

While this conversation didn’t seem like it yielded much, it did get your gears turning. It was time to do some espionage- or rather, some investigating. Something you’ve gotten pretty good at lately, if you said so yourself.

“Please wait here while I get you some medicine.” With a quick bow you left the room. In truth you had already prepared the medicine while waiting for your father to arrive, but this was still a convenient excuse.

As quietly as you could you hid yourself behind the sliding door and pressed your ear against it. Sure enough, once the men in the room believed you to be gone, they started talking. Words like “monsters,” “eras,” “shadow” and others got thrown around as if it was common knowledge, yet it only served to confuse - and intrigue - you further. One thing was certain; these were not your regular, run-of-the-mill travellers.

Your earlier talk also gave you an opportunity to scrutinise their appearances. Given their unfamiliar clothes and armour, plus features like light coloured hair and eyes, and their utter lack of knowledge of where they even were, you assumed them to be from a distant land, the west, most likely. But that was before you noticed one curious detail that they all shared; pointed ears.

This one thing had you calling things into question. Sure, the world was a large place, but in all your years of studying medicine and the human body, you’ve never heard of any group of peoples with such a distinctive feature.

But now came the question of what to do. What were you going to do about this suspicious group? Should you report them in case they were here to cause trouble? To be honest, you didn’t want to get involved. No point in sticking your neck out for these strangers and possibly risk getting accused of treason. You’ve done your job, you healed them, and you’re about to give them their medicine and leave. There’s no need to let them occupy your mind anymore. You’d steer clear of them from now on. Yeah, that sounded good.

Finally, you pretended to have returned from your ‘excursion’ and knocked on the door. Given the sudden silence from the room, it was safe to assure that whatever they were talking about was not for others to hear.

Walking up to the Captain still in bed, you handed over a small paper bag. “Please take this for the next few days. It’ll ease your stomach and help with getting rid of any lingering toxins. I would recommend drinking it as tea.”

The one who you had identified as ‘Legend’ from when you were listening in groaned. “Ugh. This whole thing’s been a wash. You guys ready to head back to camp?”

A unanimous ‘yes’ was heard.

Ironically enough, you could not get those men out of your head. Was your intuition trying to tell you that there was something wrong with them? Or were you simply curious? They were certainly the most interesting people you’ve met in some time.

They had already left the inn and you had headed in a different direction. You did finally manage to get that warm bath you were looking forward to. And getting to speak to your ‘big sisters’ at the Verdigris House was nice. But still your mind was occupied with something else. Damn it, this was supposed to be your day off, but you haven’t been able to relax completely!

You kicked a small rock in front of you in frustration. Hopefully having dinner with your dad would help alleviate your problem.

Suddenly you felt an all too familiar feeling of being pulled backwards.

Well, this wouldn’t be your first kidnapping.

And Wars will have to suffer through that dry, ashy throat for the remainder of this fic- lol jk.

A.N Fun fact: did you know that other than Twilight (who has lived among humans for a long time), technically, Legend is the one who has interacted with humans the most? The people of Koholint Island had short, round ears, as did the people of Holodrum (Oracle of Seasons), Labrynna (Oracle of Ages) and Hytopia (Tri Force Heroes).

#linked universe x reader #lu x reader #linked universe imagines #lu imagines

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artbyblastweave · 4 months

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RUO: M. Night Shyamalan's trilogy 'Unbreakable, Split, and Glass'

Failing that one...RUO on the 2019 Watchmen show

Independent of the actual quality of the films themselves (I haven't seen them, but my understanding is that they were Not Good) I've spent the last five years totally enamored with the conceit of the Unbreakable universe; namely, that superhuman abilities exist, but are universally subtle enough in their operation that it's a low-overhead endeavor for the powers that be to enact an ongoing coverup. And they've all got a signature color pallete. When I was younger and dumber, I actually participated in an official OC creation contest on DeviantArt that the producers did as a cross-promotional thing with the release of Glass. I never ported any of the designs I did for that to Tumblr, because the art's not great and I'm frankly a little embarrassed I was dumb enough to do free marketing in that way. But in line with the above guidelines I created what remains one of my favorite supervillain pitches to this day- Throng, a self-replicator whose gimmick is that he can only create copies of himself in spots where they hypothetically could have been lying in wait before the rampage started- inside lockers, air vents, in heavy foliage, crawlspaces, the trunks of vehicles, and so on and so forth, so there's always plausible deniability that this could just be a really well organized flash mob. Furthermore, the "duplicates" are actually only dressed like him, wearing whatever he was wearing when he activated the power- unmasking the dead "copies" in the aftermath of a big engagement would just reveal a hundred totally different people wearing the same suit and hockey mask, which bumps the weirdness of the situation down to true-crime-podcast-fodder rather than obviously supernatural. (IIRC, one of the characters that actually won the contest was Double-take, a teenager whose power is that she could always execute any action perfectly the second time she attempted it. You see what I mean about powers that are maddeningly difficult to prove!)

#asks #ask #thoughts #meta #unbreakable #split #glass

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tozettastone · 3 months

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Share your writing tag

Tagged by @voxofthevoid in this post (a fic snippet likely of interest to jjk fans) to share a piece of recent writing. Tagging @mixelation, @electrasev5nwrites and @neveralarch to give it a go if they would like. No pressure, of course.

---

The Akatsuki base in Rain was cold. The perpetual drizzle here only sometimes became driving rain — usually when their leader was in a temper — but the constant cloud cover made the daylight grey and cool, and the nights black.

Kakuzu rarely felt the cold. His body was no longer well equipped to provide that information.

Sasori didn't feel it either. When Kakuzu came to the room he and Deidara shared, he found him barefoot and bare-armed, sat in the middle of the debris of what must have been puppet maintenance, surrounded by the rising reek of something heady and flammable. He was a small, slight, teenaged body, with glassy eyes and careless auburn hair. He looked... delicate.

"Tracking him is a waste of time," he was saying, even as he unsealed a box to look through his records for the information Kakuzu wanted. Out came a series of scrolls in various states of disrepair — some pristine, others bloodied, muddied or torn.

"Yes," said Kakuzu, leaning in the doorway still. "It is. Have you got anything?"

Sasori glanced up at him. His doll-like face revealed nothing about what he was seeking in Kakuzu's expression.

Kakuzu looked blankly back. His face, with only its glaring, bloodshot eyes visible, was probably about as expressive as Sasori's. He doubted he was revealing very much.

Deidara watched them both quietly from his perch in the window, where the rain streaked the glass. He always liked windows — probably because they represented the ability to launch himself beyond anyone else's casual combat range at any given moment. Here, he was enveloped in a second cloak, under the first, and had his occupied by a ball of clay that seethed with volatile chakra.

"They won't be able to kill him," Sasori reminded him, pronouncing each word slowly, like he was carefully selecting them, one after another.

"Get to the point." Frustration was a thing Kakuzu felt in his belly, alongside four auxillary, unhappy hearts. It was hot and writhing.

"Fine. We don't have to track Oda. You can just pick Hidan up after the massacre."

Kakuzu said nothing. Sasori's dead, glassy eyes watched him for the space of five disjointed heartbeats.

Oda Hiroto was the kind of shinobi personality that you had to track through secondary influences — he didn't really leave tracks, he left... symptoms.

Generally, he was a trafficker of civilians. To the powers that be, this was inconvenient in some ways: slavery was illegal, civilians died in the process, and he wasn't paying taxes. But of course he was convenient in others: slavery, however quiet, was remarkably effective at reducing overheads — lowering the costs of goods in the unregulated market, in the short term — and diminishing the bargaining power of labour.

Usually, you tracked down a bounty like that by following the money. But Oda rarely traded actual money. He moved goods around and leaned heavily on favours instead.

His bounty was low, because he was more annoying to the major villages than a real threat, and he would be annoying to track, so Kakuzu himself had never bothered. Unless he was coincidentally close and easy to grab, the cost of chasing him had never been worth the payoff.

A week ago, while rummaging through a mayoral office's records for mission-related blackmail, Hidan had blundered face-first into Oda's trafficking operation.

Then he'd dropped off the map entirely. He had not yet resurfaced. Obviously, he hadn't been killed.

So, yes. It was still a lot of time to find Oda. It was still going to be annoying to find him. His bounty was still low, so the payoff would be frustratingly slim.

But now, the line items had rearranged themselves, bright and cold in the ledger inside Kakuzu's head.

Oda's time was up.

"Hmm," said Deidara, in an unpleasant, edged voice, into what Kakuzu abruptly realised was an extremely tense silence.

"I'll look," Sasori said, finally. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked towards the room's exit, past Kakuzu's bulk in the doorway.

Kakuzu clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Then hurry up," he growled.

#tag game #naruto fic #akatsuki #kakuzu

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appalamutte · 1 year

Text

Eric turns into the baking supplies aisle, tapping his thumb against the cart in rhythm with the Christmas music playing overhead.

He hadn’t intended to stop at the grocery store on his way home; after slipping on a patch of ice in front of a school field trip on his way to work, dropping and shattering his favorite work mug in the break room between meetings, and being told for the umpteenth time that another client has gone with another publisher, Eric, if you don’t start showing improvement then we’re going to have to look at other alternatives, all Eric wanted to do was go home and take a long, warm bath. Start that food critic’s memoir he picked up at a flea market a few weeks ago. Maybe—finally—clean out and reorganize his disaster of a spice cabinet, something to take his mind off things.

Just forget this day ever happened.

But then his editorial assistant accidentally deleted one of their client’s manuscripts while performing a mass exodus of unused files, and just like that, Eric went and cried in the bathroom because the day officially got worse than he ever thought it could get.

By some miracle, Dex down in IT had been able to find an old save of the file on the system’s hard drive. It didn’t have most of the notes Eric added for corrections or changes, nor did it have any of his assistant’s annotations. Really, it was the most bare-bones copy, but it was the entire manuscript in it’s most recent glory.

For that, Eric would’ve kissed Dex right then and there.

He loves Nursey too much to do that, though, so instead he did what he always does: he hugged Dex tightly, asked him what his favorite dessert was (snickerdoodle cookies), and at five o’clock he took the Green Line to West End and walked a few blocks to the best Whole Foods in Boston.

“Now you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eric murmurs, standing in front of the rather unfortunate-looking flour selection. Usually, there’s a complete inventory of all types—bread, whole wheat, all-purpose, self-rising, pastry—and that’s half of the reason Eric goes twenty minutes out of his way to shop here. Yet all that’s before him now is a couple of bags of all-purpose and a full row of cake flour.

Great. As if this day couldn’t get any better.

He pulls the shopping cart close as a family enters the aisle and considers his options. Normally, he prefers using a half-and-half combination of whole wheat and all-purpose, but after last week’s batch of pancakes, he’s out of whole wheat. He could get the cream of tartar and ground cinnamon now and stop at the Stop & Shop near his apartment for the flour, but that place is hit-or-miss at best, and with how his day’s going he doubts they’ll have any in stock either.

Maybe he could forgo whole wheat flour this one time and just go with the all-purpose, but he really does love the taste it gives, not to mention it adds a bit more nutritional value. Nursey has been going on and on about how Dex is trying to eat healthier after losing his college-athlete physique, and—damn, maybe Eric should’ve offered to make something other than a dessert. Is it too late to call and ask if Dex would rather have some homemade protein bars? But then Nursey messaged Eric right before he left work with a bunch of crying emojis, thanking him and saying he was definitely going to steal some of the cookies from Dex, even though Eric’s pretty sure Dex would give Nursey most of them anyway, and—

“Bittle?”

Eric startles.

Looking up, he stares at the man before him for a moment before his heart skips a beat.

“Jack?” He asks dumbly, because it is Jack, standing there in an old, threadbare Samwell hoodie with a ball cap pulled low on his head.

He’s a little soft around the edges and worn down in that way all professional athletes are after retirement, but he’s still unmistakably Jack Zimmermann with that small little quirk of a smile and the way his eyes are piercingly blue in the fluorescent lighting of the store. His hair still curls around the ear like it did whenever he used to let it grow out but there are flecks of gray in his temple now. His jaw, even after all these years, is still so pronounced but it’s not as sharp as it was back at Samwell, hidden under a layer of scruff. He’s still wearing god-awful yellow sneakers, except they’re a newer pair from a different brand, bright and spotless.

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack says, warmer and surer.

Eric uncrosses his arms. “Jack,” he says again, feeling himself smile, “gosh, I can’t believe it’s—it’s been so long! Jack! How are you?”

On a reflex, Eric steps forward to hug Jack, and there’s this absolutely mortifying moment where he realizes he’s going to hug Jack Zimmermann, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't spoken to in seven years, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't seen outside of the NHL Network in ten.

But then Jack meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug with both arms wrapped around Eric’s shoulders, and it’s like the last decade never happened, the weight rolling off his shoulders as easily as could be. It’s like Eric’s back in Providence, back in Samwell. It’s Jack’s apartment and the front porch of the Haus and the bed of Coach’s truck in the thick Georgia humidity.

(It’s being in love with your best friend.)

“I’m good,” Jack says, his chest rumbling. “Great, actually.”

He pats Eric’s shoulder once and with that, they pull away from one another. “That’s good,” Eric says, pulling his shopping cart closer so he can lean an elbow against the handle. “How’s retirement been? It’s been, gosh, almost a year now?”

“Just about. It'll be a year this February."

“You miss it?”

Jack tilts his head. “Eh,” he drawls out, “honestly yeah, I do. But, well…”

He gestures down toward his knee, and it takes Eric a few seconds to remember that Jack's retirement had more to do with an unfortunate check and less to do with the fact he was thirty-seven. Eric immediately backtracks. “Oh, shit—lord, excuse my language, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jack chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The knee has its days, but besides that, it's good as new.” He pauses. “Sort of.”

Eric’s blushing ‘till high noon, he’s sure of it. "Well that's good, then," he says.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas starts playing overheard and they stare at each other for another awkward beat. Finally, Jack clears his throat. “But, uh, how have you been? I think Shitty said you were at…Morris…”

“Morris Press,” Eric says, pulling at the skin between his thumb and forefinger, mentally slapping his cheeks. He’s usually never this bad with talking. “But yeah! I’ve been there for six years or so now, it’s a really great job. Helping others do what I always dreamed of is just, you know, a really fulfilling feeling.”

“I bet,” Jack says, and he’s got the little smile on his face again.

Another, not-as-awkward beat.

“I mean, I never thought I’d go into publishing, but…,” Eric starts, and he doesn’t mean to ramble, really; it’s an accidental slip that he starts going on about his job and his coworkers, the projects he’s helped publish, how publishing his own cookbook right out of Samwell led to now, just talking Jack’s poor ear off in the middle of the store. Jack gives his little comments here and there, like he used to, and doesn’t once make Eric feel like he’s holding him, and that—that’s exactly why Eric finds he can’t stop himself. The easiness of it, how natural and comfortable it is. How the warmth of a dormant love flares somewhere in Eric’s chest because it’s different but it’s not.

He doesn’t stop until an older woman cuts in asking to get to the flour, and Eric takes a breath. “Goodness, I rambled there,” he laughs. “I suppose things haven’t changed all that much.”

Jack hums, looking at Eric with this unreadable, nearly intense expression that Eric would describe as soft, probably. If he looked into it too much. He’s nearly about to let Jack go so he can go home and panic-bake a pie and call Lardo about this entire day when Jack suddenly says: “Would you want to get coffee or lunch or—or something, sometime?”

Eric falters.

Then he decides that, maybe, this day isn’t a total bust.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #zimbits #my writing #literally haven’t written in so long #and i found the beginning of this in my drafts #so i was like -- what better way to get back into the swing of writing!!!#anyway i know next to nothing about publishing. also if morris press doesn’t have an office in boston let’s just pretend they do

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lakecountylibrary · 4 months

Note

As a public librarian whose own library’s marketing is, not to put too fine a point on it, garbâge, I have to ask: How did y’all manage to get a tumblr account?? Our communications dept would *never* let us be that cool.

It went kind of like 'Hey. We should do more reader's advisory. It's great social media *checks notes* uh, content. Should be a blog since it's long form writing. No, I can manage it, it fits in my task list. Have you heard of Tumblr? No? Well it would be perfect, and it's free. Approved? Greatthanksbye!'

And then I ran and they haven't caught me yet.

Much longer answer under the cut, in case you're looking for tips to convince coms ⬇️

I'm the person who manages all of our online marketing, so I really only had to ask the director. The words "I'll manage it myself, no additional staff time" were also magical since... well, I'm the social media manager, they know I'm good for it (and that I'm not going to post something the library is going to have to make an embarrassed press release about later.)

The way I made the case for tumblr was by saying it's a spot to host staff recs/reviews that's not character limited, and we can link back to it from all of our other social media platforms. Our website isn't set up for blog-style posts so making a new page every time we wanted to rec a book would be hugely obnoxious. Plus tumblr's tagging system aids in discovery (you know, in theory) in a way our website couldn't.

Even if our book rec posts don't get many notes here on tumblr (they don't, with a few exceptions) posts with links back to tumblr do pretty well on our other platforms. So our benchmarking for tumblr doesn't look great on its own but it does improve our stats elsewhere, so it's worth keeping on - especially since the overhead on staff time is very low. Staff send in their book recs and reviews when they have something to say and a little time to write it up, no strict schedule or deadlines. I take care of all the formatting, proofreading, graphics, scheduling, and tagging myself.

Obviously we're doing more than just our rec posts - reblogging and answering asks and replying to posts where relevant, plus the occasional one-off non-book-rec post. Which is all, you know. Just being on tumblr. Gotta do our bit to keep the tumblr ecosystem healthy. If you want to convince a marketing department that's worthwhile, then it's raising brand awareness.

(Plus I really like tumblr and keeping the social media manager happy when she has to spend eight hours a day looking at the kind of nonsense people say to libraries on Facebook other social media sites is worth its weight in gold, though I may be biased. But getting to manage the tumblr at work is sort of like an oasis in my day.)

And then sometimes Neil Gaiman reblogs an addition we made on his post and suddenly everyone at work is very excited that someone has kept up the tumblr for all these years :D

#lcpl reply #anonymous #public libraries #a glimpse behind the scenes #tumblr

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 23: Beloved

The Mandalorian wants to do something nice for you. It has unexpected results. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-22 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: the Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut. Total smut. Fluffy fluffy fluffy smut smut smut smut smut. The Helmet Stays On SMUT. There's fucking, OK? They fuck. It took 120k words to get there but they fuck. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 4.6k

“You’re sure Karga doesn’t mind watching the kid this long?” You were frowning, looking at a poncho for a baby at one of the only market stands you hadn’t stopped at yet.

“He’s happy for any excuse to spoil him rotten,” Din sighed, watching you and the people go by around you. “And your rifle won’t be done until morning. There’s no reason to rush.”

“Think this will fit him?” You held up the tiny garment. “He doesn’t have much made to keep him warm…”

Din shrugged before pulling out credits to pay for it, handing them to the woman behind the stand. You smiled, folding up the tiny poncho and adding it to a bag.

“Give me that,” he held his hand out and you glared at him.

“Just because I hurt my shoulder doesn’t mean I’m utterly incapable you know,” you said.

“I never said you were, Doll.”

“Then let me carry the damn bag, Mando.”

He sighed.

“We’re taking everything back to the Crest now, anyway,” he said. “We’ll pick up the kid after.”

You seemed skeptical but you didn’t pry. He was oddly grateful for it. Doing something nice for you was difficult. You seemed bound and determined to make it damn difficult and he couldn’t figure out why for the life of him. He was beginning to think he could spend the rest of his life trying to understand you and wouldn’t be able to unravel you.

Night fell as you walked back toward the ship, stopping at a food stand for you to grab something on a stick that you insisted was delicious that Din could only frown at.

“You need to be more adventurous,” you said, finishing… whatever it was you’d bought. “I’m telling you, food stands? Better than anything you’re going to find in the visiting monarch quarters on Coruscant. Hands down.”

He shook his head.

“I’ll take your word for it, Doll.”

The two of you just dropped off the supplies from town - rations, some bacta, ammunition, the poncho for the kid - and started back to town.

“It’s quiet without the kid,” you said, looking up at the stars.

“Almost forgot what quiet was like,” Din said. You smiled.

“Especially when you’re stuck hauling me around, too,” you teased. You were walking closer to him than usual, your arm brushing his from time to time.

“Quiet’s overrated.”

You considered him for a moment but didn’t say anything. Instead, you looked back up at the stars, the galaxy swirling overhead. When you reached town, you started to go in the direction of Karga’s, but Din made you pause.

“We’ve got one more stop first,” he said. You frowned but stayed close beside him. He led the way to a louder street, the only one left at this hour that was still filled with people. Your brows knitted together, peering around.

“Did we pick up a local job?” You asked, voice low.

“No,” he almost laughed. “Just… come on, Doll.”

He brought you to a cantina, one he’d passed a few times but never stopped into. He’d never had a reason to, until now.

The bar was loud, a band playing on a small stage, lights dim. He didn’t need them, though. Your smile spread slow and broad over your face, none of the artifice that was there when you smiled for someone else. This was for you. Din spotted a small table in a corner and he put his hand on your back, gently guiding you to it. You both sat down, you immediately leaning on the small table top, getting closer to the music, eyes glued to the band.

“Are we here for them?” You asked as the song ended, finally looking to the Mandalorian. He shrugged.

“You said you liked music.”

You somehow managed to smile even wider, turning your attention back to the band. Din felt like he could hardly hear them. He was too busy absorbing everything you did, the way your head ever so slightly bobbed in time, the way your teeth found your lower lip when the strings picked up, the way you sank back into him without looking or thinking, tucking yourself below his arm and resting your head on his chest. His arm slipped around your shoulders, delicately at first, before he curled his fingers around your arm, pulling you against him. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, the colored lights from the cantina casting splotches of blue and purple over your skin.

After a while, he flagged a waitress down and you ordered a cocktail he’d never heard of, whatever it was coming out from the bar with smoke rising over the rim of the glass. You took a sip, eyes closed in pleasure, before you set the drink down and moved closer to him.

“I’ve never done this,” you looked up at him again. “Just… gone to a bar like this. For fun.”

“Me either.”

You smiled.

“We’re quite a pair,” you joked. “Very well adjusted, history of very normal experiences.”

He laughed.

“That’s us.”

Watching you enjoy yourself was something he liked more than he expected - and he’d expected to like it a lot. It was as though the forcefield you put up the rest of the time was down. Your feelings weren’t couched in other things, veiled and manipulated to avoid vulnerability. You were uniquely open, like every thought that crossed your mind was written easily on your face. It was a beautiful thing, watching you feel.

You stayed for hours. Din wasn’t about to ask you to go, you were too happy here. He’d have found a way to move in if it would let you be this happy forever. But the bar started to empty, the music growing slower.

“We should get back,” you said, nearly on his lap. Your legs were draped over his, his arm was wrapped around you, your head against his chest. “Karga is probably ready to kill us for leaving him with the kid this long.”

“He knew we’d be out late,” Din said. “But we should get back.” You nodded against him.

“Let me use the fresher before we start the walk back,” you said, pulling back from him slightly. Your hand went to the side of his helmet, like you’d be holding his cheek if you could touch his face. “Thank you. For this.”

You, mercifully, didn’t wait for a reply. You just unfolded yourself from him and left the table. Din settled the bar tab and waited, watching the bar as more patrons filtered out. He almost didn’t notice you come out of the fresher, only to be stopped by a group of men hovering near the stage.

They stopped you for a moment and you gave them a polite smile and said something before trying to leave when one stopped you, grabbing your arm - making you wince as your injured shoulder pulled - and holding you with the group.

Din almost jumped to his feet, his fists clenched, and he stalked across the bar. The way they’d dragged you back… He couldn’t see your face, but the man’s hand was still on your arm. He was still touching you. Thought he could just touch you.

“Look, gentleman, I’m flattered…” Din could barely make out your diplomat voice over the sound of the music. He gripped your uninjured shoulder and he pulled you back from them, putting his body between their hands and you. The men took a step back, the Mandalorian a few inches taller than even the tallest of them, his armor reflecting the lights from the stage.

“We’re not looking for trouble,” the one who’d touched you began.

“Yeah?” Din asked, stepping closer to him. “Then keep your hands to yourself.”

“Mando,” you hissed from behind him but he ignored you.

“She didn’t have a problem with it…” another one said. Mando rounded on him.

“I do,” he said. He moved closer to the man, towering over him.

“Mando!” You snapped. He glanced down at you. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

You were begging him with your eyes. He glanced back at the men before putting a hand at your back and following you out.

***

You waited until you were on a quieter street, grinding your teeth the whole way, before you turned to him.

“Want to tell me what the hell that was?” You demanded. He looked down to you for a second before looking straight ahead again.

“They touched you.”

“Did you really think I was incapable of handling that on my own?” You snapped.

“No.”

You gaped at him for a moment.

“Then why did you get involved!”

He shrugged.

“You’re…” you struggled to find the word.

“I’m what, Doll?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

The baby was asleep in his pod when you got to Karga’s.

“You kids have fun?” Karga asked, a teasing edge to his voice. You frowned.

“Mostly,” Din replied. “Some of the people here need to learn some manners.”

“It was lovely,” you glared at the Mandalorian before looking back to Karga. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the kid.”

“Sure, sure, he’s welcome any time,” he smiled. “I hope it won’t be three years before I see you again, Essa.”

“Next time, I’ll avoid the blaster,” you smiled back.

The walk back to the Razor Crest was quiet. The silence almost frustrated you more than the incident at the cantina. If he’d just left it alone, it would have been quiet, over in seconds. But apparently, he didn’t trust you to handle it yourself.

“It’s a nice night,” you said when you made it back to the ship. “I think I’m going to look at the stars for a bit.”

You didn’t wait for a response, just going to the ladder and pulling yourself up and climbing up to the top of the ship. It hadn’t been a lie, it was a nice night. Not a cloud in the sky, just cool enough that the air felt crisp on your exposed skin. Everything smelled fresh and clean. You brought your legs into your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees.

There was the telltale sound of metal on metal and you felt the Mandalorian come up behind you, hovering for a moment before sitting down next to you.

“Ever baffle you to think that you’ve been up there?” You asked, nodding up at the stars. “And how different it looks when you are?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Sometimes.” You were both silent. He felt so close. It was almost hard to focus on anything else he was so close.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “They touched you and I lost my temper.”

“So you didn’t think I needed your help.”

“No,” he shook his head.

You sighed.

“Why?”

“Why what.”

“Why did him touching me make you mad?” You asked, watching him. Your voice was quiet.

“They could have hurt you,” he said. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“What is it that you want, Din?” You almost didn’t want to ask the question, afraid of what the answer would be. Your heart was pounding. “What is it that you want with me?”

The galaxy was reflected on his beskar, the stars running over his body. It was like he contained everything, all creation present in him. He looked in your eyes, leaning in close, one hand finding your face, holding you gently. You closed your eyes, pressing your lips together as you leaned into his touch. You couldn’t help it. It seemed that anything he wanted to give you, you’d latch onto it. To him. Do anything you could to absorb it and hold it close.

“I want to keep you safe,” he said, his voice gentle. “I want to see you. All of you. I want to know you. I want you to know me. I want you to be able to be… soft. I don’t… You weren’t made to be hard, Doll. You’re good at it. You’re strong and you’re capable. You might be the most capable person I’ve ever met. But I’ve seen you with the kid, with Layari, with people who need help, just with the worlds you’re on… you weren’t made to be hard. I want to make it so you don’t have to be.”

“I don’t need…”

“I know you don’t need it,” he cut you off. “You don’t need anyone to do anything for you. But I want to. I want to do things that make you smile and feel and let you be soft. I don’t want you to go through the galaxy alone. I want it to be with me.”

“Din,” you leaned in closer to him. You could feel everything in your body. The thudding of your heart against your ribs, the gentle ache between your thighs, the way the blood moved down your limbs. Everything was heightened because he was there, so close to you, everything the galaxy had reflected in him.

“Doll.”

You moved - slowly, cautiously - until you were on his lap, your legs over his hips. His hands slid around to your waist. Your forehead pressed into the cool metal of his.

“You want me to stay?” You asked quietly, your arms draping over his shoulders. He had to look up at you ever so slightly from this angle, the chin of his helmet tilted up towards you. His hands slipped around to your back, pulling you closer.

“I want you,” he said softly. “Everything with you.”

Your core was pressed against him now and you rocked your hips against him, more on instinct than anything else.

“What do you want, Doll?” He asked. His voice was strained, his breaths heavy.

“You,” you breathed, your voice shaking. “Just you, as much of you as you’re willing to give me.”

“Then I’m yours.”

He pulled you tighter to him, his fingers almost harsh with need against your skin. The force of him pulled your bodies into alignment and you could feel him through your clothes, a soft moan slipping from your lips. You pulled your head from his and looked down at his armor, running your hands over the metal at his chest.

“Can I…”

He nodded, quickly, and you unbuckled his belt. It fell to the ship with a clatter that was almost shockingly loud compared to the quiet you’d enveloped yourselves in. You didn’t care. You moved on to his chest plate, freeing his cloak first and then fumbling with the straps at his shoulders until he helped you remove it, setting it aside. You touched him over the flight suit at first, with just your fingertips before pressing your palms against him, too. His eyes were on you as you explored him like this, until you found the zipper. You held it for a moment, looking at him, waiting for permission. He gave it with a single nod, and you slipped it down his body until the skin of his chest and stomach was exposed to you.

Your eyes met his as you lowered your hand to his chest, your palm over his heart. You could feel it, beating as hard as yours. You looked down to his skin then, exploring him with your eyes and fingers. His skin was soft with a patchwork of scars, souvenirs of his survival as a warrior. You knew the cause of some of them but you wanted to know the story of each one. You wanted to know everything, all of him.

“Can I?” He asked, looking at your shirt. You nodded. He slid his hands around to the front of you, almost reluctantly pulling them away from your body to remove his gloves before he took the hem of your shirt and reverently, slowly, lifted it over you. You fought the urge to cover yourself. You couldn’t see his eyes but you could feel them ranging over you. His breaths picked up, his hands going to your hips before sliding over your bared skin, slowly, to your waist, over your ribs, slipping around to your back to pull your naked chest to his. You gasped and then moaned at the feel of him like this. He was below you and in front of you and behind you. Utterly inescapable and swallowing everything around you.

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” he gasped it, almost like a prayer, as he clutched onto you, pressing his hips up into yours. You rocked your core against him, acutely aware of where fabric still separated your bodies. You weren’t sure that you’d ever felt more exposed or more ready to strip away what little cover you had left.

You worked your hips against him, moving harder and faster, your head dropping to his shoulder. One of his hands slid down your front, brushing over your exposed breasts, before slipping into your pants, gently stroking your clit, making you moan. The move and the growing need inside you made you daring, one of your hands traveling down his naked flesh and into the suit until you found his cock, hard and waiting for you.

Your eyes went a little wide at the feel of it, you couldn’t help it. You’d been with men before, but you were positive he was far bigger than either you’d had in the past. Thick and long, you wrapped your fingers around his head and he groaned, looking down to where you touched him. You slid your hand down his hard length, the size of him forcing your fingers apart as you worked him up and down. He pressed harder against your clit and your breath stuttered in response, freezing your grip on him for a moment while you got your bearings. His hand moved further into your pants before his fingertip circled your entrance. You blushed a little, feeling how wet you were and knowing he felt it too.

“You want me, Cyare,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but you answered it in a gasp anyway.

“Yes.”

“Like I want you.”

He slid his finger into you.

“Yes,” you managed in a strangled groan. Your hand stilled on him for a moment, too overwhelmed to think about anything but the fact that part of him was inside you. He started moving his finger and your hand slid over him again, your fingers finding the wetness at his tip and spreading it over him. Your other hand slid inside the flight suit and around his waist to his back, fingertips sinking into his skin. He groaned.

“What?” You asked, breathless.

“No one’s ever touched me like that,” his voice was shaky. “Feels… incredible.”

He sank another finger into you, making you shudder then freeze, body not able to do anything but focus on him stretching you. He worked his fingers into you until they were as deep as they could reach and he held them there, curving into your inner wall and pressing into the spot that made your eyes roll back and toes curl.

“I need you, Doll,” he was panting with it. “Need to feel you, need to be inside you…”

“Yes,” you nodded against him. “Please, Din…”

“Need you to cum first,” he managed, moving his fingers inside you again. “You’re too tight, don’t want to hurt you… Fuck, please, Doll, cum for me…”

His fingers were moving harder, faster, so much that you were frozen against him, unable to do anything but take what he was giving you. Your body tightened around him and you pressed yourself closer to him, feeling like you might explode if you weren’t somehow closer.

“That’s it, Cyare,” he managed. “Give in to it, cum for me.”

You obeyed, the unbearable tightness inside you snapping as you throbbed around his fingers and gasped his name.

“Good girl,” he breathed as you went slack against him, leaving his fingers deep inside you as your orgasm eased, your whole body trembling with it.

When he slipped his fingers from you, he got his cloak, putting it behind you before putting his hands on your back and rising onto his knees. He gently lay you on the cloak, kneeling between your legs. His hands went to the waist of your pants and he paused, looking at you for permission as you gasped for breath. You could only nod, quickly, and he slid your pants and underwear together down your body, exposing you to him fully. You bit your lip, your heart racing, hands instinctively covering yourself. He ran his hands over your legs until they met between your thighs, his thumbs gently running over your sensitive, wet slit.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly.

“Do what?” You were still panting for breath, not yet recovered from your first orgasm.

“Look insecure,” he said. “Like you’re not the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He freed himself from his flight suit with one of his hands, covering his cock with your wetness. Your breath hitched at the sight of him, on his knees in front of you, one hand on his hard length and the other against your entrance.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” his voice was thick with want. You nodded. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Din lined himself up with your entrance, notching himself against you before leaning over you so your chest was against his, one of his hands cradling your head. You could feel his eyes on yours through the helmet and the thrumming, desperate need in you grew. You took a shaky breath, gave him a nod and he slowly, softly, began to sink into you.

You groaned at the feel of it, the painfully pleasant stretch of him opening you inch by inch. It would have been overwhelming under any circumstance, the size of him alone reaching places in you you were certain no one else had ever touched as he pressed into you. But because it was him, his body inside and on top of yours, it was like something inside you broke open. Your heart ached with it. You needed to have him as close as possible - at least this close - as much as you could or you feared you’d go mad. You needed to be this full of him, have as much of him as your body could take.

Consciously, you knew it couldn’t have been long before he was fully inside you, his hips flush with yours, his forehead pressed against your own, both of you panting for breath, but it felt like it had been an eternity. Your hand went to the side of his helmet, holding him so you could look in his eyes and feel him there, too.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked. You could feel the head of him against your back wall, your core stretched to what felt like its limit around him.

“No,” you breathed. “Fuck, Din…”

He pulled back from you slowly, until only half of him remained, his eyes locked on yours before he thrust into you again. Your breaths picked up and he did it again, a little faster this time, a little harder.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groaned, pressing harder into you this time instead of pulling further back, working his hips and cock down into you instead. You moaned, keening below him, arching your back into him. “It’s like you were made for me, never felt anything…”

He pressed harder into you and put one hand between your bodies to your clit, making you groan as your body tightened again. You worked your hips against his, your hands sliding into the flight suit to his back to hold him closer. He was inside you, making you so stretched and full and yet you couldn’t get enough of him. You needed him in your skin, your blood, needed him in a way you’d never needed anything else.

“I need to feel you cum when I’m inside you,” one of his hands moved to your leg, pulling it tightly to his side, his fingers roaming over your flesh. “Tell me what you need, Doll. Tell me anything, I’ll give you anything…”

“Harder,” you managed, panting for breath. “You won’t hurt me, I trust you…”

He seemed happy to oblige, all but pinning you to the ship with the force of his body against yours, his hips nearly knocking the air out of you with each long, deep stroke. One of his hands came to your face again, holding your head still as his forehead met yours again, his fingers tangling in your hair as he clung to you. Your body grew tighter, more tense, a spring coiled to its breaking point.

“Din,” you gasped. “I’m going to…”

You came with a strangled cry, your back arching, and you felt him press into you and go still, his cock throbbing deep inside. His head dropped to your chest with a moan as he panted for breath and you went slack beneath him.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before he slowly separated from you, sliding himself from your drained body and all but collapsing beside you. The air was cool on your naked skin but you didn’t care. You wouldn’t have moved from your place beside him for all the warmth in the galaxy.

He was still panting for breath beside you when he rolled onto his side, a hand sliding slowly over your chest, cupping each breast, his thumb gently running over your nipples, before sliding down your body to your overwrought slit. His finger slowly circled your still sensitive clit.

“Din,” you whimpered.

“Remember how I said we needed to make up for lost time?” He said softly. You nodded weakly. “I owe you three years worth of orgasms, Doll, and I know you can give me one more.”

He pressed a little firmer on your clit and you groaned, reaching for his cock, but he stopped you.

“This isn’t about me,” he said, putting your hand on your chest. “This is about you. Understand?” You nodded. “Good girl.”

His fingers slipped lower and two slid inside your pleasantly sore center, working you slowly and gently as your third orgasm slowly built. It was soft, delicate, Din working your body as though he were an expert musician and you were his instrument of choice.

“That’s it, Cyare,” he breathed. “You’re so close, I can feel it. Just give in to it. I’ve got you, it’s OK. You’re doing so well, just let go…”

You groaned, body all but giving out as you came again, the pulsing in you weak and languid as your limbs went loose and numb.

“That’s my girl,” he said gently, his fingers still inside you. He waited to slide them out of you until you turned onto your side, reaching for him. He pulled your body against his own, reaching over you to pull the cloak up and over your naked frame. You’d almost forgotten that it was chilly in the night air until he did. Your arm went over him, sliding into the flight suit to go around his waist and your fingers could be against his skin. You held each other like that for a while, sleep threatening to take you under before you were ready to give in to it.

“Did you mean what you said before?” You managed, your eyes closed, unable to keep them open anymore. “That you wanted me with you?”

“More than anything, Cyare.”

You smiled a little at that. His metal forehead touched yours.

“What does that mean?” You managed, worried the words were coming out as mush you were so exhausted. “You keep calling me that but I don’t know what it means…”

“Cyare?” He asked.

“Mmm.”

“Beloved,” he said softly, his finger stroking your cheek. “It means beloved.”

#fanfic #smut fic #mandalorian fanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader

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bedlamsbard · 1 month

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how the FUCK am I supposed to change the lightbulbs on the twenty-foot ceilings in this apartment????

ALL of the overhead lights in this apartment are like this. (there are a handful of hanging lights that I can change myself.) I understand that there's some kind of grippy lightbulb changer suction cup or basket on a pole you can get at Lowe's or Amazon but a lot of these lights aren't normally recessed, they're beneath covers. And a lot of them are already burned out. (I can also tell that several have normal bulbs behind the cover, which means they were replaced before with the wrong kind of lightbulbs -- the one in the laundry room has two regular bulbs, one burned out, and there's literally no way I can get at it. I'm not climbing on a sixteen-foot ladder, I will die.)

*dubiously* I guess this is what handymen are for. (I mean, in a college town I'm sure I can always hire an enterprising college student to do various things, but perhaps not for the lights. I'm sure one of them would buy my excess mattress, though.)

I'd honestly be willing to try the lightbulb changer on a pole, but I'm not sure I can physically manage it with all of these lights, and the ones behind covers (which includes both bathrooms and the laundry room) I definitely can't. Also I guess I'll send another plaintive text to my property manager. (I am still trying to figure out where trash goes.)

this is a recently renovated apartment, but it is immediately evident to me that the reno was designed by (a) a man who was (b) COMICALLY taller than me (not hard, I'm 5'2.5"), (c) probably left-handed, and (d) didn't actually cook much despite the nice kitchen. (I do have SUBSTANTIALLY more counter space than in the Decatur house, but it would actually be difficult not to have more counter space than in that house -- I dealt with it by having a kitchen cart.)

on the other hand, there are FIVE MILLION outlets in this apartment. so it has that going for it. literally, from where I am sitting in the not-quite-open plan kitchen/dining/living room I can see thirteen outlets and I know there are two more in the office nook (built-in desk!). on the third hand it is a second-story walk-up and if I'd known the stair situation I'm not sure I would have rented it. (I had a video tour but didn't realize the stair situation until I got here.) probably the restaurant below also has twenty-foot ceilings.

this is the kind of apartment that would be a few grand in a city (I looked up the rent for an equivalent apartment in Decatur and it was $3-5K a month), but this is small town South Dakota, so while it's more expensive than my duplex in Decatur, it's not actually that much more expensive, especially considering that it's larger, new appliances, washer/dryer, 2 full bathrooms, and parking. also I wanted an apartment that made me feel like a Real Adult Professor and not a graduate student, especially if I had to live in rural South Dakota. (As I have bitched about endlessly, I didn't want to leave Atlanta and I didn't want to leave the Deep South; I'm one of the people who actually wants to live in the South (apparently rare? at least of people I know at my previous institution who were all like 'I don't know how I ended up here') and I do expect to go back on the market in an attempt to move back, TT job or not, unless I absolutely fall in love with this school/town. though if I absolutely hate living here, I can move to one of the nearby cities and commute (there's one half an hour away over the state line, and one an hour away in the same state). but like, I wanted to stay in the South and the universe said the best it could do was South Dakota.

but also jesus. this light situation makes me nervous. I do own floor lamps (because the Decatur house actually had terrible lighting), but come on, man. also I haven't yet found where I packed the cover for one of the floor lamps. I also can't find the bulbs for my regular non-floor lamps. found the bulbs for one of my floor lamps because they take E12 chandelier bulbs and they were packed in one of my 'random things' boxes. I will be unpacking for...a while.

#your girl

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accio-victuuri · 1 year

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excerpts from this article made by the styling director (Zhao Yige) of One and Only “The styling analysis of OnO is finally here!”

When I received the script, I also received an extremely detailed biography, which covered the personality traits and growth experiences of all the characters. Street dance is a field that I have never explored before. Seeing the mental journey of these characters, I feel like I have got a key, opening up the imagination of each character in an orderly manner. In the early preparations, my team and I did a lot of desk work, checked many videos of hip-hop competitions, movies, variety shows, etc., and also visited some domestic B-boy dancers for in-depth understanding. I also found Liao Bo, the host of the hip-hop competition, and learned about some hip-hop competition formats, rules and dress requirements for different dance types, etc., and cleared up many conceptual misunderstandings. I am very grateful for his help.

The styling plan for this film is divided into two layers: life and dreams.

The life part is mainly centered on Chen Shuo. This part of the group portraits of the characters should have a realistic temperament close to the market, conform to some settings of the characters in the script but should not be over-shaped, on the one hand, choose low-saturated colors in the clothing color system and with natural texture.

The closest people to Chen Shuo are his mother, uncle, and Brother Xie, followed by the scope of his daily life, such as the neighbors of the vegetable market he visits every day, and other people he comes into contact with in the working area. The most important of these is Chen Shuo’s family. Family of three. For the description of these three people, we did not deliberately exaggerate the embarrassment in the lives of the "little people" - the clothes are old but not dirty. Although there is a certain grayness in the overall clothing tone in this part of the processing, what is conveyed from the state of the characters is not bitter and depressing, but a flat and warm feeling.

The dream part revolves around Ding Lei, the exclamation mark and the stage of the three games. The feeling conveyed by "Dream" is youthful and high-spirited. The director hopes that the audience can see a group of bright and energetic people, so this part will be rich in clothing color selection and matching, and then use some emphases to shape different character personalities.

1. Chen Shuo (played by Wang Yibo)

In the early stages of preparation, I was still a little worried about not being able to turn Wang Yibo into Chen Shuo. Yibo has a superior figure and belongs to the "clothes rack" who can wear everything decently, while Chen Shuo's scenes are all about the current time, space and situations, not overhead living spaces and distant character settings. We made a lot of subtractions on Chen Shuo’s overall look. On the one hand ; The layering method and oversize silhouette dressing (loose clothes will cause movement ), the matching should be as simple as possible.

At the same time , we also refer to the dressing habits of most B-boys, such as: sweatpants, light fabric overalls, simple T-shirts, etc., which are convenient for dancers to wear single item. Judging from Chen Shuo's living situation, there is no distinction between dance training clothes and daily private clothes in terms of clothing function. The styles of these two parts should be unified. In order to add texture to the traces of life, the distressed artist washes and exposes the clothes repeatedly until they fade. In addition, the effect of Chen Shuo's worn parts of clothing due to his dancing habits as a B-boy and the details of the outer edge of the soles caused by a lot of training have also been enhanced.

In terms of hairstyle, Chen Shuo has neat short hair, the feeling that he could have trimmed it in a barber shop near the Lamai restaurant. In terms of technique, the hair stylists of the crew were required to try not to remove the volume of the hair, nor to trim the layers, but to use more insensitivity to the hair, so as to present the image of a young boy with no sense of modification.

After the makeup trial, the director discussed with us several times, and finally removed several sets of light-colored matching in the plan. The overall feeling of the dark-colored clothing can make Chen Shuo more pure and restrained, and condense love in the heart instead of externalizing it.

Apart from dancing and commercial performances, Chen Shuo is also busy with making a living and running around to deliver meals. He lacks the sophistication of urban young people. Therefore, in the state of Yibo's full makeup, we also processed the skin texture and added some special effects of noise, graininess, and sun exposure to get closer to Chen Shuo's daily life. In terms of character background, Chen Shuo is still a boy with love in his heart and his spirit has not been broken.

Chen Shuo’s costume style doesn’t change much throughout the film (except for the special costumes for the two battles). As the plot progresses, his growth mainly takes place inside the soul and the energy generated needs to be maintained within the logic of the story. Consistency of character status .

#wang yibo #chen shuo #one and only movie #accio victuuri translation #YOU KNOW WHAT IM HAPPY THEY LEFT HIS FLUFFY HAIR #it would give a different vibe if he had that military hair going on

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