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starrynights-sunnyskies · 5 months

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as the flowers bloom, my heart does too ⋆*·ﾟmisa x putellas!femreader, social media au, (4/-)

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when your relationship ends and all you want to do is hide and cry, flowers suddenly start to appear on your doorstep.

or; misa hating to see a pretty girl cry and suffer and going out of her way to cheer her up while staying anonymous

fic: see my masterlist 🤍

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marisabel_rguez: Back to basics 🤩 Liked by alexiaputellas, ireneparedes4, yourusername and 18,837 others

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alexiaputellas 😇

ireneparedes4 She says while wearing an apple watch. ↳ mariona8co 😂 ↳ jennihermoso Don't forget the phone in her pocket that was going off every five minutes 🤣 ↳ marisabel_rguez What would we have done without maps? 🙆‍♀️ ↳ jennihermoso Walk around for familiar sites, but what would YOU have done without your lover texting you the entire time? ↳ mariona8co Probably turned into a whiny grump 😏 ↳ marisabel_rguez Not my lover. ↳ jennihermoso Booty call then? ↳ alexiaputellas Jajaja, go Misa! 😉

bff1 ohhh loving that lilac hoodie, think i've seen it somewhere before but in a green edition. can't remember where tho? ↳ yourusername on your wishlist, desperately waiting for the price to drop ↳ bff2 🤣 ↳ bff1 i deserved that 😂 ↳ username3 what are y'all doing here 👀

username1 misa or gandalf? ↳ username2 you shall not passss

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yourusername: getting back my spark 🙈 Liked by patri8guijarro, claudiaapina, marisabel_rguez and 1,349 others

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marialeonn16 Still my favourite Putellas! liked by yourusername ↳ alexiaputellas I'll remember that 🤨

bff2 There’s our favourite happy gal again!!! liked by yourusername

bff1 look at my strong bad ass (hot) bestie liked by yourusername

alexiaputellas You never really lost it, you've always lit up our lives 😘 liked by yourusername

ingridengen Missed that smile of yours. liked by yourusername

bff3 So happy to see you so happy again ❣️ liked by yourusername

username1 omg with the barca gang <3

albaps9 ☺️ ↳ yourusername 😊

marisabel_rguez ❤️ liked by 94 others

marisabel_rguez Happiness is looking so good on you! Can you share your secret with me? liked by 83 others ↳ yourusername no, but i'll give you a hint: you're hot on the source's trail already. liked by 56 others ↳ marisabel_rguez How hot? liked by 36 others ↳ yourusername so so so unbearably hot. practically burning. liked by 46 others

username2 Misa! 😯 ↳ username3 it's happening!!!! everybody stay calm!!! ↳ username2 YN'S REPLY!!?? ↳ username4 the u-haul truck is waiting in the deposit centre, should i go pick it up? ↳ username5 umm, YES??! 😂 ↳ username4 vroom vroom ↳ username2 they should get a room with these comments atp ↳ username3 it's a good day for the queers <3

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↳ 42min ago: yourusername just added to their story

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↳ 35min ago: marisabel_rguez just added to their story

jennihermoso Girl, where are you going? Airport's the other way 😂 marisabel_rguez Jaja, my flight leaves from El Prat in Barcelona tomorrow, no layovers that way 😌 jennihermoso Where are you going? marisabel_rguez 🇮🇹! jennihermoso Ooooh nice, with who? The not-lover?🙃 marisabel_rguez No! jennihermoso Because she's no longer the not-lover but the yes-lover? Seen jennihermoso 😂 Delivered

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↳ 56min ago: yourusername added to their story

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marisabel_rguez: Good days ahead 🔜❤️☀️🌴🌊😎 Liked by yourusername, sofie.svava, ivanaandres5 and 16,323 others

sofie.svava And you better go and enjoy it to the fullest!

yourusername wepa! (and i love your hoodie!) ↳ marisabel_rguez adidas, all in or nothing ↳ yourusername what a good brand representative you are! ↳ marisabel_rguez 😌 ↳ marisabel_rguez I can give you a friends discount! ↳ yourusername ...ouch! but dw, i have the same one! ↳ marisabel_rguez Great taste! 😉

haleyraso vacay time!! 🌞

alexiaputellas Amigaaa! 🤩

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↳ 11h ago: marisabel_rguez added to their story

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↳ 7h ago: yourusername added to their story

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↳ 1h ago: yourusername added to their story

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username1 okay, hear me out: yn was watching the men's national game against england on her story, a) when has she ever watched a game when ale or one of their friends weren't playing or it wasn't an important match? b) two cups on the table, c) the air forces on the carpet, which misa was wearing in her story this morning, d) they're BOTH hopping onto a plane on the SAME day??? username1 am i delusional or getting somewhere? 😭 username2 No you're not delusional, I screenshot Yn's comment on the tattoo post weeks ago right before she deleted it lmao username3 SHARE!! username1 i mean, the season's over so they are all on break and travelling somewhere username4 Yeah but they're usually going somewhere together. So if Misa's not on those pics with the others, we know where she's hiding, in putellas jr's arms 😂 username6 lmao I can't believe y'all did not see yn wearing the headphones in her latest story that was also in misa's story earlier today 🙃 username1 wait wait what lemme check- username3 gfs sharing things aka happy wife happy life username7 Okay sooo how popular is that brand exactly? You're all delulu. username4 Let us have this one 🤣😫

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yourusername: when the stars make you drool just like a pasta e fasule, that's amoreeee. 📍somewhere in italy. Liked by sakinakarchaoui, marisabel_rguez, victoriapelova and 2,489 others

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marialeonn16 You and your pasta 😛 ↳ yourusername what can i say? i like saucy seasoned carbs

bff1 i see you picked up that hoodie after all ↳ yourusername thought it should go back to its original owner 😌

username1 how rude of you to not tag misa 😭 liked by yourusername

bff2 Girlieeee, yessss! Happy days are finally here 😘🌤 ↳ yourusername i love you!!

albaps9 when were you going to tell me you met a hot italian?? is this how i had to find out you got some action? now i know why you wanted another solo trip 👀 ↳ yourusername weren't you the one to tell me not to bother you with lovey-dovey stuff so long as you're single? so, SHUT UP. ↳ albaps9 omg ew, i don't like you sassing me, mini-me 😫 ↳ alexiaputellas What goes around...! ↳ yourusername I learned from the best tho!!! ↳ albaps9 🥹

bff3 Did you go to that gelato place I told you about? ↳ yourusername YES! THANK YOU.

sofiacantoree Hope Italy treated you well! 😊 liked by yourusername

juliagrosso7 Omg no way, I wish I had known 😢 ↳ yourusername rain check? i'm definitely coming back. ↳ juliagrosso7 Yes, please!

alexiaputellas I hope you didn't fall asleep while sunbathing again, tomato! ↳ yourusername ONCE! it happened only once ): ↳ alexiaputellas Besos from mama and stay safe 😘 ↳ yourusername tell her i love and miss her ↳ alexiaputellas She knows ❤️

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marisabel_rguez: Relax mode ON 😊☀️ Liked by leilaouahabi, alexiaputellas, bff1 and 17,843 others

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alexiaputellas Enjoy 🤩

username2 🧐 ↳ username3 👀 ↳ username4 🕵️‍♀️ ↳ username2 yea this is not coincidental at all, they don't care anymore, or ever have 🤣 ↳ username2 soft launch? ↳ username3 at least now we know she's not with the other girlies on team vacay lol ↳ username4 Thought we were passed that stage already 🙂 ↳ username2 no real photos yet so no, we're not

mariona8co Who took the photosssss?????? ↳ jennihermoso Yeah, spill the beans MISA !! ↳ ireneparedes4 Her not-lover jajajaja ↳ mariona8co 🤣😭 ↳ jennihermoso Jajaja ↳ alexiaputellas She must be special if she ditched us for her! 😜

leilaouahabi Have fun 😉

sofie.svava aaaah have so much fun!! you two deserve this 👯‍♀️

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Direct Messages

albaps9 hello maria isabel. albaps9 tell me, does my sister still hog all the bedsheets while she's sleeping? albaps9 and while i'm at it, tell her i'll kill her if she scratches my sunglasses albaps9 and you, if you hurt her in any way. accidental or not. vale? Seen

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a/n have a lovely weekend everyone🌻

#misa rodriguez x reader #misa rodriguez one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso social media au

370 notes · View notes

joojeans · 4 months

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˚◞♡ ⃗ I Dare You Pt. 4

♡ Bestfriend!Euijoo x Afab!Reader

♡ Summary: You’re sitting on the floor with your friends playing a juvenile game–truth or dare. Things have been spiraling out of control for some time now, but what happens when you’re dared to turn on one of your best friends without touching them? Can they handle it? Can you handle it? Spoiler alert: neither of you can. Find out how things go from seriously fucked up to seriously fucked, one member at a time.

♡ WC: 3.6k

♡ Content: euijoo has a driver's license (but does not drive in the fic), lil bit of dirty talk, lots of making out, some breast play, unprotected sex (be smart), risky sex location ig, bigdick!euijoo, pinch of clit play, quickie, creampie (yeah all of these have creampies SUE ME)

♡ PREVIOUS | SERIES MASTERLIST

Euijoo is laughing. It’s that throaty laugh of his that always makes you smile. The one he does when just smiling his amusement isn’t enough.

Why is he laughing?

Nicholas was just dared to FaceTime his current situationship without her knowing the rest of you were sitting around watching. He thought it seemed innocent enough–his friends were just curious who she was. He underestimated her.

It didn’t take long for the intimate details of their “relations” to come to light. She assumed he was calling to play, she was all too happy to indulge. Before Nicholas could stop her, she was recounting details of their last hook up, the lust dripping from her voice and spreading from Nicholas’s warm cheeks to his suddenly aching cock. He was mortified. And horny beyond belief.

He rushed the call’s end, hanging up with as few comforting words as possible, but the damage was already done. When the call was over and the coast was clear, you were all laughing. None of you had expected it to go so fantastically awry for him.

He was especially annoyed with Euijoo, though. You guess he assumed better of him, or maybe he was just particularly bothered because he’s closest to him. Whatever the reason, he’s been shooting daggers at Euijoo. None of you are blind to it.

What you didn’t expect, though, is for you to partially pay the price.

K speaks up. “Okay, y/n. Truth or dare?” And before you can answer: “And don’t choose truth this time.”

You’re even more tempted to choose truth now, if only to irritate him, but you repress the urge. “Fine. Dare.”

He doesn’t even need to think about it. “Okay, I dare you to do to Euijoo what we all just did to Nicholas.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you know. Turn him on. He thought it was so funny seeing Nicholas like that. Would he feel the same if it was him instead?”

You glance next to you. Euijoo is sitting right beside you on the couch, his eyes somewhere between mortified and pleading as he stares at K. Fuck, it’s cute. But it’s… not right, is it?

“I don’t think…” You hesitate, not wanting to insult or embarrass Euijoo unintentionally. “I don’t think he wants that? And I can’t in good conscience touch him like that when he’s opposed.”

K waves his hand dismissively. “Ah, it’s fine. The one rule is that you can’t actually touch his dick, so it can’t be that bad. Right, Euijoo?” K is glaring at him–testing him, smirking.

Euijoo’s head cocks slightly. It seems like he’s having a hard time believing that this is actually happening right now. But despite how shy he can be at times, he’s also not one to eagerly back down from a challenge. He’s not a big fan of being underestimated. You watch as his adam’s apple betrays how thickly he swallows before speaking. “Yeah, whatever. I guess.”

“Wait, wait.” Now you can’t believe what’s happening. “Euijoo.” You wait for him to look at you. He does. “Are you actually going along with this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable because of a stupid game.”

He smiles a little and you can see some of the tension leaving his body. “I know, y/n. That’s why I don’t really mind… it’s you.” He quickly adds: “But if you’re not comfortable then please, please just ignore these idiots. It’s… an awkward thing for both of us.”

Your heart warms at how much he trusts you and centers your comfortability. It’s just like him. He’d put himself through anything, but he’d never allow you or anyone he loves have a single moment of suffering if he can help it.

“I’m okay, Euijoo. Thank you though.” You scoot a little closer to him, the sides of your body touching from shoulders to feet. Just a little test. If he recoils, then he isn’t as comfortable as he’s saying he is. To your surprise, he doesn’t. He just smiles down at you. It’s an unsure smile, one that betrays his feeling of not knowing what to do in this situation, but he looks…excited? Awkward, curious, but open.

Alright, game on.

You pull your legs up under you so it’s easier to move around in Euijoo’s bubble. His eyes are watching your every movement like a hawk, surely trying to anticipate your next move so he’s prepared for it. You chuckle to yourself. He’s so cute.

You sidle up next to Euijoo, closing the distance between the two of you even more. You drape your forearm on his shoulder, your fingers fondling his pretty hair as you look right into his sparkling doe eyes. He grins–it’s one of the nervous, endearing ones. “You look so handsome tonight, Euijoo.”

A softball. You know you’d have to do much more than that to get a good reaction out of the others, but you’re going easy on him. For now. You don’t want to scare the sweet boy.

“Oh,” he mumbles quietly. He doesn’t say anything else–just nods his gratitude. He won’t take his eyes off yours, and you can’t help but feel taken off guard by that. You had expected that he would be avoiding your gaze as much as possible. You’d think this much eye contact would feel much too intimate for him. Maybe he’s full of more surprises than you’ve always thought.

“You know…” You start again, threading your hand through his hair. Your fingers clutch the strands at the roots, tugging just enough for his pretty, pouty lips to part. The tiniest gasp puffs out, but you’re sure that no one but you could hear it. You smile fondly, encouraged by this reaction. “I’ve always liked how tall you are.” You lower your head, plucking his earlobe between your teeth, feeling him shiver slightly in response, his body tensing again. “Sometimes when you’re looking down at me…” You whisper the words against his ear, purring. “It makes me want to get on my knees for you.”

Euijoo’s breath catches in his throat. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to be quite this bold.

You lift your head again, gently grazing your hand up the front of his throat until it rests palm side up under his chin. You hold the two of you like this, eyes locked on each other once again. You don’t want to give him the opportunity to start dodging you now. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Euijoo?”

His mouth starts to move. He was going to answer, but he thinks better of it, closing his mouth.

That’s okay. You weren’t quite done yet, anyway.

“You’d make the prettiest sounds for me if I let you have my mouth, wouldn’t you?” You tailor your voice to sound as if it’s what you want even though the words sound like they’re about him. You know it’ll be harder for him to ignore the temptation if he believes you’re the one that wants it. He can ignore his own needs. Ignoring yours…not so much.

You don’t let him ignore you this time. You hold his gaze silently, forcing him to speak up if he wants to move on from this.

You watch as his eyes flit about your face, stalling. Even if he wanted to say yes, please, he wouldn’t let himself do that. His jaw is tense from this situation that feels impossible. You take notice of his ears reddening and the way his hand twitches in the direction of his crotch in your periphery. You choke down a smirk. Finally, he speaks.

“It’s not polite to say things you don’t mean, y/n.”

Your lips part this time, surprised by how assertively he speaks. You watch as his pupils dilate, a shiver traveling through your own body. Something about how confidently he’s calling your bluff makes you feel like maybe you’re not bluffing anymore.

The dare ends with Euijoo getting the last word, though. Before you’re able to do anything more, K is sneering, motioning to the way Euijoo has clasped his hands just so over the crotch of his jeans. “I bet you wish you never laughed at Nicholas now,” he taunts. Euijoo rolls his eyes and takes his bodily agency back, turning his head back to the front, leaving your hand floating awkwardly where it had been under his chin.

You pull your hand back a little too quickly, startled by how much you seem to have affected yourself in the process of riling up Euijoo. As expected, you accomplished the job. Unexpectedly, he didn’t respond in any of the ways you’d predicted. You sit back down properly, but you’re still sitting much closer to him than before. You feel like you’d both be able to breathe easier if you sat back where you were initially, but you don’t want him to feel like you were just waiting to get away from him.

Euijoo doesn’t seem to be as concerned with little things like that right now. He clears his throat and stands up, expertly controlling his reaction to everything now that it’s over. “Now that whatever that was is done, can we go get some drinks?” His eyes dart to Nicholas. “You were supposed to take care of that when you came tonight, but since you didn’t, you can just go with me to get them.” Not a question. An order.

Nicholas groans and leans back from his place on the floor until he’s laying flat on his back. He frowns up at Euijoo, hoping to get out of this. “Can’t I just send you the money and you can go? I’ll send extra as an apology.”

Euijoo shakes his head. “No. You know better what everyone’s going to want since they already told you beforehand. You know, so you could bring the drinks like you said you were going to.”

Nicholas smiles sheepishly. Maybe if he’s cute enough, he can get out of this. You know how he works. “I know, but…” He looks around the room. He needs a get out of jail free card. His eyes light up when he sees you. “Just take y/n! She always remembers what we like because she actually pays attention, unlike the rest of us stupid men.” Oh. So now he’s trying to butter you up too.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Everyone looks towards Fuma. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought that after…” He motions to the couch. You almost feel embarrassed. He doesn’t need to say anything more.

K scoffs. “Please. It’ll be fine. You know Euijoo. He won’t try anything.”

And with that, the decision seems to be made for you. Everyone nods and mumbles their agreement, going back to their own discussions and phone screens, knowing that you and Euijoo won’t cause much of a fuss. They’ve sorted it.

Euijoo looks at you. He looks like he feels a little bad that you got roped into this but other than that, he’s solid. He holds up his keys and dangles them. I’m ready when you are.

You pull yourself up from the couch and step over the other men spread out on the floor. Euijoo holds open the garage door for you when you reach it, closing it behind the both of you when you walk past the door frame. He reaches for the lightswitch and flicks it on, but it doesn’t do much good. Most of the lights are burned out, leaving only enough light to see each other when you’re standing close. Euijoo starts to move past you towards the driver’s seat, but you catch his hand.

“Wait.”

He stops. He takes a step back so that he’s standing directly in front of you, eyes looking down at you as if to check for any signs of you being uncomfortable. You know all he’ll be able to see is intrigue. “You good?” His voice is lower than usual. Probably trying to not startle you, you’d guess.

“Yeah.” You pause for too long and Euijoo looks antsy. Why aren’t you letting him get in the car then? “I was just thinking…”

The words are having a hard time coming out. This is the most precious person you know. He’s so sweet, gentle, proper. How do you propose what’s in your mind?

“Y/n?” He’s going to need you to finish that sentence.

“Sorry.” You decide to rephrase. “How are you feeling right now? After…what went down in there?”

He laughs politely. “I’m fine, y/n. Don’t worry. You didn’t send me into a spiral or anything.” He starts to move again. You stop him again.

“No, wait. I…know.” His brows are furrowed as he tries to piece together what’s going on. “But…what if I’m not fine? You could be…not fine, too.”

“What are you saying, y/n? Are you uncomfortable with what happened? Because I’m really sorry if that’s the case…”

“No. I want more of it. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Oh?”

You lightly graze your fingernails up and down his forearm as you talk, slowly. “Maybe we could just…make out? For a few minutes. Try and relieve some of our tension before we go.”

You watch as everything clicks in Euijoo’s mind, reflected in his eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, y/n? Seems like it could just cause more trouble.” His eyes drop to your lips. It would appear that he’s not too worried about that.

You nod, smiling as you pull him closer to you by the hand. You step backward a step or two until your calves hit the front of the car. Euijoo is watching you, letting you guide him where you want him. It’s a bit hard to read him. He doesn’t seem as eager as you, but he’s not uninterested either.

It feels like a challenge and you like a challenge.

Your lips part instinctively when Euijoo leans in first. His hands are respectfully at his sides, but he’s leaning into you, tilting his head just so as he brushes his lips against yours, testing, watching. The small action evokes a dreamy sigh from you and Euijoo smirks, his hand finding the small of your back as he seals your lips together.

He moves his lips against yours slowly, not pushing too far. His tongue remains in his mouth, focusing on kissing you properly. His hand is holding your shirt tightly at your back and that’s the sign you need to know he’s pent up too. Yeah, he can handle himself, but does he want to? Do you want him to?

“Euijoo,” you whisper against his lips, one leg wrapping around his long one, forcing him to stumble even closer to your body. He exhales, the needing undertone of your movements making his heart race in his chest. He leans forward, his free hand resting on the hood of the car as his other keeps its place on your lower back. You’re looking at each other, lips close but not kissing, eyes communicating. You can see Euijoo fighting himself.

You want to make it impossible.

You move your hands under the front of his shirt and he hisses, glancing down. You take hold of his waist–perfectly sized for grabbing. His breath is already heavy from how hard he’s trying to hold himself back. By the time his eyes drift back up to your face, you’re moving in on him.

This time, you capture his lips, gliding your tongue along the crease of them, silently begging for entrance. He groans, frustrated with his own cravings, but gives in to them. He invites your tongue into his mouth, freely letting himself feel it with his own. You’re holding yourself up with your arms on the hood and everything feels urgent, desperate, as Euijoo takes over the kiss, leading you both in the direction his tongue wants.

You’re all too happy to let him show you what he wants, especially when his lips gravitate from your lips to your jaw, knocking your head to the side gently as he finds your neck. You’re pulling at his body and gluing your own to it as he drags his tongue over your skin, wincing from the feeling of you pressed so firmly to his stiff crotch. He lets himself get lost in exploring your body, one large, gorgeous hand moving up your torso, taking your breast in its grasp. He groans against your shoulder as he feels the soft flesh, his grip tightening when you moan in response.

He pulls back from your neck to look at you again and his eyes are glazed over with lust. You’re kissing again and your body is practically vibrating with need. You know he is too, his cock hard against your leg, both of you dizzy from a lack of oxygen. Euijoo’s doing a good job of making you feel so fucking good, but you need more.

You keep his body in place with one hand as your other reaches for the zipper of his jeans. Immediately, instinctively, his hand drops from your chest to where your hand is trying to unzip him. He leaves his hand on top of yours, his lips breaking contact. He turns his head to the side just enough to be able to see you on one side and the garage door on the other side, his lips swollen and red. He knows where you two are right now. He knows it would only take a second for one of your friends to see what you’ve been up to.

Fuck, you think. I pushed too far.

His eyes turn back to yours and you can see gears behind them. It’s only a moment, but it feels like a lifetime.

He moves his hand from yours. You wouldn’t be sure what that means if his hands didn’t immediately move to your own pair of shorts, nimble fingers working the button and zipper free, his lips on yours again. You moan into his mouth, anticipation killing you, pushing his jeans down when you’ve managed to unfasten them.

“We need to be quick,” Euijoo warns between rushed kisses. A chance for you to change your mind. A reminder that you’re not exactly in a private place even if it feels like it right now. You nod eagerly, not giving a shit about anything but having him. Now, preferably.

You fall back against the hood a bit as your arm weakens, half-laying over it as Euijoo manages to undress you both from your waists to your knees, your clothing haphazardly hanging as best as it can to your bodies. True to his word, Euijoo moves things along swiftly, looking down as he glides the tip of his cock through your folds, collecting your arousal and testing your readiness for him. He hisses at the sensation, his eyes fluttering from the warm wetness.

“Oh my god,” you moan at the feeling.

Encouraged, Euijoo pushes inside you, a drawn out but soft moan pushing out of his pink lips. You echo him, doing your best to keep relatively quiet even as the sheer size of him stretches you more than you’d expected. You try to lift yourself back up somewhat, salivating at the thought of seeing the point of connection between you. Seeing Euijoo fully sheathed inside of you makes you clench and he hisses, a quiet chuckle following.

“Yeah? Good?”

You scoff, grinning. “So fucking good.”

Euijoo’s lips quirk into a crooked smirk and he starts to move, thrusting into you at a pace that is increasing steadily from the start. We need to be quick, his voice echoes in your head.

Oh god, you moan. Feels so good. Euijoo. Euijoo. Euijoo.

So pretty, he fawns. Shh, y/n. Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.

It pains you both to restrict yourselves, to rush through your pleasure, but the pleasure is better than the pain.

Euijoo fucks you like he’s been waiting to his entire life. He learns in moments how to make your eyes roll back into your head, how to make you choke trying to keep your voice down. He fucks you deep, his hands harshly gripping your thighs–you’re sure he’ll apologize for that later. He lets you fall and writhe on the hood of the car, all too capable of controlling your body with his own hands, drinking up the sight of you being drunk on his cock.

When he can tell you’re losing yourself to your pleasure, his thumb finds your clit, reveling in the way you whine. “Shh, a little quieter for me” he reminds you, his voice the gentlest aphrodisiac. He’s grinning, proud to see you like this for him.

You cup your hands over your mouth when the knot finally snaps, your eyes squeezing shut as your muffled cry is smothered in your palm. Euijoo’s legs stutter at the feeling of you cumming around him, squeezing him, coaxing him to follow you. He groans and allows himself a few more impossibly deep, sharp thrusts into you before he whitens the inside of your cunt, his mouth hung open in silent relief.

He looks so fucking pretty like that.

You’re both spent, but Euijoo only takes a few moments to recover. He gives you many more though, taking it upon himself to redress you both. He moves your panties and your shorts so carefully up your body–as if he’s afraid to break you after fucking you like that.

Once he’s finished, he sits you up, his arm the security you need around your back. He smiles at you, brushing his thumb over your lip. “You did so well.” Butterflies. “Are you okay to go now?” You know he wouldn’t make you.

“Mhmm. I’m good.” You reflect his smile.

“Yeah. Me too.” He kisses the corner of your lips and helps you off the hood of the car with a smile, making sure to open your door and buckle your seatbelt for you. You both know he doesn’t need to.

He just wants to.

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cynicalrosebud · 1 month

Text

Incorrect Quotes 3: I'm Tired

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Soap: Tae be honest, I'm kinda pissed that I'm nae asleep in bed next tae the love o’ ma life in a cottage wi’ nae obligations other than waterin’ ma vegetable garden.

Ghost: Comparin’ Soap an’ Y/n is like comparin’ apples and oranges.

Soap: We’re both unique in oor own ways?

Ghost: Apples are superior in every way, an’ all oranges should be eliminated.

Y/n: Which one of us is the orange?

Soap: Hold on, I can explain!

Ghost: Really? Can ye now?

Soap: I can if ye give me a minute tae think of a convincin’ lie.

Ghost: Life keeps fuckin’ me, and I can't fuckin' remember the safeword.

Gaz: D’ye have any idea whit you’re doin’, sir?

Price: Why start now?

Computer: Please enter a password.

Ghost: *types in Soap*

Computer: Your password is too weak.

Ghost: How fuckin’ DARE YE-

Soap: Ye might no ken this, Price, but I am a flawed person.

Price: Aye, I do know tha’.

The Squad is gathered in the living room for a meeting

Gaz: *walks in and sits on Y/n’s lap*

The Squad: …

Ghost: Why are ye sittin’ there?

Gaz: There’s no free seats!

Ghost: But we made sure there was enough room fer—

Y/n: *hugs Gaz tightly* There are no free seats.

Y/n: You've got to act tough, Gaz! Show ’em you can’t be pushed around! Show ’em they can’t mess with ya!

Gaz: Right. Yeah. Tough. Got it.

Gaz, *standing up on his stool and slamming his hands down on the bar*: I'LL TAKE A CHOCOLATE MILK.

Gaz: I’ve organized your messages into three categories.

Gaz: “From Ghost”

Gaz: “Death Threats”

Gaz: an’ “Death Threats from Ghost”

Soap: If ye took a shot for every time ye made a bad decision, how drunk would ye be?

Price: Maybe a bit tipsy?

Gaz: Drunk.

Ghost: Wasted.

Y/n: Dead.

Price: Sorry I'm late, I was doin’ stuff an’ got distracted.

Gaz: I'm stuff!

Ghost: I'm got distracted!

Soap: We had sex.

Ghost, after watching Soap get shot by someone: You’re deid. Ye are very deid. When ye’re a corpse, I’ll hack away at yer flesh an’ eat ye raw.

Soap: Lt., I'm no deid yet.

Ghost: Let me have ma moment o’ rage tae avenge ye, Johnny.

Soap: I’d prefer it if ye didnae let me die.

(too soon?)

#call of duty #x reader #incorrect quotes #incorrect cod quotes #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley

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roguishcat · 2 months

Text

Augustarion Day 1 – Strawberries 🍓

It is August and that means Augustarion! I'm not sure I will do all the prompts, but will do my best to do as many as I can! So here is my humble offering for Day 1, a short and sweet drabble written in second person.

Pairing: the reader (You) x Astarion

Day 2 - 🌊, Day 4 - Mythologies, Day 6 - Cream, Day 7 - Underwear, Day 14 - Protective, Day 15 - Shirt that goes hard

You take a leisurely stroll through the market, delighting in the flurry of activity around you. Astarion too seems to enjoy the crowds, but judging from the way his eyes dart from pocket to pocket, his reasons are not quite as innocent as your own. You decide to pretend not to notice the telltale twitch of his fingers, instead pausing in front of the stall groaning under the weight of fruit and vegetables.

Your eyes linger on the strawberries, the alluring ruby sides tempting you for a moment. But then you notice the price and, reluctantly, move onto the more sensible choices.

Astarion notices the small sigh of disappointment but does not say anything. You pay for the apples and vegetables, and then suggest that you take these to Elfsong for Gale to start on dinner.

Later in the evening, you all have the opportunity to enjoy a rare moment of respite. Tomorrow you and your companions will infiltrate the Iron Throne, hoping to rescue Wyll’s father and perhaps other prisoners. And that will likely set of a chain of events that will have to be dealt with quickly and brutally.

You feel the bed dip and smell rosemary, bergamot and brandy. You smile but do not open your eyes.

“My sweet,” you feel his hand on your cheek, “I have something for you. Keep those pretty eyes closed and open your mouth.”

“Really? Hoping that I am into everyone watching as I-”

“Perhaps another time,” he cuts you off with a laugh, “It is not that kind of surprise.”

You giggle and open your mouth, feeling Astarion press something to your lips, soft words encouraging you to bite down.

You comply and are rewarded with a burst of flavour. Your eyes fly open as you realise that he is feeding you a strawberry, the bowl with more perched precariously on his lap.

“But how? You were with me the whole time!”

“Tsk, now where is the fun in telling you that. Besides,” Astarion puts the bowl down and leans in, “I wanted a taste.”

And then he kisses you deeply and languidly, noting to himself that perhaps he rather likes delighting you in such small ways.

Tag list:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk

@anukulee, @preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #augustarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion x reader #roguish cat

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year

Text

Moves & Countermoves (Part 6)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Peeta is down by the river, camouflaged in the rocks after Cato slashed his leg and left him for dead.

“Ah ha ha,” Chaff smiles when he spots Haymitch with an entire pitcher of rum. “So this is how the Capitol treats it’s favorites.”

“Had to steal it off the cart.” Haymitch chuckles allowing his friend to slip in between him and Y/N.

“Steady now.” Y/N teases, a hand to his back until he’s seated.

Chaff knocks her shoulder with his own, “what’s the matter, baby?”

Y/N has nothing but love for her husband’s best friend. However they are two peas in a pod and when they get together…there goes all the liquor. Back home in twelve, Haymitch has been known to have a drink or two, still able to enjoy his wife and children. This place brings it all back, the horrible things he’s done, everything he failed to do. If he wasn’t drunk, he’d surely lose his mind.

“I wanna send Peeta medicine,” Y/N explains.

“Sponsors leaving you high and dry? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Not the sponsors, Haymitch made him a deal.”

“Who am I to disrespect this poor boy’s dying wish?” Haymitch quirks a brow.

“And his wish is to-”

“No parachutes. Save Katniss.”

“Katniss,” Chaff drawls.

Two of their tributes have formed an alliance. Rue and Katniss hatching a plan to blow up the career’s stash; lightning fires to draw them away.

“This green stuff is gonna smoke like crazy, as soon as it’s lit, move on to the next one.” The girl on fire warns.

“Ok,” Rue agrees, “we need some kind of signal; in case one of us gets held up.”

“Like what?”

“Here, watch this.” Rue lets out a tiny melody, which the birds rings back.

“Mockingjays.” Katniss realizes, “that’s brilliant.”

“We use them back home to signal the time.” Rue says, shifting the backpack on her shoulder. “If we hear that, it means we’re ok and we’ll be back real soon.”

“We’re gonna be ok,” Katniss pulls her in for a hug, running a hand over her hair. “Hey, I’ll see you for supper.”

————————————————————————

For once in her life Y/N is grateful for the Capitol broadcasting the action only, in the viewing room. A split screen between Rue lighting the fires, the careers chasing smoke and Katniss making her way to the cornucopia.

Clove and the others leave a single boy behind to keep watch. As the red haired tribute from five lily pads around explosives to steal food, the watchman catches her in his peripheral. Taking off after her into the woods.

Katniss lines up her shot, missing the corner of the apple net by just a hair. She takes a step closer, a few calming breathes later the tip of her arrow pierces the bag and out tumble all of the apples.

She’s blown back by the force of it.

“Oooh,” Chaff winces.

After a moment Katniss gets her bearings, heading back to Rue.

The boy keeping watch pays the price, Cato snaps his neck before giving him a chance to explain.

Rue is well on her way to light the last fire when she hears the explosion. Katniss did it. Then the trap set by the careers falls, she tripped the wire, a weighted net.

“Shit.” Y/N covers her mouth. Katniss…please hurry.

“Come on, Rue,” Chaff says, under his breath. “Work your way out.” He coaches, as if she can hear him. She does try, just like he taught her, but the net is too heavy.

When Katniss finds the final fire unlit, she whistles their signal.

“Get her out.” Haymitch rocks back slightly in his seat.

“Get her out.”

“Get her out.

“Get her out!”

The people of the viewing room echo. Y/N turns her head as the room builds to a collective chant.

“Get her out. Get her out. Get her out.”

It isn’t unheard of for spectators to voice their call to action. Though they are more concerned with the entertainment value than the life of the child.

When Katniss gets no response, she races toward the pile of sticks and leaves meant to start the last fire. Still no Rue.

“Katniss! Katniss, help.” Rue calls from beneath the net.

Katniss cuts her loose, Rue safe in her arms. “I’m here, you’re safe.”

The viewing room cheers are short lived. Marvel sends his spear flying, only to be met with Katniss’ arrow. When the cameras pan back to Rue…the damage is clear and irreversible.

Y/N excuses herself. She cannot watch, she cannot pretend, she cannot breathe. Scrambling into the nearest private room with the curtains drawn. Pushing them back with little care before realizing that it is occupied.

“You look ill, dear.” The Capitol woman gasps. “Come, sit down.”

“I’m so sorry to barge in like this.” Y/N apologizes, it’s not anyone she knows.

“Never you mind that, the pleasure is mine. Let me get you a drink.” The woman begins waving down a waiter.

Y/N grabs the ice bucket, “can I throw up in here?” Doesn’t matter, it’s coming up.

“Oh my stars, you poor thing.” She fans the victor as best she can, while continuing to wave one hand out of the privacy curtain. “Must be something you ate.”

“What can I get for you?” The waiter asks.

“Some water, to start and a fresh ice bucket.”

“Yes, right away.”

The woman takes great pleasure in ‘nursing’ Y/N back to health. With water and something close to a bland cracker.

These people are not inherently bad, Y/N realized that years ago. Conditioned in their belief and out of touch, but they are not evil. I don’t hate them…I hate what they do.

It’s not long before Haymitch is tearing back curtains to find her. Letting out a sigh of relief when he does.

“Haymitch, what a pleasure.” The woman holds out a hand.

“Great to meet you, love the dress.” He kisses the top of her hand, using it to guide her toward the exit, “give us a minute, will you?”

“But of course.” The woman is awestruck. The victors of district twelve, in her private room! Hailing over everyone who is anyone. Mouthing, “they’re in there,” motioning toward the fabric that separates them.

“I need you to listen to me.” Haymitch whispers, kneeling in front of Y/N. Wiping away any remnants of vomit and tears.

Y/N nods.

“Katniss gave that little girl a proper send off, you know as well as I do, the gamemakers and Snow aren’t happy about it.” She created a martyr.

Again she nods.

“I’m gonna talk to Crane, see what I can do for damage control.” Keep Katniss alive.

“Ok." Don’t let them kill Katniss.

“We’re gonna get you a mint and then I need you to walk out of here like nothing is wrong. Can you do that?” He tips her chin up, holding her gaze.

There is worry in his eyes, guilt and sadness. Her husband is afraid and he needs her. “Yes.”

“Good,” Haymitch gives her a reassuring smile, taking her into his arms.

————————————————————————

Katniss receives a parachute of bread a while later. After the silence is louder than the cannons and the artificial sun has set.

Haymitch is still negotiating, Y/N figures he must’ve sent it. Until she sees the note attached, from district eleven.

Y/N makes her way over to Seeder, sitting alone in the opposite corner.

“It was for Rue,” she older woman explains before Y/N can get a word out. “My district spent days scrounging up the money, the sponsors finally came through. We had enough to send some for Thresh too.”

“You could’ve sent him both.”

“My people wanted Katniss to have it.” Seeder informs her.

“I know she…appreciates their generosity very much.”

The answer is dry, rehearsed. Y/N is young and still does not understand. “I knew a girl once, she was kind and brave. She played the games and never let them play her. For the first time, I thought there might not be a victor. Because she was lying there, bleeding out and her partner was there, bleeding out…nobody was killing anybody,” she pauses. “Haymitch had to fight like hell to get you out of that one, they wanted your family-”

Dead. “I know,” Y/N stares down at her hands.

“I saw something that day, and I see it in her.” Seeder motions toward Katniss on the screen. “A good, genuine person with heart. They tried to snuff it out of you, beat it out of you; but I still see you. You hold onto your heart and you never let anyone take it from you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N blinks back tears.

“Attention, tributes, attention. The previous rules allowing only a single victor have been…suspended. Two victors may be crowned, so long as they both originate from the same district.”

All hope is not lost.

Part 7

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @officialjellydoughnut @whoreforfictionalpeople @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme

#haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #hunger games fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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orangameelectronics · 7 months

Video

youtube

3-in-1 Nylon Braided Type-C Multi 5A Fast Charging Cable for iPhone/Android

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baddiewiththebook · 9 months

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ONE OF THEM [PART 4]

-> Dating your best friend Eddie Munson might have been pictured differently in your head. Despite a blissful weekend, you’re met with a few bumps in the road; and, your friends slowly figure out that what you're doing in private crosses the boundaries between friend and lover.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, secret relationship, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive scenes [no smut]

[Part 4] [Part 5 - Coming Soon]

This is a sequel to One of the Boys

-> <-

“Do you think he has plans for that asparagus, or does he just need a friend?” Eddie’s head is tilted just to the right, while he studies the man across the aisles.

You plop five plump potato’s into a plastic sack provided by the grocery store, and hum a soft tune to yourself. Ignoring Eddie, you take the sack and drop it down onto the metal scale to imagine the price point.

When you move, however, Eddie is frozen in time. His eyes move past the displays of fresh lemons and limes, and over the apples and pears. A man is scratching his finger over the Saran Wrap tucking a set of asparagus in a tight film. Peering through Coke bottle glasses, he pouts his bottom lip and then puts the produce back.

“You’ve been watching him for a while?” You try to sound less irritated than you are. Shopping with Eddie got easier once you asked him to push the cart. In a way, this tethered him to you because he kept his hands busy and off of the shelves where he insisted on touching everything.

Eddie doesn’t mean any harm, after all he is just looking. Suppose he looks for a bit too long and he’s a bit distracted, then you’ll correct him with a sour sort of ‘come on, Eddie,’ like his uncle Wayne does sometimes. But, his uncle never buys fresh potatoes. Eddie has got no idea what you’ll do with those. When you told him you wanted to make dinner for him tonight, he thought the box of mashed potatoes was fine enough and the steaks in the back of the freezer had only been there a few months - or a year. Who can tell the difference?

You surely can.

When you suggested that he come with you to go to the grocery store, he saw the glee on your face. He can’t say no to you.

There’s something soft about the way you’re touching everything on purpose. You studied those potatoes like the man did with his asparagus, but when you got a little pouty, Eddie’s heart fluttered in his chest.

You’ve got one hand on the cart, so to him you feel connected even if you’re not holding onto each other. Guiding him in the right direction down the isle, he'll never get lost as long as you're there with him.

Eddie is damn near snoozing by the end of the laundry list of grocery items. There is only six, but that's six too many. You offer to buy him something sweet in exchange for his patience with you.

“Did you want to go to the little bakery? They’ve probably got chocolate cake or cookies,” you wiggle at the end of the cart.

Eddie straightens his back at this.

“Sure, but no chocolate,” he shakes his head. “I don’t like that stuff.”

“You don’t like chocolate,” you’re more taken aback than he imagined you might be. “But, what about the chocolate cake I made you for your birthday two years ago, and the cupcakes I made for your birthday this year! You said they were the best. I even kept the recipe!”

“Sweetheart,” he catches up to you, so he can wrap an arm around your shoulders. “How could I possibly tell you that I didn’t like chocolate when you’d spend all day baking for me? Hm? I really did appreciate the gesture. You know- among the thick layers of goo- oof!”

You’ve elbowed him in the side. Rightfully so! Smiling into the case of donuts, you make a beeline for the grinning worker behind the counter.

“Can I get a loaf of- erm, that one,” you’re not sure how to pronounce the name.

Eddie’s gone when you spin around with your bread loaf. Eyeing the treats, he aims for a small cherry pie. He pulls his hand back and shakes his head. Your boyfriend flicks his hair behind his ears because as much as he likes his hair, he does get hot sometimes. Boyfriend.

Eddie Munson is your boyfriend.

Have you said that out loud yet?

“The bread,” you announce like he’s memorized dinner plans.

Eddie shocks you, “steak next, right?”

Aisles of produce pass you by like time ticking on a clock. You’ve gotten everything on your list by now that Eddie clutches in your hand. Time wastes on because you don’t want to go home quite yet. You’re in control of the cart, and Eddie’s bounding between aisles to show you something ‘cool’ he’s found.

The cart slowly is taken over by snacks you haven’t planned to spend money on, but you do anyway because Eddie’s joy means more to you than a dollar.

Eddie pops a rope candy in his mouth, while you organize the cashier belt in line.

“Don’t forget the bags,” Eddie pulls some plastic bags from the bottom of the cart that you keep in your house. You reuse them as long as possible, and Eddie finds this endearing.

“Thanks,” you put them in the front of the groceries already stacked on the belt.

Eddie tosses a wrapped piece of chocolate onto the belt you hadn’t seen him grab from the shelves.

“I thought of you,” he taps the wrapper, before the belt sweeps the sweet away. “It’s got caramel. Your favorite, right?”

"It is," you sigh completely defeated that he knows more about you than you about him.

"My favorite is cherry," he swings the licorice in the air.

“Sir,” the cashier’s lips thin. “You’re paying for that, right?”

Eddie’s chewed through the whole package of candy by now, and humorously he’d like to imply that he’s not. But with you in mind, he hands the woman the wrapper without fuss. You wrap onto his arm like a child, and he places another kiss to the top of your head.

You’re paying for the grocery run today, but Eddie promises that the next time you’re shopping together that he will pay. The conversation floats past your ears because you’re just thrilled there will come a next time.

The van is waiting for you in the parking lot, where Eddie tosses you the keys to unlock the doors. He’s busy rummaging through the back trying not to rattle his band equipment, but he does use the inside of the drums to steady the dozen eggs.

“Are you buckled?” Eddie climbs into the drivers side.

You’re set in the passenger seat with the chocolate that Eddie bought for you. Using his thumb, he swipes at your chin where you’ve smeared melted chocolate on by accident.

“I’m buckled,” you tighten the seatbelt. “Do you want a bite?”

“No, but could you hand me the hamburger back there?”

You scrunch your nose. “How long has that been there?”

“Eh.. like a couple days?”

“Eddie!”

Laughter fills the corners of the van like a harmonious song. Well tuned - perfectly pitched.

-> <-

Eddie is an awful cook.

Finding your attention drawn onto the sharp knife in your hand, slicing potatoes into chunks, you’re not watching Eddie scrambling behind you. He’s got two spoons in his hands, but he scratches his head at what for. It isn’t until you’re gasping at the blackened smoke coming from the stove.

Flipping the carrots around in the pan, Eddie’s apologizing over and over. You reassure that the carrots still could be edible, but judging by the blackened bottoms, you both know well-enough to toss them.

You’re putting the potatoes into the hot water, only burning the tips of your fingers.

Eddie’s in control - er, sort of - cutting up new carrots. Following along what you did earlier, you bite your tongue at the massive pinches of black pepper and salt he’s added. Tablespoon or teaspoon? He’s got no clue!

“I’ll keep an eye out this time,” he holds a staring contest with the searing hot pan that’s still a bit too hot for the carrots.

You turn the burner down, and flick the carrots around until the smoke clears. Eddie groans, and takes over because he doesn’t like being micromanaged. It’s all in good fun, though. He does find being in the kitchen with you quite homey.

Homey.

Eddie’s never had that feeling before. Last time he’s felt at home, no offense to Wayne, was when his mom found him hidden in the cupboards of their little house. Sure, life wasn’t perfect for the Munsons, but his mom always kept the court dates and the legal shit out of his eye the best she could.

When she died, a part of Eddie had too. He misses the warm hugs and kisses, the way she lets him lick the spoon when she makes cookies from the tube.

But, alas, if his life was perfect then he wouldn’t be here with you. Eddie finds himself feeling pretty perfect anyway because you’re there. You’re humming a tune to yourself, as you twist the timer to twenty minutes. Old and barely alive, the timer clicks on like a mighty oak.

“Twenty minutes until the potatoes are done,” you swirl around to Eddie. He knows the sigh coming from your mouth is less about the exhaustion from cooking, as it is dealing with him in the kitchen. “What should we do while we wait?”

Eddie places his hands on your cheeks, and brings you into his chest. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. Beating rhythms of your hearts pump between you two. You’ve got your ear to his breast imagining what’s dancing around in there.

Unintentionally, Eddie flicks the backing of your bra. A flame ignites inside you. Did he notice? Did he mean too?

Are you even prepared if the night falls that way?

You’re a bundle of nerves knowing that when that moment drops, and the both of you find yourself even closer than you are now that nothing could be the same. Going back isn’t an option. Swirling stars cloud your vision, as your breathing slows.

Eddie hums when your grip on his back loosens. He sways with you, while you’re drifting farther into your head.

Skies of warm orange and cotton candy coated pinks cloud your eye. Touching a garden of soft spring flowers. Ridges of the stone bridge. A kiss is pressed onto your forehead like a dew drop, raising you from your state of hypnosis.

“You still with me?” Eddie’s voice vibrates through your ears.

“Hm,” you hum. “Should we sit down?”

Eddie guides you to the couch where you’ll stay drifting into your own world with a blanket draped over your lap. You attempt to join him in the kitchen when the timer goes off, but Eddie raises his index finger and says,

“Don’t you dare.”

Then, your boyfriend wrestles with the oven to get the roast from it’s hot cage and plops too much butter into the mash. He winces when he puts the spoon to his lip, and tries to fend off your worry by telling you that the food is just hot.

Eddie sits next to you with two plates of food - one in each hand. He waits a moment for you to sit back up after sinking into the aged sofa, then lands the warm plate in your lap.

You’ve got no idea what you’re watching on the television, but right beside you is all the entertainment you need. Laughing heartily at Eddie’s cross expression, he sticks out his tongue at the well-done carrots.

“Don’t eat them,” he reaches for a glass of water. “They’re really awful.”

You nibble at the end of a carrot, and suck down your outward terror at how salty the vegetable is.

“It’s not that bad.”

They are indeed that bad.

Worse - even.

“You’re cute, but a terrible liar,” he pinches your shoulder.

-> <-

tags: @stardustingold @loves0phelia @ogoc-19 @hellfirenacht @blackholegladiator @alligator-person @eggo-segual @rustboxstarr @harmfulb1tch

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson preference #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic

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sirfrogsworth · 10 months

Text

Wishlist Haul

All I asked for were pants, and those are coming Saturday. But you all came through in a big way with my wishlist and helped me solve some problems that have really been bugging me lately.

One of my biggest current issues is my decision to use my M1 MacBook Air as my main computer until I can move my PC upstairs at some distant time in the future. Which means I need to ask a lot more of it. And it is capable, as these Apple Silicon devices are amazing and very zippy, but I only got 256 GB of storage because I thought this would just be a secondary computer while I was taking care of my dad.

So I need storage. And if you do photography and use Lightroom, you know you need *fast* storage. In the days of spinny disc drives, going back and forth between images was maddeningly slow. I already hate the process of culling photos and picking the best ones. And sometimes you'd need to find 5 winners out of a few hundred. And when it took 3 seconds to switch between every photo, I wanted to die. And honestly, it could still be better.

But one of the best solutions is a super fast SSD. Which I had. I bought it right before my parents got especially ill and was planning to install it in my PC. But my priorities changed and I just never found the energy.

The problem is that was an internal NVME SSD. I needed it to be external.

Which is where this little thingie comes in.

This is an NVME enclosure, and if you are looking for cheap, fast external storage, this is so much better than those external SSDs they overcharge for. For $200 they give you a 2TB drive that can read about 2000 MB per second. Or you can get a 2TB NVME and this enclosure for the same price and get 3000 MB per second. Not only that, but it is upgradeable. In a year when 4TB is $100, you can plop that in. And the Mac's Thunderbolt 4 has a max speed of around 5000 MB/s, so there is room to improve there as well. Though sometimes advertised speeds are not reality speeds.

The only thing you need to be aware of is these drives run hot. You're going to think there is something wrong with them. Like, they top out at 90C. Which is nearly 200 degrees in freedom units.

I wanted a convenient way to mount my drive, but I didn't want 200 degrees on the back of my screen, so... MAGNETS!

And I can stack a few more if that section starts feeling too hot.

So, I have that problem solved. I can now use this as my main computer and work on my photography.

Next up... fashion!

I'm going out more and I want to look a little more presentable. I thought these two tone shirts looked a little more fashionable. And they are very comfortable too. I have a red one that I think I'm going to wear on my trip. I know you can't see the two tone well in the picture, so here is the product photo of the red one.

Next problem?

Well, it's maybe not a problem so much as something cool I wanted. A black light!

My mom had all of this uranium glass and I had no idea my salt shaker was marginally radioactive all these years. I really wanted to take a proper photo of some of the glass before it all gets sold at auction. So this should be a fun experiment.

I will say, if you don't have uranium glass, don't get a black light. You will want to burn your house down. It does not matter how clean you think you got something... you didn't clean it enough. And I have all of this dry flaky skin on my feet. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't bother me. You can't even really see it unless you look really close. But when I shined the light on my feet they looked like they had some undocumented disease. I will not be sharing a photo of that.

But the depression glass, that's super neat.

Some proper photos coming soon I hope. Maybe after my trip.

Next problem!

My key fob. This thing is a piece of shit.

Even if it looks cool under a black light, it is THE WORST.

It's cheap plastic, it takes a stupid watch battery, the symbols on the buttons all wore off. And all of that I could handle, but for some reason this fob has an effective range of about 2 feet. I literally have to be standing next to the door before it will work.

I had a black fob that worked much better, only the plastic casing was falling apart. But I taped it up as best I could and hoped it would not fall apart. Then I went to get my tires changed and they needed the fob to do some special reset of the pressure sensors and the battery died before they could. I went home to try and change the battery, and the entire thing basically disintegrated on me.

The inside looks like this.

The battery retention contact is held on by a tiny dab of solder. And if you pull the battery up even a little, it snaps off. And that's what happened. And to make matters worse, the rubber buttons were falling apart and the unlock button just... fell off.

So I was either stuck with the 2 foot range green one or I needed a new fob. Thankfully, they are only 20 bucks for 2 on Amazon. Unfortunately you need a dealer or an auto locksmith to program them. The lowest quote was $100 for about 5 minutes of work. The dealer actually wanted to sell me the fob as well, which they quoted as $150 for ONE. Same cheap plastic piece of shit and everything.

So, I got all of the parts from the broken fob and I hot glued that battery contact back into place and I transplanted that into a shiny new casing.

Works just like new. The buttons feel much better, I can actually see the symbols, and it has a range of at least 100 feet. And that hot glue isn't going anywhere. Changing the battery might be an issue, but these lasted several years.

Next problem!

An intervalometer is a fancy shutter button for a camera that allows very long exposures. It is detached from the camera so you don't shake anything and it needs a backlit screen because if you are using it, you are most likely in the dark.

My intervalometer is about 12 years old and uses another dreaded watch battery. And the backlight on the screen seems to be dead. So it is pretty much useless.

But look at this!

The light even works in the... well, light! And it takes normal batteries. Seriously, watch batteries need to stay in watches.

I don't know if I will get to take a long exposure in Florida, but I want to have this with me in case I do.

Next problem!

This one I actually solved on my own. But I found these stainless iron (yes, iron!) shims and I covered them with black tape and now all of my most used kitchen items never take up counter space.

Yes, I use magnets and hot glue to solve most of my problems.

Next problem!

My garage door is not very smart. And the remote control for it is huge and does not fit in my man purse.

So I downsized the remote.

But I wanted to fix the non-smart thing as well. A while back my brother got into my garage without me knowing. He must have taken a remote of his own. And I really don't feel like figuring out how to change the frequency, so I now have a sensor that lets me know when the door is open with a phone notification. Beyond that, I can open or close the door from my smartphone from anywhere. And I can give access to anyone with a smartphone in case of an emergency.

I will say, this company is really paranoid about people being crushed by garage doors. The instructions tell you to put up this sign in your garage...

And if you use the app to close the door, you get a light show with annoying beeping...

And I know that these accidents happen in real life. But whenever I think about how that could actually happen, all I can imagine is that scene in Austin Powers...

In any case, I am really glad I have this now. And I also like that if I forget to close the garage door, I can check the app and not have to get up to do it.

OH! I almost forgot. If I want, I can have Amazon place packages inside my garage.

Next problem!

What in the heck do I need galvanized steel plates for?

In product photography you need a diffusion panel called a scrim. If you try to buy one of these already made, they are hundreds of dollars. They are mostly made for movie productions, and those items always have inflated costs.

So most product photographers make their own out of tracing paper or a special plastic called Translum. It's $80 per roll, but lasts forever. I used to hang my scrims from the ceiling. But you can't really angle or move them, so you have to move the object you are photographing instead. Which is just a backwards way to work. So I invented my own scrims with two strips of very thin wood, metal chip clips, these little plastic feet that held up plexiglass barriers during COVID. And to weigh everything down... steel plates.

This is version 1.0 where I glued the plastic rather than affixing it with the chip clips.

The clips work much better and allow me to put different weights of plastic on, or even double plastic, for more or less diffusion. And I ended up not needing that board at the bottom which allows me to curve it as well.

And these scrims let me take this photo...

It's called graduated lighting and it makes things look neat.

I also got a backpack for my trip and shorts, but I am going to forego an explanation of those.

To all that helped, thank you so much. I hope you can see I am putting everything to good use.

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komashurabiggestfan · 11 months

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YO-KAI WATCH GUMMY HISTORY IN CASE YOU WEREN'T AWARE:

In September 2016, Bazooka Candy (Bazooka gum, Ring pop, Juicy drop, Baby bottle pop) partnered with Level-5 to produce regular and sour, 3.8 ounce gummy bags for the retail price of $1.50. “Bazooka Candy Brands has a long history of partnering with pop culture properties to bring customers fun in the form of edible entertainment" "The new YO-KAI WATCH gummies are the perfect combination of strong taste appeal and playfulness, and we are thrilled to be partnering with a brand that is on the verge of becoming a pop culture phenomenon.” -Elizabeth Mangold, Senior Brand Manager of Bazooka Candy. Source: FOOD&BEVERAGEMAGAZINE

"Inspirit your mouth with YO-KAI WATCH Gummies! Which one are you, sweet or sour?" -Official Yo-Kai Watch Facebook. All gummies were designed to look like in-universe Yokai. Which included: REGULAR: Jibanyan strawberry, Whisper blue raspberry, Komasan apple, and Robonyan cherry.

SOUR: Komasan sour strawberry, Jibanyan sour watermelon, Komajiro sour apple, Shogunyan sour blue raspberry.

VERY COMMON MISCONCEPTION: These were NOT Toys-R-Us exclusive. Most US stores did sell these, but with a limited stock, presumably due to how the franchise was preforming. Toys-R-Us was just the most common place to find them, due to the fact they were already pretty much in the gutter around when these came out (Released only 1 year before the store shutdown). OFFICIAL CARTOON NETWORK COMMERICAL

Hopefully if 4 sells well, maybe these could come back...

#yokai watch #yo kai watch #jibanyan #komasan #yo-kai watch #candy #follow up post

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booksbabybooks · 3 months

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It took me far longer than it should to realise that when American TV shows refer to "sparkling cider" they always mean a non-alcoholic drink. I used to get so confused that you'd watch Hallmark Christmas movies and wholesome characters would be day-drinking cider at the Christmas market*, or you'd see it being drunk by pregnant women or recovering alcoholics (ok, by that stage I could tell from context).

I think it causes such cognitive dissonance because in England cider is, famously, a drink broke people drink to get trashed - certainly, when and where I grew up, anyway, in the working class North. It's what teenagers drink with their mates sitting in bus stops or graveyards; it's what homeless people have stashed under their coats; add a splash of "black" to it and it's what working class Goths drink in nightclubs. (I once worked a Gary Numan club night and I think I served about 4 drinks the whole night that weren't cider and black).

There's a reason one of the most lethally alcoholic drinks on Discworld (scumble) is "made from apples. Well, mostly apples." Because all English readers will get the joke. When I used to work in a real ale pub, we sold scrumpy cider that was the highest alcohol percentage pint we had, a favourite of all the hardcore drinkers.

There are whole advertising campaigns now by drinks manufacturers designed to change our minds on this and see cider as a pleasant, classy summer drink; there're regular Government noises about increasing how much it costs to stop the sale of giant plastic bottles of the stuff being too cheap (already in existence in Scotland, which has minimum pricing rules about alcohol).

All of which means even though I *know* American shows mean "classy non-alcoholic beverage often used in fancy celebrations" my instinctive reaction is... Not that.

So when I watched the "Tarlos announce their engagement scene" in Lonestar and Paul** notices it's sparkling cider not champagne in the ice bucket so TK can drink it my first reaction was NO BUT THAT'S WORSE!

Then common sense kicks in and I'm like, oh wait, right.

*Obviously I would not be surprised to watch a British Christmas movie where characters were day drinking at the Christmas market.

**It was Paul, right? I've seen this scene giffed a million times on here but can't remember!

#terry pratchett #gnu terry pratchett #911 lonestar #tarlos #alcohol #cider #sparkling cider it's just fizzy apple juice right i still don't actually know #scumble #scrumpy

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wallwriterstuff · 5 months

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Paint Over The Cracks ||FosterDad!John Price x Teen!Simon Riley|| Part 4

Warnings: A lot of swearing. Implicit mentions of child abuse. Brief description of murder. Descriptions of PTSD and trauma. Discussions of the foster care system. Mentions of sibling separation.

Words: 3383

Summary: Simon is grappling with much more than he lets anyone see, so much so he feels like he's splitting at the seams. John meets him with the same calm kindness he always has, and Simon struggles to figure out his motivations for it.

<-Part 3: Dirty Laundry Part 5: Fault Lines ->

Nothing here was right.

The old man was though.

You’re a stain, shitbag that’s exploded and left his stench behind.

No. No? Shut up. God shut up.

If there was a way to turn down the voice in his head Simon would have muted the thing years ago. It’s gruff and cracked from the abuse the vocal chords have suffered, inhaling too much crap and not enough air. It spews poison in his brain and he knows it’s all rubbish, a hallucinogen, a serpent in his Garden, but god if it isn’t convincing. He wants to peel of his skin, drain the blood from his veins, and refill it with someone else’s. It’s got to be genetic right? The black spot of old that got pirates quaking has to be branded into his DNA by cigarette butts the same way the life lessons are beaten into his skin, a colourful array of reminders that blare like sirens when he presses one just right to feel something other than the overwhelming dread of just existing as himself. He can count each one and he knows the meaning of them all.

Worthless.

Vile.

Stupid.

Disappointing.

Coward.

God it’s hot. It’s boiling in this stupid hoodie. It’s got burn marks for ventilation and the sweat it soaks up only makes it smell worse as he pours himself out just trying to keep it all in. Cover the marks. Keep your voice hidden. Don’t tell a soul. Protect mom. Protect Tommy. Fuck, she looked like his mom. Well, the mom he knew before his old man beat her down anyway. No one deserved to look how she looked at the end. Fuck was that – no, no a splash of paint, it was paint, just paint. That bloody awful portrait in the doctor’s office was too close to her head. He never knew blood could arch that far until he watched his old man pull the hammer back. It’s all so confusing. Simon doesn’t honestly know if he’s here or there or somewhere in-between but there’s sun in his eyes and a paper bag in hand with his name on and an address printed underneath that he doesn’t call his own.

No, that’s the address of the palace. It’s a place where the surfaces always smell of citrus bleach, where the walls are warm and straining to keep the bustle of the world out and the quiet of the house within. There’s no blood staining the bathroom here and there’s no desperate search for food through the haze of a burning joint that makes his head swim more than Michael Phelps ever has. No, no in this palace, there’s always food whenever he wants it. The fridge is a pantry stocked full in preparation for a grand feast three times a day, and there’s always spare food going about. He should throw out the apples he’d never gotten round to eating but the luxury of storing it all away beneath that one loose floorboard still hadn’t worn off because – God, was Tommy as lucky as he was? His stomach’s never been so full and yet so queasy. It’s exhausting keeping an eye on the Bearded Guy. He’ll snap eventually, they always do. He was surprised he hadn’t set him off when he saw the mattress.

The shame is still gnawing in his gut and reminding him what a disgusting stain he is on that palace. His fingerprints leave trails of blood and ichor behind. There were no monsters under the bed before he moved in. Those pristine white walls are tainted with smoke and filth and he’s just never quite clean enough. How much do you have to scrub a soul for the devil to want to barter for it again?

“Simon?”

Should have never fucking had you.

“Simon?”

You can join your fucking mum.

“Simon!”

The touch is light, unintrusive, but the flesh remembers what the mind wishes it could forget. Simon flinches from Price’s tap to his shoulder like the man’s burned him, and he has to give himself a good mental shake before he dares meet Price’s eyes. Shake it off. Head in the game. Protect Mom. Protect Tommy.

“Why the fuck are we at B&Q?” Simon blurts the question before he can stop himself. His thoughts feel a little too lose and it’s unhinged his mouth. He clamps it tightly shut once more and imagines the box; Pandora would be jealous of the horrors he hides in his, but the lock doesn’t feel quite so sturdy today. Price raises a brow at the language but doesn’t comment on it. Simon’s glad. He’s finding it increasingly hard to fight the Bearded Guy on anything when he’s always so calm about things. It’s a beguiling sense of security. They’re trying to coax something out of him but he still can’t tell what.

“Paint.” Price’s reply is simple, and yet it throws him completely for a loop. Paint? Why the hell do they need paint? His palace is glorious and in no need of renovations. It’s got everything he could ever want. Hell, he could die happy in the bathroom just to juxtapose his mum. The old man might call it poetic justice. Simon squints through the windshield, eyeing the bold orange letters with wary confusion. It feels like a trick, but his head’s too scrambled to really figure out the man’s mind games today so he has no choice but to bite the line and let him reel him in.

“Why?” he asks, letting his eyes drift back to Price. The man’s got eyes like ice and Simon isn’t sure he’ll ever know what lies in the murky depths of them, isn’t sure he wants to know. Price pulls up the handbrake and turns off the ignition. The silence in the air is charged and Simon’s muscles ache from all the tension in his body. The morning’s been a lot and he just wants to go to the closest thing he has to home, which is currently the bin liner in his room that’s rapidly losing the smell of Tommy and his Mum and he just…isn’t ready for it to go. He can’t handle the palace becoming his home, for their to be no trace of his mum or Tommy in it, for lemon scented cleaning products to replace stale cigarette fumes and the tang of blood that’s his only real connection to the last of his mother’s warmth as she spilled it onto his hands with her final breath. God he needs therapy, and he hates himself all the more for acknowledging it.

Uh-oh. That looks never good on an adult. His lips have pursed and his eyes are searching. Simon won’t let him find a thing though, tilting his chin up just a little and narrowing his eyes the way he’s been taught. He’ll bare his teeth before he ever bares his throat.

“There have been certain things that have come to light, things that Mrs Laswell wants to come and talk to you about before she’ll talk to me about them, that mean you’ll be staying with me for a while,” Price is choosing his words as carefully as a bomb disposal expert picks which wires to cut, “So I thought…maybe you could choose a colour or two, make your room your own and decorate it a bit.” His words ricochet around his brain like bullets, but none of it’s a misfire. They hit so many open wounds it makes Simon suck in a sharp breath to keep from screaming out because it’s just not fair. He doesn’t want Price’s room, or his baskets, or his palace but nobody seems to care what he wants right now.

“How long? Is Tommy coming to live with you to?” Simon’s voice is sharp, too sharp, jagged edges bleeding raw and Price is seeing too much again. He can’t help it though and the white hot fury and panic is a deadly combination with the heavy grief that keeps trying to steal his breath. He’s a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of flesh and there’s not enough room for all these feelings so into Pandora’s box they go to.

“No, Simon, he can’t.” Price is so calm about it all, as if Simon’s sanity isn’t hinging on the decisions these adults are making for him. “I’m sorry. I understand that feels unfair, and you might well be angry, maybe even anxious, sad. It’s okay to feel like that-“

“Fucking hell here we go.” He muttered, eyes rolling and head turning away. He’s agitated by the injustice of it all, a tempest incoming on a tranquil shore. Since when did they get to decide for him? Why do his choices never seem to matter?

“Okay. Okay. I see it’s not something you want to talk about. When you’re ready, I’m here to listen. Do you want to do this? Decorate your room a bit? Or should we go home?” He wants to yell and scream at the old man to get mad, to be mad on his behalf, to rebel against the stupid rules of the world that are keeping his brother away from him and just let him have him anyway. Tommy needs him. He always has. It’s the only thing he has left. But here Price is again, a gentle breeze on a summer’s day that gives fresh air in a humid and cloying place devoid of comfort. He just seems to know how to calm the fiery fury, flips switches in his brain like a train line manager switches tracks, easily diverting disaster because yes – yes, god, finally, something he can control.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, already opening the car door and leaving Prive to follow behind. Maybe he’ll get black. Or neon yellow. His thoughts are already spinning to see what colours might piss off Price the most. His feelings are all spiteful and petty little things that demand retribution for him in all its forms. You’re a stain. Alright then. He’ll taint this palace just as he’s tainted every other place he’s been. Yet, as Price leads him to the paint section and he faces rows and rows of colour swatches, he’s struck dumb by the amount of colour.

It’s the explosive reds that catch his eye first, his rage calling to those colours like their soulmates destined to cross the distance and meet, but then he spots a crimson too close to the shade of his mum on the bathroom floor and he’s forced to look away as grief swells and crushes any fight or resolve his spirit had. Perhaps blue is the better colour for him, but even that looks too happy. The feelings and thoughts battle in his head and Simon pulls the black mask from his pocket instinctively, slipping it over his ears and hearing the whisper of maniacal laughter rumble through his mind before it all falls quiet. Silent as the grave. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Go on Simon, pick one, as a treat. Don’t tell your dad, okay? He so badly wishes his mother was here and it really was just as simple as picking a sweet treat at the bakery to sneakily share with her on the way home from school. How can he possibly pick a colour for his room in the palace? It’s too big a responsibility for his thin shoulders.

“Have you got a favourite colour?” Price’s question pulls him from the depths of his mind and Simon forces his eyes to move from the shades of red. The question seems innocuous enough that he feels inclined to answer.

“Blue.” Simon’s not really sure it’s the right answer, but he’s got to be the man of the house and blues a boys colour, or so he’s been taught. He’s not entirely sure he likes any of the blues that Price pulls from the swatches to show him, though he’s sure he should. His brow crinkles slightly.

“You sure?” Price’s voice is gentle, probing. Simon’s eyes roam the swatches of colour and linger on the greens. There’s one like the shade of Tommy’s hoodie, and another like the grass in the field of the old industrial estate he could escape to when the house was too much. Some nice oranges to, like the sunsets that painted his mum in such a lovely light in summer, back when she could wear sundresses without worrying about who saw the bruises or cuts or emaciated bones beneath butterfly-wing flesh. He gravitates to them, craving the joy those memories bring. If he gets to control anything in this shitshow of a life he’s living, if he really gets to choose this, then god fucking dammit he wants to be the one to really choose. He gently slides the two colour strips from their snug spot in the line up and stares them down like the answers might just pop out at him.

“I want these.” The words are out before he can stop them, and his head snaps up because stupid stupid stupid you’re not allowed to want such unnecessary things. Be grateful for what you’ve got you little maggot.

“Well, we’ll need to narrow down a shade a bit more, but green and orange it is.” Price so easily gives in and Simon feels a spark of something warm. It’s the same kind of feeling he got when he saw them take his old man to the ground and cuff him like the criminal he was – satisfaction. It’s a feeling that grows when, between himself, Price, and a store employee, he narrows down the shades of paint he wants. Price loads them and two other cans he insists are necessary to make a proper paint job onto the trolley and they start weaving back through the aisle’s. B&Q isn’t a place Simon’s ever gone to before and for just a little while it’s nice to get lost in the wide and busy aisles, to let his eyes wander and dream of what a real home might look like. He can’t imagine ever really having a proper one, but dreams are nice, comforting, delusional.

With the paint purchased and stored safely in the boot of the car, Simon’s set to return to the palace and tries to steel himself for a torturous evening of stopping his mind from collapsing in on itself again when Price points out the nearby IKEA to.

“What about it? You know the meatballs are all horsemeat right?” Simon says. Price chuckles slightly at that. He’s relaxed back in his seat, making no effort to leave anytime soon. It set’s Simon on edge slightly, and he sits straighter. What sort of favour did he want in return for the paint then?

“I don’t want the meatballs. I wanted to know whether or not you’ve got enough storage for your things? We can get some more furniture if we need to.” Price says. Oh. Simon’s brow furrows, wondering when the other shoe will drop. He’ll surely want him to pay up for it somehow but he just can’t workout how or when or with what. He’s been shown how it works time and again. Maybe it’s a fistful of powder or his own beaten body, but somehow you always have to pay the piper.

“It’s fine.” He won’t get in anymore debt than he already has today. Price nods, takes him at his word, but still drives them there anyway.

“Well, I want to get a new desk chair for my office. We’ll go home after this and sort dinner, okay?” His words are a soothing balm to Simon whose more than ready to be home and out of the public eye. Being under Price’s watchful gaze is draining and he’s ready to hide back in his room again, imagine the paint on his walls, wallow in peace. They walk a good section of the store where Simon can’t stop the way his eyes turn and wheel over the items on display. It’s an abundance of luxury to him. None of this stuff is thrifted or upcycled from his neighbour’s garage, nor a hand-me-down from grandparents he never got to meet. He wonders aimlessly through the aisle’s as Price takes his sweet time choosing a chair.

As they pass through the kids section he gets the feeling he’s been doused by a bucket of cold water. It’s a monstrous thing, long and green with a yellow underbelly and this flicker of red felt for a tongue that’s in no way real but still sends a shiver down his spine.

You scared of Rocco, Simon?

Just having fun.

He can see the things bulbous head, hear the lapping of its tongue as it flicks to search for prey. He can feel the smoothness of scales on his lips still. It takes a lot of willpower to stop his hands from shaking in the pockets of his hoodie as he reminds himself the toys just that, a toy.

“You like snakes?” Price asks with genuine and innocent curiosity. Only Simon see’s the horrors in his head as he replays vivid memories of the nights his old man bought home the deadly beasts. It brings a cold sweat to his palms and his knee-jerk reaction is to keep the weakness hidden.

“No. It’s a stupid toy.” Simon scoffs, moving on quickly from the stuffed animals. He only pauses in his pursuit of an exit when they reach the final section of the store, just before the warehouse. It’s crammed full of portraits and mirrors and candles, house plants and rugs to. His head is buzzing still with the hiss of a snake but it’s slowly being drowned out by the gentle humming of his mum, his feet carrying him naturally to the plant he recalled her tending to so often. It infuriated his old man of course. He’d tossed the thing out of the window after accusing her of nourishing it more than her family. Simon had been the only one to witness her despair that day. He ran his fingers gently along the big leaves covering the soil in the pot, the same way his mum had done once as she hummed.

If the plant happened to slip into Price’s trolley then, well, neither of them needed to acknowledge it, did they?

Price let him be once he’d helped him put all the new things they’d bought into his room. Simon couldn’t bear to unwrap or move anything, suffocating in the weight of his own feelings of unworthiness for a while before he finally sucked it up and began to move the new belongings into place. He hurriedly threw the absorbent pad on the mattress atop a waterproof sheet, shame clouding his every thought as he prepares his bed and prays those tablets the doctor prescribed him would work so he wouldn’t have to make his bed like that ever again. Simon sets his plant up next, takes his time with it, ensures it’s in the best spot on his desk where the sunlight can hit it just right. He waters it, adds a little bit of plant food he’d insisted was necessary to buy and sets an alarm on his phone to remind himself to water it some more in a few days time.

He sits back on his bed and glances about the pristine quarters he’s been given in the palace, imagines them green and orange like the paint waiting to be used in the shed, and for the first time in weeks Simon feels a little of the weight ease from his shoulders. Maybe this place could be home; with a splash of orange there to reflect the sunsets and, oh maybe he could go half and half and…Tommy would likely never see it. Simon’s expression sours, bitter rage welling in his chest again until all he can do is bring his fist down on the pillow again and again and again and its never enough to close that raw, throbbing wound in his chest. Panting hard, he squeezes his eyes closed, but nothing helps to quell the rage.

Oh? You do have some balls on you after all!

Simon’s left helpless in the maelstrom of his life once more.

#call of duty #foster carer john price #cod modern warfare #simon 'ghost' riley #captain john price #tw death #teen!simon riley #tw child abuse #tw trauma #tw ptsd #a sneak peek into Simon's thoughts and feelings #it was actually super fun to write from his point of view!#Gentle reminder I'm definitely not a psychologist

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historia-vitae-magistras · 9 months

Note

butt?

I had to substitute it for arse, sorry. Exploratory fic I began to explore some character dynamics and what the lifestyle of 4 growing nations and their mother in their last real time together would be like in a slightly Post-Roman Iron Age estate as the Migration period picks up and Germanic peoples cross the North Sea to make a home. I believe of these earlier themes have their origin with @balladofthewhitehorse.

5th Century AD, Cumbria

"Rhys," Alasdair appeared at the fence line, his face gloomy. Rhys had stopped here for his mid-day meal halfway between where the shepherds had herded the sheep in the northernmost glen and their home behind on the hill. It'd been a long two days in the hills. He offered the cider flask to his brother as Alasdair approached, his frown deepening. It wasn't raining, and the day's work wouldn't have been hard. Bad news, then. It was always bad news.

"What is it this time?"

"Rot in the south store."

"Oats, rye or wheat?" Rhys asked. The rye they might go without, but the rain hadn't come so early that anything else should rot.

"Oats,"

"Fuck." Rhys sat on the low wall of flagstones and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck,"

He glanced up. His brother looked even more dour. "Gods, what else?"

"Seven horses," Alasdair said, sitting beside Rhys, boneless and upset.

Rhys gaped at him. "Seven? That's three more than were sick yesterday!"

"It's spreading." Alasdair shrugged helplessly. "I took the healthy ones into the third stables, and it didn't help."

"Is it distemper?"

"I didn't think so," Alasdair said. "They weren't so feverish, and there wasn't pus, but now I don't know.

"So, no horses to sell this year. At least half the oats are gone."

"Rhys." Alasdair's ingot grey gaze fell heavily, and Rhys glanced at his brother.

"I know," He said, and Alasdair didn't look convinced. He looked at his elder brother with a firm look. "I know."

"If we can't pay the tributes…"

He thought of the mustached helmets of the German kings and exhaled. "We don't know that we can't pay. There's plenty to sell."

"It's not just a lack of goods I'm worried about. It's been a bad year for everyone. There might not be anyone to sell to."

"There must be," Rhys said, pulling his cloak tighter over his shoulders. "There will be. We'll figure it out."

"I suppose all we can do is pray," Alasdair said.

Rhys frowned. Alasdair was the one with a mind for numbers, but he always worried, and they always managed before. So what if the horses would not fetch the total price if they were ill come market day? There was still the wool, the fine worked saddles he and Alasdair had made the year before, and plenty of cattle, sheep, honey and mead to sell. There were options. They had options.

"I'll see to the horses; if none of them die, we'll be fine," Alasdair said. "We have ore too. I might get a good price for my boar spears."

"Maybe," Rhys said. His hope was teetering precariously on the assumption that his brother was overly worried.

There was an unspoken sense of doom between them, both praying their worries were unfounded. Rhys grimaced after they parted ways at the outer gate, Alasdair marching off to the stables and Rhys to the poultry yard and the hives. One of the women in his mother's service alerted him to the fact that another of the hives had gone dark with rot. Honey was expensive, and now there wouldn't be enough to sell and use themselves over the long winter. Rhys waved her off with a pinched-off smile.

He stood in the poultry yard for a long moment, leaning against the half gate that kept the hens, quail, and ducks safe in their enclosure and away from the hounds. He watched Arthur tumble after a goose, laughing as it squawked and ducked him. Their dinner pail of scraps and grain was sitting neglected as he played, but Rhys looked on, letting him play. They'd have to keep more honey than what he'd wanted to sell, if only for Arthur's sake. Honey cakes with stored apples and cheese or on bread were one of those precious things that would cheer him when the worst of the winter gloom gripped him worse than any of them. Arthur rolled to a halt, cackling as the goose bobbed angrily and finally noticed him.

"Rhys!" He grinned, leaping to his feet and making a beeline for him. He exhaled a loud "oomph" as Arthur knocked into him, throwing his arms around him. "You're back!"

"I was only gone a night," He laughed. "How is Mother? And where is your cloak? Have you lost it again?"

"The same," Arthur said. "Maybe a little better. She laughed this morning when I fell right on my arse out of bed. Bridgie pushed me."

"Good! And you probably deserved it. You kick in your sleep." He replied, and his smile was genuine. Mother had at least made an effort to shake her recent gloom then. She'd been thinner, paler, and sadder than he'd ever seen her in the last few years, and it hadn't gotten any better as the days became shorter. "And your cloak?"

"I forgot it!"

"You'll catch your death." Rhys ruffled his hair. "Hurry and feed the birds and come in for dinner."

#the ask box || probis pateo #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #Britannia and her children || they made a desert and called it peace #hws scotland #hws wales #hws england

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southernbluebellereader · 2 years

Text

Apple Pie

Captain John Price x Young Female Reader (COD MW(2))

| Part 1: Bruised Apple | Part 2: Apple Slices | Part 3: Current Fic

Warning: Platonic, going on slightly romantic, Angst, Fluffity Fluff Fluff

Summary: Is our Captain going to risk it? We'll see in the next part. And yes, he gets his apple pie.

A/N: A little longer than I expected, not quite where I want it to be, part 4 will come... eventually.

Word Count: ~2,707 words

Master List

(tag list at the bottom)

“Lights out, Granny, need directions.” Johnny’s voice echoed in her headset.

“Call me Granny one more time, Soap,” Y/N snapped into her microphone in the middle of giving directions to Johnny and Simon to allow them to get out of the dark building that had just lost all power. Johnny snickered and she knew Simon cracked a smile.

“Keep going straight and turn right, then take the third door to your left. Gaz and the Captain are waiting for you.” Y/N watched two dots on her screen move on the map of the building she’d constructed.

“Thanks, Gran-Gran,” Johnny snickered once more coincidentally as Y/N was taking a sip of her coffee she nearly spit it out on her keyboard but luckily she barely missed it and hit the edge of her table and the floor. She coughed and tried to chug water to alleviate her pain.

“Y/N, ye alright?” Simon asked as Price scolded Johnny.

“Quit trying to give L/N a brain aneurysm, Johnny,” Price shook his head as he watched him and Simon come out of the building with slight amusement.

Once Y/N collected herself, she looked up at the ceiling, then down at the mess she made on her desk that needed to be cleaned once she knew the team was safe. She sighed deeply into her microphone and returned her gaze to her monitors and keyboards, “If I don’t die of cyanide poisoning, I’ll die by your string of bad jokes, Soap.”

Kyle scoffed and mumbled, “That’s what she said,” under his breath.

“I heard that!”

“Enough!” Price’s voice silenced everyone in the car and Y/N over the microphone. The silence lasted just under thirty seconds before he continued, “Y/N, take us home.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Thanks, Gran Gran.”

“OH, MY GOD. I’m telling Laswell.”

—-

“Kate, you have to help me,” Y/N held her head in her hands as she was slumped over her table, surrounded by tools and radios, and small communication devices in various stages of being taken apart and put back together.

Laswell smiled and looked over at her desk, shaking her head slightly, “You know I can’t help you with that stuff, Y/N.”

“No, not this.” Y/N looked up at her, not helping being able to laugh, “These people have decided to call me Gran Gran.”

“They call you what?” Kate thought about it, then chuckled, “Oh, I see. I can’t do much about that either.”

“Ugh,” Y/N sighed, then went back to work, tinkering with a radio. Kate checked her watch and nodded, “Speaking of which, they should arrive any minute.”

—

“Gran Gran, here are those old radios you wanted,” Johnny placed a small box of radios on her work table. Y/N looked up at Johnny from her monitors, daggers coming out of her eyes. It’d been a week and Kyle and Johnny had been calling her Gran Gran all week. Simon knew not to call her that unless he wanted to tease her - it happened once and she chucked a half-eaten apple at him.

And Captain John Price? He was the only one she could tolerate calling her that horrendous nickname. But the first time he called her that and after she told Laswell, she didn’t speak to him for almost two days. She simply would not respond to him. Y/N would turn to the person next to him and ask them to tell the Captain what was on her mind or her answer to the Captain’s question. She couldn’t help that the deliciously green Granny Smith apples were the superior apples in taste, size, and looks. She couldn’t help telling them to be safe on missions by saying “Godspeed” or “Welcome back, Soldiers.” She couldn’t help double and triple checking that their gear was put on correctly and made sure their radios and technologies were up to date and calibrated. She couldn’t help worrying about them whenever they left for a mission.

The nickname seemed fitting - and ironic since she ended up being the youngest member of the team.

“Will you ever speak to me again, Y/N?” Price chuckled and put his hands on his hips. Y/N crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. This was Johnny’s and Kyle’s cue to leave. Simon followed suit, picking up the half-eaten apple off of the floor.

She blinked once for “yes.”

“Oh c’mon, you know they call you that in good fun!”

“I know! But out of all the things to call me, is Gran Gran the best you could come up with?” Y/N finally spoke. At this point, she couldn’t keep a straight face, and neither could the Captain. Both of them laughed it off.

“Well, it wasn’t me who picked it!”

—

A few hours had passed, and Y/N was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Gran Gran?” Johnny inquired his captain.

Price sighed in amusement, then thought for a moment - he hadn’t seen Y/N for a while either, “I don’t know… Haven’t seen her since we came back this morning.”

“Soap! Captain! You have to come to try this!” Kyle walked by them with a plate of food, inhaling whatever was on the plate, mumbling and half moaning between each bite.

Johnny and the Captain looked at each other in slight confusion, then back at Kyle. He swallowed hard and spoke again, “Y/N made apple pie and it’s probably the best thing I’ve had in a long time.”

Johnny and Price looked at each other once more and then headed in the direction Kyle was coming from. As they approached the common room, the scent of warm apples and cinnamon became more prominent. Y/N looked up at them and smiled as she handed Simon a plate of apple pie with a scoop of ice cream on top.

“Hey! I was just about to come to look for you! Come have a piece, I just made it!”

Johnny’s eyes widened with excitement as his heart nearly skipped a beat. He thanked Y/N and waited for his plate, admiring it before taking a bite.

Price walked up and stood beside Y/N, waiting for his turn. He noticed a plate that sat to the side and watched as she took that plate and handed it to him, “And this one is yours, Captain. I saved you the first piece. The ice cream’s a little melted though.”

His heart ached as he took the plate, just looking at it, then back at Y/N, watching as she put a piece for herself and scooped out a ball of ice cream, and gently dropped it on top of her piece.

“Y/N, you didn’t have to! It smells delicious.” He almost didn’t want to eat it - it was too perfect. He watched and waited until she’d put the ice cream away to take his first bite until she did.

“Of course I did! I told you I’d make some. What do you think?”

Price nodded and nearly moaned in between each bite he took, “I don’t know where you learned to do this but this is stunnin’, Y/N.”

“Well good, because I’ve got another one in the oven.”

“There’s more?” Johnny’s voice echoed in the common room, making Y/N snort before she laughed, which in turn made the rest of the team laugh - including Simon, surprisingly.

Captain Price couldn’t help himself to laugh and put his plate down on a flat surface so he ensure he wouldn’t drop the plate, “Lass, are you alright?”

Y/N couldn’t contain her laughter, and tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. She felt her face grow warm and fanned a hand in front of her face and wiped her tears of laughter as she managed to calm down, “Yeah, I’ll be alright. And yes, Soap, there’s another one in the oven. There’s plenty of pie for you.”

—

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, the taste of warm apples and cinnamon stayed in the back of Captain Price’s mind. Who’d bake him a pie? Who saved the first piece of a pie for him?

“John?”

Her voice took his attention away from his paperwork. She stood in the doorway with her laptop and some papers in her hand.

“Y/N, everything ok?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to drop off the invoices and inventories from this past mission.”

“Yeah, almost forgot.”

Y/N walked inside and closed the door behind her and walked up to his desk, she handed him the papers, and his fingers quickly brushed against hers as took them from her. His hands were rough and calloused against her soft and nimble hands.

He couldn’t deny that feelings were forming - he couldn’t quite pinpoint what kind of feelings they were, just that he wanted her to be near him, he wanted to make sure she was always safe, and he wanted her to always be happy.

“Would you like me to go over them with you?” She sat down on the chair opposite him and watched as he went through the documents. She shouldn’t feel like this. The captain was good to her. He appreciated her skills and her efforts and she was a valued member of his team and she worked well with the others. She enjoyed watching him work and how he preferred looking at the paper over a computer.

But he also made sure that she felt welcome. How he scolded his team when they felt she didn’t do a good job, telling them that she did her best. Making sure she consumed something other than apples and coffee - even while he was on the field. How he’d held her and comforted her that night and kept her at arm’s length for the next few days after that.

He asked questions. He got to know her. His eyes lingered a while when he looked at her. She had his undivided attention when she spoke to him. He always saved her a spot during briefings, he always stayed close to her as much as he could when she had to go on missions with them and work from a makeshift base.

Y/N knew he cared about her, just as much as she cared about him. It wasn’t right to feel this way - especially since there was such a gap between their age.

“Yeah, pull up a chair.” He scooted his chair to the side and pushed his paperwork to the side to make room for Y/N. She stood up and held her laptop in one hand and grabbed the chair with the other, placing it beside him. She sat down and placed her laptop beside his papers.

She opened it up and waited for his instructions on what to update, who to contact, and prepare for the completion of the paperwork at the end of each mission. It was a ritual. At the end of every mission, they’d sit next to each other, leaning towards each other as they compared notes and findings.

It was quite amusing actually. Seeing Y/N working behind her laptop and Captain Price marking up paperwork, occasionally one of them would look over the other’s work. If they ever were disturbed, they’d both look up and stare at them for a moment before answering, scolding whoever disturbed them with their eyes.

But this was different. Something was different. They were more hyper-aware of each other’s presence. The Captain used to never notice that he could feel Y/N’s breath on his arm sometimes when she leaned over to look at his paperwork to transfer onto her computer. Y/N could smell his cologne every time he leaned over to point at her screen, sometimes actually touching the screen and leaving a fingerprint, then looking at her apologetically.

Occasionally she’d look up at him as he spoke to her and just get lost listening to his voice - usually, she’d catch herself and turn away to start typing on her computer, hoping that he hadn’t caught her not paying attention. Most of it was due to her being tired - they tended to work well into the night and his voice was so soothing. On more than one occasion Y/N would lean close enough to him, her eyes would get heavy with sleep and all of the sudden the Captain’s arm would feel heavy.

The Captain kept talking for a few minutes until he realized that Y/N was leaning against his arm, sleeping soundly. God, such a sight. He didn’t dare more. He didn’t want to. He didn’t even want to breathe for fear of waking her.

He looked over at her laptop to look at the time - 2:31 - then closed it with his free hand. His heart is aching to hold her properly. But he couldn’t leave her on his arm, it was going numb.

Every so gently he swiftly moved his body and positioned himself so that Y/N was leaning against his chest, hoping to whatever entity in the heavens that she wouldn't wake up. He slipped one arm under her legs and the other under her torso and lifted her, holding her close to his body. Captain Price nearly held his breath as he carried her out of his office and walked as quietly as he could to her room.

He cursed under his breath every time Y/N would stir, almost waking up. He finally made it to her room and gently placed her on her bed. Covering her with a spare blanket in her room. Before he could stand up properly and leave, Y/N stirred and groaned, waking up slightly. Before realizing where she was, she sat up quickly, then saw her Captain with his hands up, speaking in a low voice, “Hey, you’re ok! You fell asleep and I brought you to your room.”

Y/N blushed slightly, “...You carried me in here?”

“Sleeping on my arm couldn’t have been comfortable, Y/N.”

“I know… but you could’ve woken me up, John.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to wake you up,” He dropped one of his arms, scratching the back of his head with the other. “It’s late, Y/N, get some sleep. Good night.” Fucking hell, what am I doing? He quickly turned around to leave-

“Wait. Please?”

He stopped and half turned around and looked at her. Y/N was standing now and walked up to him. Both of them blushed, both of their heartbeats racing in their ears. Y/N opened her mouth to say something, then closed it.

Dare she risk it? He was her superior. He was in charge. She’d have to leave - or at least be transferred to a different part of the base - either way, she’d see him less. It was enough that he’d leave for days, sometimes weeks. She enjoyed being in his presence. She wanted to be in his presence, even if they didn’t do anything.

Maybe she’d attached herself to him. Maybe it was a result of what that other man did to her, but she didn’t care.

He hated when she looked up at him like that, it made his heart ache. He never wanted her to worry, be scared, or be tired ever again. He nearly jumped when he felt both her soft hands encompass his large hand.

The Captain looked down and then looked back at her, putting his free hand on her cheek, “Y/N…”

She turned her head closer to his hand, her cheeks becoming warmer. He took a deep breath and then removed his hands from her to wrap them around her body, holding her close. He took a deep breath, just taking her in. She looked so beautiful, even when she was tired, “You know we can’t do this…”

Nodding in defeat, but with understanding, she simply rested her head on his chest for a moment. Sighing heavily, Captain Price rested his chin on the top of Y/N’s head, smiling slightly when he felt her arms around his torso.

Was he going to regret this? Most likely.

Did he want to take the risk? Yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @galagcica @sweetybuzz25 @wisedinosaurpolice @itsasecrets-things @ronbon @lieutenantlashfaz @piper570 @shuttlelauncher81 @thanksbutno98 @gabriellathegreat

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