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You two..
#honestly. I didn’t expect I could find 9 Watsons(Nigel?) while there ARE indeed relatively more BR Holmes(BR actually) in my album…#my partiality is quite obvious#fanart#and in the left corner in BR’s it’s actually from Dawn Patrol. He looks beautiful in it I really appreciate that#rathbone holmes#nigel watson
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wild thing to wake up to
#tulip says#she spoils us too much#i didnt think it would br the next one already#happy birthday luna indeed
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idk if youve done it yet but i would actually lose my mind if you did an analysis for demo
Aye aye captain 🫡 Time to overdramatize again!
Let's address Demo's wounds
(Demo's backstory was changed through the years but I'm sticking to the older version because I find it more grounded)
Demoman's story is easily one of the most tragic of all the mercs. Imagine you have been abandoned from birth, your parents simply rejected you for what you are. But luckily you have been adopted by some good people who replaced your parents and made you a relatively happy child.
And then you accidentally kill them. You're 6 years old. How does that feel?
I can't even imagine how a child's brain can't comprehend the idea of being a murderer. It was an accident, of course, they were blown up by a big explosion he created (genius kid found out how to do that, huh?) but still. His parents were dead and he knew it was his own fault. He learned he was dangerous as he is.
How was it like pondering about it in the orphanage?.. "I didn't want this! I want to go back and fix it, I'm so sorry", something like that. But he couldn't go back in time, so being covered in such an avalanche of guilt, he learned he needs to repress himself.
Demo have always had an explosive temper (no pun intended), it was his true nature, pure emotion: if he's happy, it's 100%; if he's angry, it's a full blown storm. If he loves, he loves with all of his heart, and he has a big one.
Living on the impulse, all or nothing, that crucial accident revealed that letting his true nature go will only end up as destruction in the end. Irreparable damage.
We don't know what exactly was happening to him during his orphanage years, but if I'm to guess, repressing everything about him: his interests, his character, his whole nature, was a thing to choose. He thought that he had to become still and quiet as to not to repeat that kind of tragedy ever again. He probably didn't have people to be friends with either, either because people rejected him for his past, or he avoided them himself due to his internalized shame, at least that's a guess.
But everything repressed returns to the surface sooner or later. As a child, living for so long under overwhelming guilt, grief, hate, pain and sadness, under the skies that are almost never sunny in a all-year-long damp and coldness of the Ullapool. Incomprehensibly grey. It was depriving.
He was always fascinated with explosions. He didn't touch it for a long time, but maybe something like seeing fireworks again one day made something inside him tremble... And to remember.
Explosions. Launch... Acceleration... Release. And every time the release happens, his soul fills with excitement, the body feels lighter and shivers go up the spine. Release happens inside his head too, for the explosions make his worries and pain go away for a moment.
He couldn't find another way to release his bottled up emotions, so gradually he returned to make explosives again.
It was something like an addiction. Similar to pyromania, except no one bothered to research this one. At the moment of explosion he could let his anger out, he could scream, he could run around freely, he could sense heat in his chest; he could be himself. As he once was.
Everything was cold. But the explosions were hot.
He thought it was under control, just a little bit of KABOOM after school, but he craved more and more every time, more vivid, more violent...
That's how he lost his eye. (...Was it a subconscious act of selfharm?)
The missing eye was a forever reminder of how deviated he actually was. He learned that he couldn't repress or change what he truly is - a monster. A Black Scottish Cyclops, wether it were his peers who called him like that or he himself, out of misery. There was indeed something seriously wrong with him.
It seemed like the only thing he was capable of is destruction. Destruction is the only environment he's comfortable with. Peace was always so anxious and depriving, and breaking things felt calming, so he figured it must be right.
And then his birth mother came and took him back, "now that's he's a worthy DeGroot". It was unexpected but... Pleasant. So he wasn't THAT worthless after all, huh? Turns out, it was really familial, the destruction thing. At least he found out that there was a reason behind all of this.
His new mom was, saying honestly, pretty cruel with words. She was not at all gentle, she was very strict, demanding and straight up abusive. It was never enough for her no matter what Demo did. She didn't want results from his work, she's just always wanted to mess with his brain.
And for whatever reason... This setup felt right for him. To be thrown around like that, to be humiliated harshly, it felt fitting, it wasn't causing anxiety or anything. He has to be a scapegoat, he had to forget about being a child and to start working as an adult, at the same time somehow replacing a father he still didn't have, but it felt good enough. Confusing relationships felt good enough.
Destruction was his habitat, and his heart could no longer accept anything else.
Cruelty wasn't warm though, just familiar, just an environment to not to go insane. But he craved warmness so badly... Yet every time he would get close to someone and receive a little gentleness and care, it would feel sickening. It felt unnatural, it reminded him of his lost parents and of everything that's wrong about him.
The only warmness his body could accept was alcohol, making him bubbly and comfortable and relaxed. He almost felt normal, happy even. Alcohol heat made him melt, and he felt so fulfilled as if he was in paradise, back to the womb.
Yet after the effect wears off, he feels lonely as ever. Quickly, existing without alcohol becomes pain. Existing at all. He became an addict.
Not that everyone he met rejected him, rather, he subconsciously reached out to those who would be cruel to him. Again, gentleness hurts wether he knows it or not. He's only good in destruction.
Lonely and clingy, ready to overshare, overall mess yet carrying a big baggage of love that has no one to give it to. Maybe because he can't give it to himself in the first place. There's so many issues unresolved because he can't handle them alone, yet there's no one to help since he was already trapped in a closed circuit of self sabotage.
He will keep acting like a party beast, always crazily emotional and overdone upbeat, a simple drunken man who will not be taken seriously that way. Maybe that's what he wanted, to not be seen as deep by anyone for not be reminded of his misery once again.
Seems like we bought that too.
...
The enemy Soldier might be an exception though. The man he really treasures his friendship with turned out to be an enemy; repeating the rule again: it's only acceptable when dangerous. Soldier deeply cares for Demo, however he's not gentle or pitying, he's as destructive and explosive as Demo is, and these two are a very rare perfect combination of destructing each other in the act of love. Both broken beyond repair, soul on soul, forever to be misunderstood by the outsiders. This is something about this relationship that looks like a golden lining.
They will not fix each other, but they sure are going to have a good time!
#tf2#team fortress 2#team fortress#demo tf2#tf2 demo#team fortress demoman#tf2 demoman#artists on tumblr#my art#tf2 theory#tf2 headcanons#boots and bombs#demosoldier#psychoanalysis#chatacter analysis#tf2 character analysis
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ofc reader comforting gavi after el clasico
Carita linda
Pablo came home hurt and exhausted. Everyone who knew Pablo, also knew he HATED to lose not to mention to lose against Madrid. Boy was raised a Culé and gives his heart to every game.
After the game ended, Pablo texted you to meet with him at home since Xavi was going to give them a piece of mind in the dressing room. Aurora gave you a ride back to the apartment you shared with Pablo and you patiently waited for him.
The door slammed and Gavi threw his bag on the floor before walking to the living room where you were sitting on the couch with a book and a warm cup of tea.
"Come here cariño!" you opened your arms and Pablo plopped himself next to you hugging you tightly and resting his still sweaty hair against your neck.
You ran your hand through his wet curls as he sighed clearly exhausted and too agitated to talk about anything.
"You should shower Gavito...and we can go to bed after?" you ask after a few seconds hearing him groan as you slowly moved making him raise his hand from your shoulder and look at you with those big puppy dog eyes.
"Vamos! I'll shower with you...help wash your hair?" you say reaching your hand which he gladly took walking towards the bathroom. You helped Pablo take off his clothes and he slowly walked to the shower his legs aching and his head heavy and pouding.
"You sit down and I'll wash your hair okay?" you say standing against him and since he was way taller that you, he had to look down into your eyes as water cascaded down his face.
"I'm sorry I disappointed you amor..." he said and you couldn't be able to tell if he was indeed crying or if it was the water from the shower but it didn't matter. You wanted to make him feel better.
"You didn't disappoint me cariño...you played a good game" you said as he sat down in annoyance.
"That doesn't matter! We lost!" he said in frustration and you knew not to argue and just to let him talk it out with you when he needed it (aka right now!!!)
"And you will win next time...look at me" you said raising up his head finally noticing the prominent bruise on his cheek. Pobrecito!
"Ai mi carita linda...we need to clean and bandage it up later, bueno?" you said and he nodded just staying quiet and letting you wash his hair. He was enjoying every second of your fingers massaging his scalp and making him even more sleepy.
After you washed the conditioner, you smiled down at Pablo who had his eyes closed and looked completely relaxed and ready to fall asleep every second now.
"Esta listo amor..venga" you said helping him out and trying him off before passing him some boxers and his favorite pajama shirt. You dried his hair with the towel as he sad on the bed like a little boy letting you take care of him...you found it utterly adorable.
"Bueno, does that feel better now Pablito?" you say as he nodded yawning big making you giggle and promise him to go to bed the moment you clean up and bandage his face.
"It's fine amor...it'll heal alone" he was grumpy but when you asked him to "do it for you" he couldn't refuse sitting there and letting you path him up.
"I don't like you getting injuries...scares me un poco" you sa while cleaning his bruise and he sighed nodding his head while holding your waist on his lap enjoying the way you feel against him. Like a perfect puzzle piece...<3
"You're saying same things as mi mamá and hermana..." he said blushing a little realizing that you are aslo one of the women who love him a lot...his woman.
"Especially when they touch your carita linda...mi chico fofiño..aii que precioso" you praise him while opening the bandage while he blushed like crazy. He was used to giving you compliments but receiving them always made the boy shy a little.
"Does it hurt you amor?" you ask gently stroking his bruised cheek and he nods but says it's nothing unbearable so you don't have to worry.
You smile knowing when he lies as you elan closer leaving small kisses all over his bruised cheek as he just let you closing his eyes and enjoying your moment. Before he knew it, the bandage was applied and you were pushing him to lay down in bed.
"Hmmm...dame cuddles porf" he mumbled and you giggled having found it adorable that he mixes languages when he's exhausted. You laid besides him letting his rest his bruised cheek against your chest while you played with his hair as we slowly fall into deep sleep.
"Te amo mucho Pablito. Tu estas mi campeon siempre. I am so proud of you...and I will always be in your corner...mi chico perfecto!" you whispered not knowing if he heard you or not and smiling a little when you heart his soft snores. You kissed his head laying your on top of his and falling asleep yourself. <333
Gavi is not a talker so I think this is a realistic picture hehe <333
#gavigif#gavi#fc barça#fc barcelona#fc barca#pablo gavi x you#pablo gavi x y/n#pablo gavi x reader#pablo gavi icons#pablo gavi#pablo martín páez gavira#pablo gavira#gavira#gavi x vini#gavi x yn#gavi x you#gavi x reader#pablogavixreadersmut#pablogavixreaderfluff
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COME ONE, COME ALL to the MOSTE ILLUSTRIOUS TOURNAMENT of the FINEST, the MOSTE PUISSANT and HOTTEST MEN MEDIEVAL MEDIA HAS TO ITS CREDIT.
Be it known that we shall accept submissions of the hottest men OF THE PEOPLES’ CHOOSING from any live-action* TV or movie media property set between the years AD 500 – 1550 (Tudors WELCOME!!), and any fantasy properties which emulate said period!
KNOW ALSO that we, by the grace of this fine hellsite and with the counsel of the moste honorable and illustrious @hotvintagepoll (many thanks), have made
THESE GUIDELINES here given:
ANY HOT GUY who appears in any movie or TV show released in ANY YEAR, from ANY COUNTRY, shall be deemed eligible for entry. Below are listed examples of eligible properties. If YE BE NOT CERTAIN whether your hot guy is eligible, submit him anyway!
Examples of Eligible Properties: The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-03), Game of Thrones (2011-19) House of the Dragon (2022), Wolf Hall (2015-2024), The Tudors (2007-2010), Ladyhawke (1985), The Princess Bride (1987), The White Queen (2013), Rise of Empires: Ottoman (2020-2022), Vikings (2013-2020), The Last Kingdom (2015-2022), Diriliş: Ertuğrul (2014), A Knight’s Tale (2001), BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-3009), The Last Duel (2021), The Story of Minglan (2018), The Borgias (2013), Robin Hood (1939), Outlaw King (2018), Pilgrimage (2017), Legend (1985), Braveheart (1995), The Green Knight (2021), Excalibur (1981), Beowulf & Grendel (2005), The Lion in Winter (1968), Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993), The Black Adder (Blackadder Series 1, 1982), Rashomon (1950)
Remember: This is just a list of examples—WOW ME!
These following titles are examples of properties that do not fall within or emulate the stated time period and therefore DO NOT QUALIFY: The Three Musketeers (Any Version), Pirates of the Caribbean (2004), Barbarians (2020), Gladiator (2000), Ben Hur (1959), Shogun (2024), Elizabeth (1999), 300 (2006), Troy (2004), Xena: Warrior Princess (1995-2001), Disney's Robin Hood (1973)**, Yojimbo (1961), Shakespeare in Love (1998), King Arthur (2004)***
For the purposes of this tournament, "Man" and "Guy" are defined as any bi-pedal humanoid male character played by a man. As such, characters belonging to non-human races such as Hobbits, Orcs, Elves, Demons, Fauns, Werewolves etc. ARE admissible, and, indeed, encouraged.
If you have propaganda you forgot to include in your submission, just hold onto it and send it in an ask after the Tournament begins.
You may submit as many hot men as you like but please submit only ONE ENTRANT per submission.
Do not hesitate to submit ANY hot guy you think may qualify, no matter how popular he is. There is no such thing as a shoo-in with these tournaments. If you think "Someone MUST have submitted him already!" Everyone else is probably thinking that too and then he may well NEVER get submitted and we don't want that.
Do not worry about how many submissions your hot guy might have had already--I need to get a sense of who the strongest contenders are in order to fairly seed the draws, and the best way to do that is volume of submissions.
We are voting on the hotness of the characters. While the actors who portray them are of course a major factor in this, we are not voting on the actors themselves, therefore propaganda pertaining to the actors real lives (aside from anecdotes relating to their portrayal of the character) is not admissible.
By that same token, in the case of historical figures (e.g. Henry VIII) we are judging hotness based on the fictionalized portrayals of them in these properties, not on historical fact.
Regarding immortal/time-travelling/dimension-hopping/extremely long-lived characters, regardless of when the character was born, the main action**** of the story must take place within the Medieval Period (see dates listed at the top of this post) or Medieval-esque fantasy fantasy realm in order for them to be eligible for submission. As such, characters like the Pevensie brothers (The Chronicles of Narnia) and Ash Williams (Army of Darkness) are admissible, but Asgardians (the MCU Thor films) are not.
I, as the Administrator and Master of Revels of this tournament, am exercising discretion in the admittance of characters from works by Shakespeare, since many of them have no set date.
Re: characters adapted from books/written works - Book quotes by/ about your character are not admissible as Propaganda for their tv/ movie counterparts unless said quotes were also written into the show/movie.
Book illustrations and fanart are not admissible Propaganda
SUBMISSIONS SHALL REMAIN OPEN UNTIL MIDNIGHT, JULY 1st
The Tourney shall begin at a date yet to be determined with the Melee (Qualifying Rounds), wherein the entrants with the fewest submissions and least propaganda will duke it out in a free for all brawl to determine who will enter the Lists.
SUBMIT YOUR ENTRANTS HERE TODAY!!!
-- Master of Revels
*The "live-action" qualification does have a caveat: exception may be made for those CGI films which were all the rage in the mid-00's that used the motion-capture and likeness of the actors; for example characters from, Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf (2007) are admissible.
** this one doesn't qualify, not because it isn't the right time period, but because it falls solidly under the "Animated" category.
***Yes, sadly we are deprived of the beautiful countenances of Clive Owen, Mads Mikkelsen, Ioan Gruffudd et al because the producers of this film in their infinite wisdom and in an attempt to seem "more historically accurate" chose to set it during the Roman withdrawal from Britain, which occurred in the 5th Century (About a CENTURY earlier than Authurian tradition) and is generally agreed to have ended by AD 410. It therefore does not fall under the Medieval umbrella and is not eligible for submission.
**** "Main Action" here defined as "More than half an hour of a movie and more than two episodes of a series"
#medieval fantasy#asoif/got#lord of the rings#a knight's tale#the last kingdom#vikings#the princess bride#house of the dragon#medieval films#tumblr polls#fantasyandmedievalmelee#tournament poll#game of thrones#got
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ー 💦// Sugar Daddy Childe BR | genshin impact
⌗; this is for @carmoronic happy belated birthday honey! i hope you enjoy this a lot 🙌 honestly, I wanted to make this long so... sugar daddy childe!
⌗; 18+ MDNI
sugardaddy!childe who doesn't hesitate to buy whatever you want. he thinks you deserve it so much; he loves being able to spoil you like this. giving you the most expensive gifts possible.
sugaraddy!childe who's aware of how much he spoils you but oh... if you happen to act out, he won't hesitate to put you back in your place.
sugardaddy!childe who loves having you ride him in his expensive car. whenever he just wants a quick round, whenever he feels like he just can't wait anymore, or whenever you're just feeling extra needy, he will gladly let you ride him.
sugardaddy!childe who doesn't hesitate to give you whatever you want when you beg. the pleading looks on your face, the desperation obvious in your voice, he loves it all. whenever you plead for him to do something to you, he won't hesitate to do it.
sugardaddy!childe who loves when you're on your knees. he enjoys the sight of you trying your best to get him off with only your hands and mouth. often chuckling to himself once he sees your hand between your legs. oh you're such a tease he thinks to himself.
sugardaddy!childe who loves coming home to see you dressed up or... wrapped up, ready for him to use. loves your outfits with tons of little ties or bows, when he loosens them he watches as each piece of clothing slips off your body leaving you bare before him.
sugardaddy!childe who keeps your skirt and/or thigh highs on you while he fucks you. something about the pair just turns him on, it's as if every time he sees them on you he can't help but want to completely ruin you in them.
sugardaddy!childe who'll immediately leave the place he's at whenever you send him naughty pictures. he doesn't admit it but he loves them, loves whenever you send a video to him of you fingering yourself and moaning his name, a video of yourself using a new toy he might've bought for you. loves it when you send a picture of yourself in a new set he might like (which he indeed does.).
if he's not able to come then two can play at that game. he will send something back, which could be a picture of how painfully hard he is in his pants, or a video of him jerking himself off.
sugardaddy!childe who loves when you call him whenever you feel needy. smiling to himself once he hears how heavy you're panting as if you were just touching yourself. he won't hesitate to help you out though you can only hear his voice.
#⁁﹒💫`´﹒zhxngii.wrks﹒ꜝ#tartaglia smut#childe smut#ajax smut#childe x reader#ajax x reader#tartagalia x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#genshin impact x reader
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Letter To Santa
TaskForce 141 x Child!GN!Reader
Warnings: none, be prepared for teeth rotting, sweet fluff. We believe in Santa on this page. This is primarily center around our dear Capt. Price because seeing him as a father figure would cure my woes. This is not proof read and I just woke up so have fun ❄️🎶🎄
Word Count: 1.29K
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The stocking were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St.Nicholas soon would be there.
Little hands eagerly worked at a red pen and delicate paper, smoothing out wrinkles. Fingers grazed papyrus with ease and little barefeet barely brushed against the cold floor. Brows knitted in concentration as the wee babe bite their tongue in thought.
“How do you spell Santa?”
The sweet voice echoed through the barrack walls quite the contrast of its usual interior.
“S-A-N-T-A. Here little one, I’ll write it down for you.” The gruff voice bent down with a crack of his spine before letters curled one by one to spell the jolly fat man’s name.
“And how do you spell Christmas?”
A gruff sigh came from the man’s beard lips as he spelt out the words CHRISTMAS in extra large font for the babe.
Captain Price was a man well into his years, beaten and broken down from multiple years of war and hardship but, somehow or another you wiggled your way into his heart. He most certainly thought of you as his own and cared for you like such.
Calloused hands tending to your every need such as tying your shoes, reaching top shelves, teaching you sight words and so on and so forth.
“Kid, what are they teaching you in school? Do I have to spell everything for you?” He teased, running large calloused digits though H/C hair, ruffling it a bit but quickly slicking down its strands back in place.
“Could you write my letter? Please? I’ll tell you everything you need to write!?” Eager pleads filled the air and brought about the rest of the men to seek out your woes.
“Just this once! And I won’t ask for anything else!”
A half snort left the masked lips of our dearest stoic, balaclava covered “friend”. Deep voice for a large man indeed. A bit scary but, you were never scared of the one in which they call “Ghost”. Oh no, quite the opposite. You played with him, hugged him, snuggled up to him, had breakfast with him, much like everyone else who you had wrapped around your little tiny fingers.
“I find that rather hard to believe,love” He stated rather promptly, leaning back against a rickety chair, stretching his limbs out a bit.
“It’s true! I promise! And I can’t lie because Santa is watching AND, unlike some people-“ You shot glares at Ghost and Soap, Soap whom shot you a half innocent look back as if he had no idea what you were even rambling about. Ghost, if at all possible rolled his eyes beneath the mask at your little rambling. At least Gaz was safe from your rambles and tales of the “naughty and nice list.” You were certain your name and Gaz’s name was on the nice list, and maybe Price’s, but Ghost and Soap’s? Absolutely not!
“I’m gonna be on Santa’s nice list so I can get lots and lots of presents. So I can’t lie. Just, someone please write my Santa letter for me!? That’s all I ask! Please!? Pretty please?! Pretty please with sugar on top?!”
Little hands clasped together eagerly begging and pleading for your letter to be written, feet bounced from one heel to the next, little E/C eyes looked up to the men round, full of light and wonder but pupils wide and begging almost like a puppy who wanted a treat.
“Tch, fine. Only this once. Got it? Now, come here, little one. I’ll see to it that your letter is written and fit for Santa.” Captain Price patted his knee and you eagerly abided, settled atop his knee as if he were Santa himself. Come to think of it, if he had a longer, white beard and was a little fatter and more jollier, he could be Santa. You giggled in thought, earning a brow raise from Price before he carefully held you steady.
The hand that was holding you, held that same bright red ink pen gently against the notebook paper that you had originally used to write your own, little letter.
“Ready Captain? I gotta big list of things to write and say. Think you can keep up?” You teased the old Captain though you did this quite often and found joy in joking about his age. Though, the Captain wasn’t that old. He was in his late 30’s, early 40’s but, to you he was ancient.
“Take your best shot, kiddo.”
He chuckled before the tip of the red pen pressed against the crinkled paper, whereas you rambled on about your list, Price was lightly writing out as followed:
Dear Santa,
I have been really good this year. I have done all of my chores without complaining and been on my best behavior. For Christmas this year I want (insert toy list here) and for my “pretend” family to get everything they want Christmas. Oh! And I want them to be able to go home and spend Christmas with the people they love. Because that’s what Christmas is all about. Family and love.
P.S. Can you please get my Uncle Ghost a boyfriend/girlfriend. Thanks. He’s really lonely.
“Is that good?” You asked the Captain with a small tilt of your head, holding up the crinkled paper reading over each and every sentence you made Price write.
“Men, Do me the honor of looking over their letter. Tell me, is it Santa Clause worthy?” Price held the crinkled paper up for Ghost, Soap and Gaz to look over.
Gaz was the first to read it, chocolate hues scanning the paper over and over again with a small chuckle at the last sentence. A hand went over to tuck strands of H/C behind your ears and compliment your work, though Price wrote you you worded it.
Soap was next and as azure blue eyes looked over the paper he chuckled whole heartedly.
“Ya really are doin’ poor L.T. a favor here aren’t ya lass/lad?” Soap chuckled wholeheartedly before Ghost snatched the paper from the Scotsman.
“Johnny what’re you laughing at-“
He breathed in a heavy sigh at the last little sentence you had, had Price write.
“Bloody hell…”
He grumbled, large digits pinching the bridge of nose through mask and balaclava.
“It’s funny.”
You giggled, peering over Price’s tired shoulders to see Ghost’s reaction.
“Aye lass/lad, it’s also Santa worthy.” Soap got in another chuckle before snatching the crinkle red written letter back from Ghost and letting Price read over it one more time, before sealing it up into an envelope, licking it shut and sticking a little stamp on it.
“Say, Y/N? Do you know what Santa’s address is?” The Captain arched a brow at you as you seemed to be falling somewhat sleep in his gentle hold.
“Uh uh. But I bet it’s on your maps. Somewhere. You got lots of them. You can find it, I believe in you.”
You chuckled in a half sleepy manner, leaning back against Price’s broad chest, H/C and H/L falling over your tired features.
Price turned your body, so you were tucked tightly into his arms gently moving strands of hair out of your face. He thought for a moment at your little request and a subtle hum came from him.
In a hushed tone he whispered a simple,
“Don’t worry little lamb, St.Nicholas will get your letter, my men and I will make sure of it. “
He pressed a soft kiss against the crown of your head before letting you slumber and dream in his arms. He fetched the other men to quickly find Santa’s address for your silly, one of a kind letter.
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A/N: I suck at accents and writing but, my brain has been turned off recently because ya girl graduated last Saturday and I threw everything I've ever known out the window haha. I love writing fluff and I will die on that hill. This idea also came to me from a couple of AI chat roleplays and simply, well Christmas spirit. I know the gang is probably ooc and I sincerely apologize for that. I will get better, trust me! Reqs are open forever and always! Reblogs are def appreciated!
#call of duty#call of duty x reader#task force 141#taskforce141 x reader#child!reader#child au#christmas au#captain john price#captain price#ghost#simon ghost riley#soap#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#gaz#captain price x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#gaz x reader#gn!reader#child!gn#child!gn!reader#-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-Kayla writes -ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
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Let's say Elucien/Gwynriel happens. I would be upset because obviously Elriel but I would also be upset because the building blocks just aren't there?
Like for Elucien we don't have Lucien figuring out Elain is a seer, we have Lucien asking TAMLIN to get Elain back, we have Lucien sitting in Spring Court twiddling his thumbs while Elain is in the supposedly EVIL Night Court and ONLY leaves cause Feyre is leaving, we have Lucien stating he wants to see Elain to "see if she's worth fighting for", we have Lucien comparing Elain to his ex. This is not the stuff of romance and why I can't root for them.
For Gywnriel, we have Azriel not caring that Gwyn was in the Blood Rite, we have no idea if Gwyn is interested (seriously, it would have been so easy for Gwyn to mention during the sleepover to Nesta and Emerie SOME hint that she finds Azriel at least attractive?), we don't even have that delicious banter that antis like to say is needed for "good relationships", and no, see you tomorrow Shadowsinger is not banter. We don't have Azriel singling out Gwyn during training, we have nothing. Not even in the BC when Azriel and Gwyn's eyes meet (instead of something charging between them like Elriel) we have BOTH thinking about Gwyn's assault and Azriel has no reaction? For all people think they are mates, he HAS NO REACTION TO THE THOUGHT OF HER ASSAULT other than AWKWARDNESS.
If these ships were to happen I would need MORE. I don't need blatant flirting or anything, but there's NOTHIHG there to root for. Antis say they know this but "see the potential" but that goes for EVERYONE. Any two people can have "potential" but as an author writing romance you want to have the building blocks leading up to a relationship or even INTEREST in the other person and get readers EXCITED but Elucien/Gwynriel don't have that. They just don't.
I would WANT Lucien to know Elain is a seer. (Like Azriel)
I don't want to hear Lucien comparing Elain to Jesminda. (In Azriel's pov he doesn't even THINK of Mor.)
I would WANT Azriel to freak out over Gwyn in the BR. (The man who didn't care if he died to get Elain back but won't break rules for his supposed mate in a tradition he doesn't give a shit about?)
I want Azriel to feeling unbelievable anger at Gwyn's assault (instead of dumping her on Mor immediately but clinging to Elain even when's she's safe and demanding to get chains off her).
I love Elriel. I love both Elain and Az seperately. But the reason I ship them is because the building blocks ARE there that the other ships don't have. There's NOTHING to be excited or root for in the other ships.
Elucien has nothing.
Gwynriel has a BC (which has been debunked and given credit to the Lightsinger theory/just something strange going on) but even if it was supposed to be romantic I would be pissed if I was Gwynriel. Having to read about Az desiring Elain in a holy, down bad, pussy eating way and giving Gwyn a necklace as an afterthought and NOT EVEN DIRECTLY? THAT IS NOT ROMANCE. And the fact that NOTHING CHANGES AFTER. GWYN AND AZ DO NOT BECOME CLOSER. HE STILL DOESN'T GIVE ENOUGH OF A SHIT TO SAVE HER FROM THE BLOOD RITE OR EVEN HAVE A REACTION SPECIFICALLY TO GWYN BEING IN THE BR COMPARED TO EMERIE/NESTA. For all the antis try to say that Azriel is just lusting for Elain in the BC, I feel like what happens with Gwyn is TEN TIMES WORSE if indeed Gwynriel were true.
This is why I think anything but Elriel would be bad writing. Not just for the obvious setup for Elriel but the LACK of set up FOR Elucien/Gwynriel.
Sorry for the messy rant, I just had to get that out.
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Plans
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (not AFAB specific)
Established Relationship
WC: ~1k
Summary: Spencer did indeed have plans…he just didn’t know about them. Later they change, but only slightly.
Warnings: suggestive comments but no actual smut, lingerie, slight dom!reader and sub!Spencer dynamic (but nothing to an extreme sense), hair pulling kink (with his S5 hair? a given apparently lol)
Ep: 5x20
credit: criminalmindscaps
credit: criminalmindsmoments
“I didn’t have any plans.” Spencer says.
“Yeah you did. You just didn’t know about them yet. Damn.” You say.
“What do you mean by that?” Spencer questions.
“Let’s just say that Emily wouldn’t have been the only one sinning this weekend.”
“Ooh you were almost one lucky dog.” Derek smirks.
Spencer gives him a glare as you pass by him but stop and lean down to whisper in his ear so Derek could not hear.
“For the sake of professionalism, don’t ask me what’s under this dress.”
Spencer’s cheeks flush as you walk away. Derek notices and chuckles.
(Time skip to like…back in shared apartment back home)
“Hey, Emily wanted me to tell you that she came through for herself and Derek.”
“What do you mean?”
“She said that they owed you.”
“Oh. Yeah. But they haven’t paid me back yet. They haven’t given me anything or done anything for me.”
“Well Emily gave me something and it’s about to do something for you, I can tell you that.”
“What’re you talking about?” He asked, more confused.
You took your shirt and shorts off to reveal a dark blue two piece lingerie.
Spencer’s eyes scanned your body before his gaze met yours again.
“Wow.”
“So…their debt paid in full?”
“I dunno, I haven’t enjoyed my gift yet. I do get to take it off of you now, right?” His eyes were pleading.
“The gift was the lingerie itself, I believe. What happens after is a moot point.”
“Well I’d say it’s not paid in full until you’re full.”
“But they already paid you back technically via me by giving me lingerie. Is it pronounced veea or veyea?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” His hands caressed your waist.
“You don’t know?” You chuckle.
“I think it’s the second one you said.” He says, totally more interested in how you look and feel than what you’re saying.
“You think?”
“I don’t care about Latin right now, ok? I only care about you.”
“Since when do you not care about Latin, mister?”
“Since my beautiful girlfriend took her clothes off to reveal she’s wearing lingerie.”
“Ok…fair enough.”
“Besides…I’ll always care about you more than Latin, or statistics or anything else, for that matter.”
“Really? Even statistics?”
“Yes, really.” He smiles.
“But…you love statistics.”
“Well I happen to love you more.”
“Aw…that’s sweet, hon.”
“Not as sweet as you.” He smirked.
“That’s so cheesy.” You chuckled, shaking your head.
“You love it.”
“Shut up.” You murmur.
“Make me.” He challenged.
“Oh? Is that a challenge?”
“Mhm.” He nods, smirking, seeming way too confident.
“You sure you wanna challenge me?” You asked, matching his smirk.
His smirk almost faltered but he was able to maintain his composure. His smirk endures. But so does yours. He manages to nod.
“For someone so smart…you sure are dumb.” You tease lightly.
His smirk now does falters as you place your arms on his shoulders hook your hands together behind his head. (?)
He gulps. “I’ve made a big mistake challenging you, haven’t I?” He whispers softly as he looks at you, brows furrowed.
“Oh, so there are those brain cells.” You tease lightly. (Alternative: "Oh, so there's that genius level IQ.")
He frowns at you but his disgruntlement quickly dissolves when you tug on his hair. He grunts softly.
“You know what that does to me.” He is still whispering softly and he’s trying to appear mad but you both know he’s practically putty in your hands at this point.
“Hence why I’m doing it.” You smile as you give his hair another light tug.
He gasps sharply. “Good God woman, have mercy.” He hisses softly.
“You were the one who challenged me to make you shut up. You know how effectively I can do that, hon. You brought this upon yourself…and you’re loving it.” You lean in to whisper in his ear, which makes him shiver and even whimper slightly. You smirk. “Say it. Say you love how much power I have over you. Say you love how much you love it when I tug your hair. Say you love how much you love that I can shut you up.”
“I-I love it. I love the power you hold over me. I love how vulnerable I can be around you. I love how much I can trust you. I love it when you tug on my hair. Half of the reason I grew it this long was to give you more to pull on. I usually hate it when people cut me off but you never do that. You only ever shut me up in very specific circumstances, like in these times of intimacy and I did in fact challenge you to make me shut when I should’ve known better. I love how you can wipe my smugness and my cockiness and even my IQ away with just the simplest of touches. Dear god I just love you so much.” He breathes out quickly. It almost seems like his words are flying out of his mouth without his brain registering them first.
You blink as you process what he’s said, your heart melting. "S-Spence, I-"
"Can I take the lingerie off now, please?" He whispers softly, uncharacteristically interrupting you, a pleading expression adorning his face.
You chuckle at the whiplash you got from he going from the most heart-felt confession about the way he feels about you to him pleading to see you naked.
"Ok, needy boy, ok, fine, you can take it off." You smirked.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers as his fingers make quick work of removing the lingerie from your body.
Emily gave the two of you a knowing smirk from across the bullpen as Spencer sauntered into the BAU offices the next work day morning with a smile on his face and his arm around your waist. She knew she'd paid Spencer back for making he read all those journals in that uncomfortably stuffy building. She knew she'd paid him back real good.
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I was gonna do this tag game but then I got off of tumblr and when I came back I couldn’t find it. Eh, so, I broke the chain 😅 and here’s (something like) the prompt:
go to your Pinterest account and search “my past/present/future/spirit as an image”
these are mine:
my future is looking very bright indeed.
@elle22love @eniek-000 @eggyrt @rules-of-classic-rock @ritacaroline @ringo-starr-daily @rawbraineater2 @to-be-a-joint-and-not-to-roll @thebeatles @taurus-spacecraft @ibrokemybac @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @percys-lemons @pphprk @alderaanz @art-of-the-sunrise @silveraspensart @sluuttyplant @starlight-dazed @starrrnmoon @deitripper @dschhh @desertangels70s @fawnvelveteen @firethatgrewsolow @fanciest-sauce @girlofthemoon75 @groovy-rockstars @grimydani @greensrew @hkatepllar @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jarsfullofstarrs @killingthemoon84-deactivated202 @lemongrablothbrok @callmethehunter @chromations @chauffeurkashmir @cucucibnhhj @v3nus-as-a-boy @bargainoriley @behindthebrokenframe @boyyeahright @br-eddrolls @n0quart3r @niconoize @nature-and-music @navybluedell @m-faithfull @m
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gardenias. | nikolai
part II (part I)
nikolai lantsov x reader
summary: the setting is a grand event hosted at os alta with the intention of finding a future queen for crown prince vasily. the reader is a merchant's daughter trying to keep a low profile after her parents had dragged her there (against her will) with the hopes that she might catch the prince's attention. she, on the other hand, has different plans. plans that get entirely upheaved by none other than the younger prince nikolai who interrupts her illicit late-night meeting in the winter garden. now she's caught attention of one of the two people whose scrutiny she'd been trying so hard to avoid for the last few days of the event and she's not entirely sure she actually minds it.
preview: He held her gaze for a moment, hardly moving a muscle himself, before he spoke again, his voice firm. “No games. Remember?” The huff that left her might have been a chuckle, only completely devoid of any humour. She stared down at him for a moment, eyes glassy and tired, like it had all just caught up to her and she was finally crumbling. “I almost believe you. I think it’s the face. It’s a kind one.” Her eyes searched his face, clinical, like one would observe a painting of him on the gallery wall. “Or maybe you’re just handsome.” “Why, thank you.” He offered her his best attempt at a self-assured smirk and decided it fell flat. Even his ego was dampened by the moment, which was a feat in itself. He sighed. “What did they do to you?” “Is that a rhetorical question?” Kind of. “Do you want to answer it?” She shook her head. “Then it was rhetorical.”
word count: 3.4k (compared to 5k in the 1st part this is tiny)
pinterest 📸
tropes/warnings: not cannon, adult language
a/n: well, this is like a year too late to the game, but i could not get it out of my head. keep in mind that pieces of information and explanations are left out intentionally, we are only aware of what nikolai is aware of (which is not much, as he'll come to find out) and yes, i might have engineered some ✨drama✨ to bring them closer together emotionally, so we don't all get stuck on surface attraction and vague suspicions
nikolai's POV
If one imagined the Court to be an organism - which was not a hard thing to do, given how reliably it behaved - then the whispers of its courtiers were the lifeblood, coursing steadily through its golden vessels. And if rumours were a sickness, then one could hardly be surprised to see them spread to every last corner of this monstrous creature as quickly and reliably as a plague would. Which was very quick, indeed.
Nikolai had hardly managed to get his hands on a plate of some highly garnished and questionably nutritious food before the whispers reached him. It was not a particularly subtle affair, as these things rarely were, and Nikolai had a sneaking suspicion this was entirely by design. He didn’t think he imagined that the ladies had been standing a bit further away just a moment ago, and he knew with certainty that as far as whispers went, these could hardly be classified as hushed. They made a show of leaning in and raising delicate hands to their lips, but it was the eyes that betrayed them - sharp and quick, glossy with excitement, and slipping surreptitiously in his direction as if to check if he was listening. He was.
And if he took his overly-decorated food elsewhere in the garden, then the mill would start all over again, like a broken melody. She does have that look about her. Her poor parents, they’d say, but Nikolai did not believe their pity. It was, he thought, just a well-aimed knife. Hush, someone’s mother reprimanded, voice sharp, her mother’s right there. But by the looks of her, Nikolai doubted it was anything Mrs Braam hadn’t heard before. She sat, straight-backed and completely devoid of colour, at one of the wrought-iron tables set around the palace gardens. There was an abandoned tart on the plate in front of her, forgotten and replaced by the glass of brandy she gripped with a shaky hand, and next to her was an older Kerch woman who was valiantly attempting to drown out the whispers with conversation. Nikolai averted his gaze, unwilling to participate in this cruel charade.
But when his gaze landed in the distance it caught, as if on a shard of glass, on the pale green silk of her dress. Around her, a few ladies and their handmaids had formed a tactical formation of sorts, attack dogs in the finest silks, their eyes sharp and vaguely threatening. If even one of them caught someone staring, they’d turn in unison like hounds that scented blood and stare them down into submission, then turn back around and smile sweetly at Miss Braam, as if nothing had just transpired. Nikolai was therefore very careful to look only when one of them was taking a shot with her mallet, lest he meet the end of one of those glares.
And so he watched her in increments, like a series of paintings of an obsessed artist - the twist of her body as she swung her mallet, the errant lock of her hair cascading over her shoulder, the lovely twist of her smile when the ball went through the hoop. The fourth time he looked she was leaning on her mallet, watching the girl in purple take her shot, and he realised she had her mother’s eyes and none of her pallor. There was a brush of colour high atop her cheekbones so that in her green dress she looked like a maiden of spring, vivid in her liveliness. If she was concerned with the gossip, she did not show it. And when she caught him looking the fifth time, she met his eyes the same way she did last night in the greenhouse, steady and unflinching. And then she smiled.
_____________________________
She was smiling again when she entered the library in a flurry of silk later that afternoon, her voice light as she called out to the librarian, “Have you found it?”
Nikolai flipped a page, eyes skimming the blueprints and the calculations, and waited for her to notice him. If it was a bit theatrical, he blamed it on the boredom and not the fact that her irritation was a source of great amusement for him. And he knew before she even let out an annoyed huff, that she was bound to be irritated by his ploy.
“Your Highness.” Her voice was even, though it seemed to require not an unsubstantial amount of effort to keep it so. “I didn’t know you were using the library.”
Nikolai flipped another page and looked up at her only long enough to offer her a smirk. “No need to play coy, Miss Braam. I’ve sent everyone away. We’re alone.”
“Wonderful,” she said dryly and shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it. Nikolai allowed himself a private, self-satisfied smile. If she had been so keen on getting away from him she could’ve simply walked back out, but she hadn’t. “And I presume you were also the one that sent someone to tell me the book I was looking for was found?”
“Catching on quick.” Finally, Nikolai shut the book he was perusing and looked up at her. She was wearing the same dress she wore to brunch, the colour a muted jade in the soft, warm shadows of the library. And when he looked up to her face she had her eyebrow raised, like a school-teacher that had caught him staring. Nikolai offered his best boyish smile. “You look lovely.”
“Oh, shut it.” It was not the response he usually got, but he was still amused as he watched her turn her back on him and start fiddling with the lock. He had half a mind to ask if she was blushing again but she jerked that pin in place with such ferocity that he decided against it. Besides, it was answer enough.
Instead, he said, “And a personality to match it.”
She checked the door once, then jerked it again for good measure, and finally when she was satisfied that no one could enter and catch them speaking, she turned around and levelled him with a look. “Careful, I might decide to be polite and bore you out of your mind.”
“You’d combust.”
She pursed her lips but did not deny it. “What do you want?”
Nikolai uncrossed and crossed his ankles again, sinking deeper into his sprawl across one of the chairs that were neatly arranged around a long table, his gaze following her as she made her way towards him. “Only the pleasure of your company.” Then, his voice gone low and serious, he continued, “That, and to ask how you were doing — after the brunch, I mean.”
“Oh, that.” For a moment he saw something cross her features, a look of startled confusion, as if she hadn’t quite expected him to ask, or at least not in such a way. Or maybe he was just imagining things because next he knew she was propping her hip against the table and looking distinctly unconcerned. “As any scandalous woman - basking in the attention, utterly debauched.”
He must have frowned or made some sort of unstudied expression because suddenly she was laughing at him and using the brief moment of confusion to lean forward and steal the book from his lap. She smelled like something sweet and flowery, like a late summer afternoon.
There was a tone of playful accusation in her voice as she said, “So they did find the book.”
He ignored it. “You don’t seem particularly upset.” It was hard to tell if it was a statement or a question, but even Nikolai could not push down the bewilderment that coloured his words.
Y/N, to her credit, didn’t seem to mind his confusion. She moved one of the chairs and sat on the edge of the table, legs crossed, the book open across her lap as she ran her fingertips along one of the blueprints. “It would be quite counterproductive to be upset,” she said conversationally, flipping a page, “given that I’ve started the rumour myself.”
Slowly, Nikolai eased himself back into his chair, allowing the confession to settle over him, eyes never quite leaving her. He could tell from the too-casual way she flipped the pages that she was very much aware of his gaze and very intent on pretending she wasn’t.
He lost his patience after she flipped the fourth page. “How?”
She stroked the edge of the book fondly, like it was a pet or a lover, and took her time with flipping the page before she deigned to answer him. “I made sure to be seen sneaking into my room last night. Then I told one of my maids to talk about a handsome lieutenant she’d seen sneaking around the place at roughly the same time.” She flipped another page and sighed happily at whatever she saw on it. “Anyway, I figured someone would piece it together into a scandal sooner or later. By breakfast, the story was that we were seen together, and by brunch, well…” She looked up at him and smirked. “I’ll spare you the lurid details.”
Nikolai was rather proud of the way he didn’t wonder about the lurid details and instead focused on the matter at hand. “Why?”
“I wish to spare your princely sensibility.” She was flipping the pages and ignoring him again, though he could tell she was thoroughly amused by the game she was playing from the way the corner of her lip twitched slightly.
He drew a furtive breath in through his nose and closed his eyes to steel himself against the taunts. He was not fifteen anymore, he could hold it together. “No, I meant why in the name of Saints would you do that?”
“I do very little in the name of Saints or Ghezen these days, Your Highness.” Nikolai did not doubt that. She let the book fall open on her lap and leaned back against her hands, watching him thoughtfully. Then she shrugged and said, rather matter-of-fact, “I told you I bite when cornered.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think that meant you’d bite yourself.”
There was something vaguely unsettling at the way she smiled at him then. A woman cornered, a desperate snap of the teeth, a final show of defiance. Her voice was oddly flat in comparison as she said, “An animal will chew its own leg off to be free.”
For a moment, all Nikolai could do was stare. It occurred to him only then that the two of them seemed to have in mind two vastly different versions of last night’s events. He felt that on an intellectual level, this was quite a jump from the playful threat he’d left her with last night. His hands gripped the armrests, but he could not feel his fingertips, and for a minute he seemed to be overly aware of the blood rushing through his ears and the steady beat of his heart. He could not hear his stumbling thoughts over the sound of it.
Then he heard himself say, as if from far away, “Is that what you think of me? That this had been my intention?”
“I think,” she said, having gone very still where she sat, “that I’m not going to play your game.”
The air between them shifted, growing raw and strange as if someone had cast a strange spell over it. Belatedly, Nikolai realised that this was not the question he’d truly meant to ask, but he also knew that she wouldn’t have answered it either way. Not when her spine was so rigid and her fingers white-knuckled where she wrapped them around the edge of the table, not when she looked at him carefully as if half-expecting him to lash out. What are you so afraid of? He’d meant to say. But he thought she might not know the answer anyway, or that the answer would simply be everything.
Slowly he reached up to rub his face, careful not to shift from his spot and startle her. Then he leaned his head back against the backrest of his chair and observed the point where the tall shelves met the ornate ceiling. The silence between them felt like being underwater, still and suffocating.
“Okay,” he said after a while, to no one in particular. Then he drew a breath and looked back down at her. “Alright. No games.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He was looking at her down his lashes, head still tipped back, his voice carefully bland. She looked like she might object, so he continued, “So let me just make this clear. You attempted to shoot your reputation to pieces because you thought that would stop me from approaching you tonight?”
She hid her uncertainty like a snake hid its legs, but Nikolai saw it flash briefly across her features before she pressed her lips together and stared him down. “You and the others. But mostly you, yes.”
“You lashed out without thinking, didn’t you?”
A muscle feathered in her jaw, but she kept looking at him, tenaciously stubborn. If she was afraid of him still, she did a very good job at hiding it. Which, Nikolai thought, was a pattern. “What does it matter?” she asked, defensive.
“It matters because I didn’t think you’d go about it so self-destructively. And that’s on me.” He pushed himself up from the chair, a bit too quickly, and regretted it the instant he saw her flinch. He froze for a moment, allowing the uncomfortable feeling of it to wash over him and fuel his determination, before he turned away and headed for the door. “I’ll fix it.”
“What? No.” From somewhere behind him he heard her produce a high-pitched, panicked noise followed by the sound of her feet scurrying across the library. By the time she caught him, he was two-thirds of the way out. “Stop. No. Nikolai!”
As he felt her fingers dig into his wrist he thought, quite obtusely, that her hands seemed deceptively delicate from afar. Then he voiced the very next, stupid thing that came to his mind. “Is that all it took for you to call me by my name?”
She tugged at his wrist for good measure, clearly frustrated, then let go when she was sure he’d stopped attempting to leave. “What will you do?” she ground out after a moment, her breath quickened. Nikolai knew that if he reached out to touch the inside of her wrist again he’d feel the same panicked flutter of her pulse. He held back.
“I’ll discredit the source. Which shouldn’t be hard since your sources are pitifully unreliable.” He shrugged, falling easily back onto his confidence. “Or I’ll simply tell them all to shut up.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Isn’t it?” He smiled down at her, amused by the way she had planted herself firmly between him and the door as if he couldn’t simply go around her. “Just trust me. I’ll make it go away.”
“Well, that would entirely defeat the purpose of why I did it!”
It took an astronomical amount of effort for him not to laugh, though by the look she shot him the amusement must have slipped past his defences. He looked at the door above her head and did his best to collect himself before he answered. “Don’t say I didn’t try to spare your feelings.” He lowered his gaze back down to her. “But I would have asked you to dance even if they called you the whore of Ketterdam. So it was a moot point anyway.”
He noted again, the same way he had last night, that her blush seemed to creep up on her quickly and that it started not on her cheeks, but below, as a smattering of colour just beneath her collarbones. It rose like the tide, but she did not let him see it reach her cheeks, and instead let out a frustrated sigh before going around him. Nikolai turned to watch her as she went back to the table and threw herself down into the chair, sullen and rosy-cheeked.
“So the bottom line is that I have no choice?” she said eventually, looking up from her hands, her voice thin and tired.
Nikolai’s amusement melted into confusion. “What?” He’d miscalculated, again.
This seemed to frustrate her further because she shot him such a vicious glare that he nearly flinched from it. “Oh, don’t play stupid. You’ve got me cornered. Either I confess or you throw me out into the limelight tonight. Is that what you want to hear? That you win?” Whatever energy she had poured into this display of ferociousness seemed to drain her completely, because in the end she just slumped back into the chair and closed her eyes. “Fine then. You win.”
Nikolai just stared at her, confused, and it was a while before he remembered that he had use of his limbs and that he could just walk over to her. He did so slowly, cautiously, like one would approach a snared animal, before lowering himself into a crouch in front of her. “Hey Ketterdam?” She did not respond. “Look at me.”
She seemed so fragile then, eyelids fluttering with the effort to keep them closed, the skin thin and so translucent that he could see the bluish outlines of the fine vessels beneath it. Nikolai had no idea how she’d extrapolated all that from their conversation, but he suspected she’d been spinning herself into a frenzy since last night. He thought that if he looked at it from her side, and at an angle, he might see the logic behind it. If she felt her hands were tied and she’d tried to bite her way out of it, then he supposed what he’d just done must’ve felt like having her mouth taped shut. He ignored the faint wave of nausea that rolled over him then. She opened her eyes, so slightly that Nikolai might have missed it had he not been right in front of her, looking for the smallest twitch of muscles on her face. He held her gaze for a moment, hardly moving a muscle himself, before he spoke again, his voice firm. “No games. Remember?”
The huff that left her might have been a chuckle, only completely devoid of any humour. She stared down at him for a moment, eyes glassy and tired, like it had all just caught up to her and she was finally crumbling. “I almost believe you. I think it’s the face. It’s a kind one.” Her eyes searched his face, clinical, like one would observe a painting of him on the gallery wall. “Or maybe you’re just handsome.”
“Why, thank you.” He offered her his best attempt at a self-assured smirk and decided it fell flat. Even his ego was dampened by the moment, which was a feat in itself. He sighed. “What did they do to you?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
Kind of. “Do you want to answer it?”
She shook her head.
“Then it was rhetorical.” Nikolai leaned his elbow against the table, steadying himself, and propped his cheek against his hand as he looked sideways at her. She seemed calmer now, if entirely deflated. “At least now I know you’re not mounting a coup d'état,” he supplied, unhelpfully.
She made a derisive sound, and it took him a second to realise it was a snort. “Because I’m such a sorry mess? Yes, you’re right, nothing so grandiose.” Her fingers slipped absentmindedly across the book that was left forgotten on the table. “You could though, if you wanted to. I think.”
“Yeah, probably.” This time, he did smirk properly. Then he patted the armrest of her chair and pushed himself up. “Now go rest. And wear something ugly tonight, so I won’t even be tempted to look your way.”
This, he found, caught her attention, because her gaze snapped to him almost instantly, suddenly alert. “What’s the catch?”
“Saints, you would not believe me if I told you the Sun set in the West, would you?”
She didn’t answer that, just raised one delicate, precise eyebrow. Well, at least she didn’t look so defeated anymore, which Nikolai decided he’d take as a win.
“Try not to start any rumours in the meantime.” He winked at her, tapping his fingers against the table before he turned to leave the library. “One fire at a time.”
tags (i'm so sorry to bother you if you completely forgot about this 😭): @star-flecked-soul ; @meg-the-second-greatest ; @plowdenkm ; @londongirlcamefallingdown ; @ all the lovely anons in my inbox! <3
#nikolai lantsov#nikolai lantsov imagine#nikolai lantsov x reader#nikolai lantsov fanfic#nikolai x reader#nikolai lantsov imagines#nikolai lantsov x y/n#nikolai lantsov x you#shadow and bone#shadow and bone imagine#nikolai x you#nikolai x y/n#grishaverse#nikolai lantsov my beloved#gardenias
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》 ɢᴀᴀʀᴀ'ꜱ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ 《
Hello again my Dears! 🩵
It's been a while since I posted on Tumblr. I try to br active here again from now on. 🫶🏻
Seems like Gaara has a Beard now! 😂
You know, the Family Life of Gaara, Raziela and the Children was always very peaceful and full of Harmony. And what also was always very important was to laugh, to understand Humor, to make Jokes sometimes.
In Fact the Twins always made a lot of Jokes and there was always a lot of Laughter in their House, so it never got boring for them.
This Joke here was Aoi's Idea. It was a peaceful Sunday Morning, Gaara took a Day off to be with his Wife, his Twins, Shinki and Newborn Shiina, but Gaara seemed to be so exthaused that he slept very long this Morning.
And here Aoi saw her Chance to make a little... Joke.
Something Gaara would be really surprised of when he would wake up and see himself in the Bathroom Mirror.
Raziela didn't like this Idea first. [She INDEED liked >:-) it but she wasn't sure if the Children really should do this.] So Aoi went into his Office Room in the House, took some Pens and came back, just to draw on their Fathers Face.
They really had a lot of Fun doing this, especially Aoi. She is a little Clown, always was and she took every Chance to made a Joke, no matter how bad it was.
I really want to see Gaara's Face when he looks into the Mirror hahaha. 😂🩵
➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️
Art (c) pun_shun
All Ocs here (c) @kobayashisoul
Sabaku No Gaara (c) Masashi Kishimoto
Naruto & Boruto (c) Masashi Kishimoto and Mikio Ikemoto
This Picture was a Comission for me from pun_shun . I am NOT the Artist of this Artwork. I am a Comission Collector. I have the Artists written permission to upload this drawing to my Social Media. ⚠️
The Ocs, their Designs and Stories belong to me. ⚠️
Without my written permission you have no right to recolor/repost/trace/edit/use this in any way. Also please don't use my Characters for Roleplay or Fanfictions. ⚠️
#Sabaku no Gaara#jiro kobayashi#aoi kobayashi#shiina kobayashi#Gaara Family#Gaara#Kazekage Family#Kazekage Children#Gaara x Raziela#Gaara x Oc#Canon x Oc#original character#naruto fan character#Oc Character#Naruto Ocs#Naruto Oc#Boruto Oc#Naruto#Boruto#boruto naruto next generations#Family#Morning#Family Love#naruto#prank#Anime#Manga#Fanart#Comission#Next Generation
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I could never, at bottom, take advertising seriously. I felt it as demeaning. It seemed to me to be really a shell game, based squarely on the sucker principle. One could scarcely respect the people who went for all this okeydoke, who were, indeed, addicted to it. The sense of life with which advertising imbued them—or vice versa—made reality, or the truth of life, unbearable, threatening, and, at last, above all, unreal: they preferred the gaudy image, which they imagined to be under their control. Thus, they entered the voting booth as blindly cheerful and incoherent as they were at the supermarket, reaching out for the “brand” name, the name, that is, which had been most ruthlessly and successfully sold to them. They did not know, and did not dare to know, what was in the package: it had been “guaranteed,” and everybody else was buying it. True, there were occasional scandals, moments which might cause one to suspect that the public confidence had been abused: but the noise of scandal was swiftly conquered by the sprightly music of the next commercial. The music of the commercial simply reiterates the incredible glories of this great land, and one learns, through advertising, that it is, therefore, absolutely forbidden to the American people to be gloomy, private, tense, possessed; to stink, even a little, at any time; to grow gray, to wrinkle, to be sexless; to have unsmiling children; to be lusterless of eye, hair, or teeth; to be flabby of breast, belly, or bottom; to be gloomy, to know despair, or to embark on any adventure whatever without the corroboration of the friendly mob. Love, here, demands no down payment, though it must have the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, and, though love may be driven from Eden, it is only so that it may “mature” among friendly neighbors. This stupefying ode to purity has pornographic undertones: consider the classic hair-ad which has the portrait of a lady in the foreground and a naked infant in the background. The legend reads, hair color so natural only her hairdresser knows for sure! The legend is a dirty street-joke, and has reference to the lady’s pubic hair: but the presence of the baby washes the legend clean. The infant’s presence informs us that this is, indeed, a lady, a married one at that, and a mother, and her husband has nothing to fear from her hairdresser—who, probably, furthermore, like all hairdressers, is a faggot. Faggots, of course, never appear in this technicolored bazaar, except as clowns, or as the doomed victims of their hideous lusts, and it goes without saying that here, death shall have no dominion.
Much later, I was to realize that my discomfort was due to the fact that I was operating far, too far, beneath my level; or, in other words, I had more to give than was being demanded and I was being weighed down by the residue. I was also realizing that, though people endlessly fool themselves, they cannot really be fooled: what you really feel shines through you. So, my co-workers, and my superiors, in spite of the camaraderie, sensed my real attitude toward advertising, and, therefore, toward them, and distrusted me—soon, inevitably, they would dislike me. I could not blame them, for, if my attitude toward advertising as concerned the great, white, faceless mass was, at best, ironic, my attitude toward advertising as concerned black people was very painfully ambivalent. I felt that black people had a sense of reality far more solid and arresting than the bubble-gum context in which we operated—though I had days, God knows, when I wondered about this, too.
But who was I, anyway, after all, to have an attitude? I was doing the same thing, in the same office, and for the same reason: we had to eat. And we were expected to be aware, too, that the presence of blacks in advertising was a major sociological breakthrough. Was it? for our breakthroughs seemed to occur only on those levels where we were most speedily expendable and most easily manipulated. And a “breakthrough” to what? I was beginning to be wary of these breakthroughs, was not certain that I wanted a lifetime pass to Disneyland. On the other hand, here we were, and you can’t have your cake and eat it, too: we would simply have to find a way to use, and survive and transcend this present breakthrough the same way we had survived so many others.
Just Above My Head by James Baldwin
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mentally gone... (miguel o'hara x gender neutral! reader)
in which y/n suffers a brain injury, in a coma, and miguel loses his one and only.
WARNING: angst, suffering, trauma, near death experience (?)
part 2, part 1
miguel felt something break inside of him. he heard something shatter. maybe it was the sound of his heart breaking into millions of pieces he just didn’t know what to do. he just lost someone so important to him again. this can’t be. no not this again…
“no, no, NO!” he yelled out, “this can’t be…you mean to tell me they lost their memories?!” he didn’t know what to do but just stare at the doctor. he did not want to believe anything he just heard from the doctor saying you had amnesia. he did know you hit your head hard onto the ground but he just did not want to consider that possibility at all. he wanted all of this to be a wicked nightmare. oh god, he just wanted it to just be a nightmare. ‘please be a nightmare’ miguel begged to his brain…but he had to face the reality of it all. it was indeed not a nightmare.
miguel began to cry as he walked by your side. you looked at him as you furrowed your brows as you were so confused at the fact a stranger was crying over you. you didn’t know what to do but wince at the headache that you had as you held your head in your hands feeling the fabric of the bandages that were wrapped around you head. you looked up at him again and started to feel somewhat bad for him. he was distraught and a mess. miguel came closer to you as he fell down onto his knees besides your hospital bed and became to apologize profusely in between sobs.
“i—i’m so so s-orry, this is all my fault,” he held his face in his hands still on the edge of you bed. you were stunned to say the least and felt various emotions clash with one another in your heart. this was all too much for you, and you didn’t even recognize the poor man who was crying over you. you wanted to say something anything to get this man to stop crying.
you cautiously reached out to him as you put your hand on his shoulder. he immediately looked up to you as he shakily wiped his tears as his chest rose up and down viciously. you could tell he was shaking so badly. you felt bad. “i’m trying my hardest to remember but i can’t it hurts to try to recall any of my memories.” that’s all you’ve managed to say and his face fell to one of the horrors you would see in a horror movie. he was mortified towards the fact that you may never ever recognize him ever again or even if you did you probably wouldn’t feel the same way you once did for him ever again.
“please, it’s okay y/n…i’ll do my best for you to remember me again.” miguel said his voice quaking as he pleaded. he was looking for any signs that may indicate that you might remember quite literally anything but none were evident. a few more tears began to cascade down his chiseled face as he sniffled. he had dried tear stains on his face from his previous tears but all of that was washed clean with new ones. he reached out to grab a hand from you but you slightly flinched from his touch so he gently retrieved it back.
you stood there silent. you were confused and conflicted with a man who was promising you to make you remember. a man who was devoted to make you somewhat bring back your memories that have been blocked for who knows how long. how are you supposed to trust a man who you don’t even know? do you just take his word for it or deny him? “i just don’t know.” you muttered under your breath.
miguel was clinging on the last threads of hope. his stomach churned at your words and god did they stab him deep in the heart. he wanted to just hold you so tightly but he didn’t because he did not want to overstep your boundaries because after all you weren’t the same person he once fell in love with. you were a whole new person. miguel knew he needed to respect that as much as he did not want to accept it.
he took shallow deep breaths as he stood up on his own feet. most of the air he breathed did not fill his lungs properly. he would clench and unclench his fists as a way to sooth his internal aching. “i understand how you feel but please i’ll make you remember us. we had it all…god i’m such a fucking fool for never telling you that i loved you…”
“you loved me?”
“yes. yes i did and i still do. i’ll do anything i can to make you fall back in love with me.”
“i—i don’t know.” you knew he had to give it up now but you did not know that miguel was the type of person to never give up. he knew this time he had to try his very best to bring back the person he once loved. he did not care if it would take him years to make you fall for him. he just didn’t care because what he was not going to do was give up. at the very least you were alive but you weren’t the person miguel knew. you seemed unbothered and confused and in a way lifeless even though your soul was still intact. in a sense a part of you did die when you were knocked unconscious and fell off a building.
miguel left your room and gave you one last glance through the window of your hospital room and disappeared. you felt a twinge of sadness in your heart as you felt alone in your hospital room that was filled by beeps of the machines and the sound of the IV dropping from the bag. you didn’t understand why you felt that way but you did, but you brushed off that feeling as you looked up at the ceiling trying to remember. nothing came to mind.
miguel was consumed by his loneliness and that loneliness turned into angry outbursts. everyone noticed the slight change in miguel’s mannerisms and random emotional outbursts. he was a broken man just trying to make sense of it all while the responsibility of the multiverse were at his shoulders. jess and peter, even gwen and hobie tried to stir clear of his wrath. everyone was quite afraid to make him angry but you did not know that. you did not know anything that was going on. you were kept in the dark even though people would visit you.
this was a battle that you and miguel were facing alone. who will overcome their battles and who will lose?
…
a/n: let me know if you want me to continue this <3
@omartheuwu @arianyo
#spiderman atsv#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel spiderman#spider man: across the spider verse#spider person#atsv x reader#spidersona#ao3 works#angst prompt#heavy angst#🌱 lin writes
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1938 05 23 Fiat CR32 Chirri XVI Gruppo di Caccia La Cucaracha - Mark Postlethwaite
repost better quality and color
During the afternoon of 23 May 1938, Maggiore Pilota Armando François led 28 CR.32s from his XVI Gruppo Caccia of the ‘Aviazione Legionaria’ on an interdiction patrol over the Balaguer bridgehead in Catalonia in support of the Spanish Nationalist Army’s offensive.
The Italian formation consisted of 12 fighters from 24a Squadriglia, led by Capitano Luigi Bianchi, nine machines from 25a Squadriglia, led by Capitano Roberto Fassi, and seven CR.32s from 26a Squadriglia, led by Capitano Vincenzo La Carubba.
An aerial clash had already taken place over the frontline earlier that day between CR.32s escorting S.79 and BR.20 bombers and Polikarpov I-15s and I-16s that had attempted to attack the latter aircraft. As the Fiat fighters of XVI Gruppo Caccia approached the bridgehead to escort the last of the S.79s home, the bombers were set upon by 27 I-16s of Republican Grupo 21.
Diving on the Italian aircraft from 19,000 ft, the Republican machines enjoyed a height advantage over the CR.32s. Nevertheless, Maggiore Piloto Armando François successfully led his fighters against the enemy machines.
Indeed, the XVI Gruppo Caccia pilots claimed five ‘Ratas’ (I-16s) destroyed and three more probably destroyed. Soviet patrol leaders Lt N I Marthishchenko from 2a Escuadrilla and Lt I I Turchin from 5a Escuadrilla, both of whom were flying newly delivered Tip 10 versions of the I-16 fighter, perished in this clash. In return, XVI Gruppo Caccia lost two CR.32s in a mid-air collision while chasing an I-16 (their pilots were captured). Three biplane fighters were also damaged by enemy fire. One of the confirmed victories was credited to Maggiore François himself, taking his final tally in Spain to six. His aircraft was also shot up during the engagement
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The principle of mutual exchange is most clearly visible in Vedic in the terms anna "food", annådya "stored food, provision" which are used in a very peculiar way. In fact, anna is much more than actual food; it can stand for a variety of substances, especially those that are exchanged among men and gods. Thus a whole Upanisad (Taitt. Up. 3) can deal with "food". As often in India, the concept survives to this day and it has indeed been discussed by modern anthropologists, e.g. McKim Marriott, under the designation "code substance". It is the substance "food" which is given, altered, and returned, in short, exchanged; it functions as a code for the actual exchange.
Indeed old Vedic religion, like so many others, base their relationship between human beings, ancestors, and gods on proper exchanges. This has recently been studied, following Hubert and Mauss 1898, Mauss 1923-24, by Sahlins 1972. The old Roman dō ut dẽs, however, is not altogether sufficient to express what happens in Vedic ritual. As Sahlins has noted, if one party gives a gift of a value of 100, the other party returns one of 50 - keeping the path open for future transactions. The same happens with the gods, usually in the context of fire ritual. It is the fire (god Agni) who carries the offerings to the gods. Fire also transubstantiates the offerings; however, this does not simply happen, as Malamoud (1972) states in the wake of Lévi-Strauss, by a conversion from an raw, uncooked state into a palatable, cooked one. Instead, "food" is not only changed from a mundane substance into one which has different, perhaps divine characteristics, but its various consistent parts are split up as well, as already Vådh. Br. 4.19a notes (Caland 1928 [= 1990: 416ff]).
As such, transubstantiated food can travel towards the gods in the form of smoke and aroma (medha) and is consumed by them. What remains here on earth is a gift by the gods who have tasted the offering while sitting at the sacred fire, soiled it by their spittle and rendered it consumable only to their socially inferior relations, the human beings: this is the remnant (ucchia). It is not useless or thrown away as "soiled" food is apt to be. Instead, as especially AV extols in great detail, the "remnant" has enormous potential (cf. Malamoud 1972, Wezler 1978) in the peculiar social hierarchy that exists between men and god (deva), just as between wife and husband (deva), or between the people (prajå) and the king (deva). "Food remnants" of the deva are "palatable" to members of "lower" social rank: i.e. men, wives, subjects.
Vedic Hinduism, Jamison and Witzel
obviously feeding the aroma to the gods while eating most of the sacrifice yourself is common but the idea of fitting this relationship into a hierarchy, as the sacrificer eating the god's "scraps" is very novel to me, i dont think the grecoroman or second temple jewish sacrifice worked like this!
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