#Process Lasso Crack

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

just thinking about trent having an embarrassing twitter account that's like, idk, priv and/or just like an anonymous jokey account sort of thing and it regularly tweets things like "The weighted blanket is not enough. i need a man to lay on top of me horizontally and crush me to death. lovingly." and "Just made finger guns at my crush instead of doing what I intended to do, which was apologize. I think maybe I should be shot into the sun?" and "Sorry for being rude. I got anxious and scared. It will happen again" and "'Not all men' you're right. Ted Lasso would never do this to me" <- everyone assumes that's a general celebrity crush/just a joke about a famously really nice guy and like, coach beard actually likes/retweets it so it goes mildly viral and trent is like. This Is Fine. most people assume that this account is run by like, a female tumblr user in her late twenties. no. this is a middle-aged single father and no one realizes this until he tweets something like "My ex-wife just set me up with a man who looks exactly like my straight crush, but worse. You know, because she's evil, and also the funniest person alive. anyway guess who i ran into on the date" or "i am a single middle-aged father and i only JUST NOW found out i have autism. My parents knew when I was three." which is then updated by "WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY EX WIFE KNEW TOO" (she thought it was kind of a given) only to confuse them again when he mentions that time he was pregnant

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.13)

Chapter Thirteen: “Walk of Triumph (And Slight Shame)”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

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Previous Chapter: Chapter Twelve: “Redemption, Bras, and Burnt Toast” Next Chapter: Chapter Fourteen: “All Tangled Up”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Thirteen: “Walk of Triumph (And Slight Shame)”

The moment the dressing room door creaked open, a blast of air hit you, cooler than inside, but nowhere near cold enough to chill the flush still blooming across your cheeks. Eddie stepped out first, chest puffed like a rockstar after a sold-out show, smug grin curling at the corners of his mouth like he’d just personally saved rock 'n roll with his dick.

The second the band spotted them, the teasing hit like a wave.

“Oh my God,” Gareth groaned, mock-clapping with slow, dramatic flair like he was presenting a lifetime achievement award. “Somebody get this man a medal.”

“GET A ROOM!” Jeff shouted, then cupped his hands to his mouth and added, “Oh wait- YOU DID!”

Grant just let out a long, theatrical whistle and muttered, “Y’all are nasty.”

You groaned and buried your face in Eddie’s chest, half-hiding, half-laughing, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I told you they’d hear us.”

“I wanted them to hear us,” Eddie purred, wrapping an arm around you like a damn prizefighter strutting back from a victory round. “Let the record show- I did not hold back.”

“You’re a menace,” you hissed, voice shaky from laughing, still clinging to him as if he could shield you from the embarrassment.

He looked absolutely pleased with himself. He kissed the top of her head, beaming, then held up a rumpled, very recognizable scrap of satin and lace like it was a war banner freshly taken from the battlefield.

The band lost it.

Gareth choked on his own spit. “Dude… is that her-?!”

Jeff let out a strangled cackle. “He’s got the panties. This man is waving the panties.”

You gasped, mortified. “EDDIE!” you shrieked, trying to snatch them back, but he twirled out of reach, swinging the delicate fabric around one finger like a lasso.

“Too late, sweetheart,” he grinned. “Trophy claimed.”

“Oh my god. Kill me. Kill me now.”

“Can’t,” Eddie said brightly, tucking the panties into his back pocket like a love letter. “You’re too cute when you’re embarrassed.”

You swatted him half-heartedly, still hiding your face, but he caught your hand and kissed your knuckles like some smarmy prince from a rock opera.

“I hate you,” you muttered against his chest, but he just chuckled low in his throat.

“Nah, you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He leaned down, whispering in your ear, voice laced with unholy glee. “Wait till they see the size of the hickey I left behind.”

You gasped again, but this time it was paired with a helpless laugh as he pulled you along, strutting toward the exit like the proud little menace he was.

Behind them, Gareth called, “Were those moans or screams we heard? Just wanna label the recording properly.”

“And in a shocking turn of events, Munson finishes before soundcheck! A new personal best!” Jeff narrated like it’s a sportscast.

“You owe us new amp cables. Some things can’t be unheard.” Grant threw in his two cents.

Eddie just flipped them off without looking back, fingers laced with yours, smug as ever. And despite the howling embarrassment, you let him lead you away- grinning, glowing, and head-over-heels with the ridiculous, wonderful chaos of being his.

The Morning After…

The first thing you felt was heat.

Not just the warmth of sunlight pushing its way through the blinds, but real, body heat- heavy, lazy, and entirely wrapped around you. One arm slung over your waist, a thigh wedged between yours, and a tangle of wild hair brushing against your bare shoulder. It took a second longer to process the unmistakable scent of cigarettes, sweat, and Eddie Munson’s shampoo.

Right. That happened.

You cracked one eye open.

Eddie was asleep, flat on his stomach, one cheek smushed into the pillow by your shoulder, his curls fanned out like some gothic cherub. His bare back rose and fell with each slow breath, long limbs splayed out like he’d been dropped from a great height and left there to melt. There were red lines down his back from your nails.

Your legs ached.

Your throat was achy.

And somehow, despite all the awkward positioning, despite the weird soreness in places you didn’t know you could be sore, you felt… weirdly giddy. Like you’d just survived something beautiful and borderline illegal.

His fingers twitched against your hip. He made a small sound- half-groan, half-sigh, and shifted just enough to nuzzle his nose into your shoulder with a pleased little hum, like you were a particularly satisfying dream he wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t want to.

For once, the chaos had stilled. No teasing bandmates, no amps screeching in the distance, no dramatics. Just this: a man who’d grinned his way into your bed, rearranged your insides all night, and then had fallen asleep in your bed like he belonged there.

Which was dangerous.

Because part of you was starting to believe he did.

You weren’t sure what time it was- early, probably, judging by the silvery light peeking in through the curtains, but time didn’t matter. Not with Eddie’s leg still slung over yours like he was physically anchoring you in bed, arm heavy across your waist, and his face buried in the crook of your neck like you were the last comfortable pillow in the world.

The man radiated body heat like a human furnace, and he snored. Lightly, inconsistently. Adorably. You weren’t gonna tell him that, though.

You shifted a little, trying to wiggle the blanket back up over your shoulder, only to find it hopelessly trapped underneath him.

“Jesus, Munson,” you grumbled, voice still hoarse, “you hog the whole bed and the covers?”

Eddie let out a groggy, half-mumbled noise- somewhere between a growl and a laugh, and tugged you closer like you were part of the bedding. “’S not bed hogging if I’m cuddling,” he slurred. “It’s called being affectionate.”

“You’ve got all the blankets.”

“I’ve got my girl,” he murmured, without even thinking about it, his lips brushing your collarbone like a punctuation. “Pretty sure that trumps blanket ownership.”

Your breath caught.

You weren’t sure if he heard it or if the words even registered for him. He was still half-asleep, the kind of blissed-out satisfaction you only get when your band doesn’t have practice, you’re not hungover, and you’ve just spent the night very thoroughly ruining someone’s ability to walk in a straight line.

Still, the phrase my girl hung in the air like the scent of last night’s sex- lingering, heavy, and just a little intoxicating.

You shifted again, just enough to see him crack one eye open, lashes a mess, and smile lazy as sin. He looked at you like the bed was the whole world, and you were the best part of it.

“You can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to clock it,” you said, voice low, teasing.

His grin only grew. “I didn’t say anything.” He nuzzled your shoulder like a damn cat. “Must’ve been dreaming.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure. Dreaming about claiming me like some sleep-paralysis boyfriend.”

“I am your sleep-paralysis boyfriend. Sexy and slightly alarming.” He stretched, long and dramatic, then promptly curled right back around you. “And if you do need rescuing, babe, I’ve got the guitar and the dungeon master’s guide ready.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Only to exes and fitted sheets.”

You snorted. And then, despite yourself, relaxed into him.

Eventually, your stomach started growling loud enough to compete with Eddie’s previous snores.

You shifted beneath the tangle of limbs, trying to escape the full-body Eddie wrap without disturbing him too much. That lasted about four seconds.

He grunted when you moved, long arms tightening instinctively, voice still deep and scratchy from sleep. “Where you goin’, sweetheart?” he murmured, eyes half-lidded but locked on you like a lazy jungle cat clocking its prey.

“Food, Munson. Unless you wanna go another round on an empty stomach?”

He blinked, clearly torn. Then smirked. “Tempting. But you might actually pass out on me this time.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving at his chest. “Get up, bed hog. I need coffee.”

“I need you,” he replied dramatically, flopping across your back as you sat up and dragging the blanket with him. “But do I whine about it? Yes. Yes, I do.”

He eventually let you up with a groan, flopping bonelessly onto the sheets and flashing you that annoyingly smug grin as you stumbled toward the dresser, completely naked and trying to act like it didn’t matter.

“Y’know,” he said, arms folded behind his head, “if I’d known all I had to do was put my name on that ass, and take a bite to get a morning show like this, I’d’ve left bite marks on it a lot sooner.”

“Bite marks?” you echoed, glancing over your shoulder.

He just winked. “Go look in the mirror, baby.”

You didn’t, because you knew he wasn’t bluffing. And the gleam in his eye said he was damn proud of himself.

Still naked, he followed you out of bed a few minutes later, he put his boxers back on, and tugged one of your oversized shirts off the back of a chair and pulled it on without shame. It fit him way too well for your comfort. Like, offensively well. Like it should be illegal.

You raised an eyebrow as he passed by you, already nosing around your bedroom space like he lived there. “That my shirt?”

“Not anymore,” he said simply, peeking into your bookshelf like he was inspecting the competition. “What, no dirty secrets in here? Not even a diary?”

“Eddie-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Just need to know where to file my love letters.” He flashed you a crooked grin before he left and wandered toward the kitchen, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake.

You found him a minute later poking around the kitchen cabinets like a man on a mission. His boxers had ridden up just enough to give you a totally unfair view of his thighs. Which, rude. Very rude.

“Do you even know how to make coffee correctly yet?” you asked, watching him frown at your machine like it had insulted his mother.

“Sweetheart,” he said, turning slowly, “I was raised on diner sludge and gas station drip. I am coffee.”

You reached past him to take over, brushing against him deliberately. “Sit. Let the expert handle it.”

He didn’t argue- just wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder while you worked, humming happily like this was already routine. Like you hadn’t just had sex with each other for the first time last night. Like waking up in your bed and helping make coffee in his boxers and your shirt was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re dangerous like this,” he murmured, voice low and warm in your ear. “All soft and beautiful and mine.”

You hesitated, heart doing a little leap at that word again.

Mine.

You didn’t correct him.

You didn’t want to.

As usual, Eddie was an absolute menace in the kitchen.

You were pretty sure he used every single pan you owned in the span of ten minutes, somehow managing to get flour on his elbows, syrup on the counter, and eggshells exactly nowhere near the trash. He moved like a man possessed- shirt crumpled up oddly on one shoulder, boxers riding scandalously low, hair a disaster. He was whistling something vaguely metal as he tried to flip a pancake with entirely the wrong type of spatula.

“You’re gonna set something on fire,” you warned, hovering near the coffee pot like it was your emotional support animal. “Again.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed, flipping the pancake with zero confidence and burning the corner. “I thrive in chaos.”

“You live in chaos. Thriving is… questionable.”

Eddie shot you a crooked grin, nudging a spatula at you like a sword. “Admit it, I turn you on.”

You sipped your coffee with theatrical calm. “You turn me on in spite of the pancake homicide.”

“That’s fair.”

He bumped into you on his way to grab another bowl- just a little nudge with his hip, but it was enough to make you laugh, and the sound of it made him beam like a damn sunrise. He was annoyingly bright this morning, like good sex had permanently juiced his serotonin. Every time you caught his eye, he looked at you like you were a song he was still humming under his breath.

The scent of butter and something vaguely cinnamon-filled the kitchen.

“You’re not seriously putting peanut butter on those, are you?”

Eddie gasped. “You wound me.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s delicious, and I am a culinary genius.” He struck a proud pose with the jar of peanut butter in one hand, spatula in the other, shirt hanging like a toga. “Put that in your little diary.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your old Polaroid from the shelf by the fridge, and snapped a picture without warning.

“HEY!” he squawked, spinning on one heel like a scandalized Victorian lady. “You didn’t even give me a smolder option!”

“You don’t get options when you look like a gremlin covered in flour.”

“Babe. That’s my brand.”

The photo printed with a mechanical whirr, and you shook it in the air until the image started to bloom into focus- Eddie mid-spatula wave, peanut butter jar clutched to his chest like a holy relic, the kitchen an absolute war zone behind him.

He leaned over your shoulder to peek.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding approvingly. “That’s going on the fridge.”

“You’re not putting your own chaos pin-up on my fridge.”

“Our fridge,” he corrected with a smug little eyebrow waggle.

You gave him a look. “Pretty sure that requires an on-time rent payment.”

“I pay in sex and emotional instability. Money comes later. It’s a very fair trade.”

You snorted. “So that’s what you’re calling your pancake-flipping skills?”

He grinned, lips brushing your cheek. “Nah, sweetheart. I meant the other thing that made your legs shake last night.”

You let out a scandalized huff that you didn’t even mean, swatting him with the dish towel and turning back to your coffee before he could see the blush spreading down your neck.

Behind you, he put the photo on the fridge with a fruit-shaped magnet and stepped back, arms folded like he’d just painted the Sistine Chapel.

And when you looked over, his eyes softened, just for a second. A blink-and-you-miss-it kind of moment. But you caught it. The way he looked at the photo, then at you- like this? This messy little domestic slice of morning? Was everything.

He didn’t say it.

Didn’t have to.

You knew.

And you weren’t ready to ask what it meant just yet.

But part of you already knew the answer.

“You know…” he said suddenly, turning back to the stove, “Wayne’s off tonight.”

You raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was thinkin’ maybe we could bring this breakfast- well, the salvageable parts, over to the trailer. Surprise him with lunch. Do a whole Breakfast-For-Lunch thing. He loves that corny crap.”

Your fingers tightened around your mug just slightly. “Like… the two of us? Bringing him lunch?”

Eddie shrugged, playing it casual but failing spectacularly. “Yeah, I mean. If you’re not busy. I’ve kinda been talkin’ you up to him for a while now, so… y’know. Might as well let the man put a face to the name.”

You blinked. “You’ve been… talking me up?”

He gave you a playful bump with his hip again. “What, like I wasn’t gonna brag about my hot, smart, badass kitchen queen who puts up with my nonsense? C’mon.”

You laughed, but it sounded a little breathless. “So this is, what, like… a meet-the-family thing?”

“Only if you want it to be,” he said quickly, eyes catching yours with just a flicker of nervousness behind the smirk. “No pressure. We just bring some pancakes over, shoot the shit, and if Wayne says anything embarrassing I promise to knock over his La-Z-Boy on the way out.”

You stared at him for a long moment, heart thudding too hard for something as simple as pancakes.

“Okay,” you said, and smiled, trying to match his tone. “Let’s bring the man some breakfast for lunch.”

“Hell yeah.” He grinned. “You’re gonna love him.”

If he was anything like Eddie, you were pretty sure he was right.

After Eddie declared the fridge officially adorned, he dusted flour off his hands like a job well done. You watched him with an amused shake of your head, sipping the last of your coffee like it might steel your nerves.

“Okay, kitchen gremlin,” you said, waving at the mess. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and try to forget what you did to my spatulas.”

“Can I come?”

“Do you have to ask?”

He followed you down the hall barefoot, yawning like a sleepy lion and scratching at his stomach. You flicked on the bathroom light, already reaching for your toothbrush, and he wordlessly grabbed his own from the cup on the sink like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was. And maybe that scared you a little.

You stood side-by-side in front of the mirror, shoulders brushing, tired-stupid grins ghosting your faces while you moved around each other in perfect sync, trading places at the sink, rinsing, spitting, nudging your hips like some clumsy, quiet dance choreographed by muscle memory.

He had toothpaste on the tip of his nose, he somehow hadn’t noticed. You didn’t tell him.

“Hey,” he said when you started toward the door, “do that thing?”

You paused. “What thing?”

“That thing where you brush my hair.” He said it like a question, but the way he handed you your own brush was anything but.

“You have a brush of your own,” you pointed out, stepping behind him.

“Yeah, but yours smells nice.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, gently tugging the brush through his tangled curls, starting from the ends like he’d learned to do after one too many snarls and yelps. He hummed- somewhere between a sigh and a purr, and watched you through the mirror, eyes soft and unfocused.

“You look like you’re being sedated.”

“I am sedated,” he murmured. “You’re like… a spell, sweetheart. Witchcraft. Domestic sorcery. I dunno how you do it, but I’m thirty seconds away from proposing over toothpaste and tangled hair.”

You tapped the side of his head with the brush.

“OW. Okay, fine. I’ll wait ‘til Wayne gives his blessing or whatever.”

He smirked, but there was something gentler behind it. A look you caught in the mirror and didn’t quite know how to name.

After you finished smoothing the last curls over his shoulders, he caught your wrist and pressed a kiss to the inside of it without a word.

Later, while gathering things to bring to Wayne's, Eddie wandered into your bedroom and came to a dead halt.

“Yo,” he said, voice full of something caught between reverence and glee. “Is this what I think it is?”

You turned to find him holding the Starfleet communicator badge replica that lived happily on your bookshelf. One of your childhood treasures, carefully dusted and displayed between a stack of dog-eared sci-fi paperbacks and a signed photo of Nichelle Nichols.

“I didn’t know you were a Trekkie,” he grinned, cradling the badge like it was made of glass.

“I had a thing for Spock, okay? The calm, the brains, the ears- don’t judge me.”

Eddie just stared at you like you’d invented warp drive.

“I’m not judging. I’m reevaluating my entire vibe to better align with your childhood dreams.”

You laughed, but he was still holding it, thumb tracing the smooth gold and silver curves with something close to awe.

“You kept this all this time?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. Guess I like remembering the stuff that made me happy.”

He set the badge down gently, then turned to look at you like he’d just connected a hundred invisible dots.

“I get that,” he said, quieter this time. “I really, really get that.”

Something passed between you- something warm and weightless that didn’t need defining yet.

Instead of calling it what it was, he just stepped closer, bumped your shoulder with his, and said:

“C’mon, Lieutenant. Let’s go feed Uncle Wayne.”

The Ride Over

The van smelled like old leather, weed, and the faintest hint of the pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror- Eddie’s version of “keeping the van clean” for company. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to some thrash metal song only he could hear in his head, glancing at you every few seconds like he was checking to make sure you hadn’t evaporated.

"You nervous?" he asked, voice casual, but his knee bounced like a live wire.

You shrugged. "Should I be?"

Eddie snorted. "Nah. Wayne’s cool. He’s, like... the opposite of intimidating. Unless you count his beard. That thing could bench press me."

You laughed, watching the trees blur past the window.

Eddie’s fingers flexed around the wheel. "He’s gonna love you, though. Like, instantly. Guaranteed."

"You don’t know that."

"I do," he said, grinning. "Because I love you, and Wayne’s got great taste."

The words hung in the air like a firework mid-explosion- bright, sudden, impossible to ignore.

Eddie froze.

You froze.

The van kept moving.

For a second, neither of you breathed.

Then Eddie cleared his throat, white-knuckling the wheel like it might save him. "Uh. So. That… that just happened."

You stared at him.

He swallowed hard. "I mean. It’s true. But also, y’know. No pressure. Zero. Negative pressure, even. Like, black hole levels of no obligation-"

You reached over and flicked the radio on, loud enough to drown out his rambling.

Eddie blinked. "Are you… are you ignoring me?"

You kept your eyes on the road, fighting a smile. "Yep."

He gaped. "Rude."

"Uh-huh."

"You’re supposed to say it back or freak out or something-"

You turned the volume up higher.

Eddie groaned, slumping in his seat. "Fuck. I didn’t even do it on purpose. That’s worse."

You finally cracked, laughing as you reached over to squeeze his thigh. "Relax.”

His leg stopped bouncing. His fingers loosened on the wheel. And for a second, the only sound was the muffled thrash of Metallica bleeding through the van’s shitty speakers.

Then he exhaled, long and slow, like he’d been holding his breath since the words slipped out.

"...So," he said, voice carefully light, "we just gonna pretend I didn’t say that?"

You shrugged, thumb tracing idle circles on his jeans. "I mean, you did say it."

"Yeah." A moment of silence passed. "Fuck."

You grinned. "Eloquent."

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Christ, okay- look. I didn’t plan it. It just… happened. Like a sneeze. Or a crime."

"A crime?"

"You know what I mean," he whined, shooting you a glare that was more pout than menace. "It was an accident."

You arched a brow. "So you don’t love me?"

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "That’s not- ugh, fuck you-"

You laughed, loud and bright, and Eddie’s scowl melted into something softer, something fond, even as he grumbled under his breath.

"Asshole," he muttered, but his hand found yours, lacing your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You squeezed. He squeezed back.

And that was enough.

For now.

Wayne’s Trailer

Wayne Munson took one look at the two of you standing on his doorstep- Eddie holding a large tray of suspiciously shaped, lopsided pancakes, you clutching a grocery bag full of syrup, butter, and other foods and sighed.

"Boy," he said, voice dry as sandpaper, "you better not be proposin’."

Eddie choked. "Jesus, Wayne- no-"

Wayne just smirked, stepping aside to let you in. "Good. ‘Cause I ain’t cleanin’ up the mess when she says no. You can do better than that." He gestured to the sad pancakes.

Eddie spluttered. You laughed.

And just like that, the tension dissolved, replaced by the warm, easy chaos of a Munson family brunch.

The trailer was small but cozy, the kind of lived-in that spoke of years of familiarity and exactly zero pretense. A faded recliner sat in one corner like a throne of solitude, next to a battered side table piled with old Field & Stream magazines and a cracked coffee mug that read World’s Okayest Uncle. The kitchen was more kitchenette than anything else- tiny oven, wobbly table, mismatched chairs- but it was clean and smelled faintly of bacon grease and old coffee.

Wayne shuffled toward the counter, eyeing the tray Eddie had proudly set down with a level of suspicion usually reserved for roadkill or political promises.

"You used a mold for these?" Wayne asked, squinting.

Eddie looked genuinely offended. "Excuse you, I used a heart-shaped ring. It’s romantic. Show a little respect."

Wayne grunted. “Looks like the heart of someone with clogged arteries.”

You snorted into the syrup bottle, trying to play it cool as Eddie looked to you for backup.

"Tell him, sweetheart. They look like love."

You held up a pancake, tilted your head, and squinted. "...They look like a pair of lungs."

Eddie clutched his chest like you’d shot him. “Et tu, babe?”

Wayne just chuckled, already digging through the grocery bag you brought. "Least she brought the good butter. None of that margarine bullshit."

"You're welcome," you grinned, starting to unload the rest of the haul: a carton of eggs, bacon, orange juice, fresh strawberries, and a second bottle of syrup, just in case.

Eddie leaned back against the counter and watched you both with a look that was part amused, part quietly amazed. It wasn’t often he got to see his favorite people in the same room, not clashing, not pulling him in opposite directions, just… existing. Laughing. Teasing each other like they’d known each other forever.

Wayne cracked open the eggs into a pan like he was running a diner, throwing occasional looks over his shoulder at you. "So. How long you two been a thing?"

You and Eddie exchanged a glance.

Eddie shrugged. "It’s... complicated."

Wayne snorted. "Ain’t it always."

He didn’t push, just let the sizzle of the eggs fill the room as he fished a spatula out of a drawer that stuck every time it opened.

Eddie stepped beside you, bumped your hip with his. “You want coffee, or are you still pretending you prefer orange juice?”

"Both," you said, reaching for the mugs hanging by little hooks above the sink.

Eddie handed you his favorite one without a word- the black one with a skull on it that had a chip in the rim shaped suspiciously like Texas.

You poured coffee for all three of you, then reached for the strawberries. Eddie immediately popped one in his mouth, then fed another to you like you were in some badly scripted rom-com. You nearly choked laughing when he wiggled his eyebrows.

Wayne watched all of this like a man who'd seen some shit and was still somehow surprised. “You two are really somethin’.”

Eddie just grinned around a mouthful of berry. "It’s called romance, you wouldn’t know anything about that, old man."

Wayne flipped the eggs with surgical precision. “Keep flappin’ that mouth and you’re gonna be the one cleanin’ up.”

"You say that like it’s a threat," Eddie said, but he reached for a plate anyway.

The table came together in fits and starts- sloppy pancakes stacked with pride, Wayne’s eggs perfectly over-medium, strawberries in a chipped cereal bowl, syrup bottles sweating in the warmth of the little kitchen, and three steaming mugs of coffee that smelled like burnt toast and comfort.

Eddie pulled out a chair for you and sat so close your knees touched under the table.

Wayne served the eggs and bacon with a grunt, then took a seat himself, cracking his knuckles and settling in like it was the best part of his week.

And maybe it was.

No one said anything for a moment, just passed things around- butter, syrup, the strawberry bowl, more coffee. It wasn’t the kind of silence that begged to be filled. It was the kind that let you be.

Outside, the wind rustled leaves against the trailer. A car passed on the gravel road. Somewhere deep in the woods, a dog barked once and fell quiet again.

Inside, Eddie cut your pancakes for you when you weren’t looking, pretending he was doing it ironically. Wayne offered you hot sauce for your eggs like it was a test. You passed.

And just like that, you were part of something good.

The Brunch Aftermath

The syrup bottle was sticky in your hands, the kind of cheap, plastic squeeze-top that had seen better days. You wrestled with it for a second before Eddie reached over, plucked it from your fingers, and, without breaking eye contact, bit the cap off with his teeth.

Wayne didn’t even blink.

“You’re disgusting,” you informed him, watching as he spat the cap into his palm like a goddamn magician.

Eddie grinned, all teeth, and drizzled syrup over your pancakes in a slow, deliberate spiral. “And yet, you love me.”

Wayne snorted into his coffee.

You kicked Eddie under the table.

He yelped, then immediately retaliated by hooking his ankle around yours, trapping your leg against his like a goddamn predator. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You know what.”

You took a bite of pancake, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “These are better than they look.”

Eddie groaned, slumping back in his chair. “Cruel.”

Wayne watched the whole exchange with the weary amusement of a man who’d spent decades dealing with Eddie’s dramatics. He wiped his mouth with a paper towel, then pointed at Eddie with his fork. “Boy, you’re gonna scare her off.”

Eddie scoffed. “Nah. She’s stuck with me.”

You arched a brow. “Am I?”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper just for you. “Yeah. ‘Cause I’ve seen your Star Trek collection. You’ve got standards, sweetheart. And I exceed them.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed.

Wayne sighed, pushing his plate away. “Christ. I need a cigarette.”

Eddie didn’t follow him out, but Wayne paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.

“C’mon. Gimme a hand with somethin’.”

Eddie frowned, but stood anyway, brushing his hands on his jeans. “What, like… now?”

Wayne didn’t answer. Just jerked his head toward the porch and stepped outside.

Eddie gave you a what the hell shrug and followed.

On the Porch

The door creaked shut behind them, muffling the sounds of the kitchen- plates clinking, your soft humming, the distant buzz of a fly against the screen.

Wayne lit up with the weary efficiency of a man who’d smoked through wars- emotional and otherwise. He took one drag, let the smoke curl from his nose, then spoke without looking at Eddie.

“She’s a good one.”

Eddie blinked. “Yeah. I know.”

Wayne shot him a sidelong glance. “Do you?”

Eddie bristled. “Wayne, c’mon-”

“I’m serious.” Wayne took another slow drag. “You got that look.”

“What look?”

“The same one your dad used to get when he had a good thing and was about to fuck it up.”

Eddie flinched, visibly. “Jesus.”

Wayne shrugged, like the truth didn’t need to be dressed up. “I’m not sayin’ you’re him. You’re not. You’re better. But you get twitchy. Start thinking too hard. Over-explainin’. Over-correctin’. Tryin’ to make jokes outta things that matter.”

Eddie looked down at his boots. “I told her I loved her. In the van on the way over. By accident.”

Wayne grunted. “Figures.”

“She didn’t say it back.”

“She didn’t run away either.”

Eddie chewed on that in silence.

Wayne flicked ash over the railing. “You don’t need her to say it right now. You just need to act like it’s true. And not in some panic-ridden, look-at-me-doin’-my-best kinda way. Just… be good to her. Be real.”

Eddie dragged a hand through his hair. “I am being real.”

Wayne gave him a long, level look. “Then stop looking like you’re waitin’ for her to run.”

A breeze rustled through the trees. The porch boards creaked beneath their feet.

Wayne stubbed out the cigarette on the railing, tossed the butt into an old coffee can, and clapped Eddie on the shoulder.

“She’s the best thing to walk into this trailer since I got custody of your sorry ass. Don’t get clever about it. Just hold on.”

Eddie swallowed hard and nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Okay.”

Wayne squinted at him. “You cryin’?”

“No.”

Wayne chuckled. “You fuckin’ better not be. Get back in there and do the dishes before she tries to help and sees how bad the sink leaks.”

Later, in the Van

Eddie was quiet for the first five minutes of the drive home, fingers drumming on the steering wheel to a rhythm only he could hear. The radio was off again. The windows were down. The air smelled like pine and gasoline and the faintest hint of the weed he’d smoked recently.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye- the way his jaw worked when he was thinking, the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck, the way his rings caught the sunlight.

​​He caught you looking. Smirked. “What?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Nothing.”

He snorted. “Liar.”

You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “You’re just being usually quiet.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I already embarrassed myself once today, so I figured I’d cool it with the spontaneous declarations of undying love.”

You blinked.

He peeked over, grinning like it didn’t matter- like it was just a joke, just another bit, nothing serious at all.

But his fingers were white-knuckling the steering wheel.

You hesitated. Then: “It wasn’t embarrassing.”

Eddie glanced at you again, slower this time. The grin dropped a notch.

“It kinda felt like it.”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t. It was just… surprising.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low, “sometimes it surprises me too.”

You smiled softly. “You actually love me?”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. “Jesus. Yes.”

And then: “Do you-?” He asked, looking at you again.

“I think you already know.”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

You bit your lip. “I do. I love you, too.”

The van slowed as he pulled up to a stop sign that led nowhere in particular. The world went still.

And then, just like that, his hand reached across the console and found yours.

“So…” he said, thumb brushing the back of your hand. “Are we, like… a thing now? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, sweetheart, I’m really bad at casual. And even worse at pretending I don’t want to scream it at every passing pedestrian that you’re mine.”

You laughed, heart tumbling over itself. “Yeah. We’re a thing.”

“A thing thing?”

You leaned over and kissed his lips. “The thingiest.”

Eddie beamed like someone had handed him the keys to the universe. “Cool. Awesome. No big deal. Just- uh- gonna have to, you know, update the ol’ social media status or whatever.”

You snorted. “Do you even have any kind of social media page?”

“I do not, but I will make one to tell the world you’re my girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t stop smiling. Not even when he floored it down the empty back road, cackling into the wind.

The van swerved slightly as Eddie took a sharp turn onto Cherry Lane, his free hand still gripping yours like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. His grin was wild, untamed- the kind that made his dimples dig deep and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Girlfriend," he said, testing the word like it was some rare, precious thing. "My girlfriend."

You squeezed his hand. "You're gonna crash."

"Worth it."

The van rolled to a stop outside their apartment, but Eddie didn't move. He just sat there, staring at you like he was trying to memorize every detail- the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the curve of your smile, the way your fingers fit perfectly between his.

"You're smiling," he accused.

"So are you."

"Yeah, but mine's justified. I just got upgraded from 'that weird metalhead who won't stop failing at life to 'A Goddess’s boyfriend.' That's, like, a huge glow-up."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're ridiculous."

Eddie leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "And yet, here you are. Voluntarily dating me."

"Regretting it already."

"Liar."

He kissed you then- quick, impulsive, and a little off-center because he was still grinning too hard to aim properly. When he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, his lips still parted like he wanted to say more.

Instead, he just exhaled, shaky and bright.

"Fuck," he murmured, forehead resting against yours. "I really love you."

You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way his breath hitched when your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

When you finally broke apart, Eddie looked dazed.

"...Okay," he said, voice rough. "New plan. We’re locking ourselves up in your room and never leaving again."

You snorted. "Your uncle’s gonna eventually wonder where you are."

Eddie groaned, tipping his head back against the seat. "Ugh, fine. But only because I owe him for not laughing in my face earlier."

He climbed out of the van, then immediately turned and offered you his hand like some cheesy gentleman from a period drama. You took it, laughing as he ushered you out with an affectionate grin.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55

Masterlist

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

this is one of my favorite scenes from the amsterdam episode. people who haven't seen the show; or only have a cursory understanding of it — tend to think that ted lasso is about relentless optimism & positivity. but it's about so much more than that — it's about looking life in the face; seeing its scars and unsolved hurts firsthand — and choosing to believe in beauty anyway.

it's about knowing just how ugly the world can be; and still deciding to look at it with softness and genuine interest. ted lasso never shies away from the heartbreak of human existence — the losses both tiny and large; the loves that walk away — the injustices that you can do nothing to prevent. but through it all; the show remains committed to an unfeigned appreciation of existence. of what it means to be alive — the small acts of tenderness that keep you on earth: biscuits made by someone at your desk every morning; face-timing with your son knowing that his love for you is unconditional — a team who steps up to save your restaurant at a moment's notice. it's about joy & humor as an act of resistance — a refusal to give up on the shimmering potential that might still be left in your life; no matter who or where or what you are.

the world will break you — there is no doubt about it. but if you can take those shards; those pieces of yourself punctured with pain — and still be able to see light pouring through those wounds: then you have the true spirit of vincent. the true spirit of an artist. it's not mentioned in the show; but vincent was able to survive as long as he did because he was consistently sustained by the love and support of his younger brother, theo; who believed in him and his paintings wholeheartedly — just as all the characters in ted lasso are able to process their pain and experiences with the love and companionship of the people around them —with their steadfast faith in each other's ability to do better. it might not be explicitly said; but i think the implication is clear — hearing van gogh's story; ted is inspired to think of "total football" — a method of play that is expansive and wholly dependent on trust in each other and being responsive to each other's needs. it demonstrates how we are nowhere and no one without our communities; our little ecosystems — how we owe care and curiosity to the people in our lives and what they're going through.

as a creator & a certain kind of artist with her own demons to make sense of; this scene was empowering and also so full of warmth. your hands will be wounded; it is inevitable — but if you can still lift up your cut skin and offer it to the world: if you can trust that it will be met and touched by the quiet lovelinesses that still linger in life: (a hard-won victory; the girl in your neighborhood who kicks a ball around with you, the owner of your local pub that recites a poem to you when she sees that you're in pain) — then you have done the impossible work of keeping hope alive. then you have shown indomitable bravery.

if you choose to keep faith with beauty; beauty will keep faith with you — it will never abandon you. that's what ted has always done — kept seeing the beauty in life. and even if he sometimes fails; even if it all gets too much for him —the next day he still tries again. and he never stops trying. he never becomes disillusioned.

as leonard cohen said: "there is a crack in everything — / that is how the light gets in." 💛

[altschmerzes]

happy hanukkah, chag sameach everyone!!! here's a clip from far, far ahead in wriggle up on dry land, my ted lasso au where jamie's 15 and the groundsman's assistant when the story begins. at this point of the story he is 17 and he lives with ted - for. reasons. - and ted and roy have essentially ended up co-parenting him, which has been a learning process for everyone. this is their first real holiday season together, and the first time roy has decided to celebrate hanukkah of his own initiative (not with phoebe and his sister) in a long time.

The mulish determination that had carried Roy all the way through talking to Sarah and going to the little judaica store she’d given him the address of and getting everything set up disappears as soon as there’s someone else in the house. He hovers awkwardly near the doorway and watches while Ted and Jamie shuck off their coats and Ted nudges the kid to remind him to take his shoes off inside. They’ve both been in his house before, more times than he can count by this point, but somehow the experience feels new and unpredictable. Neither Ted nor Jamie seem to notice, chattering to each other about whatever they’d been talking about before they got here, but Roy can’t escape it. The feeling is loud and cloying and he can’t turn it off.

Just as Roy is about to conclude this entire thing had been a mistake and he should call it off right now, he realizes that the new arrivals have left him behind in his own entryway, moving on into the dining room where-

Well. Roy hurries after them and comes to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Ted’s got his hands tucked into his pockets and he looks at Roy with a warm, knowing smile that Roy resents on principle. Jamie is staring at the table, stopped in place like he can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing. It’s an understandable reaction. A menorah was to be expected. Three of them is… Three of them is something else.

They’re lined up in a neat little row on the table, candles already placed in the farthest corners and the middles, a lighter laying nearby in anticipation of what’s coming next. The one on the left end is simple and traditional, the first one that Roy had grabbed. It reminded him of the one his grandparents had, the one that is probably in the window at Sarah’s house right now, already lit. In the middle sits a short menorah, a flat row of silver candle holders with the shamash slightly raised at the centre of them, and a colourful pattern on a panel behind them. Red pomegranates are set against a blue background and the whole thing had reminded him of Richmond. The last, on the right, is elegantly shaped silver metal, a trunk and the reaching branches of a little tree. It had taken Roy a long time to choose it. Dissatisfied with the options, he’d been about to give up and choose one at random when he’d spotted it, tucked away at the back of the shelf. As soon as he’d seen it, he’d known it was the one he wanted - on the way out of the store he’d thought to himself Do they even have trees in fucking Kansas? And then he’d been so irritated at what an insane thing that was to worry about that he’d nearly tripped over a crack in the pavement.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the table, Jamie glances over this shoulder at Roy. He looks confused, a little uncertain, like he’s got a question but he doesn’t want to ask it. The story he’d told about spending Hanukkah with his friend Ash’s family pops into Roy’s mind and he wonders if this is a setup Jamie recognizes, if he’s counted the menorahs on the table and done the simple math and realized what that meant. Then again, this is Jamie. That kind of conclusion is not one he can be relied on to reach himself, and so Roy is going to have to explain.

“That’s what we did,” Roy forces out eventually. His voice sounds thick and stony even to his own ears and he stops, swallowing hard before he tries again. The last thing he wants is to sound resentful, or angry, or any of the other things he knows he sounds when he’s emotional - embarrassed, this time. Anxious for their reactions, for this display of the thinness of his own life, his lack of substance that he’d needed to go out and buy these new and Googled it three times before he was sure he’d put the candles in the right end.

“In my family,” he says, faintly pleased that it comes out softer than before, gentler and less intense. “And in a lot of families. Don’t know about your friend Ash, but… But that’s what we did, and a lot of people do. Have one for… For everyone in the…” Roy waves a hand around, a vague circle indicating the room. His cheeks feel hot and he doesn’t know why this is so fucking hard to say. “In the immediate family. So. Y’know. Three.”

There. He’s said it and he’s explained and he didn’t pass out or die and nobody immediately laughs either so that has to be some kind of a good sign. Roy stares resolutely at the grain of the kitchen table. He can feel the eyes of the other two people in the room on him but he can’t bring himself to look over at them. Not quite yet.

[pfhwrittes]

💚💚👋

At least quarterly, I'm reminded that I really should learn to pick locks... how do you feel about lock picking, P?

Please rate the 141 members (and whichever other COD peeps you'd like to include) from best to worst lockpickers. I'd rate them as follows:

1. Soap

2. Ghost

3. Price

4. Gaz

hiya 💚💚!

i LOVE watching the lockpick guy on tiktok that doesn't so much pick the locks but smashes them together so they spring open!

i do think it's an oddly helpful skill but for the three (3) occasions i've been locked in/out of places i've needed to be out/in, i've never picked the lock. (i have climbed onto a flat roof and shimmied in through an upstairs window, taken hinges off a door, and taken an entire door handle apart though!)

as for best to worst lockpickers i'm gonna say it goes: 1. ghost 2. soap 3. gaz 4. price

let me explain under the cut for you!

so i headcanon ghost to have come from a dead rough, working class, council house background. and i headcanon his dad to be a petty thief with multiple ABH charges and drunk and disorderly charges. if there was one thing simon could count on, it was the fact that his dad was constantly in and out of prison throughout his young life.

(and listen, i'm working class. i live in a council house so i'm not saying that everyone who is working class or lives in a council house is a thief or a criminal or anything like that - in fact we're unfairly portrayed that way and stigmatised because so many of us are living below the poverty line on the state benefits/universal credit system and classism is a nasty thing that has very strong roots still.)

what i am saying is that ghost learned to pick locks at 13 because his dad was breathing down his neck. riley sr. definitely didn't give a shit about using young simon for his own ends because in his head if simon got caught, charged, and sentenced he'd have a far more lenient time of it than riley sr. would. (if you've ever watched brassic or ted lasso, i very much think simon's dad is like vinnie's dad (from brassic) or jamie's dad (from ted lasso)) as a result, simon learned to pick locks young and kept the skill fresh because it does come in useful for his job.

so we know that soap canonically locked an MP in his vehicle. yes, we could assume that soap knocked the MP unconscious, took the keys to unlock the vehicle, stuffed the MP in the vehicle, and then locked them in. HOWEVER i think it's much more fun to imagine soap hitting the MP, being a little bit buzzed off his rage and the adrenaline, breaking into the car and stuffing the MP in there and then disabling the central locking system so the car is stuck locked up.

soap's got the necessary dexterity for lockpicking (c'mon, he's the explosives guy!) AND he's got the patience to do it (an impatient sniper is a bad sniper), i just think ghost is ever so slightly better because he learned to lockpick younger and has used the skills more often than soap.

gaz is third because it hurts my heart to have gaz be bad at anything. i like to think that ghost was the one to teach gaz to lockpick. perhaps over the course of a few dreary evenings on base when gaz wasn't up for going to the pub with soap and price was bogged down with paperwork. he was probably mindlessly flicking through the channels on the telly in the rec room when ghost dumped a locked padlock and a set of picks on gaz's lap (nailing him in the balls in the process) and told gaz to crack the lock (when gaz's eyes finally stopped watering and he could breathe without wanting to hork up a lung, ghost was a surprisingly patient teacher).

gaz has got a rough idea of what to do thanks to ghost's lessons but honestly it's more likely that he'll charm his way behind a locked door, or failing that, find a way around the obstacle/clear the area like we saw in recon by fire.

price is the worst at lockpicking. yes, he has the skill. no, he doesn't have the patience. give that man a demolition bar, he'll show you how to "lockpick".

[obsessedvibee]

Patient Love - Part 2

Missed part 1? Read it HERE!

Pairing: Austin x Evelyn (reader)

Words: 3.8k

Summary: Austin teaches Evelyn how to give a good handy and blowie.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, fingering, slight breast play, handjob, blowjob. MDNI, 18+

🌹❤️‍🔥💍🌶️

Her emotions spilled over in a fit of giggles as Austin’s eyes searched her curiously, her laughter becoming contagious.

“What’s so funny?”

She shook her head, falling back onto the bed.

He laid himself next to her, propping his head up with his arm, watching her with adoring eyes. This pure young woman, now his wife, lay bare and vulnerable in his bed. She gave her everything to him, placed her life in his hands and he’d never felt more terrified. He wanted to give her the stars, lasso the moon, travel the seven seas, climb the highest mountain. Anything. He’d do anything to keep that twinkle in her eye. Reaching for her small hand in the process, he pulled it up to his mouth to nibble playfully at her fingertips. “You did so good,” he praised, his words thick with desire.

“Aus,” she giggled, gently attempting to pull her hand back, “you’re still on my fingers,” the sentence died on her tongue, her mouth slightly agape as she watched him clean her fingers of his remnants. One by one he pulled them into his mouth, the wet muscle of his tongue curling around each one. Something deep inside her stirred at the sight.

Before she could think she went in, attacking his mouth with hers, earning a small grunt of surprise from him. Her tongue made its way into his mouth, immediately tasting his salty release. His hand splayed on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. Sliding his hand over her hip, he grazed his fingers where her thighs were pressed together, encouraging her to lift her outside leg. She pulled away for a breath, “wait, I should probably pee real quick.”

He pulled himself away letting her up, his eyes watching her as she walked to the bathroom.

“You know, it’s not polite to stare at a lady,” she chided knowingly.

“‘s a good thing you’re my wife then.”

A warmth spread in her chest.

The door shut with a click.

He ran a hand over his face, his mind fuzzy with a new wave of arousal. Reaching for a tissue he cleaned himself off as best he could before getting up to straighten out the bed a bit. He wasn’t exactly a bed maker in his own apartment, but things are a bit different when your new wife is in the other room.

The sound of the shower starting caught his ears and a smile tugs at his mouth, noticing she cracked the door open. He walked cautiously into the doorway. His eyes were met with her backside to him as she reached into the shower testing the water. She turned to him as she stepped in, “you comin’?”

He stepped in behind her quickly pulling her body flush to his, pulling a small gasp from her.

He chuckled, quickly kissing her again as the water began to soak them. Reaching for the body wash off the shelf he tipped the bottle upside down drizzling the soap in his palm. Goosebumps formed over her skin in anticipation of his hands running across her body. He started at her shoulders, kneading gently, coaxing a sigh from her. He tried to not make it too obvious how much he was enjoying feeling every inch of skin beneath his fingertips.

She wasn’t fooled, nor bothered by the attention. Working a lather onto her breasts, and tweaking her nipples along the way only stirred up the burning coals of her desire for her husband once more. Moving his way down he lathered the rest of her up, leaving between her thighs for last.

“How you doin’?” He rasped, gently tilting her face up to him, the spray quickly rinsing the suds from her smaller frame.

Her green eyes sparkled at him under the bathroom light, her wet hair laying heavy on her shoulders, “so good, Aus.”

She closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in her own. Her hands began their own journey, gripping his biceps, his broad shoulders, his chest, working her way down feeling the toned muscles of his abdomen and the hair sprinkled beneath his bellybutton. She took pity on his soft cock, leaving him alone to recover.

His hands continued to creep closer to the junction between her thighs, her anticipation growing with every pass.

Craving the pressure of his hand between her thighs, she couldn't help but instinctively widen her stance. He noticed the small movement, a proud little grin spreading across his features. “You wanna go again, don’t ya?”

She could feel a pulse deep within her core, her body desperately wanting to reach that high with him again. “Yes,” she whispered.

“You don’t want me to help you, do ya?” He retracted his hand teasingly.

She shot him a glare and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

He turned them so his back was taking the brunt of the water. His hands tracing the curve of her waist into the globes of her behind, giving a light slap.

“Austin,” she whined, pushing into him.

“I’m coming baby, I’m coming.”

Reaching his right hand around to her front, he slipped between her thighs, carefully covering her mound, feeling her soft lips with his fingertips, his palm pressing deliciously against her clit. Dipping his finger between her warm folds, he collected her arousal, before pulling back to settle on her clit. As he gently began to play, his own cock started to flag interest.

His arm continued to work, eagerly awaiting those soft little moans he heard from her just minutes earlier when they were tangled together in the sheets.

Her hand gently covered his, pausing his movements to shift her weight, lifting her foot up onto the shelf causing a shampoo bottle to clatter to the floor. Her focus unwavering, quickly guiding Austin's fingers back into her.

And finally like a damn had broken, a quiet sigh of relief left her lips and she leaned her head back onto his sturdy chest, her hand slipping away, letting him take the reins. Feeling his length nudging her butt, she snuck her hand behind her, reaching for him. Her fingertips grazed his length before she curled her fingers around the firm shaft, earning a growl of appreciation from his chest.

His strokes on her clit stuttered when she swiped her thumb over his tip, the base of his shaft tingling. He nipped at her shoulder involuntarily needing to get out the sudden tension in his jaw.

Pulling himself together with an inhale through his teeth, his tongue swiped over the area, his hand quickly resuming its assault. His other hand came around kneading her breast. She tried keeping up with him, her hand giving small strokes to his poor throbbing length, but her attention was being pulled elsewhere, leaving his length to fend for itself.

“C’mon baby,” he coaxed her, his hand grazing her throat, grasping her chin, his thumb tugging her bottom lip from her teeth, “let it all out.”

He deliberately looked down into her eyes as he pushed a finger deep into her warm entrance making her jaw go slack with a gasp, her brow furrowing, a brief moment of anxiety covering her features expecting pain again, but that was quickly proving to be a thing of the past.

“That’s it,” he pushed into her again, gently working a second finger inside, her cries getting louder as she slowly climbed closer to the top.

Her fingernails dug into his arm as she gripped him for dear life. She involuntarily pushed into him, using her propped foot for leverage causing him to stumble back a step.

“Shit,” he chuckled.

He narrowed in focusing on rubbing at the front of her walls, desperate to feel her come around him. “You’re almost there baby girl, I can feel it,” he huffed, feeling his forearm beginning to burn. The squelching of his hand thrusting into her was sending her into her undoing.

“Austin,” she groaned, her eyes falling closed.

“Nuh uh,” he tutted, “look at me.”

Her glossy eyes looked back up at him, and he almost pathetically spurted at the sight of her. “Can you hold on a little longer for me?” He’s sure those words came straight from his dick, and maybe revealing a bit of a sadistic side, wanting to see her struggle.

He glanced down at his cock feeling a particularly strong throb at this realization. It twitched, jumping in envy of his hand, a clear string of precome leaking from the slit. God, he was an absolute mess. He was quickly brought back to more important matters when she suddenly clamped down onto his fingers, squeezing him.

“I can’t,” she moaned, unable to stop her own hand from reaching down to help ride herself through by working her clit. Her eyes rolled back as the first wave washed through her, her fingers giving the last push. Her eyes fell shut again as all conscious motor skills left her body and her instincts took over. Her hand worked vigorously, catapulting through her orgasm before she went limp, breathing heavily.

“Atta girl,” he pulled his fingers from her gently, making her twitch.

She plopped her foot down as he grasped her shoulders, steadying her on her wobbly legs.

A bit of smug pride filled his chest seeing her wobble. He was fulfilling his husbandly duties.

Reaching out with her hand she steadied herself with the railing along the shower wall, turning towards him. And what a sight he was, running a hand through his wet hair as if he was in the middle of a damn photoshoot. The water cascaded over his shoulders, running down his front, his nipples pebbled on his chest. Following downward, she couldn’t ignore his excited little friend, standing tall, a few veins littering the shaft. It gave a subtle twitch as if acknowledging the attention from her. Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip before bringing her eyes back up to Austin's, grazing her teeth along her lip.

His eyes were glazed over, lust and pride burning bright behind his pupils. She stepped closer reaching for his cock, grasping him lightly earning a sharp inhale at the contact. Her hand gave him a little stroke as she nibbled up his jaw to his ear, “lets dry off.”

She pulled back, releasing him from her hand, giving him a kiss as an apology and a thank you.

Shutting the water off and pushing the curtain back, they both fumbled their way out, Austin hands refusing to leave her skin. Her girlish giggles were music to his ears. Breaking away long enough to reach for a towel, they both managed to dry off a bit before she pulled away and began folding the towel. “Babe, that’s just going in the wash, what’re ya folding it for?”

“You’ll see,” she grinned, squatting down to place the neatly folded material at his feet.

He stepped back hesitantly, before the realization hit him like a freight train seeing her drop to her knees, looking expectantly up at him. His eyes widened, huffing a nervous laugh. She was truly out to kill him tonight. He stepped back closer to her, running his fingers through her hair. A warmth bloomed in his chest. “You really are making me the luckiest man alive right now, you know that?”

She flushed lightly at the compliment, bringing her eyes to face the new task ahead. He had waned a bit from the cooler air outside the shower, so his size didn’t frighten her. Not yet anyway. But putting him inside her mouth suddenly seemed a bit daunting. How did this task seem so much easier in her head earlier? Does she just go in mouth wide open? That seemed a bit aggressive for the first time. And it was all so new, what if she couldn't get him off? Nothing more humiliating than his new wife not being able to get him off. She didn't want to disappoint him. God, she was taking too long now, she should just go for it. What if she just-

“Hey,” he pulled her from her thoughts, the look of uncertainty clear on her face. He crouched down to her level, ignoring his softening cock. He didn’t care how horny he was, or how hot the sight of her on her knees looked. Her needs came first.

He placed a curled finger under her jaw making her look at him. “If we try everything tonight, what fun does that leave for the rest of our honeymoon?”

She broke his gaze, looking even more defeated, his words quickly deflected from her own feeling of letting him down. “I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what got into me, I just really wanted to please you, but then-” she hesitated.

He remained quiet, gently removing his finger from her jaw, letting her get her words out, his heart thumping in his chest.

“-but then it just hit me that I don’t know exactly what I’m doing and it was just right there in front of me,” she gestured to between his legs huffing a nervous laugh. She looked back up at him, “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Evelyn, you could never disappoint me. How are you supposed to know what I like or what to do if I’ve never told you?”

She sighed, “I know.”

He stood back up, holding his hands out to her, helping her up. “C’mere.” pulling her into his chest in a hug, he rubbed her shoulder with his hand, comforting her. “You did far more than enough for me tonight.”

He felt her inhale deeply, the swell of her breasts pressing firmly against his chest with her breath. He willed his dick to not get any ideas. Lord help him.

She tried to stifle a yawn, but failed miserably.

“Let’s go to bed baby.”

She didn’t protest, the long events of today were finally starting to catch up with her. She didn’t exactly like leaving things on this note, but there was always tomorrow.

They both made their way back into the bedroom, reaching for some clothes.

She pulled open her underwear drawer, her fingers brushing the fabrics of a few before settling on a pair of black lace panties and an oversized tee.

A low whistle came from the other side of the room, making her roll her eyes.

Noticing he only had a new pair of briefs on, made her feel confident in her lack of shorts. They were married, having the whole house to themselves. They could run through the whole house naked for all they cared.

They both climbed into bed, their legs slotting together, her head on his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart before slipping into a sweet sleep.

******

She woke before him, carefully pulling herself out of their warm cocoon being careful to not wake him. She padded to the bathroom, freshening herself up before heading to the kitchen. She pulled out a few ingredients whipping together a little breakfast she knew he liked.

She began humming a tune that was stuck in her head, -probably one of the songs that played last night- as the eggs sizzled in the pan. She flipped them and quickly threw some bread slices in the toaster. The aroma of coffee filled her nose as it brewed.

A creak down the hall signaled that Austin was awake, and her heart quickened in anticipation.

“Good morning, baby.”

Goosebumps covered her skin as she felt his breath on her neck, his fingers grazing over the exposed skin on her ass before resting on her hips.

“Mornin,” she replied with a small giggle, turning to greet him with a kiss.

He hovered around the counter as she did the last touches to get breakfast finished, placing a plate in front of him at the breakfast bar. She stood across from him on the opposite side of the counter leaning on her elbows dipping into the fruit bowl she cut up.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked between mouthfuls.

“On and off,” she admitted, chewing a piece of pineapple slowly, the juice flooding her tastebuds. She was never any good at sleeping in a new bed, and after such an event filled day. Her mind was just starting to slow its spinning.

He nodded, soaking up the last of his egg yolk with his toast, “that was a lot to take in yesterday.”

She picked up his plate, washing it in the sink, her mind beginning to wander. She knew it was silly but she couldn’t stop thinking about last night. She felt so confident but then couldn’t follow through.

He quietly helped her, ending the task with a quick little snap of the towel at her behind. A small shriek escaped her lips quickly spinning to face him with a mock expression of horror. He grinned quickly scooping her up, her legs instinctively spreading as he carried her to the living room, sitting with her straddling his lap. He brushed some hair away from her face, studying her features. “Is it bad that I want you again already?” His hands traced the curve in her waist.

She blushed, shaking her head, biting her bottom lip.

“Good, cuz I wanna see those pretty tits of yours again.” His hands already began tugging her t-shirt over her head.

She laughed playfully, keeping her arms stiff, making him work a little.

“Don’t make me tickle you,” he threatened.

She grinned slyly, but quickly broke her demeanor when his fingers brushed her tummy, giving a little squeeze. “Okay, okay!” She shrieked, lifting her arms.

Making quick work of pulling the shirt over her head and tossing it elsewhere, he hummed in delight at the sight of her perky breasts. A small sliver of his younger self came through, suddenly reaching up to push them together creating an absurd amount of cleavage before letting them fall back into place watching them jiggle causing a small chuckle to rumble in his chest.

“Don’t laugh at me!” She quickly covered herself with her hands.

He quickly looked back up into her eyes, “babe, no- they’re cute, don’t cover up.” He gently pried her hands away, leaning up to distract her with a kiss.

“Be nice to them,” she mumbled into his mouth, his tongue quickly dominating.

She let him play to his heart's content, quickly noting Austin was definitely a boob guy. Not that this was of any surprise; she caught him eyeing her chest up on multiple occasions.

Soon enough all the clothing was shed aside from her panties. His fingers gently feeling her through the fabric.

“Aus?”

“Hmm?”

She continued rocking her hips, her hair making a curtain around her as she watched the tendons in his wrist flex as he teased her. “Can you teach me what you like?”

He paused, glancing up at her, her head lifting, her eyes searching his.

“Yea- yeah,” he stuttered, his heart skipping a beat, “sure. What were you- you mean what you wanted to do last night?”

Pushing herself back up she maneuvered herself to kneel between his legs, looking back up, “yeah.”

He swallowed thickly, “yeah, okay-, um,” he ran a hand through his hair, “let’s start with your hand, yeah?”

She brought her hand up to rest on his thigh, his own immediately reaching out to guide her to his shaft. The feel of her cool fingers touching his heated skin almost made him moan out loud. He encouraged her hand with his, slowly beginning with small strokes.

“Theres not a whole lot to it,” he started, frantically searching his blood deprived brain for the right words. “Just start with stroking for now,” he slowly let her go. “Play with the tightness of your fist, don't be afraid to squeeze a bit.”

She listened intently, lightly squeezing on her up strokes, loosening on the way down, watching the skin move over his shaft with her hand. She brought her thumb out to trace a throbbing vein.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathed, “you’re doing perfect.”

Her confidence grew with every small noise she earned from him. She quite literally had him in the palm of her hand. His manhood trusted in her fist.

His balls hung below his shaft, tempting her other hand to come out and play. Staying focused on stroking him, she gently caressed the heavy sacs, lightly rolling and squeezing.

He cursed, thrusting his hand into the pillow next to him, gripping it for dear life, trying to keep himself tame, “I think you know what to do, baby.”

She did, and she finally got out of her own head. She paused her strokes, leaning forward to open her mouth, carefully licking a stripe from the base to his tip. The sound he emitted, made her core twist with desire.

Testing the waters she held his cock up with her hand, mouthing her way up to his tip before holding her tongue out flat, tapping him onto her waiting tongue.

“Babe,” he groaned.

And then he said a word that caused a tingle to run down her spine.

“Please.”

She finally took him into her mouth, her tongue doing its best to swirl around his length.

A growl came from above her, making her core clench around nothing.

She tried moving a bit, but couldn't quite get a rhythm going, so she opted for stroking while working his tip with her mouth. Whatever she was doing was working for him. His fingers were tangled in her hair, and he gently guided her with his hand. She could feel his panting breaths on her scalp. Her tongue made contact at the little spot where his shaft met his tip at the back and he actually whimpered; a strong throb followed.

“Do that again,” he whined, another moan leaving his lips.

She quickly began flicking her tongue over his little sweet spot and, between the stroking of his hand and fondling his balls, she felt him begin to harden further.

“Ev, watch out- I’m gonna-” he grunted, “I’m gonna cum.”

She popped off him, his hand coming to guide hers to quicken her strokes.

“Tighten your grip.”

She did as she was told, her eyes flicking from his scrunched face, to his shaft awaiting the spill. And a moment later she was awarded. His cock began spurting thick white ropes of his seed, with deep grunts rumbling from his chest with every pulse. Not three, not four, but five good spurts erupted before he began to slow, the warm liquid making its way down their fingers

His hand loosened on hers, their strokes slowing before he pulled her hand off of him, flopping back into the couch.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, picking up his head to look her in the eyes. “We’ve got to do that again.”

I really do like writing for these two.. maybe there will be a part 3 one day? Let me know if y’all would like something like that.

Need more? Check out my other works! > masterlist

[theerastour]

Graphics tutorial requested by anonymous

All made with adobe photoshop 2023 (you can find free downloads of cracked versions on here occasionally, photopea.com is also good I've heard) I'm assuming basic knowledge of photoshop/similar editing platforms and their tools, but you can always message me or comment if you are confused about anything!

Also, I used keyboard shortcuts sometimes to change the size of a brush or toggle the brush options, I'm not going to annotate this because it's a lot but here is a resource for basic photoshop keyboard shortcuts

Firstly, the sizing of your edit matters! Max sizing for best quality on Tumblr is 1280 x 1920. If you want to put to put two images next to each other sizing should be 640 x 960.

Next, always try to find the highest quality picture of whatever you're using. Good resources include taylorpictures.net, 4k Taylor Swift, and if I can't find them here I do a google image search of my photo to see if any other websites have a bigger/hq file.

This video is a couple clips I screen recorded for you to see my process and demonstrate a few different tools I use regularly. I added timestamps for you to follow along as you read the rest of this.

Here's a photo of my workspace I am working with and what I will do first is cut out Taylor from this photo and move her to my correctly sized canvas. There are multiple ways to cut out an image in photoshop, the easiest I've found is the select subject function and using the quick selection tool (see toolbar beneath the photo). Other tools include the magic wand tool, lasso tool, and quick selection tool which I will show later.

Now you will see that my selection isn't perfect, so I will use the quick selection tool to fix a few areas that I'd like to manually select/correct. This isn't totally necessary at this stage as you can always perfect your cutout in the next few steps, but it does help save some time.

This is where I'll use the quick selection tool to either subtract or add to my selection. There are keyboard shortcuts to toggle between + and - to make this quicker.

See my screen recording of the process from 0:00-1:07

Now that we have our image selected and cut out, I copy and paste it to my canvas I want to work with (size 1280 x 1920) and this is what I've got:

As you can see there's a few spots that need cleaning up in order to make our cutout perfect. You can do this with the eraser tool, magic wand, quick selection, or lasso tool.

See my screen recording of the process from: 1:08-3:50

Now that we're happy with our cutout, we can play around with it in any ways we want! Typically you're gonna do things like change the background color/texture, add elements with the square/circle tool to create what you're looking for, overlay elements and/or textures, and finally recolor it to your preferences.

This part is where you can try new techniques and play around to find what you like. I recorded some of my process of playing with different ideas and elements until I got to something I was happy with! The video explains the tools I was using as well

See my screen recording of the process from: 3:51 - the end

I hope this helps you with creating graphics in the future! The fun thing about photoshop is there are multiple ways to get what you want done. I showed you my way but there's plenty of other techniques and methods out there to try if you're unable to achieve what you want!

Best of luck and feel free to reach out to me if you are struggling/have questions! <3

[thoughtportal]

In order to catch liars, the ancient Chinese would sometimes give the accused a mouthful of uncooked rice during interrogation—and then ask the person to open wide. Dry rice would indicate a dry mouth, considered evidence of nervous guilt—and sometimes grounds for execution.

The notion that lying produces observable physical side effects has stuck with us, and one man thought he’d cracked the science of lie detection in the 1920s, amid a truly modern boom in crime. This was the era of Prohibition, dominated by bootlegging gangsters—Chicago alone was said to be home to 1,300 gangs—and some police departments adopted increasingly brutal tactics to wring the truth out of suspects: beating and burning detainees with cigarettes, or depriving them of sleep. Unconstitutional but widely applied across the nation, according to a major report commissioned by then-President Herbert Hoover, these techniques did result in confessions—many of them highly dubious. 

One police chief in California thought he could usher in a new era in which science would make the interrogation process more accurate and humane. August Vollmer of the Berkeley Police Department was a committed reformer who began recruiting college graduates to help professionalize the force. His interests dovetailed with those of John A. Larson, who had recently received a PhD in physiology from the University of California, Berkeley, and had a passion for justice. Larson joined the Berkeley force in 1920, becoming the first rookie in the country with a doctorate. 

Vollmer and Larson were particularly intrigued by the possibilities of a simple new deception test pioneered by William Marston, a lawyer and psychologist who would later earn fame as the creator of Wonder Woman, with her famous Lasso of Truth. (Marston unofficially used the test on some criminal defendants during probation proceedings.) Larson spent punishing hours creating a far more sophisticated test, tinkering in his university lab on an odd-looking assemblage of pumps and gauges that he would attach to the human body using an arm cuff and chest strap. His device would measure changes in pulse, respiration and blood pressure all at once, during continuous monitoring of a subject under interrogation. Larson believed the contraption would flag false answers via distinct fluctuations etched by a stylus onto a revolving drum of paper. An operator would then analyze and interpret the results. 

By the spring of 1921, Larson unveiled the machine he called a cardio-pneumo-psychogram, and later simply a polygraph, a nod to the multiple physical signals recorded by the stylus. A San Francisco Examiner report later said it looked like some mix of “a radio set, a stethoscope, a dentist’s drill, a gas stove” and more, all arranged on a long wooden table. However ramshackle it appeared, Larson’s innovation, with its continuous battery of measurements, leaped beyond all previous attempts to track the body’s involuntary responses. In a frenzy of sensationalist reporting, the press dubbed Larson’s polygraph a “lie detector,” and the Examiner swooned: “All liars, regardless of cleverness, are doomed.” 

Larson himself didn’t quite buy the hype. As he tested the invention, he found an alarming error rate and grew increasingly concerned about its official use. And while many departments across the country embraced the device, judges proved even more skeptical than Larson. As early as 1923, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia ruled polygraph results inadmissible at trial because the tests were not widely accepted by relevant experts. Still, cops kept using the machine. Larson watched in dismay as a former colleague patented an updated version of the idea in 1931. 

While Larson’s original machine collected dust, imitators with sleeker modern versions proliferated, all hewing roughly to the same parameters as Larson’s—and millions of people were subject to testing. During the Cold War, the State Department used polygraph tests to oust alleged Communist sympathizers and gay employees from the federal government. Many innocent government workers lost their livelihoods, while others who were eventually exposed as treasonous—including the infamous spy Aldrich Ames—managed to dupe the tests. For his part, Larson got a medical degree and spent his remaining career as a psychiatrist. Yet he was forever soured on the polygraph, eventually describing the device as his very own “Frankenstein’s monster,” unable to be controlled or killed. 

In 1988, Congress finally passed a law generally banning private employers from requiring the test, though some government agencies still turn to it for screening, and police may use it on suspects as an investigative tool under certain circumstances. 

“It’s an instrument of great hope but also great pain,” says Kristen Frederick-Frost, curator of modern science at the National Museum of American History, where Larson’s original polygraph anchors an exhibition, “Forensic Science on Trial,” open through next summer. In the 1930s, the Berkeley Police Department almost tossed the machine in the trash, but Vollmer thought it might one day have historical value and saved it. In 1976, the Berkeley Police Department donated it to the Smithsonian, where it sat in storage for decades. Over the past five years, seven conservators have helped to revive its motley parts for display. Some of the rubber and plastic had become stiff and degraded. Other parts were fragile, grimy or missing. The paper was seriously compromised. Today, though, “it doesn’t look like an old dusty thing that nobody cares about,” says Janice Stagnitto Ellis, the museum’s paper conservator. “It looks vital.” 

[originemesis]

@bored2deathiswear xxx

The first of men had always seemed underwhelming at first glance upon his integration into heaven, particularly when set amongst the various court members consisting of multi-ringed orbits around blinding spheres of light that, despite possessing the capabilities to melt any mortal mind that gazed into their centers, barely bothered the thousands of unblinking eyes that set like diamonds along the span of spinning gold bracelets. The gear he'd been granted for exterminations would eventually become his every day office attire simply because it would demand the respect of one such heavenly beast. Or maybe it was whiplash to face such a beast while its every word seemed more in tune with socializing at a frat party than of smiting withering souls with holy light based axe swings?

If it had been anyone else to miraculously drag him off to some holding pen and then stuck below the looming shadow of his bulk, they would have underestimated just how much trouble a soul shackled, once mortal archangel could cause them. Perhaps his clown of a captor thought so under the assumption his wings were still indisposed, but once revealed he'd been keeping their healthy plumage under wraps, seemed to recognize the man's capability for brutality- lack of vaporizing light beams or not. It's not like he'd needed a weapon to slam a briefly distracted Lucifer into that shit hotel's brick wall before all this with but size and fury alone, and his wings were just another means of causing damage- whether through a direct beating or as a tool to topple balance. Maybe even an escape attempt because what was flying and dick forcing his way through an electrized field to fucking Adam?

If he'd only done just that instead of taking a page from the briefly grounded devil's playbook in pride- lingering to gloat. Which he did by another great slam of a wingspan that seemed to reach from wall to wall in the the sleeping quarters of the room, releasing a crack and a gust of wind aimed to slide the other back a couple of feet from where he'd risen. Helps puff up his plumage too- knocking out the months of binding lines that came from a persistent lack of preening. Molted feathers finally freed float to the floor in lazy trails as he grins viciously at the other's surprise, air quoting him with a mocking twitch of talons.

"Oh yeah. 'Surprises'- like what? You sucking?? Because that's hella common knowledge, bruh." Another beat signals his final stretch before impending take off-bones properly cracked and ready to lift the greatest quantity of his mass towards the rafters and the energy field threaded between it like netting, but his parting shot of "see ya at the end of a spear, loser~" finds its punctuation in a surprised "grk?!" as an ethereal snake's maw launches from its master like a snarling puppet string and latches in a burning bite below the angel's jaw.

Panicked plumage pounds the air as he pulls up against the unusual noose's grip, his newly sharpened talons flying to his neck to try and dig at whatever collar of energy it had constricted around it just to end up scratching himself in the frantically furious process when they scrabble and sink uselessly through the energy loop, drawing trickles of golden lines down from underneath his mask to stain the front of his robe. He scratches with one less claw as his wrist is bitten next and yanked straight, and that's the next burn to convince him to rise another foot or so in the air as he struggles against the serpentine bindings with a strained snarl.

"The fuck?! Is this- SHIT?!"

Another chomp to an ankle drags him down a foot. A snap and lassoing of wing base til it stopped whipping pull him another two. Once stood back atop the bed frame, and the other ends of each thrashing appendage envenomed, he sways in place- unbalanced and still struggling until the bindings give him enough slack for his own fierce fussing to send him face first to the floor.

A guttural growl rumbles through his chest as he tips his face to the side and away from the fucking apple print threaded in to the thinly carpeted board (the fuck kind of psychopath has the same theme for wall and flooring anyway?!), onyx cheek sporting a crack from the weight of his own impact, though he's too busy wriggling the last of his movement capabilities away as the snakes squeeze in and shackle him down. "Bet I fucking do-" Make things hard that is. "I knew you got off on this shit- gah!! They're too fucking tight, you bitch! Get'em OFF-" But even the bass boom he emits in protest is heavily stifled to the point where it'd tickle rather than tear with the frequency of a cat's purr.

The question gives him pause to quirk a brow up at his captor. Maybe he's not supposed to answer and certainly not as nonchalant as he does when he chances a flat guess of "-uhh...short??" The binding at his neck tightening chokes out any other belittling answers he could give, a scowl screwing into place as the other's boot guides the garrish yellows of his gaze up by the cheek. Feathers twitched in revulsion as they're studied by a sliding thumb, the urge to beat them over the ringmaster of clowns in a chokehold. Teeth flash as he sucks them and listens with the realization settling in.

Nobody was ... coming? No way. Impossible actually. He's literally Adam- the man, the anti-myth, the actual legend of population starting nut juice and smasher of the purest pussies! Who would actually leave him, let alone think he just ceased to exist one day? He could think of two actually- fuck. They definitely don't count.

"Guh- you're such a crusty cunt of a liar. I wouldn't just disappear like that! I mean, do you even KNOW who I fucking am up there?? They'd look!" Strained squawks spill as he tenses his neck against the more collar like constrictor. "Probably at it right fucking now- 'sure, it's hard for some hell-slung shit like you to comprehend after getting the old 'ground under the heavenly heel' treatment like the WORM you are-"

It's then with another swan like hiss squeezed out of him that he notices... scissors? The fuck was he doing with those- but his answer comes soon enough when he feels cold metal parting golden downy fluff at the base where the hollow handle of bone lay. Eyes widening in alarm, he struggles to whip his head around to see if what he felt was actually that, but a tendril tightens to keep him straight- blinders on.

"Wait- what in the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

[covetyou]

JACK OF ALL TRADES 👋👋🥺

thank you nony! jack of all trades (ringmaster of none) spawned from send in the clown.

what if it was a circus full of different p-boys? what if Whiskey was the ringmaster?

expect more almost crackfic but somehow not quite shenanigans. this is a different reader to send in the clown. if 🫣 I do any more, they will likely all be different readers

potential nightmare fuel below if you really hate clowns.

WIP tag game

He was enchanting. The whole place was, really, but he commanded the space, dominated it, his booming voice amplified by a microphone hidden at his hairline.

You were transfixed on him, paying no mind to the chaos going on around him as you stared.

Children around you laugh at clowns circling him on hobby horses, galloping around as he swings a sparkling lasso in the air. With a skilled swing, he captures one, yanking him to the ground. The clown hits the ground with a drum roll and a clang of cymbals, rolling around before he can scramble back to his feet. The ringmaster does it again with a dazzling grin, capturing another galloping clown, one that grumbles and frowns as he's reeled in, tripping over his own shoes in the process.

"Yeehaw!" the ringmaster hollers, goading the clowns as he's cheered on by the crowd.

"Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!"

With a whoosh and a crack, he unleashes the whip you'd been eyeing at his side, snapping it harshly in the air. You sit up straight, a gasp leaving your lips as you're plunged back into the room.

[m-r-cphotography]

Final Project

all images are mine and taken with a Canon Rebel T6i

The passage of time is inescapable. Whether it feels like it moves slowly or quickly, it always pushes forward as hours, days, or years pass by. With the passing of time comes the cycle of life to death and this too is something that cannot be stopped, whether death comes suddenly and unfairly, or the natural cycle runs its full course. For my final project, I wanted to create a body of work that represented this passage of time as a cycle of life to death. I used nature to do so, as plants in all stages of growth and decay are present everywhere and their life cycle moves very quickly compared to the human lifespan. I created 5 photo composites using photomontage techniques to create my body of work and each of them can be viewed separately to study the complexity of each stage of life or viewed together to see a bird’s eye view of the progression of time through each of my works. I was heavily inspired by Laura Plageman’s “Reverse of a Ruin” collection, especially regarding her use of organic layer masks to create a new landscapes out of many photographs.

My approach to ordering my works is based off a death, to life, and then back to death cycle to encompass the reality of both natural death and sudden death. My first work is called “barren”, and it is comprised of places in nature completely devoid of life: cracked earth, burnt remains, fossils, and empty shells. Next is “wither”, and this work shows nature that is quite literally withering away with images of dried grass, cornfields, and a fallen tree. The next work, titled “nurture”, shows new growth being introduced back into the earth as images of flower buds, new leaves, and low-level grasses and ferns take over. Then comes “flourish” which showcases nature in full bloom and in the peak of its life. Lastly, my final work titled “conquer” shows the reality of commercialization and expansion of human civilization, removing life quickly and putting manmade structures that block life from growing in them and on them.

My process for my final project consisted of three steps: collecting source images, masking, and ordering layers. All my images come from my many trips to plant nurseries or different sites around the country where nature either thrives or struggles to survive. I then began to import all my desired source images onto one canvas and began masking. I utilized a few different techniques to create the organic nature of my layer masks. I used the quick selection tool and the magnetic lasso tool to get rough shapes, then went through with the brush to round out and refine edges, as well as make the layer masks have a direction and flow to them. I then layered them on top of the base image to create a new landscape that encompasses each stage of life I wanted to represent. For my work “flourish” I used my layer mask techniques to create a background but used fully intact masks of flowers to be the foreground and represent the fullness of life. For my work “conquer” however, I made basic layer masks with the polygonal lasso tool to get sharp edges and made multiple copies of each layer to arrange in unnatural and “manmade” shapes to show the absence of organic creation. Overall, I had so much fun creating this body of work and am incredibly satisfied with how I connected each work to one another to preview the next stage of life that was to come, as this progression is gradual and not abrupt.

[leam1983]

The things you can buy at a farmers' market... Man, if I'd known, I wouldn't be stuck in the weirdest joint-custody battle in the history of myth and legend.

See, pomegranates are typically home-grown all over the world, now, thanks to greenhouses. They're finicky, sure, but if you can gather the right conditions, you get a pomegranate tree! Considering, it's not wholly out of the realm of possibility for someone to buy one mid-December in the ass-crack of the Saint Lawrence River Valley, just forty minutes south of Montreal. That's the Underworld explained 'cause, see, sometimes, Hades needs a mortal obtained through means outside of the usual process of, y'know, waiting for someone to croak. A gift received, blah blah blah - you know the gist. I should've kept my guard up but fuck me, I'm trying to put in more exercise and eat more healthily, and pomegranates are packed with antioxidants. So, I didn't exactly question the sallow-faced grow-op owner, even if his eyes were probably yellow.

Anyway.

Then, there's the fruit of the Fae. In their case, a fruit from the Sidhe would've originally looked like something you could've picked from some field in England, Scotland or Ireland - usually apples - but most supernatural creatures are as globalized as the rest of us, now. So, what I picked from a very helpful-looking and entirely different grow-op owner (think "aging Flower Child with a foot in the Corporate world") was an orange.

So, back home I went with seemingly innocuous fruits that rested on my counter for two days, before I woke up with a hankering for a smoothie. I tossed in a banana and some wheat milk, took a sip and then...

There isn't any easy way to explain it. As I'd later learn, some food items offered by certain gods and the Fae are like fishing lines being cast. It doesn't matter if you're continents away from the closest place of import or that there's no toadstool circle in your vicinity; you'll just warp straight there, as soon as it's convenient and discreet. The Great Old Ones tried the whole "snatch someone away in the middle of a crowded medina" thing with some crazy Medieval theorist from the Muslim Golden Age and the displacement apparently tore the guy apart. Nasty business. So, wanting to avoid their catch turning to hamburger meat, both Hades and the Leanansidhe gave me a bit of a tug, if you will. The resulting experience was, well - let's just call it Lovecraftian. I can't exist in three places at once, I can't belong to two entities at once - the quasi-pĥysics of it all just went Nope, not gonna happen.

Alright, so - has anyone here ever watched some of these old Road Runner cartoons? Right - so you know the ones where Wile E. Coyote manages to lasso or otherwise catch the bird, but where the thing's momentum is just so overpowering he just has to follow along haplessly 'till he's nothing but black soot and smoke standing in for non-PG-13 road rash? Right?

Put a god of Olympus and a high-ranking member of the Summer Court in that boat, and plop them, as disoriented as could be, in my two spare dining room chairs. They got yanked so quickly there was no sense of superb or gravitas to either of them. I've effectively seen a member of the Fae with bed-head and one of the gods of the dead looking terrified for half a second, before turning imperious. Lea was just a smidge slower on the uptake than Hades, who expected that I'd somehow willingly reversed his ensnarement ritual.

What followed was sheer chaos. Both of them tried to wheedle me, whenever they didn't hector the other one's plea; and they'd both tell me to shut up in their own, ridiculously ornate phraseology if I tried to defend myself. After fifteen minutes, I just went back to my smoothie - until it finally dawned on them.

Now, several weeks later, I'm sitting across from a very nice bearded old man in a black suit and tie with a matching kippa that very calmly asserts that he happens to be the King Solomon, rendered immortal after his one-upmanship of a legion's worth of demons turned out to be enough to impress God enough to pull a Methuselah 2.0. With that Montrealer Yiddish accent you'd recognize anywhere if you're from my neck of the woods, he places a knobby hand on my shoulder and smiles.

"Don't you worry, son. I've been working pro bono for the past eight hundred years, and these two are nothing in front of my Seal. I'm on good terms with Satan - the Judge, not the Ruler of Hell, you mortals get these schmucks constantly mixed up - and Rhadamantus and I have golf on Wednesdays, during summer. The mistake is apparently honest on your end and I could argue that these two's schemes just happened to qualify as entrapment on the legal sense, so..."

The debatable King of Israel sighs gamely and crosses his fingers together on the table, in front of me.

"Seems like a fairly open-and-shut case. We'll have you tether-free in about six months."

Somehow, some way, a human managed to acquire both a pomegranate from the underworld and fruit from the realm of the Fae, then made a smoothie out of them. Now, Hades and the Fae are in a fierce argument regarding who the human belongs to.

[handbarfs]

Hello! I love your art so much! I was wondering if you have the timelapse - if you would be willing to share it of course - for your mark scout reintegrating piece. I’m super curious to see the process of it!! That or even just like bts screenshots of how you drew him is fine too! Much love from TN!! :D

Hi!!

Thank you so much! I really appreciate this!

So, unfortunately, I deleted the video because I wanted to save space on my iPad. I also usually merge layers so I can tweak the hues of the overall painting. What I can do is describe my process? (Extremely unhelpful, I know- but I'll make sure not to turn off videos next time!)

I usually start by lightly tracing a picture to get the dimensions right, then refining the sketch to match my drawing style.

Next, I paint a layer underneath the sketch as a base. Usually, it's red around the eyes and cheeks, yellow on the high points, and blue around the shadows. This base is very bright and vibrant. Then, I use an oil-paint-type brush to paint the skin tone over this base, allowing the base colors to peek through. This red-yellow-blue base is important because it keeps the skin looking vibrant rather than flat or dull. This is also the step where I establish the overall tone of the painting. For this piece, I wanted it to feel shadowed- similar to the scene where Mark was in his room as he was reintegrating.

I then start painting over the sketch, adding all the details to make it look realistic. I don’t know how to describe it exactly, but I use a reference and paint each part of the face one by one. For the Mark reintegration piece, I painted the whole portrait first, as a whole. After finishing the portrait, I duplicated this layer, then used the lasso tool to cut the right side of his face. I lightly sketched the shapes of a cracked mirror. Some of the pieces were copy-pasted from the initial portrait, like the eyes and mouth, but for others, I wanted to include elements of his time inside Lumon, as well as glimpses of Gemma (since he was remembering Gemma as Ms. Casey while reintegrating).

I usually finish the painting by merging all the layers, adjusting brightness and contrast, tweaking the hues, and adding a very slight blur to the cracked mirror pieces so they don’t look too harsh.

I realize this is extremely convoluted, and I’m so sorry! I’m currently painting a similar piece for Gemma, so I’ll make sure to include the speedpaint video for that!

Thank you again for your interest!!

~ Tora

[zeezaibtech]

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[datenanalystxyz]

Machine Learning for Data Analysis week3

Lasso regression

A lasso regression analysis was conducted to identify a subset of variables from a pool of 9 categorical and quantitative predictor variables that best predicted a quantitative response variable paranoide persolality disorder.

Categorical predictors included

'TAB12MDX' #nicotindependence in last 12 Months -yes or no 'MAJORDEPLIFE' #Major depresion- yes or no 'MAJORDEPP12' #Major depresion in last 12 Months- yes or no 'S4AQ4A16' #attempted suicide-yes or no 'S3BQ1A6' # ever used Cocaine or Crack --yes or no 'OBCOMDX2'# Obsessiv_compulsive Per.disorder ---yes or no 'SCHIZDX2'# Schizoid per. disorder yes or no 'HISTDX2' # histrionic per. disorder yes or no

Quantitative predictor variables include AGE .

Responce variable:

'PARADX2' # Paranoid per. disorder yes or no

All predictor variables were standardized to have a mean of zero and a standard deviation of one.

Data were randomly split into a training set that included 70% of the observations 30% of the observations . The least angle regression algorithm with k=10 fold cross validation was used to estimate the lasso regression model in the training set, and the model was validated using the test set. The change in the cross validation average (mean) squared error at each step was used to identify the best subset of predictor variables.

Of the 9 predictor variables, 8 were retained in the selected model. But only 3 has more effect on our model.

'OBCOMDX2'# Obsessiv_compulsive Per.disorder ---yes or no 'SCHIZDX2'# Schizoid per. disorder yes or no 'HISTDX2' # histrionic per. disorder yes or no

During the estimation process, Schizoid per. disorder and histrionic per. disorder were most strongly associated with paranoide per. disorder , followed by Obsessiv_compulsive Per.disorder

all 3 Values were positivly associated with paranoide

only age was negativly associated with paranoide

These 8 variables accounted for 25% of the variance in paranoide per.disorder response variable.

The selected model was less accurate in predicting paranoide in the test data, but the test mean square error was pretty close to the training mean square error. training data MSE 0.070, test data MSE 0.0756

This suggests that prediction accuracy was pretty stable across the two data sets. The R-square values were 0.25 and 0.22, indicating that the selected model explained 25 and 22% of the variance in paranoide for the training and test sets, respectively

my code below:

code

code

code

code

code

the selected model was less accurate in predicting paranoide in the test data, but the test mean square error was pretty close to the training mean square error. training data MSE 0.070, test data MSE 0.0756

This suggests that prediction accuracy was pretty stable across the two data sets. The R-square values were 0.33 and 0.31, indicating that the selected model explained 25 and 22% of the variance in paranoide for the training and test sets, respectively

[mypetor]

Process Lasso Pro 12.3.1.11 Crack is a Windows process optimization and automation software. From algorithmic settings like ProBalance.......