#because of the red tape that can be involved

[luckthebard]

.

[scatteredcloud]

Going on yet another rant about “merch”

If you did not screen print that shirt yourself, you did not make it.

You made the design on it, which I’m sure would be a nice poster or sticker perhaps? Which of course you didn't print yourself, that sounds hard! An embroidered design? Maintaining a 12 needle embroidery machine capable of producing a design with that many colors for the number of orders being received is a lot of work, that's pretty impressive! Not to mention maintaining proper tension on the frame working with a hundred stretchy t shirts, which idk came from somewhere who knows! Your repeating pattern looks very nice on a skirt that you did not make and was mass produced by some Vietnamese person getting paid pennies so that ~50 gay people on the internet could pay for international shipping for a design you “made”. Wow that mug is awesome didn’t know you got into sublimation printing! And have a cylindrical heat press to be able to do not just mugs, but tumblers too! Woah your sublimation set up can do bed sheets (any size)? And shower curtains? And three different shapes of throw pillow stuffed with poly fill, which will never decompose and isn't comfortable to begin with?

Your poorly digitized vector art looks lovely as an enamel pin now that someone else (Who? More like who cares!) cleaned it up for you and then created moulds for and maybe even hand injected the enamel into only for you to sell maybe seven or eight of them. Aw damn your design got ripped off? Who could have guessed that with the distribution power of an entire manufacturing plafffnt that has hundreds, if not thousands of moulds sitting around that they might have used your mould to make themselves a profit for a change! Those money grubbing Chinese bastards! After all, you were there every step of the way, casting the negative of the mould, running the injection of liquid metal into that mould, mixing each color of enamel, and precisely filling each segment of the design, which you refused to simplify! You just can't compromise with art.

Ohhh I see they’re made to order so its more sustainable. So this factory (Guatemala? India? The Philippines? Pakistan? Could you point to it on a map? They just don't teach you this stuff in school!) Anyways this factory in some poor country has to keep your design on file, oh and for your enamel pins they have to keep the mould too! Ahh right but it’s sustainable, because it's a limited run. You’re the 100th person this week to place an order, and they're only printing 50 of your design, you should complain to the manufacturer about how slow your orders are being filled.

I love supporting small businesses - it’s just you after all! With all the hard work you’ve put into fiddling around in procreate who has time to figure out material acquisition, and production runs, and printer calibration, and inventory management, and machine maintenance, and payment processing, and international shipping, and packaging, and

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

just for tonight

a/n: sure, I was vigilantly working on a different wip (a very long one that needed a lot of strength to get through) but then this whole fantasy came to me and i just couldn't stop myself... at least i downgraded the idea from a full-fledged series (which i sadly very much do not have the time for) to just a slutty little one shot in an au that i can always pop back into whenever the itch pops up (or when anyone has a slutty request for it hehe).

summary: before you could even consider the possible consequences, a desperate request then fell from your lips, “well, what if I’m not asking you to be with me? What if it’s just for tonight? What if I’m only asking you to be with me for one night? Would you give me that?” you blinked up at him, scarcely breathing at all, “would you be mine just till the sun comes up?” 

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, smut, reader's mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, posh political party, alcohol consumption, wet dream, lingerie, stockings, one night stand (except we already know those fools can't keep it to just one night), kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, oral, fingering, impact play, squirting, gaping, belly bulge, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 4907

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“You sure, you don’t want some?” you squinted over at your bodyguard as you lowered the champagne flute from your lips, “this shit costs more than my dress, which is really saying something,” you pointed to the red silk gown that hung from your frame, “this is Dior.”

“I’m good, miss,” Bucky uttered, tight-lipped as always. 

“Right, sorry,” you sat the glass down at the tall table you stood beside, “can’t drink while on duty.”

Posh parties such as the one tonight were always a bit of a drag to get through. Even though you’d been hauled along for most of your life, they’d never gotten any more amusing. 

But when your mother hired Barnes to be your personal bodyguard a few months back, the thought of getting dolled up just to have a bunch of provoking politicians talk your ear off about ideas you’d never in a million years support, somehow didn’t seem as bad as it used to now that he was constantly at your side. 

It had been a little incident involving your phone getting hacked, an explicit video nearly getting leaked, one that had been made for an ex who lived in another country to make the distance more barrable, and a few threatening messages from the perpetrator that had been the reason for your new shadow. 

Though you’d been resistant at first, storming into your mother’s office to state that you were a grown woman and didn’t need a babysitter just because someone tried to exploit an old sex tape that in your opinion wasn’t even that big of a deal, swiftly got squashed when a then stranger cleared his throat behind you and shared the more gruelling threats that had been made alongside the hacking. 

You’d hoped and prayed that he’d turn out to be a pain, that his personality could squash the feelings that fluttered inside of you whenever you looked at him, but unfortunately, he wasn’t an asshole. He was quiet, professional to a fault, but he wasn’t a dick. If anything, all of the silence and all of the glances to always keep track of you made the crush worse. It made you feel as if you were in a Jane Austen novel, reading between the lines of subtext your unreliable brain came up with.

“You tired?” he asked as a yawn rolled out of you. 

“Mhm,” you hummed behind the palm you had brought up to your lips. 

“The car’s ready to take you back to the embassy whenever you are.” 

A grateful smile twitched at your lip as you offered him a small nod of confirmation, “I’ll just go tell my mom.”

The ambassador, your mother, had her back turned to you as she talked business with a small group of people even though the hour had grown late. 

You waited for a sliver of a break before you tapped her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“Hey, mom?” her palm found yours as she turned to look at you, “I’m gonna head home.”

“Oh, alright,” she leaned in and pressed a small peck to your cheek, “see you tomorrow, love.”

“Bye,” you gave her hand one last squeeze before heading out of the elegant venue, your guard still only a few paces behind you. 

A dusty drizzle met your skin as you exited onto the midnight streets of Paris. The sensation made you want to walk home, though you still followed Bucky to the black car already waiting and slipped in when he opened the back door for you. 

The light from the city reflected on the back of his metal hand as it gripped the steering wheel. You could faintly spot the prominent veins on the other one dance beneath the inked skin as it did the same, tattoos you still ached to discover just how far they stretched beneath his dark suit. 

Though soon your gaze flickered away from his silhouette as he drove, and fluttered out to the glittering cityscape rolling by, the vision of which swiftly lulled you to sleep. 

When you arrived home, Bucky’s steely eyes found your slumbering form in the rear-view mirror. You didn’t rouse when he opened your door and carefully picked you up into his arms. You didn’t wake either as he carried you inside, all the way up to your bedroom, and layed you down on your bed. 

Gently, he removed your heels and quietly placed them down on the hardwood floor before he grabbed your duvet and tugged it over your form. 

But just as he moved to leave your side, half asleep you caught his hand.

“Don’t go…” you murmured hazily, eyes still shut. 

And so, he didn’t.

Bucky simply reached for the tufted chair nearby and, as silently as he could, scooted it closer to the bed. 

Barely an hour passed before you woke. 

Before you even blinked open your eyes, your fingers began to slide down your body as the sinful dream you’d been blessed with still lingered in your foggy brain. 

Though when your eyes did flutter open and discovered the star of the dream sitting in a chair right next to you, your hand halted its voyage, and you sucked in a startled breath. 

“You okay?” he asked softly as you blinked a few times. 

“Uh,” the throbbing that still lingered from the dream probably wasn’t going to fade any faster with him sitting there with his unwavering stare, “yeah, I’m–, uhm…” you propped yourself up on your elbow before sitting up more, “I’m fine.” 

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, it wasn’t a–…” your sentence then crumbled as you sucked in a breath, “what are you doing watching me sleep?”

As you met his gaze, he then uttered, “you asked me to stay.”

Your eyes then widened, “I did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” though you couldn’t recall, heat still began to bloom on your cheeks, “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“It's alright,” his shoulders offered a faint shrug. 

Averting your gaze, you noticed that you were still in your dress. You weren’t quite sure if it pleased you or not that Bucky didn’t try to strip it off you, though it was probably less the moral intentions and more the fantasy of him peeling it off of you that swayed you. 

“Were you just planning on sleeping in that chair all night?” you asked. 

“No,” he shook his head, “I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all.” 

A tinge of guilt stung in your chest, “I’m really sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I must have been asleep or something…” you then swung your legs over the side of the bed and got up. As your fingers raised up to pluck off your sparkling earrings, your feet began to carry you in the direction of your wardrobe. Dropping the jewellery off in a small porcelain bowl on the opposite bedside table, you then glanced back at your bodyguard and said, “you don’t have to stay any longer, you can go back to your room and get some sleep.” 

Offering you a nod, he then began to walk towards the door. 

Though, as you reached back to undo your dress, you abruptly uttered, “wait,” and he stopped before his steely fingers could enclose around the door handle. Turning to glance back at you, a bold request then hesitantly fell from your lips, “could you maybe help unzip me?”

He barely made a noise, simply hummed quietly in response before his slow stride carried him towards your frame as it twisted for your back to be turned to him.

When you felt his touch on the zipper, tugging it down ever so slowly, your breath came in ragged, and your eyes fluttered shut. You swore you felt his radiating heat seep into you as he exposed more of your goosebump-ridden spine. 

As the straps tumbled over your shoulders, your hands came up to your chest to hold it up even though you wished for nothing more than to let it drop before him.

And when the zipper finally reached its end, he lingered right behind you just long enough for you to catch the tether of it. Slowly, as if you were dealing with a skittish bird, you rotated around. You didn’t dare to look him in the eyes as you let yourself follow that magnetic pull you’d been trying to keep at bay. Your gaze flickered up to his lips as heated puffs of air seeped from your lungs and you slowly, hypnotically, inched closer. 

But then Bucky opened his mouth and said in a soft and quiet tone, “what are you doing?” making you halt, though not pull back. 

“Please don’t act like you don’t already know… I know you do…”

“You can’t,” he uttered, though didn’t move to walk away either as he captured your gaze, “we can’t, alright?”

“Why not?” you breathed, your eyes returning to his lips, “is it really that important for you to stay professional over everything else? Or is it that I’m just a job to you?” your heart felt as if it was gonna beat straight out of your chest, “you know I like you, I know you do. You notice everything, so of course you know. Am I right?”

A long exhale then flowed from his lungs before the faintest of nods tilted his head, “…yeah.”

“And I have eyes too, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” a shiver trickled down your spine, “so, are you really gonna just stand there and pretend you don’t feel something too? Just go back to your own room and continue to protect me like nothing’s going on?”

“Y/n, I can’t be with you,” he shook his head heavily, “you know I can’t.” 

Can’t or won’t?

Before you could even consider the possible consequences, a desperate request then fell from your lips, “well, what if I’m not asking you to be with me? What if it’s just for tonight? What if I’m only asking you to be with me for one night? Would you give me that?” you blinked up at him, scarcely breathing at all, “would you be mine just till the sun comes up?” 

As if your quiet whispers melted him completely, your bodyguard breathed, “…fuck…” and the next thing you knew, he’d grabbed your face and seized your lips. 

It was like something inside of him had snapped, something you had shattered, with the way that he kissed you as if he’d been drowning and your lips were oxygen. 

As you lost yourself in the sensation of his tongue dancing across your own, you let the red dress drop down your body, passed the sheer stockings that clung around your thighs, to the floor. Like fire, one of his hands disappeared from your cheek and ran down your frame, grazing over the black lingerie that was now exposed.  

Though heated and hungry at first, the kiss soon softened into lighter pecks. 

With his metal hand, he held your face close to his as he withdrew from the kiss, an action you weren’t quite ready for as you dreamily trailed after him a bit, longing for his lips. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” his hot breath fanned across your features. 

“Yes,” you whispered swiftly. 

But as you dizzily blinked up at him, he simply hummed for you to elaborate, “hm?”

“Yes, I want you,” goosebumps tingled across your skin. 

“You want me to what?” his thumb swiped over your cheekbone. 

“I want you to–, to–…” you fumbled as you felt your desire drip and soak your panties, making them cling to your aching core. 

“To what, huh?” 

“To–… fuck me,” the embarrassingly desperate words tumbled out your mouth. 

“You want me to fuck you?” his unwavering stare briefly dropped to your parted lips.

“Yes,” the syllable rushed out of you. 

“Say it again,” he tilted his chin. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Louder,” his feet began to shift, causing yours to shuffle back as well. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“One more time,” his hand had dropped down to your jaw and his fingers curled slightly to dent your soft cheeks. 

“I want you to fuck me, please!” 

With the hold he had on you, he swiftly dipped down and pressed his lips to yours once more. The world then fell out from under you as his grasp scooped down your frame and plucked you up.

Your arms tangled around his neck right before your back collided with the closet door and your lips tilted away from his as a short squeak slipped out. The distance however lent Bucky to let his kisses dance down the length of your neck and across your cleavage, so perfectly framed by the sheer fabric of your bra. 

Though the hickeys he began to plant across your skin made your eyes roll in your skull, your fingers still captured his tie and tugged him back up for your lips to crash against his. As you moved to push his blazer off, his sturdy grip on you shifted though still held you close as the jacket fell from his burly frame and your palms swiftly scooped over his broad shoulders and down his chest, now one layer closer to letting you actually get to feel the furnace roiling beneath.

Cupping his face close, whimpers seeped out of you and vibrated against his lips as his fingers dug into your ass and rubbed your barely covered cunt over the palpable tent in his pants, your want surely drenching through your thin underwear and marking him as well. 

You almost didn’t realise that Bucky had moved till he dropped you down on the bed. Taking a step back, his tongue briefly flicked across his breathless lips as his fingers lifted to tug his tie off. 

Staring directly into your soul, he uttered, “take your bra off,” as he tossed the tie to the floor and your fingers scrambled to fulfil his request. When you flung the lingerie to the ground, right next to his crumbled tie, the cool night air kissed your pebbly nipples and Bucky let out a murmured curse right before bending down to press his lips to yours. 

Balanced on your elbows, you parted your lips and let his tongue sweep across your own. His touch coasted down your frame, barely granting your tits any attention before his grasp hooked around your thighs and yanked you closer to the edge of the mattress. A surprised yelp escaped you at first at the sudden shift, but as the sting of saliva, that had lingered and connected you from your sloppy kiss, snapped back against your skin, the short cry morphed into a fizzy giggle. 

The light laugh however faded away when you watched him sink to his knees at the foot of the bed. Your legs curled up even further on either side of you, though you weren’t quite sure if that was you or him pushing them up and cracking you open that much more. You could feel his breath hit your pantie-clad core as his gaze fixated on the soaked spot right over your puff. 

When his palm slid up your inner thigh, he only had to reach out his thumb for the broad pad to ghost over your covered slit. His eyes swiftly flickered up to capture yours, checking your reaction as you began to squirm from his feathery light touch. 

Hooking his finger in the gusset, he pulled it to the side and a glossy string stretched out and clung to the fabric as he revealed your glistening pussy. 

A breathy moan billowed out of you as he began to touch you, rolling your little pearl beneath his touch. Finding your eyes once more, he held your gaze as he then leaned down to press a gentle kiss over your clit. 

“This okay?” his voice vibrated against your bundle of nerves, making you twitch. 

“Mhm,” you nodded foggily, “you can do anything you want.”

“Anything?” his lips twitched into a smirk as his fingers stretched from where they were clutching your panties to brush over your button.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “fucking anything.” 

Your mouth then hung agape at the sight of him dipping down to ruthlessly taste your desire. It didn’t take long before he lost himself in you so fiercely that he momentarily leaned back only to rip your underwear off. Both of his hands curved around your bottom, raking across your skin as he drew you even closer to his tongue and dragged it through your wet folds.

Bumping his nose against your clit, he let himself make out with your cunt a moment longer before planting a farewell peck over your pearl and pulling back. A dollop of spit dropped from his lips down onto your pussy. Catching the drop with his fingers before it slid away, he rubbed it into your own juices and made you that much more of a mess. 

“O-oh,” you moaned as he slowly slid a long finger into you after teasing your weepy entrance enough to make you shiver. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned at the soppy sounds his efforts conjured.

Craning down to kiss your clit sloppily, Bucky then slid his ring finger in beside the other, curving them gently as he reached even deeper. 

When he momentarily retracted his digits to land a small tap over your puffy petals, the smile that bloomed on your face only egged him on further. Plugging you back up, he then retracted and repeated the slap though with more ferocity. 

Your head began to lull a bit as he brought his vibranium digits down to roll your clit and his fingers began to fuck you harder, not faster, but with an intent that made your pussy sing for him. 

With your thighs trembling, they nearly slammed shut as you felt the end near, but your bodyguard only slid his strong metal forearm over your legs, hooking it right under both of your bent knees, to keep you spread nice and open for him. 

The veins on the back of his inked hand popped from how fiercely his fingers rocked within you. 

Stretching his thumb up to strum your clit, he tried to sneak a third finger inside of you as he felt your walls begin to flutter around him. 

“That’s it, I’ve got you,” as he always did in every manner, evidently. A smile curved at his lips as your eyes fluttered closed and a symphony of moans flowed out of you with every last tender stroke he offered you to carry you over the edge, “atta girl.”

Melted against the sheets, you caught your breath as he planted one last peck on your inner thigh before standing back up. 

Slowly, with his gaze ever glued on you, he unbuttoned his shirt, gradually revealing the silver shine of the dog tags that hung from his neck and the tattoos that sprawled across his skin. Going all the way up from the hand still shiny with your essence, the ink swirled up his right arm, across his pecs, down his back and even curved over to his left shoulder and intentionally tangled into the gnarly scares sprouting from the border of his prosthetic. 

When the button-up hit the floor, his fingers drifted down to unhurriedly remove his belt, pulling it out of the loops, he let it join the shirt before he undid his pants and let his cock spring free. 

“Jesus christ…” your jaw couldn’t help but drop to the floor as your eyes fluttered at the intimidating reveal. 

Noticing the anxiety that peeked through your lust-ridden expression, his low voice found your ears, “what? Did you change your mind?” 

“No, I just–…” you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his fat cock as it throbbed before you, “I got a bit nervous all of a sudden.” 

“No reason to be nervous, baby,” he breathed out a smile as his fist curled around his girth.  

“Oh really?” you nearly began to laugh. 

“You’ll be fine,” drool threatened to escape the corner of your lips as he slowly began to stroke himself, “trust me.” 

“Really? Because I’m not so sure I’ll be able to take that…” 

“You will,” he uttered calmly as he dipped down to give you a kiss, “don’t worry,” a hand slid into your hair as he cradled your face and ushered your gaze to find his, “you know I’d never hurt you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’ll be fine,” his thumb curved to sweep over your cheek a few times. 

“Yeah,” you gently nodded and repeated after him, “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiled. Kissing you once more, he then pressed a peck to your forehead before his grasp found your hips and he suddenly flipped you around, onto your stomach. 

Helping you up onto your hands and knees, a hazy smile stretched across your features as he bent down over you and pressed kisses all along your spine. Dragging his bulbous tip through your sopping folds, he then teased you for so long, never granting you any more than a dizzying nudge, that whines began to escape from you.

“P-please,” you heard yourself beg as your fingers bunched up the sheets. 

“What?” he continued to flick and tap your swollen clit with the head of his heavy cock.

“I–I want it–, plea–, please fuck me,” you blubbered desperately. 

“Oh, now you want it, huh?” you could hear the smirk that dominated his face, “suddenly not so nervous anymore about me stretching you out, are you?”

“Bucky, plea–, o-oh–,” you felt your limbs tremble beneath you as he slipped the very tip inside. 

His efforts were so slow at first, gradually giving you more of his length and just shallowly fucking you till you blossomed and opened up for him. 

Gradually, his thrusts began to ease from a mind-numbingly slow pace to something that truly scrambled your brain. You soon lost yourself completely to the molten sensation of his fat girth steadily splitting you open. 

Though when he finally bottomed out within you, a shrill gasp slipped out passed your lips and your frame shuttered beneath him. 

Drawing his hips back just enough for you to regain the ability to fill your lungs with oxygen once more, you heard him murmur in your ear, “what, is it too much dick for you?” retraining his thrusts slightly, he kept his tip from kissing your cervix, “that better or is it still too deep for you?” his hands dented your hips.

“N-no, no, it feels so good, it’s just–,” a whimper slipped out of you and broke up your slurring, “you’re so fucking big, I’ve never–,” you felt like you could feel him all the way up in your throat, “no one’s ever been that fucking deep before.”

One of his hands curved down to your clit at the exact same time as your own did. As they met, he let your own fingers swirl over your puffy pearl as his simply lingered, till he suddenly grasped your wrist and gently led it away from your pussy, further up to your lower stomach. 

“That deep?” he pressed down on your palm and let you discover the dull bulge that formed in your belly at every one of his dizzying thrusts, “has no one ever stuffed you that full before? Not even one of your pretty toys you play with so often?”

“Nuh-uh,” you panted as his warm contact dissipated from your spine and he straightened back up. 

A gravelly moan slipped out past Bucky’s lips as he glanced down to see how tightly your creamy pussy was gripping onto his cock. Your fingers returned to the sheets as his wide palm came down to slap your ass, your back arching at the impact and consequently angling his efforts so that the details of his dick brushed against your g-spot in the most heavenly way imaginable. 

He only buried himself inside of you a few more times, his heavy sack tapping against your buzzing clit at every electric buck, till your pussy gushed around his fat girth. 

“There you go,” he pulled out only to insistently flick your puffy pearl with his tip, “fucking hell,” he then plunged his cock all the way back in before dragging it back out, “keep going,” ushering more squirt to drizzle out. He kept up the overwhelming pattern till your pussy stopped gushing for him, till he’d pushed you through the overstimulation and your cunt slowly began to relax again for him. Eventually, when he steadily withdrew from you, he craned his neck to relish in the way your little hole had stretched out and accommodated so well for him, it even winking sinfully at him every time he pulled out, “good fucking girl,” he growled at the sight, “told you so, you’d do just fine,” your shaky frame jolted as he slapped your ass again, “look at you now fucking gaping for me, christ…”

With a ring of your cream staining the base of his cock, he let himself return to your warmth for longer than just a few seconds, fucking you with such ferocity that your pliant form, still molten and unsteady from your second orgasm, collapsed onto the mattress below. 

Though he successfully caught you before you could slip off his cock entirely, he still let you drop down on the bed, though softened the fall for you, before he followed suit. 

The weight of him on top of you felt so comforting and soothed on your tingly skin.

“You okay?” he kissed your cheek before spreading your stocking-clad legs with his own. 

“Hm,” you nodded foggily and felt yourself drool onto the sheets as he squished you further into the mattress.

Your shaky moans filled the bedroom as he slid back inside, “fuck, you feel so good…” sloppily nipping just below your ear before he picked up his pace. 

The chain that dangled from his neck felt cool on your skin and acted as a stark contrast to how hot his body felt pressed against your back. 

“You think you can be a good girl and cum for me again?” he groaned into your ear as his efforts echoed sloppily, “let me feel that pretty pussy squeeze around me one last time?”

“I-I don’t know,” you trembled beneath him, every one of his deep thrusts making you jolt and gasp for air as he was practically splitting you in half. 

“You don’t know?” he sweetly whispered in your ear as he curled his arms under you. One hand slid under your tit and caught your pebbly nipple in a rude pinch while the other soared down to your sore and swollen clit, “can you try for me? Try and cum again,” your eyes had fallen completely shut, so your whole reality had just become Bucky’s reassuring weight, his tantalising efforts, and his sinful whispers that seeped directly into your soul, “try and squirt for me one last time, sweetheart.” 

And so, you did. It didn’t even take that long before you tumbled over one last time and your pussy creamed for him, drenching the already damp sheets beneath you, as he swiftly came as well, throbbing deep within your clenching cunt and filling your little hole up to the brim till it tried to leak and escape around his girth.

His heavy pants faded from your ear as he slowly crawled off of you, cascading a tender trail of kisses all the way down your body till he gently retraced his track of pecks and settled down next to you. Fluttering your eyes open as his palm slid up to your heated cheek, he gazed into your hazy eyes for a moment before leaning in to softly press his lips to your own. 

You wanted to curl in closer to his frame, but your body was so exhausted that you could barely raise your pinkie finger. Fortunately though, as you layed there in wordless wonder, Bucky’s arms draped around you as he scooted in close, hugging you to him and gently caressing your skin as you continued to blink back into his ocean eyes, not uttering a word out of fear that you’d ruin the blissful moment.

After perhaps a small eternity had passed, he briefly raised his head up slightly to catch sight of the small clock on your bedside table. 

“There’s still a few more hours left before the sunrise…” he settled back down beside you.

“Oh, yeah?” a soft smile tilted up your lips as his touch began to travel south. 

“Yeah,” his lips gently parted in a silent moan as his fingers slid through your sore folds. His stare was transfixed on how your brows knitted together and a quiet hiss slipped out of you as he swirled over your sensitivity, playing with the hot load he’d pumped into you as it slowly leaked out, one of his digits too brash not to try and stuff it back inside, “what do you think?” sharing your breath, he inched in and let his nose nuzzle against your own, “do you want me to be yours just a little bit longer or would you rather I’d return to my own bed?” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[lordofdestructionm]

Wick Sable

The odd duck in the guilded cage

Despite this being a feral Mordecai and Viktor account I do occasionally like to dig into the others.

Wick is a character Lackadaisy fans love but don't talk about very much. He just the rich friendly geologist with a love of illicit beverages and a crush on Mitzi. Indeed he is all those things. But I want to dig a little into what may be hidden depth (geography joke haha)

Professional dissatisfaction

When we first meet Wick he is behind his desk looking very tired and beaten down. Forcing himself to keep working late into the night with excessive coffee. Attending to a large pile of paper work for tomorrow.

His expression shifts slightly when he sees the Lackadaisy pins fall out of the envelope and realises the letter is an invitation to him (and his fellow aristocrats) to the speakeasy.

This hatred of paper work and the administrative side of his business is a recurring issue for Wick. Making the reason for his reliance on the capable and attentive Lacy very obvious. Exhaustian and too much alchohol are no doubt partly to blame, but it seems to be something that puts him in a very depressed state of mind.

But when actually on the job, overseeing the hands on work of blasting a new quarry, his mood is much more positive. Indeed he has a very real and sincere love for geology and the nitty gritty work of his business. When he first went to the Lackadaisy he was spellbound by the lime caverns themselves as much by Mitzi's charm.

Its his special interest and he will go on long unprompted monologues on the topic if given the chance. Meaning it is specifically the being trapped in his office dealing with the red tape that makes him so unhappy not the industry itself.

Its almost sad that he is the one in charge of the company rather than in a role that puts him closer to the action which seems to bring him real joy. Like someone who loves cooking being in charge of a restuarant or someone that loves drawing running an animation studio.

They love the product/industry but that doesn't mean they enjoy their specific place in it.

Unimpressed Peers

Despite Wicks enthusiasm it proves not be infectious with his fellow elite, who complain about being dragged out of town to watch something, that while very important to Wick, they clearly could not care less about (even not that quietly mocking him and his love for rocks and construction)

When the evening doesn't go to plan due to the uninvited pig farmers Wick has an interesting exchange with Edmund Church, seemingly the most prominent of the St Louis upper crust in the group. Warning him about getting any more involved with an unsavoury crowd, especially Mitzi, outside of simply enjoying the occasional drink.

Wick doesn't take kindly to the snarky criticism and borderline threat to his reputation and responds with a much more direct statement on his peers sour nature

Tracy has mentioned that Church has a role yet to play in the story and it seems safe to assume from this it may well involve Wick in a less than friendly way if he continues to associate with his "lessers" as Church and the others see things.

Despite needing to remain on civil terms to keep them invested in his business, Wick clearly has little love for them, a feeling that is mutual as they have little respect for him and see him as an oddball, only tolerating him because his talent in his field can help make them a tidy profit.

But while he doesn't appreciate Church's sniping Wick IS concerned about his reputation, but not entirely for his own sake or that of his elitist associates, but for the many people who rely on him for employment, who could be hurt by extension of he gets pulled too deep into the less than repectable world of bootlegging

Romantic life

Outside of the crush he has had on Mitzi since first meeting her at the Speakeasy, we have very little information about Wicks love life before this. Being a handsome and wealthy gentleman from a good family, you would think he would he fighting women off with a stick, maybe even be a bit of a playboy.

Instead you get the impression Wick is pretty far away from being a ladies man. Mentioning to Mitzi that he doesn't even really know how to talk to women unless its about rocks, bugs or limestone.

He is clearly attracted to her and is tempted by her to risk his reputation and by extension his business to get closer to her, but so far his fear of the very real consequences are deterring him from taking that gamble.

Though there is that personal aspect to it, it seems that in a more abstract sense Mitzi's appeal to Wick is not just in her beauty and seductive personality, but in the excitement and thrill of her Speakeasy and bootlegging operations.

In that sense Mitzi represents that touch of danger and excitement that during prohibition many otherwise law abiding citizens enjoyed indulging in illegal drinking establishments. Being* just* naughty enough to give them a fun thrill while being detached from the more brutal blood soaked aspects.

Wick is a good natured person (the worst thing he has done is shoot a duck in his youth which he was forced to do) living a very "respectable" life, but that makes the superficial glamour of the world of underground drinking establishments and secret booze stashes even more appealing. Thats why despite his concerns and responsibilities he keeps going back ,not just to Mitzi, but to the Lackadaisy specifically. It has pretty geography, a pretty owner, and an open door to a more exciting avenue of life

Its for that same reason he doesn't seem to be overly uncomfortable with lovable bi disaster Zib flirting with him at the bar. He may have no intention of reciprocating, but it couldn't be a more different experience to the world he is used to

Even if he doesn't yet want to take the full plunge it all excites him enough to keep him circling the edges.

Because despite having so much going for him there are things about his life that not only bore him but make him unhappy. Whether its piles of paperwork, dealing with much stuffier "conventional" fellow aristocrats and not wanting to be like them, or just a general lack of true passion in his life, he is clearly a man looking for something more satisfying

Whether or not he remains a "tourist" or decides to take that gamble, throw his reservations to the wind, and take a more active role in the gang, is yet to be seen...

Assuming Rocky doesn't set fire to him first of course XD

[seat-safety-switch]

Every time it snows, I see lots of people who are terrified to operate their cars. This is poppycock, and originates from the media trying to force fear into your brain so that you stay home for a few more minutes to watch the morning traffic report and, oh, just a coincidence that it comes with a ton more ads. Stay Afraid. Buy Oreos®.

Winter driving is all about momentum. You keep your car moving, perform only gentle adjustments, and pay attention. Above all, you must not make any abrupt movements. This will unsettle the car, and then you'll careen towards a ditch, bus stop, or ballet recital. Important: allow thing to happen slowly, without your direct involvement. Freaking out and starting to chop at the wheel because you didn't get a prompt response to your last gentle input is what a toddler would do, and that's why only certain states let them drive.

Think of yourself as being engaged in the proud Canadian sport known as curling. In it, someone throws a rock down an icy slope, and some other suckers pretend to do anything at all by rapidly sweeping their brooms in front of it. Those frozen janitors are not allowed to touch the rock, because doing so will cause it to fly out of control and kill someone. When driving, you want to be the person throwing the rock, not the person frantically sweeping for no reason before accidentally maiming a cameraman from the CBC.

Whenever it snows, the first thing I do is head to the local giant parking lot. There, I can safely practice losing and regaining control of my car in the snow, without worrying about smacking a pedestrian or highway abutment. Critically, it's here that I also figure out what new holes in the cabin are letting water in. This lets me stop, get out, and apply duct tape at my leisure, rather than stewing in reflected road juices for my entire commute to work. That last part may not apply to you: for instance, you might be rich enough to be able to put marine-grade caulk or even Bondo over the rust holes in your car's floor.

If there's only one thing I can leave you with, it's this: don't panic. Like I said, tensing up and jerking around the car is only going to make things worse for everyone else on the road. Instead, let things happen. Be chill. Make sure you've got enough gas and maybe a sandwich on hand. Take a break if you've been pushing through traffic for hours. And above all, do not put an album by The Prodigy into your stereo system and then rip through red lights, completely sideways, banging off the rev limiter as you engage in icy doughnut after doughnut, just because you bought studded winter tires and have a generalized contempt for society at large. My attorney thought adding that last part would help with negotiating the plea bargain.

[hugsandharrystyles]

The Chase

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

SUMMARY: Harry is obsessed with you (or your pussy).

Harry Styles would not stop following you.

You both had hooked up at a frat party two weeks ago in a dingy bathroom, and ever since, he's been searching for you everywhere.

Somehow, he's outside of all your classes, waiting for you so that he could try and woo you. His persuasions were overlooked because you were not in the mood for anything any college frat boy was trying to pull.

You had only come to this party because your friend had dragged you along with the promise of alcohol.

You seriously needed to get wasted and perhaps make out with a cute boy, but it was proving hard to do because of the chase you were involved in. As soon as you had walked in the door, you were on the run from Harry.

Right now, you were in the crowded kitchen, the room was glowing red from the solo cups taped on the lights, and it was definitely setting the mood for the horny college students.

You were filling your cup when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist in a secure hold.

"Baby, please," You heard begging in your ear, and then his crotch was grinding into your ass.

"Harry-" You begin, but you were cut off by the rolling of his hips again. "You realize how pathetic you are?" You said while laughing. He whined in your ear and squeezed you harder.

"Stop running from me," He counters. "Just come with me outside for bit, hm?" He asks.

"Harry-"

"Please," He begs.

"Fine," You huff and grab his hand to start walking outside. Harry has a shy, yet smug smile on his face as you drag him out of the house. People look and furrow their eyebrows at the two of you, but Harry does not care. He's whipped, and he knows it.

"Over here," He says and points to a lounge chair close to the bonfire. There's a decent amount of people around but not nearly as bad as inside. He sits down first and drags you to sit on his lap.

"Harry- Jesus," You sigh and adjust yourself. He buries his face in your neck and inhales you in.

"I've missed you," He breathes.

"Harry, we had one mediocre hook-up in a trashy frat bathroom," You remind him.

"Mediocre?!" That had gotten his attention. He adjusts you to where he can see your face better. "That was the best sex of my life," He tells you.

"Well, that's sad," You inform him, and he has to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"What in the hell are you talking about? I made you cum," He reminds you, but your face sours. "Didn't I?" You shake your head and suppress the smile that wants to appear on your face from this boy getting humbled. "But- But you told me you came," He questions you.

"Yeah, so I could get out of there," You couldn't hold back the small chuckle that escapes you that time. "Harry, don't get me wrong, you aren't bad and definitely are the biggest I've ever been with, but maybe you need to work on your stamina," You explain and run your fingers through his hair because of his pitiful face.

"Well, it's not my fault you have this magical pussy!" He says a bit too loud. Some people look over with incredulous looks on their faces, and you punch his shoulder. "Couldn't help it when you're so wet, tight, and fucking warm- Oh, God," He groans as if remembering. His nose is back in your neck and arms around your body, squeezing once again. "Smell so good and so soft too," He says as he squeezes the extra plush on your body, something you're usually insecure about but feel super confident with the way this boy is drooling for you.

"You've gone mad," You resort to.

"I don't care," He rebuts. You roll your eyes and pat his back.

"Ay, Styles! Look at you fuckin' whipped," You hear one of his annoying frat brothers call out to the two of you.

"And fucking what about it?" He snaps back, and you see the arrogant meathead cower down in his seat.

"Harry, maybe we should-"

"Go to my room, so I can actually take care of you?" He offers.

"I'll give you one more shot," You sigh, and his head perks up like he didn't expect you to say that.

"Actually?" He says and is about to jump to his feet.

"My clock is ticking," You sigh, and suddenly, you're being thrown over his shoulder, and he's running into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. Hoots, hollers, and whistles are thrown to both of you, but neither of you are paying attention to it. You're immediately thrown on the bed when you get into his room. Harry had locked the door, so no one will be interrupting the two of you.

"I'm going to eat you out," he says breathlessly. "Should punish me for how rude I was to you last time. Didn't eat you out or make you cum- fuck, I'm sorry," He pants and rips your skirt and shoes off your body. His mouth is about to press against your puffy pussy through your underwear when you stop him.

"Wait," you say and hold his hair to stop him.

"What?" He whines and dramatically drops his face into the bed.

"You're right," you tell him and yank on his hair to get his attention.

"About what, baby?" He whines in impatience.

"You should be punished," You agree and sit up, pulling your body away from him. His jaw drops and his face is like you've just stabbed him.

"Are you- are you serious?" He asks and starts to inch his way closer to you.

"I mean, you're the one who said it. I'll be nice and still have sex with you, but I have one rule," you tell him and press your foot against his chest to keep him away.

"Anything. Anything at all- I swear," He assures you, and you smile.

"You're not allowed to touch me," you say, and he scoffs.

"You can't be serious," He pants.

"It's this or nothing," you say and start to get up from the bed.

"No, no, please, I'll do it. I'll do it," He promises.

"You're pathetic," you laugh, and he glares at you. "Wipe that look off your face," You scold him, voice surprisingly dominating, and he immediately does. It's hilarious the power you seem to have over this arrogant frat boy. "Sit against the headboard," you tell him, and he doesn't think twice before doing what you say. You get up and start rummaging through his closet.

"What- what are you doing?" He asks, trying to stay still in his spot, but his curiosity is getting the best of him. Once you have what you were looking for, you turn and approach him, your hands hiding the object behind your back.

"Get up," You command, and he jumps off the bed. "Take your clothes off," you say further. He rips everything off besides his boxers. "I didn't say stop, big boy," you tell him, and he blushes. He sheepishly pulls down his underwear and fights the urge to cover himself. Your smirk deepens as you gaze over his body. "On the bed," You command, and as he leans himself against the headboard, you rid yourself of the rest of your own clothes. Harry's eyes cloud over as his eyes take you in. You're truly the most enthralling woman he's ever met.

"Thank you," He whispers as you straddle his lap, his hands gently rest on your plushy thighs. You almost feel bad for what you are about to do, but your horniness brings you out of it.

"Very sweet," you say and place a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He moans lightly and tries to turn his head to fully capture your lips, but you move away at the perfect time. You take his hands in yours and tie them together with the tie you found in his closet. His eyes widen and his cheeks flush even deeper. "This okay?" You ask and run your fingers through his hair.

"Y-Yes. Never done something like this before, but it's v-very okay," He assures you and tips his head back when you start kissing at the skin on his neck. His hands that are tied together twitch on his stomach and reach to where his dick lays, playing with himself for some much-needed stimulation. His moans get louder, and he feels cum drip from his thick pink tip.

"The fuck are you doing?" You suddenly ask, straightening yourself in time to see Harry playing with himself.

"I'm- I'm sorry. It's just- I'm really fucking horny, and it hurts," He tries to explain but you roll your eyes and scoff.

"You know, this is why I haven't let you fuck me again. Fuckin' selfish," You mock, and he shakes his head.

"No- No, I'm not. Please," He whines, his hand straining against the tie. "Don't go, please," He begs. You stare down at him intensely, and he has no choice but to cower under your glare. Out of nowhere, you suddenly drop yourself down onto his length, rubbing and sliding against where it lays against his stomach. "Oh!" He gasps as he feels your hot wet pussy slide over him.

"I'm going to take what I want from you," You decide and place your hands against his chest to get a better form. Your tight hole begins to catch itself on his tip when you push down on him, and you see Harry biting his lip so hard you think it might bleed. You continue sliding your pussy over him until his dick is twitching and leaking with cum.

"You got to stop if you don't want me to cum," he says, his voice strained and tight.

"You need to work on your stamina," you remind him and grab his cock, positioning him with your tight entrance.

"Oh, God- Oh, God," He chants as you slide his tip in. His hips stagger, making him slide in a bit deeper, so you press on his stomach to keep him down.

"Easy," You command, and he looks as if he could cry. You fuck yourself on the tip of his cock, getting your entrance to spread, but he's just so fucking big. You look down at him, and he has that same fucked out expression on his face. "Don't you fucking dare," you say and begin to insert more of him into you.

"Then fucking stop!" He whines. He almost cries when he feels your fingers squish into his cheeks, making him look into your eyes.

"You're not making the fucking rules here, frat boy. I told you if I was going to do this again, it was going to be by my terms, not yours, so shut the fuck up and stay still," You command, and you see tears gather in his eyes. You roll your eyes and slide down on him even further, about halfway in now. He chokes on a sob of pleasure and strains his fists in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he says before you feel his hips buck up into yours and his heavy load spurting into your pussy. The sensation almost makes you cum, but you push it away so you can see his pretty face as he orgasms. His body is trembling, and it feels like his high lasts forever. He feels you untie his wrists, and he subconsciously flexes them out of their stiff position. His breathing is rapid as he comes down, and a smile is graced across his lips until he feels you start bouncing on his sensitive cock again. "Oh, fuck! What are you doing-"

"I didn't come, asshole," You spit and grind yourself on his hardening dick.

"I'm too s-sensitive," He slurs, his hips tensing away and his hands coming up to grab your plushy hips. His mouth his dropped, and his head falls back. "I might be in love with you," He gasps, and you laugh.

"Shut up," You giggle, but you are cut off when his hips thrust up into you and his fingers come down to play with your clit. "Fuck, your dick is too good," You moan and don't have time to react before you're shoved onto your back, Harry above you. His hands push your thighs to your chest, and his hips piston into your squelching cunt. "Oh!" You gasp and suddenly feel your own orgasm starting to arrive.

"Cum for me, please cum on my dick," He begs and brings one hand to your mouth to pry it open before spitting directly into your mouth. "Swallow," He whispers. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pounds into your pussy like an animal.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," You almost scream and start to shake.

"I'm filling your pussy again," Harry moans and grounds himself into you, basically sitting on you and filling you with all of his fat cock. Your hand instinctually reaches out and pushes at his toned stomach, but the weight of him, and the feeling of him deep inside your body only makes your orgasm so much better.

"So deep," You whisper and squirm.

"Take it, take it," he almost begs as he cums, his own orgasm shooting inside of you and sticking you two together. You're both shaking at the intensity of your orgasms.

Sounds of panting fill the room as you both settle. Harry flops down onto your chest, and you reach around to rub at his back, very well-aware of his half-hard dick still deep inside you.

"You're hard already?" You ask.

"Wanna go again?"

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Lover Boy

Trying something very new with writing from the male character’s perspective! Let me know what y’all think and if you’d like this reimagined from another perspective!

When I saw them together, I saw red. She made a mistake breaking up with me. And she certainly made the wrong decision to let herself get involved with him. I was pissed when I’d heard he’d asked her out and furious to hear that she’d agreed.

He doesn’t deserve her. He can’t treat her right, he can’t take care of her the way she needs. She needs me. She’s mine and it’s time to remind them both of that.

It wasn’t hard to figure out their date night plans. Not at all difficult to follow her car to their dinner reservation (what kind of man lets the woman drive them to a date). Not a challenge to slip into her car while it was parked outside the restaurant (she never asked for her spare key back). Drugging them was easy, a quick syringe to the neck and they were both out cold before they could understand what happened. I put him in the trunk, tied up nice and secure (and very uncomfortably). Her I move to the passenger seat. I buckled her in, kissed her forehead, and made sure her head was resting just right so her neck wouldn’t cramp during our drive. In an hour, we were in a cabin, deep in the woods, with no one else around to hear the noise that tonight’s events would bring.

I moved her into the house first. Gently, lovingly, carefully. I took my time pulling off each article of clothing. She’d worn the red dress I love and it made me fume that she wore it for another man. But there’s time later to let my anger loose. For now, I tied her down to the bed (our bed). Prop her upper body up so she’s comfortable. Used the softest silk ropes I could find because she deserves the best. I stare down at her beautiful form, running my fingers down her body.

“Soon, you’ll understand that you’re mine again,” I promised.

Next is his turn. I dragged him into the house. Dumped him onto a chair, cut off his clothes, and strapped him down. He gets duct tape and zip ties. Positioned him just right so he gets to see all of her splayed out on the bed.

And now, I wait.

-

She woke up first. I knew she was waking up when her eyebrows got the little crease in between them and she scrunched her nose. That’s how she always wakes up. I watch her eyes slowly blink open, watch her try and move to no avail, watch as panic takes over her mind and fear makes her struggle.

“No honey, don’t struggle, I’d hate to see you hurt yourself.”

Her eyes dart to mine and I can tell she’s pissed.

“What the fuck! What the hell is going on? Why the fuck am I tied up and naked?”

She hadn’t noticed him yet. Good, because all her attention should be in me, like always.

I walk to her and sit at the edge of the bed, running my fingers along her face. She jerks her head away from me but I grab her chin and lean in close.

“I’m reminding you who you belong to. And correcting your behavior,” I say to her before slamming my lips against hers. She tastes just the way I remember and she reacts the way she always did, parting her lips and letting me dominate her mouth.

I groan softly against her and I feel her whimper into my mouth. I pull back and I feel a rush of possession when she instinctively tries to follow me. Her eyes are glazed and I can tell I’m getting to her.

I press my forehead against hers. “You are fucking mine. But clearly you forgot that at some point and now it’s my job to remind you. And teach him a lesson too while I’m here.”

I see the confusion on her face and step back so she can get a good eyeful of her date, naked and strapped to the chair.

She gasps, “What the actual fuck? You’re crazy, that’s why I broke up with you!”

I laugh as I step back towards her date. “You love my crazy, don’t try and deny that.”

She shakes her head, pulling harder at her restraints. I grin at her, “I think it’s about time we wake up your lover boy before he misses the show.”

There’s a glass of water on the side table. I snatch it and unceremoniously splash it over her date’s head. He wakes up with a gasp.

“What the fuck?! Who the fuck are you? Untie me, you fucking asshole!” He’s loud as he struggles in his chair.

I take enormous pleasure in sending a sharp backhand across his face. I hear her gasp and shout at me to stop. He continues to yell so I slap him again.

He’s pulling hard against the chair and I’m sure the duct tape hurts but I had that chair reinforced and bolted down in preparation for this.

“Shut the fuck up,” I direct the order to him but I hear her quiet behind me too. Good girl, she’s always been so good at following my orders.

I turn towards her and smile, “Honey, do you want to explain to our guest of honor who I am?”

She stares at me, shock painted across her face. Her head shakes a little and she opens and closes her mouth at a loss for words. I smirk and turn to lover boy.

“I’ll make this simple for you. She’s mine. You infringed upon my property and this is the consequence. Now she got it in her head that she’s better off without me so I’m here to correct that. And you are here because you had the gall to think that you had a chance with her. Tonight is a night of righting wrongs.”

Lover boy starts yelling again, cursing and threatening. I pick up the roll of duct tape and rip off a sizable piece that I slap over his mouth. Right now, it’s his turn to be a spectator and spectators don’t talk.

I turn to her.

“Fuck, I missed you, darling.” I brush my fingers along her cheek and she flinches away from me.

“Now now, don’t embarrass me in front of company,” I chide as my fingers run down her body.

I hear her mewl softly as my fingers meet her core. She’s fucking dripping and I laugh softly into her ear. “You’re mine, aren’t you? No one else can make you so fucking wet like this. No one else can touch you like this and make you feel this good.”

I punctuate the end of my sentence with a sharp pinch of her clit and she cries out, arching into me.

“Fuck, please, ah, right there.” Her voice is breathy and it makes my cock throb. My fingers work her pussy effortlessly, applying just the right amount of pressure against her clit while I slide a finger into her. Her pussy clenches around me and I groan.

“I know for a fact your worthless lover boy could never make you feel this good,” I croon, sparing a derisive look towards him.

His face is red and furious as he makes muffled threats from behind the duct tape across his lips. My fingers don’t let up on her and I can hear her moans and whines over him.

I glance at his lap and I laugh. He’s rock hard. “You fucking piece of shit. Who gave you permission to get hard over my girl huh? You like how she looks like this, tied up and at my mercy? You think you could make her sound like this?”

I slam my fingers into her, the sound of her dripping cunt creating a symphony with her cry of pleasure. His cock bobs between his legs and I watch his hips thrust up almost imperceptibly.

I turn my attention back to her. “You see that, darling? He’s fucking aching for you right now. But he can’t fucking have you.”

I can tell by the way she’s writhing against me that she’s close. “Come on baby girl, I know you’re so close, cum for me. Scream for me so he knows how fucking good I make you feel.”

I slide my lips against her neck and my fingers work faster. Without any warning, I sink my teeth into the sensitive skin of her neck and she wails. Her pussy clenches around my fingers and her hips are trembling but I don’t stop.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that.” I work her through her orgasm until she’s gasping and shaking against me. Only then do I pull my hand away from her pussy. Her body is completely limp, her eyes hooded as she stares at me. I stand up off the bed and turn to see how lover boy is faring.

He’s breathing hard, his eyes filled with a combination of anger and lust. I know he wishes it were him touching her, making her scream. I grin at him and walk over. My fingers are still coated in her juices when I smear them across his face, making sure that he smells her.

He lunges at me ineffectively and I let out a deep laugh. It feels so fucking good to show him his place.

“She smells good huh? Bet you wish you could taste her. But you and I both know you will never be able to.”

“Stop, you made your point!” Her voice pulls me from my gloating. “Please, honey, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, can we just be done with this?”

“Oh no darling girl, we’ve got a lot more ahead of us tonight,” I laugh as I slide back into the bed with her. “You see tonight is the time for me to make sure you understand how serious I am about us. And how completely you belong to me. I need to be sure you are never going to forget that.”

I kiss down her body until I’m face to face with her dripping cunt.

“Oh I missed this,” I purr softly, blowing gently against her pretty pussy. Her hips buck up and she lets out an almost silent whimper.

I don’t wait any longer and dive in, my tongue running up and down her dripping slit. I moan against her cunt, relishing in the taste of her.

I know her body better than she does and it doesn’t take long for me to drive her to the brink of insanity, pulling orgasm after orgasm from her trembling body.

“Please, I can’t, it’s too much!” Her voice is breathless as she trembles against me. I look up at her, taking in the way her tears glisten along her cheeks. This is my favorite image of her, ruined and raw, all because of me.

I smile and press a chaste kiss against her pretty pussy and sit up. “Only because you asked so nicely,” I drawl before capturing her lips in a kiss, letting her taste herself on me.

She moans into my lips and I pull away briefly, “I’m going to untie you so be a good girl for me.”

She nods. I know she’ll be good. My fingers are quick to pull apart the knots and I gently massage her extremities as I release her. I help her sit upright and I catch her staring at lover boy. His body is trembling from how hard he’s pulling at his restraints and his cock hasn’t flagged all night.

I smirk at her. “I want you to ride him.”

Her wide eyes meet mine, “What?!”

“You heard me. You went out with him for a reason, you clearly thought he was fuckable so now’s your chance.”

She’s unmoving on the bed, still in shock while I stand and walk towards him. I grab the piece of tape covering his mouth and rip it off.

“Your turn to shine, lover boy. Do you want to fuck my girl?”

“Fuck off!” His voice is hoarse but I catch the waver in his tone. I smirk, “Don’t lie to me, I know your cock’s been rock hard this whole night. So fuck her and make her cum.”

I turn to her now, “Ride him, darling. Get what you want from him because you’re not going to get another chance after tonight.”

I grab her hand and pull her up off the bed to her feet. Her legs are shaky as I lead her to him. I turn her around so her ass is pressed up against his cock.

He groans and leans his head back against the chair.

“That’s it darling, you feel his cock against your pretty pussy?” I hold her hands to keep her balanced.

“Go ahead, sit your tight cunt onto his cock for me.”

She looks at me, eyes uncertain. I smile and nod.

I watch my girl sink down on his cock. Her back arches and she lets out a small moan that makes me laugh.

“Does that feel good? Does his cock fill you up?”

She whines out a yes as her hips start to gyrate against him. He lets out a guttural groan, “Fuck you’re so tight.”

I laugh, “Ride him, darling. Make yourself feel good.”

She does exactly as she’s told. I watch as she moves herself up and down, the movement making her pretty tits bounce. I sit back against the bed and stroke myself softly, watching my girl fuck herself using her pathetic date.

Moans are spilling out of both of their mouths as she keeps moving her body in just the right ways.

“Does he feel good inside of you, darling?”

She whimpers in response, “Ah fuck, yes!”

“Yeah? You wanna make yourself cum using his cock? Greedy little thing huh, you just came your brains out and you want more?” I taunt her as I stroke myself up and down, watching the scene unfold.

“Yes! Please, I want to cum again!” Her voice is desperate as her body moves faster up and down.

I hear lover boy let out a deep groan and I smirk. “Keep going pretty girl, make yourself cum on him.”

His groans change in pitch. “Fuck no, wait, ah!” My smirk widens when I hear his voice crack and his eyes close. “Fuck wait, I’m cumming!”

I can’t contain the deep, scornful laugh that erupts out of my chest. Pathetic lover boy couldn’t even last long enough to make my girl feel good.

I watch with glee as my girl whimpers softly and slows her movements. Her eyes meet mine and I can see the wanton lust and need written all over her face.

He lets out a pathetic groan and I meet his eyes, seeing the pitiful humiliation on his face.

“You worthless dick, you couldn’t even last long enough to make my girl cum.” My voice is filled with derision.

I stand and beckon to my girl, “Come here.”

She’s quick to obey, pulling off of him swiftly. I pull her body close to mine and slip my fingers down to her dripping pussy. I gather the messy mix of his cum and her wetness onto my fingers and smear them across his chest and face. “Pathetic piece of shit,” I sneer.

“Get on the bed, on your hands and knees and face him, darling.” My girl does exactly as she’s told, arching her back and watching as I circle around to behind her.

I line myself up against her cunt and slam my cock home. She screams.

I don’t give her time to adjust to my cock splitting her open. My movements are harsh and punishing. I’m showing her who she belongs to, proving to him that only I can make her feel this good.

“You’re a worthless, disgraceful piece of shit. Didn’t even last long enough to make my girl cum.”

I bully my cock into her over and over again, hearing her voice shake with pleasure in a way that she definitely didn’t do with him.

I can feel the way her pussy clenches around me rhythmically and I know she’s close. I lean down and whisper to her, “I want you to look at him while you cum all over my cock. Make sure he knows how good I make you feel.”

She’s delirious with pleasure but I know she’ll do as I say. I laugh as I see him struggle against the chair, his face red with humiliation and anger.

“Cum for me, darling. Scream for me.” My thrusts get deeper, harder, faster and her body follows my instructions effortlessly. Her cunt clenches around me and her orgasm rips through her body. I laugh again, feeling her pussy squirt her pleasure, relishing in her rapture.

I fuck her through her orgasm and I feel my own building. But I want one more out of her. I slide a hand down to her clit and begin to mercilessly work her body. She gasps, shaking against me and I don’t give her a chance to recover.

It doesn’t take long before her cunt clenches again and this time, as she wails our her release, I join her.

We collapse onto the bed and I make sure to catch myself so she doesn’t take the brunt of my weight. I run my lips along her ear and I make one final claim, “You’re fucking mine forever.”

She whimpers, “I’m yours.”

I grin and look up at him, taking in his expression of defeat and humiliation. “You never deserved her, lover boy.

[lovebugism]

could you do some drunk Eddie blurbs or oneshots? Thanks! I love your stuff btw

✶ ┄ DRUNK IN LOVE !

summary: "you're drunk, eds" / "yeah, super drunk. and in the morning, when i'm sober, you’ll still be beautiful… i’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you." pairing: best friend!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 3.8k warnings: talks of alcohol, getting drunk, and taking care of a super drunk eddie! barely proofread so pretend any typos are nonexistent <3 a/n: i'm learning it's next impossible for me to write blurbs. i get an idea for one and boom. it's nearly 4k words. thanks for the request, anon! hope you like it xoxo

( MASTERLIST )

Eddie didn’t realize until he was halfway through his fifth beer, that he probably should’ve stopped at his fourth. 

He’d stumbled upon that finicky little fork in the road at the crux both drinks, a line he was toeing all night between blissfully tipsy and borderline obliterated. You can only really maneuver it if you’re smart about it, and in true Munson fashion, Eddie opted for the exact wrong decision.

It wasn’t like he’d ever prided himself on being a man of self-control. He was gluttonous to a fault, green and greedy at times, especially when there was free alcohol involved.

Eddie had been a grumpy little stick in the mud when you and him first got to Steve’s place. He didn’t feel like partying that night or sharing you with people he could barely stand. They were your friends, after all, not his. He only tolerated the bunch of them because you did. He spent the entire drive lamenting about how illegal it was — to be his best friend and have other people in your life you cared about the same way you cared about him. 

“That’s obviously against the rules,” he joked.

You only scoffed in response. “Obviously.”

Undeterred by his complaints, you drug him halfway across Hawkins with you like a storm cloud on a leash.

When you arrived, he found that it wasn’t a party at all. It was just Steve and Robin drinking together on the couch while Nancy and Jonathan stirred around in the kitchen and scolded Argyle for rifling through all the cabinets.

Music spilled lowly from the radio, a platter of snacks were laid out on the coffee table, and everyone smiled at you when you walked in. It wasn’t nearly as loud or as overwhelming as he’d dreaded it might be on the drive over.

Didn’t mean he was any happier about it, though.

“I don’t know about this,” he cautioned in your ear from where he stood behind your shoulder, seeking a familiar refuge in you once all the greetings were done. “We talked to everyone, can’t we just, like… go? I don’t think I’m gonna have a good time here, babe.”

Babe, he calls you, a nickname that’s left half of Hawkins believing the two of you were really dating. You stopped blushing about it some years ago, when the novelty of it wore off and it ultimately replaced your actual name.

You shrugged, grasping for a reason to make him stay. “Steve said he had a keg.”

The big silver thing next to the kitchen island didn’t catch his eye until then. You peered up at him, finding a sudden sparkle in his gaze. His bushy brows bounced and his pink mouth fell soft agape at the sight of it. Something swelled in his heart then, a distant and boyish happiness. 

“…I’m gonna try.”

He was pretty much a goner after that.

The beer was pretty stellar, but more than anything, the keg kept it cold. Eddie could barely drag himself away from the damn thing — the red solo cup hadn’t left his right hand all night. And when Steve let him handle the music, that was even better… Well, technically, he let you handle the music, but you sifted through his tapes and picked only what you knew Eddie would like — just like you always did.

Any other time, Eddie might’ve asked what the hell King Steve was doing with so many KISS cassettes, but he was already too drunk to think logically about anything by the time “Detroit Rock City” started playing. He stopped caring and let all the beer and music coursing through his system do all the work for him.

And while stumbling for his sixth refill with Robin, he concludes that he is, in fact, completely and utterly and unabashedly drunk. He’s still sober yet, enough to make such an admission to himself, but too far gone now to stop drinking.

He crouches slightly to bring the nozzle to the rim of his cup without much resistance. His tongue pokes through his tingling lips as he pours all of his concentration into aiming the beer into his plastic chalice and not completely toppling over onto the kitchen floor below him.

That’s when he spots you and Steve sitting on the couch, a little too close for his liking.

The brunette boy has his arms sprawled over the back of the sofa like he owns the place (Eddie’s too drink to remember he does, in fact, own the place) and your legs are delicately crossed and turned towards him, too enraptured in whatever conversation you were having to notice that your best friend had run off (you’d been trying to look after him all night, it wasn’t your fault he kept dodging you).

And it wasn’t his place to be jealous, he knew that. You didn’t belong to him. You could do whatever the hell you wanted to.

If he wasn’t so sloshed, he might’ve been able to recall that you don’t have a thing for Steve — that you’ve never had a thing for Steve, because you’ve spent your entire life in love with your best friend.

But you were too chicken shit to tell Eddie and Eddie was too oblivious to see any of it and it left the both of you in a permanent limbo of unsaid feelings.

So much so, that he once encouraged you to conquer the feat of King Steve one night, many moons ago. He thought he’d noticed the two of you being overtly touchy in the back of a dimly lit club.

Eddie was sober enough then to make fun of it all while still feeling every ounce of his misplaced jealousy as he playfully promised you that “you had his blessing to screw Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

You should’ve known you were screwed when you told him that you didn’t want to screw Steve because “you had your eyes on someone else,” and he completely missed the brave, longing look you shot his way.

Eddie spent the rest of the night pestering you endlessly about your crush, while you just sat there, red hot and embarrassed about the whole thing.

Now he’s the one feeling like a fool, watching his best friend make nice with the dowager king of Hawkins.

Being without you makes the distance feel somehow wider from where stands across the too big house, feeling like a stray puppy everyone adores but never actually choses.

Robin taps him on the shoulder to bring him from his stupor before he can waste the foaming beer rapidly filling his cup, though there was no stopping the drunken war path he goes on after.

You and Steve giggle to yourselves as you watch Nancy twirl drunkenly to the tune of the Joan Jett, louder when Jonathan fights to keep her from stumbling over herself. The boy leans over to you, whispering a joke only you can hear, and smiling when it makes you laugh.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie scolds when he stumbles up to the couch. “What’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over here, huh?”

The two of you blink up at the boy, surprised by his sudden visit and how much drunker he’d gotten since you spoke to him last.

He’s all flushed out, cheeks glowing red with the alcohol in his system, and slurring something fierce — the kind of drawled out garbles that only sound clear to the one that’s speaking.

“We were talking about you, Eds,” you smile without missing a beat. “Been missin’ you over here.”

Steve nods with a dumb, tight-lipped grin. “Yeah. You’ve been making friends with that keg instead of the rest of us, man—”

“Yeah, right,” the boy scoffs out a laugh with a bitter nod. He less than gracefully squeezes between your legs and the coffee table. “Scooch over, Harrington. Make some room. ’S too damn cuddly over here.”

With no choice but to comply, the two of you part.

“Scooch?” you hear Steve mutter under his breath with a faint laugh that has you giggling too. Eddie’s not drunk enough to miss the glance that both of you share, seemingly having some sort of silent conversation that’s left him, yet again, out of the loop.

He’s got a full on pout on his numbing face when he settles between you and Steve, losing his balance briefly before landing in a clumsy pile between the both of you. The beer in his freshly filled up cup sloshes over the rim and splashes into your lap. The alcohol stains the belly of your t-shirt, leaving it cold and clinging to your skin.

And it’s not as dramatic as the movies make it seem, where a guy spills a drink on a girl and something terribly melodramatic ensues. You weren’t trying to impress anybody, least of all with your outfit — hell, you’d probably stolen it from Eddie himself a lifetime or more ago. You don’t get angry or rush out of the room for a good cry.

Actually, you smile sweetly at him, with the realization that it was time for you and your way-too-drunk-to-function best friend to head home.

Eddie gets all sad about it anyway, though, because to him it really does feel all that dramatic. His face screws up like he’s just done something irreversible. His umber eyes glimmer at you with a particular sadness only a drunk person could possess. 

“Shit, babe… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, Eds—”

“No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry,” he slurs with the sloppy shake of his head. “Please don’t be mad at me, babe. I didn’t mean to.”

“No one’s mad at you, Eddie,” you affirm with a soft laugh, dabbing at the wet spot of your shirt with the bunch of napkins Jonathan (the only other half-sober person aside from you and Steve) haphazardly hands to you.

“I can give you another shirt, if you want,” Steve offers, already standing to retrieve it for you. “Might be too big but it’s—”

Eddie’s head snaps away from you and to the brunette boy. A cartoon-like anger coats his buzzing features. “Like hell you will, Harrington,” he tries to threaten, though the words come out half-jumbled together. “Won’t have my girl wearin’ your shit, Steven—”

You burn red hot at the new nickname, equal parts embarrassed and delighted as you stand from your position on the sofa. Suddenly eager to escape the situation, you reach for Eddie’s hand. “Alright, Eds. Let’s go.”

He accepts your touch without question, rising on swaying feet and forcing you to keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

He’s already forgotten what he just said. He has no idea that your heart’s just done a billion backflips for him. He focuses, instead, on the thought of a new adventure with you. “Ooh. Where we goin’ now?”

“I’m taking you back to the trailer, okay?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, suddenly displeased again. “Yeah, whatever… You wanna spend more time with King Steve, I see what you’re doin’—”

“I’m coming with you, Eds,” you laugh.

It’s like the switch flipped and he’s grinning all sloppy and stupid at you again. He tosses the smug look to the boy standing at his other side. “Suck it, Stevie—”

“Eddie!” you scold.

“You guys can just take the spare bedroom,” Steve offers despite Eddie’s teasing. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

“Oh, how fucking chivalrous,” your best friend grumbles under his breath.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” you press with brows furrowed in concern. “I don’t want to, you know, intrude or whatever. I’m good to drive—”

“No, it’s fine. Really. He should probably lie down anyway.”

“Yeah… Okay.”

“You know where it is, right?” he asks you and you nod

Eddie takes great offense to your affirmative answer.

“Wait, why do you know where it is?” he pouts down at you, figuring there’s something dirty hidden in the fact you’ve slept in your friend’s guest bedroom before. You shake your head and opt not to answer as you help him towards the stairs. “Why do you know where it is?”

“—Go upstairs, okay?” you shout over him, trying your best to stay patient. “I’ll check on you in a second.”

He lingers on the first stair and juts out his lip. His pointer fingers trails the intricate carvings in the wood of the banister while his glassy puppy dog eyes glimmer down at you. “…Promise?”

“Yes, Eddie. I promise.”

With that, he makes careful work climbing the stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life as he goes. You watch attentively, prepared to rush to him if he stumbles, and able to breathe out a sigh of relief when he makes it to the top step. 

You turn away from the hallway of the staircase and back to your friends, who — save for Steve and maybe Jonathan — haven’t yet bothered to acknowledge the situation.

Robin is rifling through Steve’s cabinets for food, Argyle’s at the keg pouring beer into his mouth straight from the nozzle, and Nancy hasn’t stopped dancing the entire time. You’re not even sure if she knows the song.

“I didn’t know you guys were dating,” Stevie remarks with a smile. “No wonder he was being so… like that.”

You shake your head and duck your gaze. “We’re not. Dating, I mean— he’s just, like, super drunk.”

“…Really?”

“Really,” you breathe out a laugh at the way your admission make this face twist in confusion.

“I’ve just— I’ve never heard a drunk person talk that way about someone they didn’t, you know… like.”

A part of you so desperately wants that to be true.

Eddie’s never been particularly shy about calling you babe or sweetheart or honey in front of people — sometimes he did it just to throw them off. But something about him getting jealous over a guy you’ve never liked, calling you his girl to bat the believed ‘affections’ away, has a foreign feeling swirling in your belly.

You force yourself to swallow your hopes down.

“Well, you’ve never met drunk Eddie,” you tell him with a shrug. “The freak’ll say just about anything.”

You make your way up to the guest bedroom and find Eddie slouched at the top step. He looks terribly sad, pouting with his elbows propped up on his knees and his hands on his chin. But he lights up like a christmas tree all over again at the sight of you.

“What are you doing, Eddie? You were supposed to be laying down,” you scold softly.

“I missed you,” he whines, gazing up at you with twinkling, red-rimmed eyes. “And I got lost… And then I forgot how to walk.”

You try your best to keep a straight face as you help him up again, trying to ignore the way your heart thrums like a hummingbird when he leans completely into your side. 

You walk the staggering boy the short distance to Steve’s guest bedroom.

It’s as extravagant as the rest of the house, complete with large windows and expensive furniture and a thousand throw pillows on the freshly made bed. The entire room practically sparkles, there’s not a single crease in the bedsheets; it probably hasn’t been touched since the last time one of you spent the night there.

Eddie flops onto the bed when you urge him to sit down. He makes himself comfortable with ease, legs still hanging over the side as he throws his arms out, melting easily into the newly laundered blankets.

You navigate through the darkness, illuminated only by a subtle moonlight, to the seating area across the room. The newly granted privacy of the guest bedroom allows you to strip off your damp shirt. The wet spot sticks to your skin when you peel it off of you. The feeling makes you grimace. 

You don’t think twice about being in your bra in front of Eddie — he’s not even looking at you now — and besides, he’s seen you in less. You’ve been friends for far too long to care. Being naked in front of each other stops meaning so much after accidentally catching each other changing a half a billion times.

Leaving your shirt in a crumpled pile on the arm of the couch, you make the silent decision to sleep there for the night. Many a bed has been shared between you and Eddie, but he’s going to need all the comfort he can get tonight — the hangover he’ll have tomorrow will feel like hell, no doubt.

You look across the dark room at Eddie and find he hasn’t moved an inch. “Take off your clothes, Eds. You’re not gonna be comfortable sleeping in jeans.”

“Mm,” he groans in the darkness, as though in protest, already half-asleep.

“You’re already gonna feel like shit in the morning, especially if you’re sleeping like that,” you advise with a soft laugh. “Come on, Eds. At least take off your shoes.”

“…Don’t know how,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes at him, even though he can’t see you, even though you do it all for him anyway. It was second nature to you, taking care of Eddie, and you do it with an ease that makes his drunken little heart swell. 

You start with his shoes, not having to untie them because they’re so loose on his feet. His jeans come next, a far bigger struggle because you do it with little help from the boy in the bed. His belt is strangely tricky and he claims his body feels too heavy to lift his hips for you.

But what he lacks in assistance, he makes up for in cheeky one-liners — “At least, take me out to dinner first, babe” and “If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you coulda just said" to name a few.

Once he’s clad in nothing but his Hellfire t-shirt, R2D2 patterned underwear, and hand-me-down socks that barely fit him, you maneuver him so he’s lying properly in bed.

You toss away all the pillows that are more for decoration than anything else, pull the covers down and over his body, and Eddie doesn’t do a single damn thing but watch. 

He couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to because his heart is so far in his throat he can’t breathe. 

You’re so unfamiliarly soft with him — sweet in your way than anyone will ever be to him in his lifetime, than anyone will ever be to anyone else.

The love you bathe him in half-sobers him and tosses him into a spiral of self-hatred. Why did it take getting drunk at Steve’s place to realize he’s been so head over heels for you he hasn’t stood up straight in years?

Drunken words sit impatiently on his tongue. He lacks the self-control to keep the hidden.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles tiredly.

Your hands almost immediately still where they bunch the covers up at his chest. Your eyes dart to his face and it takes everything in you not to duck away all over again, when you see the way he’s looking at you. 

Eddie looks so soft, basked in a soft moonlight streaming in through parted sheer curtains.

His brown eyes twinkle with stars of their own. He gazes up at you like you put them there.

He doesn’t miss the shock that coats your features. Your eyes widen in surprise of his words at first, before your brows furrow and you shake your head to yourself in denial — like you’re not deserving of them. Like you’re not standing over him in your baggy jeans and five-year-old cotton bra after he spilt his beer all over you, taking care of him because he’s too drunk to take care of himself, doting on him like it’s second nature to you.

As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s never been a sight more beautiful than this one.

“Stop,” you manage a laugh, still swallowing down that glimmer of hope that lingers on the back of your tongue. “You’re drunk, Eds.”

“Yeah. Super drunk,” he nods unabashedly. A distant smile hints at the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you like he’s trying to commit your features to memory — the angle of your nose, the shape of your jaw, the softness of your lips, and the way you’re looking down at him like you’re wondering if he’s real or not. “And in the morning, when I’m sober, you’ll still be beautiful… I’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you.”

You never thought Eddie would say something like this — not something so profound it makes your heart stop and especially not to you. You always dreamed that he might. And you had nightmares that it wouldn’t. That he would utter them to someone who wasn’t you.

But here he is now, loving on you and calling you pretty and hating himself for not being able to tell you that, and you don’t know what to do.

“…Okay,” is all you can say in response, nodding your head like an idiot. You force yourself to move on quickly, focusing instead on tucking him further into the unfamiliar bed.

It’s easier than concentrating on your racing heart that ticks like a time bomb seconds away from going off.

“Thanks for taking care of me, babe,” he murmurs quietly, blinking slow and heavy up at you. “I’m sorry… I know I don’t deserve it—”

“I’ll take care of you forever, Eds. You know that,” you interject without thinking. “And you don’t ever have to apologize to me.”

Eddie lets your words settle over him like the cozy blanket you cover him with. They bathe him like warm water, prickle his skin like they’re cleansing him.

The intent behind them means more than he could ever comprehend, half-drunk or sober still.

He rises abruptly, disrupting the cocoon you’d just tucked him into, as he works with disoriented hands to peel off his shirt. “What are you doing, Eds?” he hears you laugh when his head and arms get caught in the fabric.

You help him out of it anyway, tugging the cotton over him and gaping at him when he hands the bunched up t-shirt over to you.

“Here,” he offers like you’re supposed to know what to do with it.

“…What?”

“Want you to wear it… And to go downstairs so Steve will see you in it.”

You roll your eyes though a smile plasters itself on your mouth. You slip the thing over your head and pretend it's just to appease him. It isn’t the first time you’ve worn something of his, but this time feels so much different. 

“Better?” you tease.

Eddie nods with a childlike happiness.

You’ve always been his, in your own special way, but wearing his shirt? It’s like you’re waving a big, brightly-colored flag — a lit up I’m with stupid sign with a flashing arrow pointed right at him. It makes him grin like an idiot.

“Now, go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re so hungover you wanna die,” you joke, still perched at his bedside.

Before you rise, you lean over and press a quick peck to the tip of his warm nose. 

You want to do more than that, so much more than that, but you know that he’s still half-drunk — and that he might not mean a single word of this come sunrise.

You’ll revel in this softness now, either way it goes.

“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful too.”

[fastcardotmp3]

been thinking a lot lately about how I'm not convinced Nancy would stay in journalism long term because of the utter frustration she would feel at reporting on things she couldn't get actively involved in or the all-around constrictions of the sort of red tape you run into working at a newspaper or a network or anything and THAT has me thinking about what one (of many) careers she might transition to when she gets fed up with it.

hear me out. Nancy Wheeler the private investigator who gets to use all of those investigative reporting skills, who has a bit more wiggle room to bend the rules, who doesn't have to answer to some higher power for the things she says or does, and who can maybe actually help people in a hands on way.

She can find the people who go missing instead of just reporting when their bodies turn up. She can help people stuck in abusive homes escape their abusers. She can help people who were betrayed by business partners or friends or family get money they need to survive back.

She can find people. She can save them. Before it's too late.

Nancy Wheeler, who lies to cops with a smile and asks forgiveness not permission taking a mystery and running with it? Working just enough outside of the law so people don't have to deal with the police if they come to her instead; working to understand what it looks like when the person she's looking for needs protecting from her client instead of being handed over no questions asked?

Not every case has to end like Barb's. Not everyone left standing has to grieve like Nancy. She can change these people's histories before they become tragedies.

Nancy Wheeler will always be a storyteller, she'll never stop putting pen to paper, but maybe journalism was just not the arena for her to do that in. Maybe it's two different things, the stories she tells and the people she helps.

Maybe she gets to do both if she just finds the right avenues.

[cannibalhellhound]

Wings AU character bits

Hi this is me trying to get a grip on writing again and getting the characters while also adding the wing bits.

Ice Harpy Eagle

Likes having long nails (harpy eagles have fuckin huge talons), keeps them shaped and neatly painted if he's in the mood when on leave

Likes to keep his nest cool and clean (comfy but practical)

Tall nesting! He always claims the top bunk! 

His childhood bedroom had one of those tall beds with a desk under them because he kept piling stuff up to sleep atop of them and it could fit multiple people 

Sad because Navy bunk beds are small :(

Strong as fuck (he's smaller than Sli but can bench press almost as much) (harpy eagles grab animals as big as them like sloths and carry them) (can carry others while flying if needed just not for lengthy flights)

Very keen eyesight so sunglasses for light sensitivity (maybe reading glasses for near sight focus? I like him with glasses)

Very good hearing (don't shit talk near him he'll definitely hear it)

Hair moves very slightly, similar to feathers (kinda like their facial disk and feather crest) 

*Baby feathers are almost all white with some light gray. They molt usually once a year (sometimes twice) and it takes 5 years to get the adult coloring 

Ice's stayed in a middle coloring and he got insecure. His mom suggested matching his hair and that's how the frosted tips came to exist :D

He's a provider by nature but his little sisters have made him very nurturing and affectionate too (Slider knows this firsthand and thinks it's hilarious how fussy Ice can get)(the others learn with time but first baby goose)

Leaves feathers around the house (perfectly placed thank you very much)

Slider Bearded Vulture

Lämmergeier means “Lamb vulture” (wrong because they don't prey on sheep but shhhhh).  Slider calls Maverick “Little lamb” as a joke because he loves annoying him and wants to eat him up

CAN ACTUALLY EAT BONES!!! (Bone soup is a thing!) Will chew on them till it's painful to watch and will take anyone's bones off their plates to pick the marrow off them

The bone dropping shows a lot in him just throwing stuff. He does it. A LOT.

He also likes to have a tennis ball around to fidget dropping it and catching it when it bounces

Has an actual nest bed. The mattress is on the harder side but it has a shit ton of blankets and pillows (to the point you can't feel the mattress)

There are old feathers around the nest tucked in between pillows (don't tell Ice!!) ⁠(⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠)

Very involved into the life of the ones he loves (helpful, affectionate, etc) (this includes parenting looks at baby goose)

His feathers only dye red when visiting his family or on vacation with family because they frequent iron rich waters (his mom loves her red feathers and looking at her baby look like her makes her teary eyed)

Maverick Peregrine Falcon

Very lightweight!!!

He's beauty, he's grace, he'll dive down and kick you in the face (literally, peregrine falcons kill prey by punching them with their closed talons when dividing)

Very keen reflexes (both at ground and on air), will grab anything you throw at him even if distracted

Very! Good! At courting!!!! (Looking at the beginning bar scene)

Small but comfy nest. Very soft and also bunk bed! is perfect

Has a favorite blanket that he will ALWAYS take everywhere, even on deployment 

Cracking his head fuckin open more than once as a kid because he's a menace and small and tried to dive from places he climbed (not his best idea)

crying because he's so small he can't carry goose after the accident and can just grab at him until they get rescued

Now this would be for trans! Mav

To everyone's surprise Mav is as big as he can get (Female birds of prey are bigger than males= bigger wingspan, human height is genetic so for avians is a bit mixed)

Wings don't allow binding (for obvious reasons) but kinesiology tape exists! 

He already used KTape before joining the navy and top surgery so he's used to just strutting around shirtless (we stan a short confident king! It's honestly so freeing to tape and be shirtless I might just leave him pre surgery for next fanart pieces)

Goose Emden Goose

Literally a Mother Goose™

Has learned to deal with Maverick and not only does he not get surprised by his antics, he can predict them and is already prepared for them (aka get ready to scoop tiny ass Mav if he gets in trouble or hurts himself)

The good part is that it has made him baby proof. He can deal with a child he's been dealing with Mav!

Terrified. Absolutely terrified. Because his beautiful baby gosling is as much a little shit as his wife and best friend. If his wings weren't already white they'd for sure be by now ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

I need to think more about Mav and Goose but that involves looking for Peregrine Falcon and Geese facts

Edit to take out the divider because I don't like it

[vanessagillings]

I love your art so much!!! I've also been starting to paint with gouache, and I'd love to know a little more about your process! What kind of paints do you use, do you sketch first or start with paint, do you paint in layers over several day or all at once?

Hi and thank you! I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly and apologies for length, but:

MY ART PROCESS!

Supplies: I use winsor and newton gouache and arches cold press paper blocks, usually 140 lbs (the lime green ones) and sometimes 300 lbs (the teal green ones). Even though this paper comes pre-stretched in blocks, I actually take the sheets off and stretch them myself because I've found arches' glue isn't as strong as it used to be. This is how you get watercolor paper to lay flat! I recommend youtubing some videos on how to do it -- there's a lot of great tutorials out there. Also, I use princeton brushes, and kraft paper tape and these boards to stretch my paper. (these aren't affiliate links, I just shop at blick)

A word about art supplies: these are the exact tools I use but everyone uses supplies differently and two people with the exact same supplies might get different results! A lot of it is about what works for you and what you like, so I always suggest that gouache/watercolor beginners just buy a few tubes from a couple of different paint companies and some small pieces of paper from different manufacturers to see what you like. Just changing one ingredient in the above has created massively different results for me, but maybe that'll end up being something you'd like! The first step in learning a new medium imo is to play. Just have fun!

ALSO: gouache isn't super light permanent, check your tubes for which ones hold up to sunlight. Here is winsor and newton's color chart explaining which ones will fade when exposed to sunlight -- all manufacturers will give you this. I only use the colors rated A and AA, and I still frame my pieces with UV glass just to be safe. Not all gouache is re-wettable, but winsor and newton is. I just put it in my palettes and refill my palettes if it runs low. AND SOME PAINT IS TOXIC. A lot of paints have cadmium and cobalt in them. I don't use any of the toxic colors, but if you do, make sure you don't eat while working and wash your hands thoroughly afterwards. This information is also usually available on manufacturer's websites. As more people are rejecting cadmium paint, you'll see more tubes labeled things like cadmium-free yellow. This is why. More artists should be aware that their tools can be dangerous. You don't need that many tubes of paint to begin, just a warm and cool red, warm and cool yellow, warm and cool blue, white and black. I have around 50 colors and use 20 regularly. I always mix all my colors myself, and never use straight tube paint. Most of my colors have about 5-6 different tube colors mixed together. If you use re-wettable paint a tube of paint will last you years; even as a professional I only buy new paints every 5 years or so.

Process: I ALWAYS start with a sketch first. Not everyone has to, but because I do illustration work -- where sometimes a client gets input on a drawing -- I always do a lot of preliminary work before I even begin to paint. At this point, even my personal work usually involves the exact same process:

I start with a 3" or so thumbnail that I scan (left; I traced it quickly digtally for clarity to myself here) and then either clean up digitally or print out and clean up traditionally with tracing paper (right):

Then I scan the cleaned sketch in and color rough it digitally (left, this was for a gallery show, so no one had to approve my color roughs, so it's messy!) then I transfer my sketch to my paper (with either carbon transfer paper or a light table), stretch my paper, and paint (right):

I obviously changed my mind about the color of the ribbon in the trees, ha, and made everything a lot more vibrant. The benefit again of gallery work is no pre-approval!

You are correct, I paint in a series of washes, going from lightest to darkest, where I apply the same color beneath all shapes that are the same warmth (cools under all upcoming cools, warms under all upcoming warms). I paint a piece usually in one or two days, depending on complexity. I didn't take pictures of the above painting, but here's a different painting to show you a little bit what I mean:

I painted the peach color under everything (and twice for skin tones), and the gray color of the sky under everything that would be grayish (the rocks, trees, her pants, her skirt, and coat). I do this to stop me from getting darker lines where two different colors butt up against each other, and also for color harmony. I have step by step photos of this in my process stories highlight on my instagram; also check my FAQ and tip highlights for more info on all this stuff. Most pieces take around 25-30 washes before I start adding in the details (sometimes I add in face details early though because if I mess those up it's not worth finishing the rest of the painting! 😅)

All this might seem like a lot of work (...it is) but I do it so that I can show clients previews of the final piece and so I don't have to repaint the finals. I also used to pre-test all of my washes on scrap paper like this:

I still recommend doing this if you're just beginning! But at this point I only do it when testing techniques because I know my paints really well. (the above was my test for the pine boughs in this piece)

Painting by far is the longest part of the process, so I do more work up front to not have to do it twice. Every piece takes about 6-24 hrs of actual work time to produce. Stretching watercolor paper takes about 24 hrs to dry, and because I sell most of my originals in galleries, they need to be flawless, so planning ahead is useful and in the end saves me time.

And to conclude this novel of an explanation, don't be overwhelmed by all the information I've given you! I put it here so that people at various stages of their artistic journey can maybe find something useful in it. But seriously, the first step to learning how to paint whether it's traditionally or digitally is just to have fun. Try it out, see what's working and what isn't, and then try to solve specific issues that you're struggling with. I've been doing this for a loooooong time at this point, but here's my first watercolor piece from when I was re-teaching myself how to paint traditionally nine years ago:

Obviously, I was destined for greatness. Ha, yeah, no. If you scroll back through my tumblr archive, you can see me learning how to use these paints in real time. And keep in mind that I'd been working digitally for years before then, and years before that where I didn't post my work online at all.

So for anyone who needs to hear it: there's no such thing as talent, just hard work, patience, and trying again and again and again...and sometimes again. What I do is a skill and anyone can learn it. Sometimes, progress is slow. I'm 38. I only really feel like my art was half-way decent starting a few years ago, but I've been making art my entire life, and I went to art school at 18. 20 years later I'm kind of figuring it out.

The best advice I can give, whether it's about art or not, is find the thing you love so much that you'll keep at it even when you suck at it, because most skills you'll suck at to begin with -- and perhaps for a long time. I sucked at art for yeeeaaaaarrrrs. On top of the usual learning curve, I struggled with fine motor control and dexterity. But I loved it so much I kept trying every time I failed. If I can do it, so can all of you, no matter what stage of art you're at now, and no matter how old you are.

Anyway, thank you to those still reading this deep in. I wish you all the best on your artistic journey. Art can kick your butt sometimes, but it's also pretty dang rewarding 💛

[vlly-of-despair]

Ok but like, we need to talk about Alice and the ‘victim’… (spoilers for TMP)

I’ve been kicking around the theory for a little bit in my head now that the Magnus Institute program for gifted children is meant to find children who have an aptitude to act as conduits for the Fears via meditation practices that can transport their consciousness to the ‘Somewhere Else’, aka the layer of reality in which the Fears resign.

I made a past post about this, but for a summery: In the Magnus Archives, the Fears are described as gods from another realm, not necessarily from another universe, but rather in a different layer of reality we usually can’t see or comprehend, but can bleed into our world in the small weirdness of the statements we see throughout the narrative, and humans being able to harness gifts derived from the warped reality of these beings via becoming an Avatar. In the Magnus Protocol, people may channel the powers that may be from the layer of reality through becoming an ‘External’ or by an object, or environment. They categorize cases regarding the Somewhere Else as subjects being viabilities as subjects, agents, or catalysts (see ep 9 as an example of this cataloged on record).

Now, I personally believe whatever the Magnus Institute was cultivating, they wanted to specifically target areas of greater knowledge.

In TMA 127, John describes to Basira the ability to see into the minds of others as:

It’s like there’s a, a door, in my mind. A-a-and behind it is, is the entire ocean.

Before, I didn’t notice it, but now, I – I know it’s there, and I can’t forget it, and I can feel the pressure of the water on it… when I’m around p-people, or.. places, or.. ideas? A drop or two will push through the cracks at the edges of the door. And I’ll… know something.

Now both Sam and Gerard both applied to the Magnus Institute program, but were not accepted. When we saw the ARG Mag Testing sheets from past children’s names, as well as the criteria they ranked the children on, many being less so on their intelligence, but on their empathy, obedience, and conformity. So my best guess is that they find the most obedient children of high intelligence, those who may be able to harbor great ‘knowing’ and ‘seeing’ about the intellectual comprehension of most people, and that are apathetic enough to endure the possible… casualties tapping into the Eldritch horrors may call upon. Then they train them to become figures similar to the Archivist, but to the degree in which they can ‘open the door in their minds’ completely. This didn’t go so well… like at all… taken by the fact that the ‘protocol’ was enacted and the whole institute burned to the ground. Did they open a rift to this dangerous world? Is the OIAR fighting against those who try to push too much of these Outer Gods into our material world? To ‘see’ too much?

Curiously, there is a child in the ARG spreadsheet listing the children involved with the ‘gifted kids program’ with the name Connor Dyer, the same lat name as Alice. Many people, including myself, think this IS Alice and her deadname, prior to transitioning.

So, Alice was involved with the program, and her denial of the fact and urging Sam to stop researching the institute raises some big red flags. Where am I going with this? Well, if we go back to MAGP 15: WELL RUN, we see the victim that approached Gwen being compelled to spill out her fear as she is ‘drowning’ on land, trying to grab Alice as she whispers about seeing an endless, dark sea. Alice’s reaction is sooo interesting to me. At first it seems normal, she sees a dying frantic woman, reacts in panic and calls the ambulance. However, once she sees the tape recorder, she becomes utterly terrified. She says, “ I’m sorry, I can’t-.” And runs.

Alice, what about the tape recorder specifically triggered you so much? Is it because perhaps you remember this scene? Using a tape recorder, as a child in the Magnus Institute program, to document your decent into that same vast ocean beyond our world? Is if because if suddenly clicked what this is, what has happened to this woman, that she was compelled? That her thoughts were spoken with far more clarity after death because her corpse is being puppeteer by a power which unlocks the minds and fears of others beyond their mind alone? Why are you working at the OIAR? And why did you invite perhaps the only other person you know who could have the abilities the Magnus Institute searched for in youth?…

[callsign-venus]

Put a Bow on It | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You find out that Bradley's present-wrapping skills are... less than stellar, so it's up to you to save Christmas.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: fluff, a few very light sexual references, incompetence of a grown man, fluffy fluff fluff

a/n: Thank you for the love on my previous posts — I’m really thankful to everyone who reads my silly little stories. Hope y’all enjoy this one, Merry Christmas!

“You can’t look at me like that,” Bradley says.

“Like what?” You ask, though you know exactly what he means.

It’s not that you mean to look at him with such pity, but who can blame you?

You weren’t exactly sure how he got himself into such a mess when you were only in the kitchen making coffees. Wedged between a stack of boxed Barbies and no less than 12 rolls of wrapping paper scattered across your living room floor, Bradley looks less competent aviator and more like an unsupervised 5th grader. Tattered strips of Santa wrapping paper curl around him, scraps of tape line both of his exposed thighs, and he’s so flustered he hasn’t even removed the bright red bow you tied around his head earlier. You both look down at the lumpy present sitting on the rug in front of him. For all his efforts, it wasn’t a spectacular result. 

“You did great.” You have to hide your face with a drawn-out sip of coffee because you know if he catches a glimpse of your expression, he will call you out for your bald-faced lie.

He can tell anyway. “I’m not sure lying is the best way to get on the nice list.”

You do feel bad. It was your idea to get involved in the neighborhood toy drive, and despite his protests, you pleaded for Bradley to help.

“It will be fun,” you said before kissing his pouty lips. “I’ll make us coffees and you can light a fire and it’ll be so festive.”

“I’m sure it will be,” he cupped your face with his hands, “but I’m not lying when I say I can’t wrap a present to save my life.”

“You’ll do great.” You gave him another quick kiss and considered the matter over.

So, he didn’t do great. Could you really blame him? He tried to let you know beforehand, and it’s not like his military career was spent doing arts and crafts. You take another sip of your coffee before setting both mugs down and padding over to sit on the floor next to him.

“Am I off the wrapping duties?” He gives you a lopsided smile and slides his hand around your waist.

“You wish.” You reach over his lap and undo his wrapping job. “Get ready to learn a thing or two.”

He laughs when you use his own words against him, as you have throughout your entire relationship.

When you two weren’t yet dating – but still very much infatuated with each other – Bradley used pool as an excuse to get close to you, though no excuses were needed. You were putty in his hands already.

“Get ready to learn a thing or two,” he’d murmured in your ear. It was a Friday evening and The Hard Deck was packed, so he had to get close — mustache-ticking-your-ear close — so you could hear him over the rowdy crowd of sailors. And he was teaching you how to make a combination shot, so he had to wrap his arms around you so he could guide you through the motions. And you were a receptive student, so you had to lean against him so he could feel the curve of your ass — just so he knew his technique was working.

Now, nearly a year later on the rug of your living room, you slide up behind Bradley like he did that Friday night, your fingers gliding down his thick biceps towards his hands. They’re huge under yours, earning a laugh from both of you.

“Sweet girl, I’m not sure this is gonna work,” he says as you rest your chin on his shoulder. The curled ribbon from the bow in his hair tickles your check.

“Well, I know how to play pool thanks to this little trick. I’m sure I can use it to teach you how to wrap a present.”

You guide one of his hands toward the pair of scissors and another towards the pile of wrapping paper.

“Since I’m a great teacher, I’ll even let you pick which paper to use,” you say.

He lingers over the rolls for a moment, ultimately choosing a cranberry red paper with prints of cars carrying snow-dusted Christmas trees.

“Ok, now let’s roll it out. Look at me, Bradley.”

He pulls back a little so you can make complete eye contact. Even after months of dating, his warm brown eyes undo something in you, leaving you feeling like you’re brushing shoulders with the clouds. How did you ever get so lucky?

“It’s very important to measure the paper before cutting,” your voice softens as you drop the strict teacher act. “Put the Barbie at the edge of the wrapping paper, then you kinda fold up the other edge and see if it’s long enough.”

He takes a moment to soak you in before he can bring his attention back to the present. Up close, he can fully appreciate the graceful curve of your lips, the exact shade of your eyes. In the weepy, late morning sunlight, you are radiant.

The fire crackles in the background. The only other sound is your synchronous breathing.

You lean in slightly. “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but I promised Cathy that we’d deliver the presents by 2, so you need to get moving.”

“You should boss me around more often.” He stares at you for a second longer before turning his attention back to the present.

You’re glad he turns around so he can’t witness the violent shade of red your face flushes — nearly as red as the wrapping paper.

Once the paper’s measured, you show him how to cut it with one swooshing glide of the scissors.

“It’s like I’m a professional,” he says.

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself.” You squeeze his hands gently. “We’ve still got to tape this sucker up.”

He groans as you peel the scraps of tape off his thigh.

“How did you even do this to yourself?” You collect all the tape into one big wad. “You’re a grown man”

He shrugs. “I guess my mom was gone before she could teach me.”

At the mention of his mom, your heart melts. What you wouldn’t give to have her here for him, to walk him through this process he should have learned years ago. To spend another Christmas with her boy. You run your fingers through his sun-lightened locks. One night when you two first started dating, you sat on your porch alone. Under soft-falling moonlight, you promised Carole that you’d be there for her son; promised her that she and Goose could count on you to make sure he’d always be ok.

Something in Bradley’s face makes you think you were doing just fine on your promise. You can’t help the heat that rises to your checks when you catch him staring at you.

Then, with a mischievous smile, he swipes the tape wad from you, aims it, and launches it right at your face.

You try to get mad, to lecture him about the children who will be let down on Christmas morning without their Barbie doll, but the grin on his lips washes away any amount of anger you could dredge up. He wags his eyebrows and you can’t contain your laughter as it spills out of you and fills up the living room.

“You can’t be trusted with this dangerous weapon.” You grab the tape dispenser and wipe a tear from your eye. “I’ll rip the tape for you so you can just focus on folding.”

He kisses the crown of your head. “I’m actually trusted with dangerous weapons daily at work.”

You roll your eyes, but to his credit, Bradley is willing to learn. You gently guide him through the folds, but he picks it up pretty quick given that he doesn’t have to juggle the wrapping paper and the tape.

“That’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.” He holds up the present, admiring the sharp folds and the perfectly festive wrapping paper. “And I’ve got the perfect girl to thank.”

You dodge his incoming kiss, instead patting his cheek and standing up.

His brows knot in confusion before he realizes what you’ve gotten up to retrieve: a roll of velvety green ribbon.

You hold it up triumphantly. “One final touch.”

The absolute pain on his face steals the grin off yours.

You sink back down to the floor and wrap him tight in your arms, sliding your hand up his back to rub circles between his shoulders.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs against your chest, “I really don’t have that in me.”

You kiss the top of his head. If Bradley draws the line here, you’re more than happy to finish the wrapping. Hell, you’d even lace his fucking shoes if it spared him the torture of tying any more bows. You are head-over-heels for Bradley Bradshaw, and you know he knows it. It’s a good thing he’s equally head-over-heels for you.

“Ok, Bradshaw, I’ll tie the bow, but I’ll need a little help.” You break away from him and begin unspooling the ribbon. “I know your mom taught you this.”

And he smiles because he knows what’s coming.

You twist the ribbon around the package, cross-crossing it over the top. You look to him, and already he’s jumping into action. He ceremoniously raises a finger and plants it perfectly on the intersection of the ribbon.

“Perfect.” You steadily finish the bow. It’s really good, you have to admit: entirely symmetrical, huge and bouncy like a cartoon.

And then Bradley is on top of you, pulling you into his lap, smushing kisses along your jaw, working his way to your lips. His kisses are hungry, but not sinfully so. You’re hungry too. Hungry to share the rest of your lives together. To wrap presents for your kids on Christmas Eve while they pretend to be asleep down the hall. To savor early Christmas mornings in matching pajamas, sipping hot chocolate while a fire sings in the hearth. Late Christmas evenings where he pulls you into his lap on the piano bench and plays your favorite carols — a little sloppily from the spiked eggnog and having to reach around you. 

“I’m not in your way?” You would ask, already knowing his answer.

“No, you are right where you need to be.”

And he would play long into the night, celebrating the fact that he gets to spend Christmas with his sweet girl. No December 26th would pass without you waking up to find you had both lost your voices.

Your phone rings, rudely barging into your domestic dreams of the future. You’re tempted to ignore it, but Bradley accepts the call and brings it to your ear, leans his forehead against yours.

“Hey, Cathy,” you say.

“Is there any chance you can get the presents here sooner?” You and Bradley can both hear how harried the toy drive organizer sounds. “Sorry to even ask, you know I appreciate you, but some paperwork got messed up and —”

“Sure thing, don’t worry about it.” You break in to spare her the breath.

“Thank you,” she says. “And bring that sailor of yours, too. I might need help loading the truck.”

You laugh. “I’ll make sure to bring him along.”

“Thank you so much, sweetie. See ya soon.”

“See you soon.” You hang up your phone and toss it on the floor.

You peck Bradley on the check.  “Ok, ready to put those new skills to good use?”

“Ready.” He smiles and runs his hands through your hair. “Ready to do anything for you.”

You scramble out of his lap because if he keeps looking at you like that, you definitely won’t get the presents to Cathy on time.

You turn on the TV and fetch your still-steaming coffees from the table. Quickly, you and Bradley settle into an easy wrapping rhythm, the hum of a carol floating out of your TV, accompanied by the silent promise of all your Christmases — and many wrapped presents — to come.

[skyfallscotland]

Some updates since the last summary post. I didn't go to the convention on Sunday, but @caitm1 did and she said the workers told her that Rebecca's wrist swelled up from the amount of signatures she was doing (already, one day in!) and she had it taped up.

Rebecca also mentioned last night (Monday) at the second event I attended that she'd had a vestibular migraine just before and couldn't walk in a straight line a few hours ago, so I mean, I felt like I wanted to mention that first because as a chronically ill girlie I know how fucking hard it must be and I don't think a lot of fans appreciate what she does for us and how much she puts her body through.

Her signings this weekend were free and even though we paid for a ticket on Monday night, if you bought the ticket with the pre-signed book, that was at cost. $20 for a signed paperback. So yeah, just...I know it's a business, but she does a lot, ok. Don't be unappreciative of the extra mile.

Now, I recorded both Saturday's panel and Monday night's, I'm trying to figure out how to post it, but no website wants to cooperate with such a big file, so stand by, or like...help if you know tech things 💀

If you haven't seen my post with what we learned from Saturday's, it's here. Below is a summary of what we've learnt since then.

Bombshell alert: @caitm1 tells me that on Sunday, Rebecca said one of her original ideas for the end of Iron Flame was for Violet to become venin and not Xaden. *crickets* let's just take a moment here together... 😨

Honestly, I'm all for it, I low key feel like I would have liked that better, it would have been so good, but alas, we have venin-Xaden now, so we have to deal 🥲

Now, about Monday. A lot of the questions asked and things spoken about were the same as Saturday. The host picked the fan questions she asked and didn't really pick much that was plot or character related. She didn't pick any of mine and yes, I'm still mad about it. WHAT ARE THEIR NAMES

Here's the quotes, questions and tidbits I found interesting:

• Her editor for Fourth Wing and Iron Flame, is the head of Red Tower, so she's the publisher. I did not know this. I don't think I've seen this in practice before? She's also involved with the Amazon series because of this.

• "I'm not afraid of hurting you." That we already knew. 💀

• "Because we knew what had the television series when I was in edits, so we had to write out a synopsis and when I first thought it would be five books, I immediately sent the synopsis to my editor, who, you know, we sent it to Amazon because we needed to tell them; this is the definitive vision for the story. I can tell you, in Onyx Storm, I've already deviated from like...who I thought would pass in that book, as opposed to...I've already deviated some from that."

Sorry, what? Who was meant to die? My money is, as always, on Rhi or Garrick. You know I have thoughts/feelings about that. Look, if I've learned anything this weekend it's that someone important is going to die, a lot of people are going to die, ok? She's very frank about death and the realities of war and if you're worried about your favourite side characters for the next few books, well...you should be.

• She loves writing Ridoc. @yanny-77 no chance to ask about bodoc, sorry! 😂

• On Xaden and people's perception of him: "It's always funny because I always hear...he gets compared to Rhysand a lot? Xaden's like twenty-two at the beginning of Fourth Wing; Rhysand's like what? Five hundred? Ok, twenty-two, so it's very much like—it is a college. It's a college romance and that first love."

• She was surprised at how much people loved Aaric, given how little he's on-page.

• She also defended Dain again 🥳💗 #DainApologistsClub

• She expanded a little more on Jack. So perhaps what she meant on Saturday about his reasons, was simply that his reason will be touched upon in OS, but it's clear. "Jack's motivations are clear-cut, which makes him so easy to write. He's such an example of the hunger for power and what happens when you aren't selected for the power you think you deserve, which is one of the themes of Fourth Wing. So Jack's an easy character, he's straight-on."

• Are there any easter eggs that you put in the first two books that you don't think were caught by fans? "Violet's second signet! I totally thought it was obvious. Um, I did, to the point where my editor was like 'hey, we should probably put a line in here' and I was like dude no, people will catch it." Y'all know my thoughts on that so I'll stay quite over here in my corner.

Someone asked "what is it then?" and she replied, "no, no, no, now we're having fun with this, now."

• The hardest scene for her to write in Fourth Wing was the battle scene, because it was her first fantasy and so her first one. She wrote it and her editor said no, it has to be a little longer than this.

"So that was really hard for me to write, especially because in the moment she loses Liam, she has to get up and go. And I'm used to being able to give my characters this moment to grieve, this moment to take the news, this moment to absorb it and really feel it. And it's hard to get the reader to really feel that emotion when death is coming straight for you. So that was really difficult. And I was crying."

ME TOO, TBH

• If she was to describe Onyx Storm in two Taylor Swift songs, it would be Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? & So It Goes.

• If Empyrean was written in interconnected stand alones, she would have already jumped to Rhi or Imogen.

• Her favourite sections are the epigraphs that she writes above the chapter headings. "It's my most valuable real estate, the fact that you guys skip over them sometimes, I'm like—I'm wicked funny in there, ok?"

• If Violet and Xaden visited Australia, what would they do for fun? "I'd say go visit places they can't catch on fire. I guess they could find a beach." @empyrean-thrones there you go, we're on point! 😂

And that's about it! Happy theorising! 💗

It was a wild weekend, but so worth it. I was in my feelings a lot. I hope you guys get a chance to meet her or hear her speak in person one day, too 🫶

[brokenpieces-72]

COD x Transformers

Fair warning: heavier language than what I usually write.

Not gonna lie I’m gonna need help with this if y’all want a series. I’m letting requests and comments to push this series forward, because honestly I don’t know what else to do with this.

School was so stupid, why were you even here? You see some value in the lessons, math is useful, science is good to have, understanding history is helpful, and English has you reading in a different way. Why you had to come to classes though you really don't understand. But Price suggested it, and offered to pay for it, so here you are. Of course when people know where you grow up, or rather think they know where you grow up, that means dealing with people who are either afraid of you or think they are superior to you.

At least the guys in your shop class were chill. When you first came to the class, you got some looks, but after a week they were asking questions about your life. You kept a lot of it to yourself but it was nice having people not treat you like a delinquent.

You didn't have shop though, unfortunately there had been an accident recently involving some of the power tools being damaged, with yellow tape over the doors. It meant going home early sure, but you had one more class. Some girl took a piece of gum acting like she was better than you when you told her no. There was a kid who whipped around to hand you a work sheet, and then whipped back forward as soon as you got it, despite you not doing anything to him all year. Another handful of students tagged your locker with 'gang' signs and adult photos, and you were blamed for it. If it weren't for being in school you and the principal could be on a first name basis. Half the time she'd just go straight to security footage to see what had actually happened and shut down whatever group was trying to get you in trouble.

The bell rings and you stay seated, waiting for the teacher to finish talking and others to leave before you get up, slowly inserting your books and papers into your bag, before hoisting it over your shoulder. Of course it couldn't be that easy as you're met with a small group around your desk, close enough to break your personal bubble and making it very hard to stand up without bumping one of them, you just stare at the ground off to the side.

“Pay up.” The rich boy says. For what? God knows this time. He’ll demand money for a number of things. Tiny scratch on his car, losing an “unfair” bet, or for wasting his time getting called by the principal for his own actions.

“I’m not paying for the hairline damages on your daddy’s borrowed ride, for me crushing you in whatever you considered our most recent bet, or for making you late for your work shift at kissing mommy and daddy’s ass for getting caught.” You say before sliding back in your seat away from them, and heading for the door. You turn back to push in your chair, and that’s when the rich boy’s richer girlfriend pipes up.

“Probably wouldn’t want to touch any of their bills, who knows where they stuffed them last night at the club.” She sneers leaning in. You lean in to meet her.

“Sorry you couldn’t get me for your lap dance, I had respectable company to entertain last night.” You say smugly. God that shock and disgust on her face was a thing of natural beauty. You start walking out but before you can reach the door one of the rich couple’s cronies decides to make another remark.

“Bet your mama sucked dick to get you here.” You stop dead in your tracks when you hear this. When you were younger a comment like this made you see red and it made life difficult on your mother with the amount of fights you’d get into. You see red now. You turn to them.

“Even if she was straight, your fat ass hogs all the space under the desk in the office.” With that you leave, shoving your earbuds in. As you go, you take a photo of the shop class door with the yellow caution tape over it and send it to the guys. You text them, asking if you can hang out at the junkyard.

House rule: no skipping class to come see them. If you got off early that was another story. As you leave the building, you get a text from your mom. You didn’t tell her about shop class but she asks if you’re going to the junkyard. Which means she knows even without you telling her.

Y/N: yeah, shop is cancelled.

Mom: homework?

Y/N: was going to do it there.

Mom: Sleepover?

Y/N: maybe.

Mom: stay safe.

Y/N: I will.

You sigh and finally get a reply from the guys. They’re out but they’ll see you at the junkyard. Which meant you’d be able to do some homework by yourself.

There’s one of those giant storm shelters at the yard. It used to be for sorting junk like appliances, propane tanks, electronics, car parts, etc. Any equipment or machinery in there had either been removed or was completely broken down. Now it was your gang’s pad, complete with old beat up couches, a small fridge, a few tables and chairs, and whatever project was being worked on. There was a small loft area for you as well, filled with slapping bags, blankets that rivalled Swiss cheese and ratty cushions.

When you get to the junkyard you find the hole in the fence you use to sneak in and make your way down the dirt path. As you walk you notice some of the piles had been sifted through. Odd. The guys usually waited for you before sifting through the piles. Maybe they wanted an early start before going off to do whatever they were doing now. You reach the building and plop down on one of the couches, enjoying the silence and what sounds like some more trucks dropping off junk.

Kyle reclined on the couch leaning against your shoulder to bug you. They’d brought dinner for you, and Price was supposed to arrive later tonight. Johnny and Simon were working on a car they’d been trying to fix for some time. They got a new part for it and were doing some more work. Kyle was stepping back to bug you for a bit. He sees you more focused on your text book and not saying too much.

“What is the square root of Canada?” He asks. You don’t reply, so he replies for you, taking your jaw in his hand and poorly imitating your voice. “35 to the power of-“

“Fuck off.” You mutter shoving his hand away. Kyle sits up and looks at you. Something happened today, hell something happens everyday but something has you ticked off. Kyle gets up and grabs two flashlights, before swiping the textbook out of your hands. Your shoulders slump as you take it and pull the hood up on your sweater, zipping up your coat. Kyle takes his off the couch.

“Going out!” He calls, and gets a wave from Simon.

Outside you turn on the flashlight, walking with him along the dirt trail, keeping your flashlight low. You have your hands in your pockets and you feel a pat on your bicep. Kyle hands you work gloves. You take them, and continue walking.

“What happened this time?” He asks. You bump him gently, showing silently your appreciation for his company.

“Same old.” You say. Gaz sighs.

“You can’t let it get to you.” Gaz says. “They don’t know you, so why should you let them judge you?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, they treat me like I have, and won’t stop!” You argue.

“I know I know.” Kyle says, nodding. “Nothing wrong with a few comebacks. You have to remember though you are a beast among lions.”

“What kind of a metaphor is that?” You ask, half amused, half frustrated.

“They are testing you, trying to get you to act up so they have a reason to get you into more trouble. But you’re a much more powerful being, because you are more mature. You’ve grown up faster than them and they don’t like it.”

“So this is some initiation?” You ask, as you both start going off the trail to start checking for new loads.

“Nah. They’re egging you on to see if you’ll break or try to be one of them. You refuse to be one of them, and they can see that. So they go with the former.” He explains.

“…they insulted mom.” You mutter and he stops.

“You know the truth.”

“They don’t and then they go around talking about her like she’s some whore!” You argue, getting a little upset.

“She’s not. You know that.” He says. “And that’s all that matters.”

You nod. Then you both hear something. The two of you look in the direction of the sound, towards a pile that was deflating. Animal weren’t uncommon in the junk yard. However you’ve never heard this sort of metallic animal noise. It sounds like a raptor. Kyle puts an arm out, keeping you back, and shining a light at the pile. You’re frozen in place while Kyle moves closer. He only gets a couple steps before a head pokes out and you both are still as possible.

A metallic raptor looks at the two of you tilting its head curiously.

“Please don’t quote Jurassic Park.” You say quietly. Before Kyle could respond the raptor stalks out, keeping its focus on you. You’d heard about robotic aliens online but you’d taken it in as conspiracy. Guess this is how believers are made.

The creature makes another metallic growl, sniffing at Kyle. You’re impressed he can stay so still. The raptor’s claws are razors, with its spine and head looking like it was decorated with feathers from various fan blades. It’s around your size, so Kyle is taller but he’s also unarmed. Except for the flashlight. The eyes glow as they stare at the two of you, they’re a golden yellow.

It makes another small cry before walking away, and then looking back at you.

Without thinking you slowly move towards it. Kyle tries to stop you but the raptor approaches you both again. It comes closer, until you’re eye to eye with it. Your heart is pounding, and you wonder if it can hear it. It makes an odd sound, almost like a coo. You catch a glimpse at its teeth, and they’re sharper than any nail you’ve seen.

It walks away from you, before turning back at a short distance from you both. It’s waiting.

Kyle exchanges a look with you.

“We should follow it.” You say, seeing the creature shift from foot to foot anxious. Kyle opens his mouth to argue but honestly, he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“We have to tell Soap and Ghost.” He says.

“I’ll follow it, you go get them.” You say, and start following it before Kyle can protest. Kyle texts them, instead not about to ditch you. Your mother would kill him, and she could out run him.

The critter runs up ahead and you hug after it. It waits for you to catch up before hurrying off again. In between its movements it picks around the trash looking for something. It seems to find whatever it’s looking for but you can’t make out what it is.

It keeps going and eventually rounds the bend behind a much larger pile of junk. You’re not unfamiliar with these mountains, too dangerous to scale and picking through it could cause a collapse. You hesitate now, unsure about what could be on the other side. Kyle is nervous too.

“We should wait for the others.” Kyle suggests. You don’t mind waiting. Following the creature was a complete whim. For all they knew behind the mountain was a whole flock. You look around and find a long pipe. Not perfect, but it will do. Hopefully.

You wait a while and you can hear footsteps, from two large men and the raptor. It pokes its head out and then its whole body when Ghost and Soap see it eyes wide. If Ghost is scared he doesn’t show it, Soap just tenses.

“The bloody ‘ell is that.” He asks. It comes out from its hiding place and approaches you. You approach it, meeting halfway. It claws the ground restless.

“It needs help I think.” You say looking at it. It take off yet again, and you follow it behind the mountain where you freeze up. There’s a huge dinobot before you. It’s breathing heavily, sounding like the brakes of a bus. It’s another dinosaur, but this one is huge it looks like a triceratops. It’s weak too. When you look at the raptor you see it nudging something closer to it. Mustering your courage you move closer, while the other three hold back. You find at the raptors feet are batteries.

So many questions run through your mind, but the raptor gives you this almost pleading look. You look back at the guys who look tense, but keep their lights on.

“What do we do now?”

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @tai-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666

[atamascolily]

Walpurgis no Kaiten Trailer #2 Breakdown

Aniplex dropped a 35-second trailer with new footage from Walpurgis no Kaiten, so let's take a look and see what we got!

Homura falls backwards in a stained glass cylinder that contains a spiraling staircase (we'll see the whole thing in a later shot). Note that this is the doppelganger because of her headband, and that the glass has Homura's distinctive diamond sigil on it, among other things.

We finally get our dance scene--not a pas de deux, but a waltz! Headband!Homura spins Madoka around, leading the action, and she appears to have taken Madoka by surprise. Note that waltzes also involve going in a circle.

I've talked before about how the doppelganger appears to be courting Madoka in the first trailer and how I think a Swan Lake-style "choice" might be forthcoming, so add this to the evidence pile. Madoka's voice over, "I will go with hope," also seems to suggest a choice.

I'm not sure where this is located, but I think it might be Madoka's house? A house, anyway. There are photos on the walls and chairs.

Doppelganger Homura is down so bad, y'all. And can you blame her? Also NOTE HER EYE COLOR HERE, HER EYES ARE RED, not brown (key visual) or purple (original Homura). Eyes are the window to the soul...

(Red eyes automatically make me think "Incubator", but I'm withholding judgement on that until we get more info.)

HELLO VISUAL METAPHOR!! Okay, so first off, we have a fan spinning in a circle, a cross-quartered circle with a closed eye at the center (!!!) surrounded by taped cardboard holding together a box marked with the emblems of "fragile, handle with care". I feel like that one speaks for itself.

(What do you want to bet that that eye opens.... EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD IS SPYING ON YOU.)

Continuing the eye focus, here's a close-up on one of the Clara Dolls holding up a magnifying glass to enlarge their own eye. This is Ibari (Pride). Note the yellow flowers around the lower part of the glass and that Ibari's eyelash is similar in size and shape to the one on the box fan in the previous shot.

My guess is that the Clara Doll's role in this story is primarily as a group/decoration/background element rather than full characters in their own right (the chorus witnessing the action in a theater production, as it were), but I love how this shot turned out and would be happy to see more like this.

Doppelganger Homura (?) examines her reflection in a compact mirror. She has the headband, but her eyes are purple here, like the original. I think she's adjusting her appearance here--literally, if she can shapeshift--to match the original, especially since she's also missing the dark collar that characterized the doppelganger in the key visual. Note sure what is going on with her headband when I look more closely--it seems to stick out from one side of her head and doesn't lie flat??

The scallop shape and the "Dummee Venus" inscription are a little too on the nose in my opinion... Venus being the goddess of love and beauty who was born out of seafoam on a scallop shell. [Is there a Botticelli reference in the house? TBD!!]

I suppose this could be the original Homura here, but the context makes more sense for the doppelganger. Again, note the round/circle, and mirror imagery and focus on the eyes.

EDIT: I was wrong, "Dumme" is German for "fool", not a misspelling of the English "dummy", so this could be the original Homura after all. Although Walpurgisnacht is also a fool, so... I guess we'll see with more context, but I'm leaning towards Original Flavor Homura for now.

View of the spiral staircase from above... a circle combined with a straight line makes a spiral. Note that the surrounding glass has Walpurgisnacht's signature motif of "peacock tails", suggesting a connection between the doppelganger Homura and Walpurgisnacht, and that Walpurgisnacht herself appears as a circle on radar.

The staircase abruptly cutting off and going nowhere also seems like a metaphor, huh.

Balloons going free, compare to a similar shot in Rebellion where they are trapped in a glass dome where Kyouko and Homura have lunch (more on this in a bit). Boundaries and prisons are breaking down, magical girls/witches cannot be contained any longer.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Devil Homura is torn down and overthrown. Interesting that one stocking is red-striped (or is that a ribbon wrapped around her from someone else) and the other is pure white--but with a black bow around the ankle.

Madoka enjoys a nice date with...??

(Note: this shot is in a different place from the one that immediately follows; I believe the two are deliberately juxtaposed to be misleading. More on this in a bit.)

God, I love this shot. Half a glass (glass half full, even) with their surroundings in miniature, and the glass is cracked and held together by threads of gold (kintsugi). The ring makes her a magical girl, the outfit is a Mitakihara middle school uniform, and her hair is green, so this is someone new.

also the diamond-shaped placemats juxtaposed with the circular saucer.

Hi, new character!! I have so many questions, but it looks like they really are in a teacup, or at least a different teacup--the old glass dome from Rebellion (or someplace similar) is full of trees and also flooded and now home to water lilies and lily pads.

Nagisa is spending quality time in the ball pit (insert DashCon meme here). And so is this new girl... my guess is human!Charlotte, but I don't have any evidence about that besides vibes and the way these two shots mirror each other.

I love this shot so much! Not sure what's going on, but there's Sayaka in her magical girl costume at the bottom.

Based on the similar backgrounds in these two shots, Madoka is either having tea with Mami or tea with someone else in the same space. Cake and dessert and birthday themes, a la Charlotte's labyrinth.

Feather pillows exploding on a modernist couch.

Kyouko on a pillar/table eating a piece of cake. Cranes and cityscape in the background at night.

Runes and the pages of a book. Witches coming out of a book? Or... something else? (see below)

Flash shot of Sayaka bandaged in a theater.

And here's Kyubey! On the shoulder of the pigtailed girl last seen with Nagisa, wearing the dark collar of the evil!/mirrorverse Mitakihara Middle School like the doppelganger in the key visual. Her eyes are hidden by her bangs and she's smiling. Piloe of books/records (alternate universes, if Magia Record imagery is anything to go by).

Whatever's happening, Kyubey is so in on it, lol.

The salamander representing Homura's dark orb (powers) is stabbed with some kind of metal, near a tea cup, causing it to disappear and explode. It then transforms into a shackle. That's probably not good.

(Whose arm, though? Homura is the most likely suspect, but we'll see.)

White feathers ascending to heaven, a circular vortex made of clouds and shining light, spinning, spiraling...

One of which is a mixture of black and white. This feels very significant, given my earlier predictions about "confronting one's opposite" and "people are neither nor good nor bad but a mix a both" being major themes.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have more thoughts later, but that's my quick off-the-cuff reactions for now!