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guiltyasdave · 10 months ago

Text

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

#fic: wildest dreams #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york smut #pedrostories #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dbf!dave york

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moviemandyy · 1 year ago

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source: dailywencIair on twt

I think about this a lot.

How Enid puts SO MUCH effort into trying to befriend Wednesday (this scene, the snoods, attempting to shop with Wednesday for a dress) that's why their "breakup" scene hits so hard. Cause Enid HAS been trying and constantly gets shut down by Wednesday.

Enid always respects this decision of course but that doesn't mean it's not still tedious to have your (self-proclaimed) "best friend" not really make an attempt to hang out or get to know you.

That's why she's so happy when Wednesday invites her for a girls night out 🥲

So when Enid has had enough, she leaves. And Wednesday wasn't expecting this AT ALL. She just thought she'd always be there but Enid as a person is not a pushover. She knows her worth (she struggles with it but she knows at the end of the day she is worthy of good). So when she's disrespected and hurt by Wednesday's actions she'd rather get away from it than continue to let herself be hurt by her. (good on Enid for that btw 💪 know your self-worth)

Wednesday then has to sit with that realization and it genuinely hurts her. She has to deal with this loss and the consequences of her actions, and for once, "it doesn't feel good." (ep6) Which is why it's an amazing showcase that is detrimental to her character development.

To Enid's as well but moreso Wednesday for the fact, the show is about her 💀 but we do still get a really interesting moment of Enid's character development.

Enid did feel bad for what happened as she comes to understand their friendship isn't worth losing over this quarrel. Plus, she's tired of letting others defining her worth (again Enid knows she deserves better but she does struggle with it because of her mom)

So that moment where she confronts Wednesday to tell her she's no longer going to apologize for being herself is really great for her own growth :)

The "breakup" & reconciliation moment is just really pivotal in steering both girls in the right direction for their respective arcs and in intertwining the two together to really build on the foundation of their friendship…into a romance >:)) that's why we have the great makings of a slow burn hehe (and don't get me started on the hug scene 🤭)

hi, I went on a long tangent but can you tell i like wenclair and think about them a normal amount 🫶

#wenclair #cherry rants #my screencaps #wednesday #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wednesday netflix

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hillbillyoracle · 8 months ago

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So you want to print and distribute a free zine...

I wanted to throw together a short tutorial on how I print zines using this excellent COVID safety zine by @newlevant as an example.

Printing

First make sure you are clicking on the printable file. When you open it, it should look slightly jumbled. I always look for seeing the front cover and the back cover on the same page.

Then click "print" (usually a printer icon) and open "more settings".

The key things people tend to get wrong when they try printing zines is they forget to make sure that it is double sided and flips on the short edge. If you tried printing one and it came out looking wonky, make sure to check this.

Also, it will make your life infinitely easier if you use the collate option should you have it available to you.

Fit to printable area is a helpful setting to have on if you're printing zines who use a different paper standard than you. This zine didn't for me but I leave this on out of habit.

When you've got this all set up - print as many copies as you want to assemble.

Assembling

When you get them out of the printer they'll look like this. Just a big old stack. I highly recommend parsing out each individual copy before you try assembling any. I have made that mistake before.

This is how I stack mine.

I like to leave the cover side up as it makes for a clearer division as I'm assembling.

As you're flipping through these to parse and stack them, check them over for any issues with printing. I ran out of printer toner on the first three so I'm glad I checked.

Imperfections are fine but you're looking for anything that makes critical information unreadable.

To assemble a copy, get them lined up by tapping them on the table along a short and a long edge.

Both hands is a lot easier but I was trying to take a picture lol

Then fold them hamburger style and smooth down the spine as best you can. If you have a bone folder or similar use that.

Again, let go of perfection. We are looking for good enough here. Minor errors here should not make info unreadable so don't sweat the small stuff.

I recommend doing all your folding in one go to prevent errors. Or at least it really helps me.

Now it's time to staple. You will see my fancy stapler in the background - you do not require it and I would not recommend it. Unhinging a normal stapler is way easier to use in my opinion and this one gets jammed fairly easy. Use what you've got.

If you don't have staples, but you do have sewing supplies - check out this tutorial for a way to bind it with thread.

If you have no staples and no thread, you don't have to staple every zine. Smaller ones (~5 pages or less) do fine with no staple. They can be a little tougher for some people to use and don't hold up as well being taken in and out of places so I would consider that when thinking of where to leave them. They're still well worth printing and putting out.

This zine is small enough that one staple in the center should be enough to keep it together.

I opted to staple in two places - one about an inch in from either edge - mostly out of habit. It does add a little stability and will make them a little better for putting in Little Free Libraries and other places where they'll be removed and placed back.

Here is my partner looking over the zines to make sure my stapling didn't cut off any important information in each copy. It's a little tedious but it's pretty important. A quick flip through can mean the difference between someone getting the info you want them to have or not.

And here's the finished product

I made 15. I'm pretty privileged and have been making zines for over a decade now so it's almost like knitting or crochet for me. Feel free to make fewer copies or just one for yourself. It still counts.

I will stick some in each car and my bag. I have some medical appointments coming up so I will for sure be leaving some of these in the waiting room.

I'm also going to keep an eye out for Little Free Libraries and other place where people are looking for something to read. I might also toss some on the tables of a coffee shop I pop into sometimes (masked, take out only) and the library to pick up books (also masked).

I tend not to give them to specific people, even people I know, because people are way more open to information they've picked up themself than something it feels like someone is pressuring them to read. But if people bring it up in conversation, I'll be sure to offer a copy to anyone who is interested.

Hope this is helpful!

Go out there and print!

#zine #COVID #long COVID #self publishing #activism

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komoboko · 1 year ago

Text

𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ; 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

ft: Gyomei Himejima, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Obanai Iguro, Giyu Tomioka, Mitsuri Kanroji, Muichiro Tokito, Kyojuro Rengoku, shinobu Kocho, Tengen Uzui・romantic but can be read as platonic for some characters ・modern au?

merry christmas and happy holidays ! also the title rythms horrai

# gyomei ! ☆

GYOMEI who much rather stay inside then venture out in the cold during the holidays. Not that he minds the outdoors, but something just draws him back into his estate. The man's perfectly fine with staying warm by the fireplace and making warm cups of hot chocolate or tea while sitting close and holding you in his embrace.

# Sanemi ! ☆

He doesn't like to admit it but unlike many of the hashira beside him, SANEMI'S body temperature runs cold. Just Sanemi who doesn't like to admit he likes when you wrap your arms around him when you get to warm from the pile of blankets wrapped around the two of you. Sanemi who would rather die before telling you on those nights he curls closer towards you to.

# Obanai ! ☆

OBANAI who for some strange reason avoids going outside during the winter season like it's the plague. Sometimes it makes you think that he and kabumaru are more similar than you think, but he scarifies his hate for the sake of your joy. Who lets you drag him outside into the snow to make snow angels together while Kabumaru looks like he's laughing at him from the windowsill inside of the estate.

# Giyu ! ☆

With how much time he stays alone by himself, sometimes you think GIYU hates the holidays. So out of pure curiosity and a little annoyance you storm into his estate to give him a little holiday cheer. Bringing him gifts and presents was worth to see a proper smile spread across his face. Giyu who didn't realize you thought he hated the holidays, but doesn't mind as long as you come back around to see him again.

# Mitsuri ! ☆

MITSURI always make sure to set up her own traditions just with you once the holiday season comes by. She always makes the time so you two can bake holiday treats together no matter if they come out bad or not. It may be the most atrocious thing you've ever seen but Mitsuri will treasure the treat like it's the greatest item made by mankind.

# Muichiro ! ☆

It's not a surprise that you have to remind MUICHIRO about the holidays. Even though you might have to jog his memory about the season, he still finds a way to meet your expectations. While his memory may be faulty, he can still remember your smile when he showed up to your home with gifts in his hand.

# Kyojuro ! ☆

KYOJURO unlike his dear friend sanemi seems to never get cold. This may be a curse during hot summer nights but it can be a blessing during the cold winter days. You remind yourself this when your taken by surprise when rengoku takes your hands in his shifting his body closer to you as you continue walking. A subtle way to make sure you still stay warm in this winter season.

# Shinobu ! ☆

Something both you and SHINOBU love doing is decorating the christmas tree inside the butterfly mansion. She loves knowing how well you get along with the butterfly girls as she watches you help them bring more ornaments to the tree, she can't help but wrap her arms around you bringing you into a tight hug as Kanao puts the star onto the top of the tree.

# Uzui ☆ !

UZUI is always the person who does the absolute most whenever christmas comes around the corner. Who sadly recruits you into the tedious project of wrapping the outside of his estate in bright christmas lights and many more decorations you didn't even want to look at. You brace yourself for when he turns on all the lights on as his arms crash into you and a "thank you" kiss lands right onto your cheek.

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thewritetofreespeech · 5 months ago

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Could I request Astarion with a s/o who's skilled at geomancy?

Astarion x Reader

“What in Gods name is all this?” Astarion asked, coming over to [Y/N] for some attention, because he was bored, and found them scribbling on slips of paper with numbers like a mad person.

“Oh! It’s my geomancy!” They told him. Their bright smile, usually a comfort, somehow unsettling with the crazed doodling and ink all over their fingers.

“Geo-what?”

“Geomancy.” They repeated. “It’s a sort of scrying technique using numbers to help someone divine the future.” Oh. So some silly magician, cleric nonsense, Astarion thought. “I’m a little nervous about where we should go next, so I thought I’d ‘check the math on it’.”

“Hmm…well, you can certainly ask your numbers all you like. I prefer to work on instinct. Gut feeling. It’s never let me down before.” Or, at least, not let him down in a way he could remember as Astarion preferred to forget all failures as if they never happened. “How does it even work anyway?”

They explained the concept, but Astarion still didn’t get it. “Why don’t you just show me, love?” He told them. “Tell me what my glorious future will be and I’ll determine if this…geomanic thing is worth all the trouble.”

“…Geomancy…” [Y/N] corrected.

Astarion decided that this is an incredibly tedious manner of craft. Honestly, by the time he’d gone through all the lines, the number blocking, putting it on the chart, Astarion had practically forgotten his question. “Ok! We’re done.”

“Finally…” He muttered, but still slid over to see what the results were. “So, what does my fortune hold?”

“This says your outcome in Fortuna Major. Wow! That’s great! It means good fortune.”

“So, I will be fortunate after all. Like I always suspected.” Astarion cooed. He didn’t need a silly math problem to tell me that.

“Well…it just means that the likelihood of your question coming true is high. Though you’re supposed to think of a yes or no question, it doesn’t really give ‘yes or no’ answers. Just the potentially possibility of a yes or a no.”

Astarion had to stop and think of his questions when he was writing this silly chart out. The mind-numbing task of tallying almost bleeding it out of his ears. Then he finally remembered. He had thought ‘Will we be together forever’. A joke, he thought. More making fun of the whole cosmic concept of this silly game. But now, looking at the paper, he had to wonder…hope…if it might not be worth something.

“Seems like a waste of perfectly good ink and paper.” He told them out loud. “But, if you’re happy, I’m happy. You have fun with your little scribbles, my love.” He kissed their head and got up to go find his own amusement.

But…he had to wonder. If the stars wouldn’t align for them, maybe the numbers would.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate imagine #baldurs gate scenarios #bg3 imagine #bg3 scenarios

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sketch-guardian · 4 months ago

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Both Angel and RAD classmates learning very early on that Mc saying “fuck it” or some variation of “fuck it” as in “fuck it we ball” “chucked/chucking it into the fuck it bucket” means something horrible is gonna happen not to them but some poor asshole of a demon they hear it and just slowly turn there heads to Mc before all hell breaks loose and Mc has a demon in a choke hold cussing them,their mother,their grandmother,their sister their great grandma etc basically Mc being a menace and not giving a single f if the demon or whoever is several heads taller and bigger they will win

I like how your MC wakes up every morning and chooses violence😂but considering what they're forced to endure every day, I'd say it's the least that can happen🙈I'll do my best to write good headcanons, sorry for the delay by the way😥:

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A MC WHO IS A MENACE"

DEMYA

Demya is quite the troublemaker and unlikely to back down from a challenge, so if she ever got into a fight, she would more than willingly fight tooth and nail, with adrenaline pumping through her veins, someone would just have to check she doesn't give a few too many bites. Being probably as much of a menace as MC, Demya would immediately understand from their words, almost as if they were a signal/warning, that a mess was about to break out and would rush to cheer for MC, finding their fighting style quite attractive, after all in her culture, flirting was mainly about showing off strength to prove oneself worthy as a mate. Demya would only intervene aggressively if MC was in trouble, even growling, but otherwise, she would congratulate them on their victory, exchanging a few hugs and kisses, especially on any bruises or scars. Furthermore, it's likely that they would escape before suffering any consequences, giggling like crazy

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra isn't considered a delinquent without a reason, he sometimes gets into trouble and beatings with other annoying demons wouldn't necessarily be new, although he tries to be careful and avoid fighting with Mobim nearby, as the little curse would not approve and get scared. Domnra would immediately sense from MC's exclamations that a fight would break out soon and for once, both for fun and to release tension, Domnra would decide with a pointed smile to join MC in the fight, coordinating like a team, as partners in crime, while Mobim, safely on the sidelines, would cover its eye, clearly in distress, not wanting anyone to get hurt. It's likely that Domnra and MC would then end up in detention, together with Mobim, who would need lots of comfort, but it would be worth it in the end

AZUL

Azul is a chatterbox more than anything, an extrovert who loves attention and entertainment, although he has his quiet days due to his mood swings, so he wouldn't be a problematic student per se, apart from stupid jokes or moments of carelessness. If someone were to provoke MC, usually Azul, in order to avoid involving them and getting them into trouble, would roll up his sleeves, saying something like "I'm sorry dear, but I have to go and make a scene-" before publicly humiliating the other demon, making them lose the will to be seen around Devildom. At MC's first warning and swears, Azul would be slightly confused, thinking it was just their way of expressing themselves, but as soon as the fight broke out, he would let out a whistle and grimace at the sight of some blows, obviously rooting for MC. In the end, Azul would say that he found their attitude badass and that he wouldn't mind witnessing it again, as long as it doesn't bother their health too much. Azul would put some cute band-aids on MC's wounds as well

ZURI

Zuri is a reserved and diligent student in class, she doesn't speak often so conflicts are quite rare, however when they do happen, they are mostly resolved either through words or hypnotic powers in particularly tedious cases. MC would give Zuri a huge headache, not only due to their bad language, but also because of their tendency to get into physical fights with other demons. Not only MC would risk getting hurt, but also ruin their clothes and pay the consequences of their actions. If the situation degenerated greatly, Zuri would intervene with her hypnotic ability to ward off the offending demon and then, despite herself, she would try to put in a good word with the teachers for MC, to prevent them from getting into further trouble. Once home Zuri would criticize MC's recklessness while tending to their wounds, she would even raise an eyebrow, asking in exasperation if it was all part of a plan to impress her. Although it might result quite repetitive, Zuri would point out to MC that she won't always be able to be there to defend them if needed, so they should try to manage such outbursts better during lessons. Zuri would let out a soft praise if she noticed MC actually wanting her approval that badly

ODON

Odon technically, given their age, shouldn't even be in RAD, however there is always time to learn new things, it is also a strategy to try to meet more people and make new friends. The swears shouted by MC to another demon that they apparently are about to beat up would leave Odon slightly astonished, but they would not necessarily intervene, especially because a single glare from the eldritch abomination would be enough for the demon to back down. Odon would smile in a innocent way, but in the eyes of others they would still look like a murderer due to their big grin, making the demon in question regret all their life choices and beg MC for mercy. It wouldn't happen very often for MC to get involved in combat, considering Odon's reputation, but either way, they would show care in treating any wounds and wouldn't meddle too much in MC's affairs if they don't feel like talking, Odon would find MC's menacing nature by the way pretty endearing, except for the foul language almost used as a summoning circle

REMIEL

Remiel is a curious, innocent angel, such vocabulary does not belong to her and if not required for the sake of balance then she tries to avoid violence, usually resorting to words and deeds, furthermore seeing an upset angel of death would be both rare and disturbing, so many demons wouldn't be willing to risk it, despite her tender and somber appearance. Remiel wouldn't know many swear words, so at the beginning she wouldn't understand that MC is predicting the arrival of a disaster, over time she would learn to make the association between exclamations and facts, then she would gently try to dissuade MC from fighting, especially if the demon was sincere about their will to redeem themselves. MC's would also slightly remind Remiel of her uncle, Strife, due to their quirky personality

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel is extremely calm and docile, so much so that he is often mistaken for a statue, otherwise he's pretty chill and would let out a soft tired sigh at MC's swears, already expecting the worst from them. At the start of the fight, Nathaniel would watch the scene shrugging his shoulders and whistling as if nothing had happened if someone asked him to intervene, being an angel, in case MC had the worst, only in that case would Nathaniel get involved in the fight, blocking those directly involved from beating each other, even offering alternative solutions to the conflict, like a teacher or monk passing on his life lessons. Nathaniel's tested patience would be unnerving to see

URIEL

If you think Uriel would intervenes by seeing MC beating a demon senseless with the intent of stopping them, then you are very wrong. Uriel sometimes still feels resentment/prejudice towards demons, so she would be proud to see MC in action fighting one with their bare hands, a clear sign of their abilities, however she would not approve of such profanities expressed before the mess, finding them blasphemous, unnecessary and an offense against the doctrine of the Celestial Realm. Uriel would probably justify MC's actions and think about improving their technique or catchphrase. If the situation got out of hand, Uriel would obviously intervene with her sword to defend MC

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cheersyouslxg · 1 year ago

Text

╰┈➤ 💀 Ghost 💀 Word count: 2k ish? ┆ ┆ MDNI - 18+┆ ┆ »»———- "I like you in those clothes, but I think I’d like you better in nothing at all." ———-««

»»———- ”I just can’t control myself around you… especially when you’re wearing that”———-«« Triggers: Smut, mentions of ghosts past (trauma and SA briefly) ⊹ Comments, feedback, thoughts and reblogs are encouraged! ⊹

He didn’t come home for long, so any time you were able to spend with him was cherished. Even if he wasn’t always the most affectionate, it was impossible not to tell that Ghost had his own ways of showing his adoration for you. All it took was an open mind and some patience to start noticing the little gems of his appreciation.

Touch had always been a trigger for him for something you didn’t know the origin of. All you knew was that his past was a haunted house of memories he did not wish to ever open the door on… so you left it alone, already knowing the doorknob would not budge if you even tried. It was better to ignore in the long run anyways, less of a chance to hurt your feelings as if you thought of yourself higher than Ghost’s opinion. He didn’t trust people easily… That was all you needed to know- all you were allowed to know. You had also learned very quickly that touching him without warning was a sure fire way of having him shut down and exit the room you were in.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t touch you… No, he enjoyed it very much. It was just another factor reminding him the already obvious sentiment that he had every right to you. You trusted him wholly, completely, and in some futile attempt to gain his trust- you put out every green flag you had in your arsenal to scream at him that you had no plans to hurt him or break the trust you asked for. It was a snail race but a race you had no intention of not finishing. Eventually, you would prove to him that you were worthy of letting into his life further.

In the meantime, you were content to continue planting your seeds, brick by brick building the foundation of this relationship. When he was gone, you waited for him to return, picking up the habit of sleeping in his clothing to trick your brain into thinking he was next to you in bed as the scent of his shirts mingled in the sheets you had been forced to wash far too long than recommended but you couldn’t bare the thought of your bed not smelling like him. When he was home, you loved every second he spent with you, even if it wasn’t the most ideal relationship to others. You knew he was trying. That was enough.

He’d been home for a week, but you still found his shirt to replace your day clothes after your shower. Besides it being compulsory, you had every intention of once again convincing your boyfriend to touch you, to have the hardened stare of a ghost melt when ogling over your frame. It wasn’t hard to do, but the effort was worth it even if he’d have you bent over the kitchen table on any given day wearing a potato sack. It was a dress which fell just past your backend, teasing the only other person in the house with a peek of your rump when you lifted your arms too much. Underneath were panties he favored for the little fabric covering what was rightfully his to have. To say you were prepared to face the consequences of your own actions was absolutely right. In fact, you were counting on submitting to these consequences.

His eyes immediately snapped to the silent entrance from the bathroom to the bedroom. It was impossible to sneak up on him, and you’d given up on trying long ago. It only assisted how safe you felt in your home, especially when he was there to protect you. He was already in bed, prepared to look for a movie you both could watch together (well, mostly you. He never enjoyed movies much. They were always so tedious in his opinion. But being next to you in the same room was enough to stare at a screen for two hours.). You climbed in next to him, noting the way his eyes lingered over the drifting fabric of his shirt over your thighs, flashing him as you got comfortable underneath the covers. He wasn’t the only one who had learned how to read expressions… and with the mask his eyes were all you had to go off of.

“Whatcha thinking tonight? Comedy? Thriller?” You snatched the remote from the bedside table, loading Netflix onto the screen while he shrugged. You already knew his answer, and you chimed in as well as he said, ‘Whatever you want.’ His gaze locked the side of your face, and you turned to give him a cheeky smile. His brow raised, nodding slowly.

“Alright, alright…” He mumbled, reaching for your hand to retrieve the device. “I’ll pick then, yeah?” The normally dead tone in his voice was resurrected with a dry sarcasm, only pulling the corners of your lips into a bigger grin.

“Oh, I dunno… What if I don’t like what you pick, Si? Doubt you know any good genres with how little you spend watching films. It’s all I do, so I have good taste.”

He looked unimpressed with your answer, leaning in closer. Still with the remote in his hand, he pinched the fabric of your shirt with a soft tug, eyes flicking down and back up. “I like you in those clothes, but I think I’d like you better in nothing at all. What does that say about my taste, lovie?” He whispered. You swallowed, the butterflies he’d grown in your belly since the first night you met him flaring up and beating their wings against its walls.

“Smells like you. I wear them when you’re gone.” Your voice had dropped to the same octave as his, glancing down to the mask covering his lips. He hummed, head dipping in an acknowledging nod.

“Well, I’m here now. You don’t need it.” the remote was dropped somewhere in the mess of sheets, his hand purchasing the hem of the shirt and sliding up your thigh. Warmth flooded your body, whining softly as it slid over your hip, the other coming to collect the opposite side and lift it up and over your head. You didn’t fight it, wanting the shirt to find home on the floor since you put it on your body. As much as you craved the heat against your palms, you refrained yet from touching him, clutching the sheets beside you.

“Lift your mask. Please, I want a kiss.” As close as you could inch without touching him, you did, pleading with a begging gaze that met his own once he moved his attention from your bare chest to your eyes.

Brown eyes narrowed only slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Gimme a kiss then.” Ghost’s head tilted back, exposing his neck further to allow you to (very carefully) curl the mask over his mouth. You never touched flesh until leaning in to meet his lips, melting into his touch as he pulled your hips closer into him. In all the best ways he reminded you how much he desired you while being the one to always initiate contact. He wanted you with every fiber of his being, and he expressed that every chance he felt comfortable to do so.

He was a gentle lover at heart, never wanting to ever have to take responsibility for hurting you in ways that so many had hurt him. He’d mentioned briefly something in his past resulting in having issues with hurting you in any way. It was endearing the way he went into detail to explain how if he ever went too far to tell him immediately and he would stop. That had never happened, and you were sure it never would, especially with how eager he was to take hold of the back of your thigh and guide you onto your back and invite himself between your legs. His kiss never ceased, only moving from your lips across your jaw and down your neck. Each kiss sparked another, more hungry one until his mouth was a burning fire roaring across your melting, willing flesh to be devoured by him.

It almost surprised you when he reached for your hand, circling your wrist gently as he gave attention to your chest with chaste kisses, guiding your fingertips to his shoulder. This was his way of silently giving permission to touch him. You’d learned his weak spots, placing he tended to freeze up when you attempted to touch there, and these spots were where you avoided. His shoulders were a neutral zone, though treading lower towards his ribs was diving straight into red where he would immediately withdraw the moment was ruined. You’d only had to make that mistake once to never do it again. Instead, you dug your nails into corded muscle as his mouth circled your nipple, tongue laving over the hardening bud. He knew the whine you emitted would come, knowing you better than you knew yourself and how to make you come undone under his touch. His hips were greedily seeking friction against dampened fabric, grinding his bulge covered in sweatpants with a muffled groan.

A hand smoothed over the back of his neck, slowly moving to not spook him as you kept his mouth on your breast. “God, please, Simon…” you moaned hotly, rolling your hips with as much enthusiasm as he offered, gritting your teeth as he chuckled. Of course it could never be that easy… He was nothing if not a massive fucking tease. One hand rolled your nipple not assaulted by his lips between his fingers, the other trailing slowly round your thigh to curl around the fabric resting against your hips, tugging at the material to prompt you to lift your hips and discard them.

“S’not fair, Si…” you whined, completely nude in front of him when he still was fully clothed, praying tonight wasn’t an evening when he decided to not let you see him in all his painfully well-built glory. Control was something he enjoyed thoroughly. Leaving you vulnerable while he removed nothing more than his cock from his pants was a way in which he gained a tighter grip on the situation.

Tonight he pitied your sweet cries, pulling away from your chest long enough to discard the fabric on his shoulders. Each time it was marvel just how much of his flesh was adorned with raised scar tissue. You’d spend hours kissing each one if he would have allowed you, though you knew better than to explore too far from the safe zones. Nails dragged slowly across his shoulders, reaching as far as you could across his back only to retreat and begin again. Never would you waste a chance to feel him more intimately.

It didn’t take much more whining and begging from you to have Ghost fully nude with bodies pressed tightly together as you welcomed him between your legs. With his long distant missions ranging from a week to months, his resolve lasted only as long as any man’s would with a prolonged period of abstinence keeping them from their partner. His girth stretched you deliciously every single time he had his way with you, hot needy whimpers spurring him on as he offered you a few breaths to adjust to his size.

It was a short lived adjustment, his patience wearing thin with the urge to claim and mark what was his. Ghost praised each moan you gifted him with kisses and groping hands holding tightly to your hips as he drilled into you unabashedly. The neighbors down the block would know his name solely from your cries, wrapping your legs around his waist in a futile attempt to slow down his driving pace. Once Simon was set on his ways, it was impossible to deprive him of completion, especially when his eyes were clouded with lust.

”I just can’t control myself around you… especially when you’re wearing that” he murmured into your ear, hot breath fanning your neck he nipped and marked with indents of his teeth. It was a show of possession, something you would use again and again if you promised each consequence to equal the pleasure building in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck, Si, please….” Each beg drove his rhythm faster and deeper almost as if he was intent to splinter the bed beneath you. Rough hands sought your thighs, lifting your legs how he wished towards your chest to offer him a better position to fill you further, dragging his cock repeatedly within your walls, hitting every mark no man could ever dream of replicating. Simon was one of a kind, the only one who could make you feel so dirty yet so adored at once.

“That’s it… good girl… squeeze my cock just like that.” Ghost’s voice rasped, stalling thrusts announcing how close he was to finishing. His hand dipped between your bodies becoming one, thumb feathering against your swollen bundles of nerves to make sure you came before he did. You couldn’t recall a time where you didn’t cum before Simon unless it was a punishment for acting like a brat… But even so, you were never left unsatisfied. “Almost there, little bunny? I want you to cum for me. You can do that for me, eh? I know you can.” His smirk was heard within his cocky drawl, eyes hidden from your view as he marked your chest with blooming flowers of purple.

He overwhelmed every sense and nerve within your body, the tight bundle of pressure inflating and driving you up towards the crest. When he spoke again you were thrusted over the edge with a single command, his husked tone and lips meeting yours to inhale your moans of pleasure sending you in a spiral. You came, and he was soon to follow, just like he always was. He was there through it all, soothing your spasming body with an ear full of praises and gentle caresses down your thighs. As you came down from your high you made a mental note to wear his clothing more often.

#💀 ghost 💀#ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost smut #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod mwii #simon riley smut #simon riley #ghost mw2 #call of duty imagine #call of duty fanfic

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callsign-mayhem · 2 years ago

Text

southern state of mind

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 2.7k

You and Jake are best friends, bonded by your hometown and love for line dancing. You take Bradley and Natasha into the city to a country and western bar and teach them to dance, and hopefully to make your move.

Y/CS - your call sign

Use of Y/N but no description of reader

A/N: I wrote this with the bar scene from Footloose (2011) in mind. Listen to ‘Fake ID’ by Big & Rich and Gretchen Wilson when you read the final scene.

The music was turned up deafeningly loud and your foot was against the floor and, in your opinion, it was the best way to drive anywhere. Nothing said summer like speeding down the highway at sunset with the roof of the Jeep off and the wind in your hair, and it was even better with company. Taking the top off your car was a somewhat tedious job and you’d enlisted Bradley and Jake’s help earlier that afternoon especially for your little road trip into the city. It had been well worth it as the vibes, to put it simply, were immaculate.

Obviously Jake had called shotgun before you’d even left your apartment but you didn’t really mind; he was one of the very few people who was allowed to have the aux cord in your car. Music had been one of the first things you’d bonded over. That and the fact that you were both from Austin.

Natasha and Bradley were sitting in the back sipping gin and tonic from a can, quite happy watching the world pass them by while you and Jake belted the lyrics to a Jason Aldean song. It had taken a long time for you to get to this point with Jake and you knew most of the squad still weren’t completely sold on him, but you were hoping tonight might help change that. You wanted them to see the side of him he seemed to save especially for you, hence why you were heading into the city to a country and western bar you’d found online. It was one of the rare weekends you were all free and after a lot of convincing, Bradley and Natasha had agreed to go with you.

You locked eyes with Bradley in the rearview mirror. He had his aviators perched precariously on the edge of his nose and when you stuck your tongue out at him, he winked at you. It was damn lucky you didn’t crash the fucking car.

You glanced away in embarrassment and continued your duet with Jake, desperately hoping that he hadn’t noticed the blush dusting the apples of your cheeks. Originally it was just going to be you and Hangman - a friend date if you will - but then he’d had the brainwave of inviting Bradley as a way of finding out if he reciprocated the feelings you had for him. Telling Jake about your crush was probably the worst decision you’d ever had the misfortune of making because he’d been coming up with creative ways to try and get you together ever since. There’d been a few times where you’d almost considered outing yourself just so Jake couldn’t. You agreed to his plan this time, hoping it would be the last time you ever had to, but you insisted on inviting Natasha too. For one, she was more fun on a night out than both the guys put together, but also because you couldn’t imagine spending time with just Jake and Bradley alone. It would be one big dick-swinging contest.

The sun was low in the sky, glinting off all the skyscrapers that made up the gorgeous San Diego skyline. Jake reached into the glove compartment and pulled out your own pair of aviators and you took them gratefully, trying to put them on one-handed. Instead of watching you struggle he snatched them back off you and put them on you himself, poking the tip of your nose once he was done. If you’d chanced a look in the rearview mirror at that moment you would have seen Bradley watching this exchange, eyes hidden behind his glasses again. The only thing that gave his annoyance away was the stubborn set of his jaw, but that was Bradley Bradshaw all over. For the most part, he kept his feelings bottled up until he couldn’t anymore, and then he’d explode when he least expected it.

You didn’t know it, but Bradley had been spending a lot of nights laying awake wondering if he should tell you how much he liked you, weighing out the pros and cons in his cluttered mind. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a coward, and he wasn’t hiding it from you because he was scared of rejection. In fact, the only reason he kept stopping himself from grabbing you and kissing you senseless was because of Hangman. The two of you weren’t officially dating (as far as anyone knew) but the way you interacted was more than suspicious. Guys and girls could be friends, he wasn’t that naive, but the way Jake looked at you made him wonder if he wanted it to be more than that.

As for the way you looked at Jake, Bradley wouldn’t know much about that. He didn’t like watching you too closely when the two of you were together, just in case your smile or your eyes gave you away and confirmed his worst fear.

When you finally arrived at the bar you made sure to park as close to the entrance as possible in case your friends decided to get absolutely shit-faced. Agreeing to be the designated driver had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time - you’d be hangover free in the morning and able to enjoy your Sunday outdoors instead of in bed with a huge headache - but now, as Bradley slung his arm around your shoulder lazily and pulled you into his side, you were kind of wishing you’d let him drive. Ever the gentleman, he’d offered to bring the Bronco so you could have a drink, but since it was your idea and you were going to be subjecting him to country music and line dancing all night, it only seemed fair that he be able to have a few beers.

Now you somehow needed to get through tonight without any Dutch courage.

The bar was packed wall to wall with people in denim shorts, flannel shirts, cowboy boots and hats. Being from Texas yourself, you could tell who was just trying to fit the aesthetic and who actually dressed like that on the daily. Natasha and Bradley’s mouths were hanging open as they surveyed the scene in front of them. You’d given Nat one of your gambler hats to wear for the night and it suited her well, but you hadn’t been able to convince Bradley to wear one.

‘Bet you’re regretting turning down my offer now, huh Bradshaw,’ you poked him in the side and he flinched, laughing raucously, ‘Feeling like the odd one out?’

Jake moved the toothpick he was chewing from one side of his mouth to the other and adjusted his own hat, ‘He made the right call. There’s no way he’d be able to pull it off.’

Bradley swiped the hat from your head and put it on, adjusting it so it sat right on his head. Jake scoffed but he was smiling so you knew he wasn’t really trying to insult Bradley, but he flipped him the bird anyway. You stopped in your tracks to get a better look at him. He was wearing a blue flannel over a white tank, 501s and a pair of brown cowboy boots, and the hat was the icing on top of an incredibly delicious looking cake. The hat suited him better than it did you.

‘You’re such an asshole,’ you told him, nudging him in the ribs. He laughed again and shoved you playfully, ‘Can you stop fucking bullying me, Y/N. First you tell me I’m the odd one out, and now you’re calling me an asshole for trying to fit in.’ ‘You’re an asshole because that hat looks better on you than it does on me, and I’ve been wearing it since I was fifteen years old.’ Natasha and Jake shared a knowing look, ‘We’re gonna go get some drinks.’

One of your favourite Dustin Lynch songs was playing and to prevent things from getting awkward after what you’d just said (idiot, idiot, idiot) you took Bradley by the hand and led him out to the middle of the dancefloor. Perhaps ‘dancefloor’ wasn’t the right word since there were people dancing in every spare space in the bar. There wasn’t really anybody sitting at the hightop tables, they were just being used for bags, coats, and half empty glasses, and you were sure it was the same on the second floor. Although it didn’t feel like it, the place was huge and you were kicking yourself for not coming here sooner. Maybe it was a little cringe and slightly over the top (not every bar in Texas was like this) but it felt like you’d come home.

Bradley nearly tripped over your feet a couple times as you dragged him through the swarm of dancing people.

‘I can’t dance,’ he shouted. You spun around, still holding tightly onto his hand, ‘But you sing so well!’ ‘And?’ ‘Usually they go hand in hand.’ He cocked his head like you’d missed the point entirely, ‘You can dance?’ You flashed him your prettiest smile, ‘Obviously.’ ‘Then your logic is flawed,’ the corners of his mouth twitched as he repressed a smirk, ‘because you can’t sing for shit, darlin’.’ God, you wanted to kiss that look right off his face, ‘So you want me to teach you to dance, or what?’ ‘How do I know that what you got to teach is worth learning?’

Jake and Natasha appeared behind you with four bottles of beer. You accepted gratefully - because one wouldn’t hurt - and downed half of it in one long sip. Bradley didn’t take his eyes off you as you handed him your bottle and grabbed Jake’s hand.

‘I’ll show you.’

Bradley and Nat went and stood at one of the high tables, more than happy to watch you and Jake do your thing if it meant they got out of dancing for a little while longer. They were leaning casually, sipping their drinks with the air of two people that weren’t expecting much.

You leaned over and whispered to Jake: ‘Let’s show them how we do things back home.’

The song faded out, transitioning smoothly into another one. It was upbeat - perfect for line dancing - and you knew it well. Jake knew it too he was grinning from ear to ear as everyone moved into position, ready to dance.

It was now or never.

Admittedly, it had been a while since you’d danced like this and you were worried you’d be rusty, but when the song kicked in and you got going it was like you’d never taken a day off. There was something almost sacred about dancing in formation with this many people and the sound of hundreds of pairs of cowboy boots stomping against the floorboards sent shivers down your spine. You hooked your fingers through the loops of your Levi shorts as you dragged one foot across the floor and pulled forward, swaying your hips all the way around in time with the music. When the song reached its bridge, everyone broke off into pairs and you and Jake took the opportunity to really show Nat and Bradley what you could do. You could hear Phoenix cheering for the two of you as you scooted and rambled, completely enthralled in the music.

You spent your days flying fighter jets, but this was the most alive you’d felt in a long time. Your heart was racing against your chest and you could feel a stitch developing in your side, but you honestly couldn’t care less and if you went into cardiac arrest right now, you wouldn’t be mad about it.

When the song was over you headed back over to your friends who were clapping for you, stunned expressions on their faces. Bradley handed you your beer and after catching your breath for a beat or two, you took a sip, your eyes never once leaving his.

‘So, you want what I got to teach or not?’ He shook his head in awe, ‘You’re really somethin’, you know that?’ ‘Oh, I know.’

You headed back out there with Bradley on your arm and Jake and Natasha in tow. Luckily they were fast learners so it only took an hour to teach them the basics and get them dancing relatively confidently. You were taking mental pictures of Bradley dancing the two-step in that damned hat so you could remember them later. He’d told you he couldn’t dance but you were beginning to think he’d just never tried because the way he moved was so enchanting, you had to keep reminding yourself not to trip over your own feet.

‘Shall we put your new dancing feet to the test?’ you said to him.

When ‘Fake ID’ came on you and Jake forced Bradley and Nat out to the very middle of the floor. It was your turn to cheer for them as the song started to pick up and everyone fell into line, boosting their confidence just enough for them to get into it. It didn’t take much and before long, the four of you were in perfect rhythm as you side-stepped and clapped, turned and cross shuffled. You’d never seen Bradley smile like that before and you desperately wanted to take a photo, but you didn’t dare stop dancing.

Why couldn’t you do this every night?

In the middle of the song, everyone broke off into pairs again and somehow you ended up with Jake. This clearly wasn’t part of the master plan to get you together.

‘You need to go get your man, Y/CS. I ain’t going home until you do.’

As nervous as you were to make your move, you knew he wasn’t kidding. You tapped Nat’s shoulder and leaned in to tell her that Jake wanted to dance with her. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew what you were planning to do, and as she passed you mouthed ‘good luck.’

‘What’re you doing dancing with another woman when you’re wearing my hat,’ you teased, ‘That is so disrespectful.’ He raised a brow, ‘Well I wanted to be dancing with you, but you already chose Hangman as your partner,’ he challenged.

His tone was light but there was a question hidden somewhere in that statement; he wanted to know if you liked Jake.

‘I just didn’t know if you could keep up with me.’

In response to you challenging him, he started dancing again, reaching up to take off your hat and put it back where it belonged. You took his lead and started dancing in front of him and he reached out and put both hands on your hips as you swayed them, stepping forward until he was pressed right up against your back. You didn’t think you’d be able to carry on dancing if you got any closer, but then he did the unimaginable and looped his fingers through your belt loops and pulled you back so were flush against him. Black dots filled your vision when you felt his semi through his blue jeans and you couldn’t help but move a little more, shaking your hips and making him even harder.

He wasn’t expecting it, just like he wasn’t expecting you to spin around and wrap your arms around his neck. He was like a deer trapped in headlights as you pulled him down to your lips and finally kissed that shit-eating grin off his face, but when he eventually got over his initial shock, he kissed you back with such ferocity that you had to stop dancing. Nothing could have prepared you for the taste of Bradley Bradshaw, the scent of his aftershave mingling with sweat. If not for the room full of people you would have let him take you right there and then.

‘I think I’m gonna take you dancing more often, Rooster,’ you said against his lips, ‘you really know how to move.’ He kissed you again, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth and drawing a mewl from you. It was lucky nobody could hear the two of you over the music.

‘When we get back later, I’ll show you just how well I can move,’ he promised, ‘but I don’t think you’ll be able to dance for a while afterwards.’

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ominous-auburn-orbs · 11 months ago

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Here's a writing idea for you, but you don't have to do it

Kinger of Hearts hosts a big ass party celebrating his birthday, gets drunk from the wine and tried to get ✨frisky✨ with Mad Caine(whether he succeeds or not it's up to you)

HEY WHAT'S UP GUYS I'M BACK

Y'know I kinda feel like my works have been getting less and less family friendly over time-

ANYWAY this is set after Queenie's takeover attempt, so Caine and Kinger are together. (I can't be bothered to explain any unknown lore so. Just go with it for my sake)

Oh and wonderland au by @obamerzslop

It had been nearly a month since Queenie's defeat. Everyone was still admittedly shaken, although also more at ease, knowing that they were now truly safe. It was Kinger of Hearts' birthday, meaning there was a large celebration held. Most of the people there were acquaintances and colleagues more than anything, considering the party wasn't even the king's idea, but rather something viewed as a necessity. The only person there that he actually liked was Mad Caine, due to his connection as the jester, along with his advisor, Rabbit Ragatha. Kinger had insisted none of his other friends go, as they wouldn't enjoy it. It didn't feel like it was actually for him, anyway. Pomni, however, had suggested they should still do something separate to celebrate later, which the king was very much looking forward to.

Caine stood near the wall, somewhat unsure around all of the people he failed to recognise. The odd dodo or flower person he'd seen once or twice before at other royal events, but nothing more than that. He had already done his performance at this point, which had been relatively well received, if only because everyone there knew how much Kinger of Hearts valued the jester. They were all far too uptight to truly enjoy Mad Caine's routines, as amusing as they were. He was believed to have a lower class role, making him unworthy of being as close to the king as he was. There was power in the role of jester. Power that they could never achieve.

While better acquainted with the guests, Ragatha was just as uncomfortable. Seeing Caine in the distance, she approached, a genuine smile on her face, which was a rare sight at such events.

"Mad Caine!" She called out as she went to stand beside him. "Your performance was rather good. How are you doing?"

His features relaxed. "Thank you, my friend! I'm not doing too bad myself! How about you?"

Rabbit Ragatha let out a loud sigh. "These events are so very tedious. I know it's already been a month since... everything, but I still feel like I'm in desperate need of a nap." She chuckled quietly. "I wish Kinger of Hearts would realise that he doesn't need to put up this facade anymore, if he ever even needed to in the first place. I think it's still instinct for him to put up this mask for his own safety."

Caine crossed his arms and looked down, concerned. He couldn't bear the thought of Kinger thinking he needs to pretend to be someone he's not. He loved the real Kinger with all his heart, and he wanted to see him happy as well. Assessing his worried posture, Ragatha's eyes softened.

"Maybe you could convince him not to lie so much anymore. While I am his advisor, with something like this, he's a bit more likely to listen to his boyfriend." She gave Caine a friendly nudge as he blushed lightly.

"Haha! Maybe..." He thought about it further. Even if Kinger didn't listen, it was worth a try. He could find a way to convince him regardless. "I'll see what I can do, Raggy!"

Ragatha looked embarrassed by the nickname, as while it was sweet, it wasn't something she necessarily wanted to be called in such a professional environment. Caine looked away and saw Kinger talking with someone he hadn't seen before, and it didn't look like a conversation the royal was particularly enjoying. After quickly informing Ragatha that he would be 'back in a jiffy', he set off towards Kinger, determined to save him from the annoying situation. It was his birthday, after all!

When he reached the king, Mad Caine lightly touched his hand. His liking for physical touch was well known, so it wasn't nearly enough physical affection to raise questions, although it was still the king he was touching.

"Happy birthday, Your Majesty! Are you enjoying yourself?" With a clear look of disdain, the other person left. Kinger of Hearts relaxed significantly and his voice lowered in volume.

"Far more now that you're here." Seeing Ragatha, he glanced around before fully grasping Caine's hand and walking over. "You know, I believe that's the seventh time today you've said 'happy birthday' to me."

"And I'll say it again, my love!" Kinger's eyes widened, worrying greatly about anyone else hearing. For his sake, Caine became quieter, but that didn't mean he liked it. "My dear, Queenie is dead. You don't need to fear her overthrowing you again. You can be yourself now. And if anyone goes against you, then I say that gives you plenty of reason to execute them!"

Kinger smiled, although there was still doubt in his eyes. "You're probably right, but it still feels... wrong. I've been like this for so long, I don't know how to rule as anyone else." Some heads turned to watch the pair with curious looks, but Mad Caine gently rubbed his thumb across Kinger's hand to keep him from seeing.

"I understand, but that doesn't mean I'll start agreeing with you on that any time soon." The two finally reached Ragatha as Kinger gave a chuckle that shook his shoulders. His advisor was somewhat absorbed in her own thoughts, surprised by how relaxed she was. By how relaxed they all were compared to past times like this. As horrible as the whole situation with Queenie had been, it had finally gotten rid of the ever-looming threat that she had once been.

"Your Highness," Ragatha greeted him with a noticeable hint of sarcasm, "is everything to your liking?"

Kinger sighed heavily. "All I'll say is that I'm going to need plenty of wine to get through this." Ragatha nodded and bowed, a glimmer in her eyes like she was about to tell a joke at any moment.

"I'll fetch you a glass."

Hours later, Kinger of Hearts had stayed true to his word, having downed several glasses at that point. Most of the more distinguished guests had filed out, with mainly guards and captains left, as well as other drunkards that they had to remove. Despite how most people and tables had been cleared away, the room felt far less empty with mainly just the trio standing in it. Kinger swayed a little on his feet, with Ragatha and Caine attempting to keep him upright. The two shared knowing glances, silently deciding that it would be best to completely finish the festivities. Before Mad Caine could suggest this to Kinger, however, the king spoke to him with a highly flirtatious tone.

"Heyyy, gorgeous~ you- you come 'round here often?" Ragatha put a hand to her mouth to try and muffle her snickers, while Caine gave Kinger a soft smile.

"Kinger, it's me, Mad Caine!" For the king's sake, he gave a quick glance to the guards, but they were busy removing a passed out accountant from the premises. "Your boyfriend?"

Kinger's eyes widened exponentially. "Woah... that's good. Vvvvery good." He cupped Caine's teeth with his hand. "Y-you're reeeeally pretty..."

The chess piece was mesmorised and Caine could feel his face heat up. Ragatha composed herself enough to put a gentle hand on Kinger's back.

"Your Majesty, you're drunk. You should go to bed." She looked to Mad Caine. "I can help you escort him there."

Caine, however, could clearly see the exhaustion on Ragatha's face, and refused to let her work any longer. "No, my dear! You need to rest for once. I have everything perfectly under control!" With that, Kinger rested his head on the top of Caine's teeth, abruptly shutting them.

Ragatha tried and failed to contain her laughter at Caine's muffled speaking while he tried to open his mouth again. She helped lift Kinger off of the hatter, smiling down at him. "Let me at least help get his Majesty out of here. Then I'll take a break."

Mad Caine agreed to these terms, and the two led Kinger of Hearts out and towards his room. They got halfway down the hall before Caine remembered that Ragatha had promised to rest, so he sent her to her chambers nearby. When the rabbit refused, insisting on helping further, Kinger of Hearts slurred out a threat to execute Ragatha if she didn't rest. She finally agreed, bidding Kinger good night and Caine good luck.

The hatter continued to walk with Kinger, holding one of his hands and with his other hand on the king's back. Kinger turned to face Caine, staring at him for a moment before speaking. "I love yoouuu."

Caine couldn't help but blush as a smile appeared on his face. "I love you too, my dear."

Kinger put a hand on Caine's waist and pulled him closer. "H-hey Caine, are you a flower? Be- because I wanna pollinate you~"

Mad Caine looked at the king in confusion for a moment before he remembered the biology of plant life. His teeth and gums became covered in a bright red as he began to stammer, his grip on Kinger's hand tightening.

"O-oh! Uh, I- l-let's just get you to your room!" He quickened his walking pace. The king's room was near the end of the hall, but he thankfully didn't have much further to go. Then the king would be able to sleep until he sobered up. While Kinger absent-mindedly matched his pace, he didn't stop flirting.

"Y-you're sooo cute... Hey, do- are you made of bees? Because yyyou're as honey as sweet..."

Mad Caine burst out laughing, although he did appreciate that Kinger tried. "Why, thank you, my dear." The hatter walked the king into his bedroom and sat him down on the bed. Before he could bid Kinger of Hearts goodnight, however, the king grabbed him and held him close, pulling Caine onto the bed with him.

Kinger kissed him repeatedly, and after a few moments, Caine returned the hug. He could tell that Kinger of Hearts was fighting sleep, so he decided to lay there with him, patiently waiting for Kinger to succumb to his exhaustion. Mad Caine adored these moments he had with Kinger, even if he would've preferred for the king to be sober, as it was something he had silently wished for for a long time. Eventually, he felt the kisses slow down and stop as Kinger finally fell asleep.

Caine let out a quiet sigh of both relief and content. He made a mental note to bring up their relationship and making it public once Kinger woke up, then drifted off himself, already excited to wake up next to Kinger in the morning.

#hey sorry I like died for a week my bad #I just needed a break #caine x kinger #royalteeth #kingleader #kinger x caine #tadc au

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armoreddragon · 10 months ago

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how did you first get into making this stuff? do you enjoy it?

There's a lot of possible answers here.

For a couple years after college, I worked at a laser engraving and cutting shop. Leather was a material we knew we could cut, but nobody ever asked for it, so I looked up some basic info and put together some masks as demo pieces. Then I got fired for unrelated reasons, but decided to keep going with the masks on my own. A decade later, I’m still going.

I've always enjoyed making things. The focused calm of working a craft, the challenge of finding the problems that need solving, followed by the satisfaction of holding in your hands something that hadn't exited before. It’s hard to beat that feeling. If you haven’t done it for a while, I highly recommend making a habit of it.

Sometime in college I realized that if I kept making things just for myself, I would eventually run out of both space in my closet and money in my bank account. So I took the best photos I could of what I had, and started posting it up on Etsy.

In high school ceramics class, I had an idea to try and make a flexible dragon skin out of little bits of clay, all glazed differently. I had no idea how to do this. A friend of mine was like "Yo it sounds like you want to look up how to make chainmail for that." She was right.

I work in architecture by day, and the decision to do that was unrelated but definitely related to my crafting obsession. Designing a kitchen, a café, a house, takes months or years of work, most of which is tedious details like picking tile patterns or looking up exactly what order to layer different sealant tapes to make sure the walls are watertight. Designing a crafting project gives me a creative outlet that is immediate. I can sit down for an afternoon and take an idea from a sketch on trace paper, to a final mask formed up out of leather. There's an excitement to that. A reminder that, yes, I can make cool stuff quickly, without needing to sink two years into a project.

For a while I worked to teach myself to draw. I managed to get pretty decent at sketching from life, with a moderate understanding of anatomy and perspective. I liked art, so I thought I wanted to make art. But I struggled with it. If I was drawing something from my imagination, no matter how well I managed to put the lines down on the paper, I would ultimately look at it and just be sad that it didn't exist in the real world. So eventually I gave up on the drawing part, and focused on the part I seemed to actually care about.

I can't envision a version of myself that doesn't make things. I think on some fundamental level, I measure my worth as a person based on what I put forth into the world. I don't know what else to do.

When you decide to turn a hobby into a business, it of course takes some of the delight away. It's no longer something you do when you want to relax and have some fun. It becomes an obligation, to make and ship orders on time, to pack up your stuff and bring it to craft fairs, to track your expenses and file your taxes, to stay on top of the constantly changing social media landscape. But it also lights a fire under your ass. You can't just keep making the same thing you made three years ago–you have to keep making new stuff, keep improving your techniques, keep reaching for new ideas that have never been made before. You lose some of the joy, but you gain a lot of satisfaction.

All through my childhood I filled my closet with little handicrafts kits, that I got as gifts or that caught my eye when following my dad to the art store. Calligraphy, wood carving, weaving looms, boondoggles, spirographs, knitting, crochet, fancy nautical knots, sculpey, and more that I can't remember. After all those different things, I’m so glad that I found a couple specific crafts that really grabbed me, that take enough work to develop expertise, that have expansive enough applications and possibilities, that I could devote a decade or more of my time to focusing on them.

I’d been interested in the furry fandom ever since little fantasy reading teenager me tried looking for stories where the dragons were the main characters, and I found people online who were doing just that. There’s a powerful do-it-yourself attitude that’s baked into the core of the fandom: The world isn’t giving us the art that we want, so we’re going to make it ourselves. I keep having ideas for things that I want, that don’t exist yet. If I want them to exist, I have to be the one to make them.

My dad was a photographer, and I spent many childhood afternoons with him in his darkroom in the basement, delightedly washing negatives, turning them gently over in their canisters of chemicals, sitting still in the dark as Dad unspooled the sensitive film, squinting in the red light as the projected images magically re-emerged on the clean white paper. What could be more amazing, more normal, more right, than having your own little space to work such magic for yourself.

In about 2008 or 9 I ordered my first batch of metal scales, with the idea of trying to make a dragon tail in time for Halloween. It took probably a couple weeks to figure out how to make it, and within a week I had thought of how to do it better and disassembled the entire thing. By the 3rd or 4th time I'd rebuilt it, I thought that it was probably good enough that I wouldn't feel embarrassed to post it online and see if someone might want to buy it.

Of course I love working on these things I make. But I don't think that's exactly why I make them.

#Thoughts #Real Life #creative writing #memoir

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

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Admiral kazansky finding sub Rosa! reader’s positive pregnancy test lying around and going apeshit on Bradley but Bradley didn’t know cause she hadn’t told him yet

Stop it because he would he PISSED. And obviously it’s after Bradley and Lil Kazansky move in together but long before they’re married, so guess where Ice sees him most often? Work.

Taking the trash out is not Mrs. Kazansky’s job. It hasn’t been since he married her in ‘89. She does plenty around the house, more than Tom could ever pretend to be completely aware of. So, emptying the trash is his job and has always been.

Kitchen trash can? — Easy. Remembering the bathrooms? — That’s a little more tedious in the big house that his extensive career has afforded him.

Now, it was Mothers’ Day this past weekend. One of the rare times that your sisters were in town. So, you had made the most of it, all having a sleepover in your parents’ house like old times. It was Maddison’s idea. She’s the oldest. Married and trying. Well — she hadn’t explicitly told you to take one, but she had mentioned that she was testing every day. Describing her symptoms to you.

She had put the idea in your head. So, when you were laying awake that night in your childhood bedroom — you couldn’t get the thought off of your mind. The fact that you were laying on your back because your breasts were too tender to be on your side of your front. She had offered up a test willingly and you had taken it without thought.

You had discarded it with the same carelessness, shell shocked by its answer.

Bored and in dull, Sunday afternoon task mode, your father could have missed it when he lifted the lid off of the small bathroom trash can to take the bag out. It was sitting right at the top. Double lines, bright and proudly displayed.

“Bradshaw!”

He’ll never get used to that — he flinches every time. Rooster’s eyes widen a little as he spins to face your father in the men’s locker room. Towel wrapped around his waist and uniform folded neatly in his locker, his conversation interrupted, he studies the furious look on your father’s face.

“A word in my office. Now.”

“Uh, sure — is everything alright?” Bradley’s brows furrow slightly, cheeks burning a deep terracotta, all eyes in the room on him. He swallows softly and adjusts the towel. There are rarely admirals in the locker room and he’s truly dismayed that on this rare occasion, the admiral happens to be your fucking father.

“Not here.”

Rooster pulls at the collar to his uniform, already worried that he’s going to sweat through his freshly applied deodorant as he steps into your father’s office, now dressed in his flightsuit. You’re at work, not yet on your lunch break and unable to reply to his SOS text message.

The door closes and the room suddenly feels a lot smaller. Bradley presses his back to the door.

“When I gave you my blessing, Lieutenant — it was to marry my daughter, not to get her pregnant after less than two months living together.”

Bradley doesn’t have any significant allergies. Cats make him a little itchy but it’s worth it for the airplane ears and funny little attitudes. But now, his throat feels like it’s closing up.

Ice notices the sudden dilation in Bradley’s pupils. He straightens up in his chair, refusing to be fooled. “Don’t play dumb, kid, I found the pregnancy test in her trash.”

Bradley stares at him, back pressed into the office door. It occurs to him briefly that — yeah, your period probably is a little later than normal. He hadn’t thought to that yesterday when he was balls deep inside of you in your now shared shower.

“I’m talking to you, Bradshaw — you gonna answer me, or are you just going to keep staring at me like a damn idiot?”

Rooster exhales slowly. Tom can’t help but notice that he looks a little bit… greener than he did before. Rooster swallows the lump in this throat.

“Can, we — um — can I get back to you? — I think I need to make a phone call.”

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #sub rosa

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iamnotthere-idonotdie · 10 months ago

Text

dream of me

part two

…………………………………………………………………………………….

synopsis: reader and bruce continue dating, the project coming along great and you’re thinking about your future as a couple. another job opportunity may put your relationship in jeopardy.

content: bruce wayne x reader, no smut, no cursing, just sad lol

a/n: i finally got out of my rut and was able to get this all down quicker than i thought i would, i think i have a lot more ideas for parts to this too so this will probably turn into a short series, as always sorry for typos or any inconsistencies, i tried to keep up with continuity and stay true to bruce’s character as best as i could but there are probably some ooc things in here, anyways hope you enjoy

edit: link to part one

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the red glow of the brake lights in front of you illuminate the inside of bruce’s car. it’s become a routine now for him to drive you home, either to yours or his—but usually his—after work. this project was tedious and required a lot of effort, but the success of it has made it well worth the dedication. bruce takes his right hand off the wheel and grabs yours. he holds your hand tightly as you enjoy the comfortable silence. he stops in front of your building.

“do you want to come up? i can make us dinner.” you say to him.

he smirks and raises an eyebrow.

“or we could order in.” you say with a chuckle.

“sure.”

you lead him up the stairs to your apartment and walk in. you realize now that you didn’t have time to pick it up this morning so take-out containers litter the dining room table and a few pairs of shoes are lying on the living room rug.

“sorry for the mess.” you say as you throw the trash away.

“don’t apologize, it’s hardly a mess.”

“well i guess it’s just hard not having a butler to always pick up after me.” you say with a smile.

“ouch.” bruce says with a laugh.

you put your shoes in your closet and bruce follows behind to your bedroom. he sits on the bed, looking out your large window.

“i’ve always loved this view.” he says.

“you’ve only been here twice.” you say, walking towards him. you stand beside him and put your arm around his shoulders. he wraps his arm around your waist.

“still,” he says as he pulls you into the bed with him. you laugh as you fall on top of him. you kiss him and he grabs you tighter. before you know it your clothes are hitting the floor.

this has become a part of your routine too. three months now of balancing this relationship with the work you’re doing together. it can get a bit complicated; being colleagues can at times make it difficult to leave those stressors at work. but bruce has been wonderful at not bringing those stressors home with him. you, on the other hand, have difficulty finding that so-called work life balance. but bruce helps.

you’re laying in his arms now, under the covers as bruce strokes your hair. these tender moments of gentle warmth and silence help keep you grounded. it helps remind you to stay present, to appreciate when things are finally quiet. you lay there together for what seems like forever, all the while wishing you could stay there even longer. forever just isn’t enough time.

saturday morning rolls in, with the yellow sun piercing in between the tall buildings and thorough your window. bruce isn’t there in bed with you, but then again he never is in the morning. you’re not sure why he wakes up so early, but you don’t pry.

you sit up in bed and hear the water running in your shower. you sit there, looking out the window at the golden morning skyline. maybe gotham does still have beautiful things.

you hear bruce exit the bathroom and walk towards the bed. he sits down next to you and you lean into him, his body still warm from the hot water.

“good morning.” you say quietly.

“yes it is.”

you just smile, not willing to ruin this moment with conversation.

a few minutes pass and bruce turns his head to look at you.

“i should be getting back soon. that event is this afternoon.”

you sigh, remembering the other day when bruce was telling you about this function. it’s to announce the new division at wayne enterprises, and to specifically address the project you’ve been working on.

bruce starts to get up and you try to hold onto him tighter, willing him to stay a bit longer.

he stops for a second and kisses you.

“i’ll come by and pick you up at 3.” he says.

“okay. i’ll see you then.”

he kisses you again and gets up to change back into his clothes from yesterday. you walk him out and he leaves, giving you one last kiss on your forehead. you spend the next few hours getting ready for this event. you’ll be there as part of the division and head of the outreach project, so you you want to look as presentable as possible. about an hour before bruce is scheduled to come pick you up, you realize something. not only will this be your debut in this new position, but it will also be yours and bruce’s debut as a couple.

you feel a knot in your stomach and start to breathe heavily. you can’t exactly place why this makes you so uncomfortable, but you’re having more and more trouble catching your breath as you think about it further. what if people think that you only got this job because you’re with bruce? what if they accuse you and him of being unfair or of favoritism? you shouldn’t care this much about what other people think. why do you care so much about what other people think?

it hits you. it’s not about what other people think. it’s about what bruce thinks. you’ve never actually discussed your relationship with him before. in fact, you’ve never even called it a relationship to him before. what if he’s not planning on going as a couple but as coworkers? you pace back and forth in your living room, running through all this in your head, thinking about how you’re going to ask him about this, if at all. a knock startles you out of your spiraling self-destructive thoughts and you answer. bruce is standing there in his suit and tie.

“ready?” he asks, holding his hand out for you to take.

“yes..” you say shakily, putting your hand in his.

bruce leads you downstairs and to his car, alfred sitting in the drivers seat.

“hello alfred.” you say as you slide into the backseat.

“good afternoon. may i say you look wonderful.”

“thank you.” you say with a smile.

bruce continues holding your hand throughout the drive. you hope he can’t notice how much your hands are shaking.

you arrive at the event and alfred stops the car at the front entrance of the hall.

“i’ll be here whenever you are ready to leave. and enjoys yourselves.”

someone from the outside opens the door for you and start to get out.

“thank you alfred.”

“it is my pleasure.”

you try to exit the car as gracefully as possible and bruce follows suit. camera flashes blind you as alfred drives away. a part of you wishes you had just stayed in that backseat.

the press are calling for bruce every which way, who seems to be faking enjoyment at the attention. he looks at you.

“are you okay?” he asks.

you just nod nervously as he takes your hand again. you look down at your interlocked fingers and back up at him, surprised. he looks at you and just smiles.

“you didn’t think we’d just be coworkers tonight, did you?” he says.

you smile back and squeeze his hand. the two of you walk up the carpeted steps and into the hall, a newfound wave of confidence overflowing through you, and you look at the cameras and smile.

the event is a supreme success. you and bruce wander through the crowds of people, taking photos and smiling until your cheeks hurt. bruce makes a rousing speech about the success of this division and how hard the team has been working. then he specifically mentions you. how this all wouldn’t have been possible had you not given your proposal. how your innovation and vision single-handedly shaped this project. how your passion for the people of gotham radiates in everything you do. how he feels lucky to call you a colleague… and a partner.

he locks eyes with you as he raises his glass and proposes a toast to the people of gotham. you feel the tears starting to collect in your eyes and will them to not fall. bruce comes down the stairs and you kiss him, disregarding the people and cameras around you.

after a while of more socializing, bruce wanders off to mingle with a reporter from metropolis and you try to find the drink table. you pick up a long stemmed champagne flute and as you take a sip, a man walks up to you with a smile.

“this is a very impressive event. and a very impressive project.” he says to you.

“thank you.”

“i’m jonathan locke. i run olive branch and company.”

“oh yes, in san francisco. you’ve done some great work in outreach there.”

“thank you. we’re hoping to continue expanding into other cities and possibly surrounding states as well. and we’re actually looking for someone just like you to run that venture for us.”

“oh… well i—“

“of course i don’t need an answer now. but here’s our proposal and our offer.” he hands you a laminated folder with his company logo on it.

“just take your time, think about it.”

“thank you for the offer, but gotham is where i belong. i can’t leave now that i’ve just started being able to make a change here.”

you start to hand the folder back, but he refuses to take it.

“please, just look through it. my card is in there. if you decide that your answer is still no, then so be it. but all i ask is that you just read the plan.”

you just look down at the folder, not yet wanting to open it.

“again, you’re doing amazing work here, which is exactly why we want you with us in california. i mean, can you blame us?” jonathan says with a smile.

“you’ve already set up this great project here. gotham is in good hands to finish it.” he glances in bruce’s direction

“and maybe this chapter in gotham can come to a close. you can start fresh in california… just think about it.” he smiles again and walks away.

you just stand there, staring at the folder. you know your answer; you want to, no you have to, stay in gotham. but… you start to put the folder away in your bag. bruce comes walking up to you.

“what’s that?” he asks.

“nothing, just a proposal someone wanted me to look at.”

“proposal?”

“an offer at a company in san francisco.”

“oh…”

“i told him no.” you reassure him.

“right.” bruce says flatly.

after a few more minutes of shaking hands and faking smiles, you and bruce decide you’re tired of the mingling and leave. alfred is already waiting outside with the car running. bruce opens the door for you and you get in, but you can still sense some tension from him. the ride is silent back to his house as you think more about this offer. you haven’t looked through the folder yet, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted to open it.

when you get inside alfred says he’ll make you and bruce some dinner and bruce goes and sits at the dining room table. you sit next to him, hoping he speaks first.

“what was the offer?” bruce says after a minute of silence.

“i’m not sure on the details. but he said they’re wanting to expand the company… and they want me to be a part of it.”

bruce just sits there, staring at your bag on the table, the corner of the folder peaking out.

“olive branch?” he asks.

“yes, jonathan locke gave it to me.”

“he’s the founder.” bruce says, still looking at the folder.

“i’m not going to take it, bruce. gotham is my home. i can’t leave now. not when i’m just starting to make a difference.”

“but you’re thinking about it.”

“i’m not thinking about taking it…”

“just thinking about looking at it.”

“well i can’t say i’m not curious. you can’t blame me for at least wanting to take a look.”

“then look.” he pushes the bag toward you and gets up from the table.

“bruce…”

he keeps walking away.

curiosity does get the better of you, as you stare at the folder too. you shouldn’t even want to look at it if you’re so sure you want to stay. but you take it out and open it.

the offer is amazing. they want to make you head of the entire outreach division. you’d be traveling all over the country, establishing new branches and implementing strategies for other partner companies. the pay is also great, though you don’t care much about that. full benefits, which you already have. it’s a great opportunity… but you couldn’t leave. you think. the more you read through this folder the more intrigued you get. you would love the travel, you’ve never even left gotham. but you could just book a vacation. the title is better than your current one. but you don’t care about titles. you’ll be doing great work and helping a lot of people. but you can help people here. every point has a counterpoint. every reason to go is another reason to stay. you don’t know. honestly… you don’t know.

alfred brings in dinner, but it looks like you’re dining alone as bruce hasn’t come back.

“will master bruce be returning?” alfred asks.

“i’m not sure, but it’s not likely.”

“i see… if i may,” alfred starts. “there is no harm in weighing your options.”

“thank you alfred. i’m just not sure what to do. i want to stay but… how often do opportunities like this happen?”

“not very often, i’m afraid. you just need to have an understanding of what you want. and more importantly, what you need.”

alfred goes back into the kitchen. you sit there, letting your dinner get cold as you ruminate on this choice. bruce finally returns and sits down next to you again.

“i’m sorry for acting childish.” he says. “i just want you to make the right decision, for you.”

“i know. it’s alright.”

“one positive from tonight though: i spoke with the head of the gotham public school district and she wants us to go to the elementary school on monday. to bring the computers and do some personal outreach with the students.”

“that’s a great idea.”

“i think so too.”

bruce gets up to get his plate from the kitchen and you finally start eating. alfred’s cooking is too good to waste.

bruce drives you home after dinner. you suppose neither of you are in the mood for you to stay over and you need to clear your head anyway. bruce stops at your apartment and walks you up. you unlock your door and step inside.

“well, i will see you monday then.” bruce says.

“yeah, i’ll see you then.” bruce gives you a light peck on the cheek and leaves.

you can’t help but feel a bit disappointed that he didn’t offer to see you tomorrow, but it’s probably a good idea that you spend the day alone, thinking. it doesn’t amount to much, though. by monday morning, you still don’t have a solid answer. of course you want to stay, but a small part of you is still intrigued by the opportunity. bruce picks you up and you head straight to the elementary school.

“a few other members of the team are bringing the computers. they should already be here.” bruce says as he turns into the lot.

“sounds good.”

the two of you head inside the school and meet up with your team to start organizing the items to give out. computers, books, and stem sets all for the students and their classrooms. as you go from room to room, handing out these resources, you can’t help but beam as you see how happy it makes the students, and the teachers as well. bruce seems to be having a great time too. you see him showing the kids how to properly work the new tech, you see him excitedly talk to them about all the great new projects they can do if they continue working in this field, how he smiles at them when he sees them get excited too. and you realize you want him. you don’t want him for one night. or for a weekend. you don’t want him as a coworker. or even as a boyfriend. you want him. all the time. forever. always.

your decision has been made. you’ll stay. the day continues, and you’re more than pleased with how it’s turned out. it couldn’t have gone any better. you and bruce leave in his car, but you notice he’s driving toward your apartment, not his house.

“do you want to come over?” you ask, thinking maybe he wants to spend time at your place instead of his.

“i was just taking you home.” he says.

“oh… well do you want to go get dinner? there’s a place that just opened up that—“

“i think maybe it’s best if we take some time. to think.”

you pause, confused.

“think about what?”

“i saw the proposal in your bag. you’re still thinking about it.”

you glance down at your bag and realize the folder is still in there.

“i just forgot to take it out. but i’ve made my decision, i’m staying.”

“maybe you should go.”

“…why would you say that?”

“it just seems like a good opportunity for you. maybe you should move on to greener pastures.”

“i like the grass here just fine. gotham is my home.”

“i just think maybe we made some mistakes here.”

“mistakes?”

“with us. it wasn’t a good idea to try to incorporate a relationship with work.”

your throat tightens and you feel anger, despair, confusion rise up.

“i think we were doing just fine, bruce. why are you saying all this?”

“…maybe it’s just for the best we move on.”

you can’t believe this. the man you had just decided you wanted forever with is now finished with you. you were going to tell him you wanted a future together… you were going to tell him you love him. and now it’s over.

bruce stops in front of your apartment building and you wait a second before getting out of the car.

“…goodbye bruce.” you say quietly. you can’t find the strength to look at him.

“goodbye.”

you get out of the car and up to your apartment. the only thing you can will yourself to do is get in bed and cry. you scream into your pillow until your chest is tight and your throat is sore. you can’t believe it hurts this much. it’s a deep ache, like every bone your body is in danger of snapping at any moment. your muscles are weak like you just fell into a bottomless sea, the waves crashing and knocking the wind out of you the second you get a chance to catch your breath again. you just sit there, for hours, trying to breathe. you lay your head down on your pillow, staring at the ceiling, your eyes leaking into your ears. sleep never finds you tonight as you continue to let the pain overcome you. when morning peaks through your curtains, you just stare ahead, wondering if you’ll ever find beauty through that window again.

you finally get up out of bed and find your bag on the floor by the kitchen where you dropped it. you take the folder out and flip through the papers, finding what it is you’re looking for.

you dial the number on jonathan locke’s card. after a conversation on the phone, the deal is made. you’ll be moving to california at the end of the week.

the next few days are spent packing. jonathan has personally arranged for movers to come take your boxes for you and bring them to a new home in california. a new home which jonathan has taken care of for you as well.

it’s saturday now, the day you leave. you take one last look out your window at the cityscape and feel a tinge in your chest. no, gotham isn’t beautiful. but it was home.

you take a taxi to the airport. each action you take, each bag you pick up and door you close, feels like slow motion. like your body is limited and you can’t quite move properly. you pick up your ticket. san francisco. one way. and head to your gate.

you’re standing in line, your bag in one hand and your ticket in the other. you’ll be the last one to get on, because you’re hoping that something will stop you from leaving. you wish you had a reason to stay. you wish this would turn into a romantic movie or the finale of a sitcom, where at the last second bruce comes running to the gate to stop you.

the line gets shorter.

you’d ask him what he’s doing here and that you’ve already made your decision, you’re leaving.

only a few people ahead.

he’d wrap his arms around you and tell you not to leave, and he’d kiss you.

one person ahead.

he’d say the one thing you’ve been wanting him to, that he needs you… and that he loves you…

you hand your boarding pass to the attendant and step through the gate.

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#fanfic #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #my fic #pictures from pinterest #dc #batman #part two #the batman #alfred pennyworth

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