#basil go boom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dumb-fictionkin-sideblog · 2 years

Text

Today's bit of writing was brought to you by my gay feelings for Basil OMORI

(For context here they just built one of those large swings that can have like three people sit on it at a time, so they're resting on it)

|~|~|~|~|~|

"Am I special to you, Sunny?"

Sunny turns his head towards Basil. He's looking at him, his voice falsely unbothered. It sounds strangely important. "What do you mean?" answers Sunny. He knows what it should mean. He knows how Basil should mean it. (He knows that's not what Basil means.) "I mean-" Basil stammers, sighs. He looks up. Sunny knows that words are hard to find, sometimes. But never to Basil. Basil always finds the right words to express himself. Sometimes - often - Basil's mind goes faster than his mouth. And he stutters. But he never runs out of words. Basil looks back down, but doesn't meet Sunny's eyes. "I mean… We've been friends for… forever. We've always been… You know. Closer. You- You know I love Aubrey and Kel and Hero and Mari, but… You're-" Basil takes a deep breath. So much for making it seem insignificant. "You're… special. You've been special." Sunny stares at him for a while, expecting him to continue. Basil doesn't usually talk too much around a group of people. He prefers to listen when there's too many people. With Sunny, though, he talks in paragraphs. "I just…" Basil finally looks back at him. "I guess I just wanted to know if it was the same for you." "You're my best friend", says Sunny. And it's true. "That's not…" Basil trails off. That's not what I meant. That's not the answer I wanted. "You've always been my best friend," Sunny repeats, and he knows it's still the not the right answer. "I love them too, but you're my best friend." There's an awkward pause in the air from Sunny's lack of a real answer. He feigns ignorance. "I… Thank you." Basil sighs, and Sunny knows he hopes it sounds like a sigh of relief. But it doesn't. Because it's not. Basil doesn't sigh with relief. Basil fakes the confidence that there was nothing to be worried about in the first place. Basil sighs with annoyance. Basil sighs with disappointment. "Am I special?" Sunny asks. Somehow, the question holds more significance than his own answer. Basil looks at him for a few seconds. There's the same importance as when Basil asked, although Sunny pretended not to know. It's strange. He wonders if Basil knows that he means it too. "You're…" Basil looks away. Maybe if Sunny could see him, he'd be blushing. Maybe he'd be ashamed. Maybe he'd be hoping. But that doesn't matter right now, because Sunny can't see him. That's why he looked away. Basil starts to turn to look at him, but stops midway. "You're special, Sunny." (And Sunny knows he means it.) "Look at me when you say that." "Why are you so serious?" Basil asks, and he laughs. He attempts to laugh it off. But he's the one who made it serious in the first place. "It's not that deep-" "Look at me." "Sunny, why-" "Look at me, Basil." And Basil looks, slowly. (He is blushing.) "You're special, Sunny," he repeats, almost in a whisper. He's looking down, but he's looking at Sunny. He's looking at his legs, but he's looking at him. Basil is tense. His arms are stretched, his hands to each side of him, on the seat of the swing. His shoulders are way up. His hair looks beautiful in the golden hour. His lips part slightly in an unspoken plea. Listen to me, Sunny. Understand me, please. Answer me. That's not what he asked. But Sunny is a coward. (Can Sunny answer him? But what if he's wrong? What if he made it way more serious than it really was? What if Basil was just embarrassed to ask for reassurance? But they spent the whole afternoon just together. They were busy. Basil didn't have time to be anxious. He didn't have time to spiral. He didn't have the time to think, he didn't have the time to need reassurance. But how can Sunny be sure? How can he give him what he wants - how can he pretend not to know while telling him that he knows, how does he creates the possiblility of denial?) (How does he stop thinking so much?) "You're…" Basil's head flips up, and suddenly, he's loking straight into Sunny's eyes. How could he deny that? "You're special, Basil." Basil's eyes widen. They're staring at each other. They want to ask so badly.

(Is that it, Sunny? Is that you answer? Did you undestand?) Instead, Sunny places his left hand on top of Basil's right hand. His other hand is still holding the rope, but his left hand is… Not quite holding Basil's. It's standing on top of it, lightly, carefully, not quite resting on it, not quite putting weight. As if asking. As if begging. Basil doesn't break eye contact, But Sunny hears his breath stutter for less than a second. He sees his shoulders relax just a little. Sunny lets go of the rope, gently. Basil's hand wiggles around, hesitates, then holds his. Sunny intertwines their fingers, slowly and quietly, but without an ounce of hesitation. (Is that your answer, Sunny?) They don't talk, for a moment. They don't move. There's nothing to say, really - just about a ton of words stuck in their throats, way too far to spill out. They don't really know what to do next. (Do you love me, Sunny?) Sunny leans in, just slightly, in a way that could be mistaken for a lack of energy to sit up straight (but Basil would never believe that, of course.) The words move up in his throat. He can feel them on the back of his tongue. Basil leans in too, more quickly, more surely - he's always been more courageous than Sunny. They stare at each other as their forheads finally touch, both waiting for the other to do something - or for themselves to dare move again, to close the centimeter or distance between them. Then, Basil looks down. Not too far down. Sunny's lips aren't too far down. Sunny leans in. It's not the explosion of feelings that Sunny was scared of. It doesn't feel nearly as overwhelming as he feared it would. It's calm, it's tranquil, it's steady - it's almost familiar (how does his first kiss feel familiar?), it feel good. It feels great. Sunny almost wishes he had imperfections to point out, like in the books he's read, where the lips of the protagonist's lover were sometimes too chapped, or too wet, but they're not - Basil takes care of himself. Basil washes his face every morning with beauty products, and Basil certainly doesn't moisturize his lips with his tongue. The rest, Sunny is too inexperienced to care. (Sunny does moisturize his lips with his tongue, though. Sunny still has acne on his face and on his back because he can't keep his hands away from it. Sunny doesn't know how to kiss, and he hopes Basil doesn't care either.) (Sunny… Sunny doesn't know how long a kiss is supposed to last.) ((Sunny hopes it lasts forever.))

#im a homosexual!#sunny #omori kin #hey yk what ill slap the main tags on that one #no one reads fanfics on tumblr anyway #omori #omori game #omori sunny #omori basil #omori sunflower #sunnflower #omori fanfic #boom! here we go #gay feelings OUT #i also drew a little thing but it's unrelated #maybe ill post it later

152 notes · View notes

myorgansaremelting · 2 months

Text

dying from a fatal lack of fanfic updates

#its my own godamn fanfic too #like i just want to know what happens #but to do that #i actually have to write it #i think the next chapter is just going to be #basil crying #because he exposed aubrey as gay #and now she's getting bullied #but it was necessary i promise!!!#because now they're both bullied #she can stop being an asshole #and boom they can be friends again #also now that everyone knows she's gay she can get a girlfriend #lesbian aubrey my beloved #i need to tell someone all my plans for this fanfic #asher says stuff

4 notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 6 months

Text

masterlist

eddie x fem reader

chapter summary: how sweet it is, to be loved.

series summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

special thanks: to anyone and everyone who read a single chapter or kept up with this series to the end, thank you so much- this story wouldn’t be possible without your support.

author’s note: I can’t believe this is the final chapter for this series, I’m feeling so many emotions right now but mostly just love for Eddie and Tooty and everything in between. Thank you to anyone who has helped me beta ( @sweetsweetjellybean especially!)this story or fan girled with me over upcoming chapters. To any of the very talented artists who have made any art for this series, thank you so very much, each and every piece holds such a special place in my heart. To anyone who is mentioned in this story, thank you so so much, @loveshotzz @chechelia @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse and everyone else— thank you for allowing me to include you in this series. To everyone who has liked, rb’d left a comment or interacted in any way with this series— THANK YOU. This series has brought such joy & heartache to me, and I’m so lucky to have people enjoy it. 🖤

Cereal

Hotdogs

Bananas

Jelly —grape, not strawberry

Bread

Crackers

Toothpaste

Noodles

Chicken thighs— babe are you making fun of me?

Heartburn medicine

You tap the chewed cap of your pen along the lined paper of a scribble heavy grocery list. Desperately wishing you had x-ray vision to see inside your cabinets and remember what you were in need of, you chew the cap again.

Giggling to yourself every so often at Eddie’s notes on the grocery list. Crossing off items he thought weren’t needed, mostly vegetables he didn’t like. And always making sure you got his favorites. And not, “that healthy bullshit cereal, give me sugar or kill me babe, I will not eat Raisin Bran”

Peanut butter

Sunny D

Thyme

Heavy cream

Basil

Carrots

Onions

Chicken stock

Hey sweetheart can you please get me some candy? I like skittles but you know I love m&ms.. and twizzlers, it’s for the shop. :)

The lady behind the desk chirps a name again, but you are still racking your brain on what else was needed. The soup you had planned on making tonight would be perfect for the chilly weather rolling in. November was coming in like a lion, ferociously cold and temperatures already dipping below zero.

Eddie loved your potato soup, so much that he begged you to make it after another long, grisly week at the shop.

He loved everything you made, even your chili that he doctored up by adding sour cream and Doritos to it. Bon Appetit he would say with a smirk on his lips, a heaping bowl steaming in front of him.

The clerk behind the desk tutted and huffed, the schedule was getting behind.

“Tooty Munson! Is there a Tooty Munson here?”

You glance up quickly at the sound of your name, “shit,” you breathe, “here, yes,” you scramble shoving the list and pen into your purse, buried amongst the gum wrappers and a spilled container of tic-tacs.

The receptionist clicks her papers against the formica counter and holds her nose in the air, as if this job and you were beneath her.

“He’s ready for you now.”

—-

“…alright, Ed, did ya look o’er those applications yet? ‘Tween you D and Mike I don’t think we are going to be able to keep up everything that we got on the schedule.”

Wayne’s eyebrows are raised as he looks over the bifocals perched on his nose. He had been scouring over the schedules and the books for the better half of the afternoon since lunch hour—trying to figure out how to swing their overloaded schedule.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t do the work, they were simply short handed. After Boom closed his doors in Hawkins, he had recommended to his regulars that they travel to Bridgeport to Master Mechanics to see Eddie and Wayne. Business was booming, and the Munson’s could barely keep up.

Early on, Wayne and Eddie decided they would only be open until noon on Saturday’s but now with the packed schedule, they worked til almost dark every night of the week, including some Sundays.

Wayne rubs his short nails through his scratchy mostly white scruff, “we can’t have these boys workin’ like this, they’ll quit on us before you can slap a tick.”

Eddie was leaning against the doorway, a bottle of Coca Cola held limp in his hand, a greasy rag stuffed in his back pocket.

“Yeah,” he yawns, stretching out his back, “let’s hire ‘em all, we need the extra hands, or I’m gonna need an extra back.”

Wayne grunts in confirmation. The highlighter squeaks as it’s drug across the phone numbers on the applications, “I’ll call ‘em first thing in the morning,” he straightens up his desk and shoves the papers into a drawer.

His glasses clink as he folds them up and lays them next to a picture of the newlywed Munson’s. He leans back in his chair, the leather crinkling beneath his worn coveralls, “I’m callin’ it for the day,” he exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, “it’s been one helluva week and I’m shot, tell the boys to go home to their wives.”

“and you too,” he points, “go take care of your wife, Ed, tell her I hope she starts to feelin’ better.”

Eddie’s curls bounce as he nods his head, completely drained from the week, shit maybe he was getting sick too? “she went to the doctor today, probably just the flu, Max told her it was going around.”

“Well then,” Wayne says, standing up and clicking off the table lamp, “take tomorrow off and rest–

both of ya, hear me?”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

—

Eddie’s tires crunch on the ice and hard packed snow of the driveway, a silent serenity, meaning he is only moments away from holding you in his arms, seconds away from kissing your lips, and if he was lucky, minutes from eating something delicious to fill his grumbling stomach.

He throws the truck into neutral, killing the engine and tossing the keys around his finger. Tracks from your Jeep tires lead into the garage he had built last spring. A huge project that your friends were paid in beer and a bonfire when it was all finished.

Thrusting his sore hands into his canvas coat, he ducked his chin into the zipper and braved the asthma inducing gust of wind to the front door as it whipped through his curls.

The house was oddly quiet, only the hum of the refrigerator making any sort of sound. Usually when he came home you’d be playing the radio, or talking on the phone to Max or Nancy, greeting him with a pop of your head around the wall in the kitchen or from the hallway, the prettiest smile put on your lips.

“Princess?” he called out in endearment as he untied his boots and put them on the shoe rack. His coatwas already hanging on its hook, usually next to your purse but your purse was thrown onto the arm chair, and your shoes were in the hallway like you had walked right out of them.

He undid the buttons of his work blues, letting them hang at his waist like a mechanic cape. Socked feet trudge down the carpeted hallway, you must not be feeling any better, probably too exhausted to make it out of bed.

But Eddie was wrong.

You were perched on top of the comforter, coat still on but unzipped staring at the door waiting for his arrival, fuzzy socks on your wiggling toes.

“Hey, handsome,” you said, trying to keep your pitch even.

“There’s my girl,” his velvet voice wrapping around you like a hug as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for your left hand and kissing the finger that adorned the prettiest ring he’d ever bought, “how’s my beautiful wife?”

It had been five months since you said I do. A June wedding in your own backyard, filled with friends who had served as family for years, gathered by your sides.

“I forgot the potatoes,” you say blankly, a weird little smile on your face.

Eddie sits down next to you, rubbing your thigh back and forth and letting out an exhausted yawn, “That’s alright, I can make us some grilled cheese if you’re up for—”

“I was looking at my grocery list, and couldn’t remember what I’d forgot.”

Eddie’s confused, but wants to reassure you that its no big deal, he’s a grown man he can certainly make supper for himself and his wife. “Sweetheart it’s okay, don’t beat yours—“

“Can’t make potato soup without potatoes.” And this time you laugh, kind of whimsically and in disbelief.

His brows turn inward, still he just keeps reassuring you that everything is fine, “It’s okay Tooty, seriously. Let me go make you some—”

And for the third time tonight, you interrupted him, “doctor said that’s normal.”

He’s exhausted and is honestly more confused than he would like to admit, “what? The flu?”

“No, no. “ you say, a twisted little smirk on your face, “forgetting things, throwing up in the morning, being exhausted… totally normal.”

“Babe?” He moves to touch the back of his hand to your head, wincing when he realizes that he’s probably freezing.

“I was so scared the last time,” you whisper, teary eyed, “terrified.. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but now—.”

Eddie reaches for your cheeks, holding them softly, his eyes searching yours, desperate to figure out what the hell is going on, “what am I missing here? It’s normal to have… the flu?”

“No, it’s not the flu,” you finally admit, looking up at him and rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs,

“Eddie, I’m pregnant.”

—

You could fill an empty pool up from the tears that sprung from Eddie’s eyes that night. He was overjoyed, holding you tight while he wept into your hair. Kissing your belly and whispering to the baby. Small streaks of tears flowing down your swollen skin and the faded scar across your lower belly.

Each month that ticked by, Eddie’s worry only doubled.

The day after you had found out, he woke early. Watching as your chest rose and fell as you slept soundly in the original mock up of his hellfire shirt.

It was threadbare, cotton worn so thin it was practically see through— but you claimed it as your own back in the early days of your new relationship, hands on your hips and the infamous pout on your lip as you playfully argued with him about how it was now yours.

Dusk painted the diamond covered ground from the fresh snow over night. Falling as delicately as his lips allover your skin. Soaking up the dainty noises from your throat when he carefully slid into you, tears spilling from both of your eyelashes, love filling the room more sweetly than it ever had before.

The soft cotton of the blankets hugged your curves, and he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he gazed down at his beautiful— now pregnant— wife.

His sweet Tooty, carrying a gift more precious than gold.

Kissing your cheek—he dressed quietly, scribbling a note on the bedside table about going into town for a bit, but to just relax in bed until he got home.

You were having a dreamless sleep, not even sugarplums could dance in your head with the overwhelming exhaustion that your body was trying desperately to catch up from.

Something cold then silky smooth brushed against your cheek, and a velvet voice sang a little good morning greeting into your ear. Your loving husband. Pressing sweet angel kisses behind your ear and on your eyelids.

Your bedroom was lit with the glow of a warm sun in the afternoon light. Playing a yellowed hue of warmth across your comforter, pulling the caramel color from Eddie’s curls and making his eyes look like a dreamy cup of coffee swirling with creamer.

His lips hug yours, both smiling into one another. Heart swelling more than your toes would in the months to come.

C’mon, got a surprise for you, princess.

The spare bedroom that was once a room for band equipment, then Max’s bedroom for almost a year before she eventually moved in with Gareth and Will, now held storage, was completely organized, and held a wide array of items.

A crib, brand new and still in the box, a pack n play, a swing, every box of diapers ranging from size 1 - 5, baby gates, outlet covers, fancy locks for cabinets and drawers, rubber bumpers for sharp corners and edges of tables.

A bookshelf full of baby books, how to’s for new parents, nursery rhymes by mother goose, books suggesting baby names and their meanings, and a guide on how to quit smoking.

Tucked into the corner of the room by the bookshelf and near the window, was a rocking chair.

“Eddie,” you gasp, running sleep from your eyes, “wh-what is all of this?”

He’s smiling ear to ear, trying to curb his enthusiasm a tiny bit. “I might have gotten a little carried away.”

Turning towards the shelf you see a plastic sack, full of candy and bubble gum, and mints. “Edward Joseph Munson.”

“Don’t scold me, mama,” he jokes, grabbing onto your hips and kissing your hairline, “I’m just spoiling our baby.”

God you loved this man, he’d break his neck to give you the world. He was the most loving husband, and now you got to see him step into a new role. One completely foreign to you both, only have shared the idea for a few moments before it was ripped away.

You lean into him, holding him tight and working your nose into the crook of his neck. “You’re gonna be the best dad, Eddie.”

He doesn’t hide the tear that slips down his cheek, just lets it slide and collect under his chin, his voice is quiet when he asks, “you really think so?”

“I know it.”

—

Wayne and Karen followed behind the new family in his pickup all the way home from the hospital. They were going to stay for a few days, help you both get adjusted to life as parents.

Karen and Nancy had filled your freezer with casseroles, soups and fresh bread. It was a hot July day when you were scheduled for the c section, and when it was all said and done four days in the hospital was more than enough and you were ready to be at home, snuggled up with your new family.

It was a battle of which Munson man could shed the most tears. Eddie and Wayne were both wiping away tears for hours. Overjoyed with emotions that everyone was healthy.

“No you don’t,” Wayne said as you reached for the back door to grab the diaper bag, “you go right inside and get comfy, get them legs up!”

You do as your told, leaving Wayne, Eddie and Karen to carry the load in. The hospital stay was overwhelmingly sweet, but you knew Eddie was itching to get back to normalcy, still not liking the way he felt cooped up in the hospital even though it had been years since you both had the horrifying visit.

Bags and suitcases are carried in and set into your master bedroom to be unpacked later, bottles and diapers are stacked and put into their respectable places. Karen starts warming up the chicken casserole she had prepared earlier that day. Wayne fussed around with the new dishwasher that he and Eddie had installed the month prior.

Throughout the commotion you had fallen asleep, legs propped up in the recliner, but you woke to the sound of the front door closing, and there he was.

Eddie was holding them both, large hands cocooned around their swaddled little bodies, crooked into each of his arms. Something he was nervous about but slowly getting the hang of, the nurses told him he was a natural, and Wayne wept into Karen’s shoulder when Eddie introduced the twins to their grandpa.

His normal obnoxious voice was murmuring low and quiet like a soft lullaby so as not to stir awake the sleeping little babies.

He looked at them both, adoration and tears springing into his eyes. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. How he could have helped make something so small and delicate, he wouldn’t understand. But, he didn’t need to.

A boy, born first— with his dark eyes and brown hair, and later the little girl, almost identical to his Tooty, and just as stubborn, both already wrapped around his fingers.

He murmured their names, and caught your eye as he said it, a smile so wide on his face that you were sure new dimples would bust through his cheeks, and you only heard the end of what he was saying.

If you would have told yourself five years ago that you would one day own a home, get married to and have twins with Eddie Munson, you would have laughed on the spot. That loud mouth jackass of a guy you had once regretted letting move into your home, had moved right into your heart and never left.

The demons inside you both were finally at bay, finding solace in one another in more ways than you had thought possible. Being loved by Eddie was everything you had thought love should be like.

And you pinch yourself to make sure it's real, and each and every time, it is.

“…babies,” he says, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes as he looks over at you, his family, “we’re home.”

The end

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @crybabyddl @zenathebeautiful @astela17 @taintedcigs @bettyfrommars @munsonsuccubus @munson-blurbs @hollandweather @serasvictoria @steviesgrl @curiositydooropened @ashyyboyy @urlbitchin @sllooney @lame0o @ali-r3n @bangaveragewhitewine @b-irock @enam3l @luxaeterna13 @manda-panda-monium @elthreetimes @joejoequinnquinn

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #honey i’m home #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #stranger things

491 notes · View notes

sin-djarin · 9 months

Text

Video Nasty (Joel Miller x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit 18+. MDNI.

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Your quest to clear out the basement leads to an unexpected discovery.

Warnings: SMUT, porn with minimal plot, unspecified era, mentions of food, no mention of age (reader is in late 20s), unprotected P in V sex (don't do this, be safe), sweat, creampie. No use of y/n.

A/N: Listen. I don't know anymore. Forgive me for any typos or grammar errors please.

You can read other snippets from this here:

Video Nasty II: Restricted Viewing

PLEASE PUT YOUR AGES IN YOUR BIO. I REALLY DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO BLOCK ANYONE.

Reblog and comment to make your writer's day.

There was one task you had been putting off every weekend since you got here – going through the boxes of stuff in the basement. That’s all it was known to you as – stuff. Stuff and probably junk. About six or seven cardboard boxes - only identifiable with your name or Joel’s on written in marker on the front of them. All of them holding your belongings that had yet to be sorted through waiting to be assigned their places throughout the house.

When the seasons changed you wondered where that certain cosy sweater might be or where the mug you’d had since college went. You just never looked for it. Only the essentials had been taken out of their boxes – enough plates and glasses to eat and drink with along with some other day to day necessities like underwear and socks.

But today you were taking the plunge. The day passes you by as you sort boxes of your old jeans, bras that no longer held their shape, notebooks and sketchpads full of doodles, and piles of CDs and cassette tapes. It took so long because every time you pulled something out a decision had to be made – keep it or donate it. In other words; keep the memory or lose it. When you pulled up a t-shirt, it’s too easy to relive the moment you wore it to that fourth of July party ten years ago. And that’s all of this is now – memories. You sigh at the thought but find a small mercy in the fact you can always make new ones.

Joel’s boxes are easier to go through than yours. Mountains of entangled cables each with an unknown function, screwdriver sets with some parts missing, dozens of old different sized and shaped batteries. Most of this, you guessed, could go straight in the trash. As you come to the end of his second box, a smell of pepper and basil hits your nose. Hours have gone by.

“Dinner” his voice booms from the top of the basement stairs, calling you to the kitchen.

“Just a second” you reply.

There are only a few items left in the box. If you finish, you can eat dinner with a sense of accomplishment. Quickly you take out the stacks at the bottom and start to make decisions about the various sheets of papers in your hands. A few old drill manuals – he doesn’t use this brand anymore – trash. Baseball cards – keep – they could be worth something.

The last thing in your grip is a square white envelope that’s beaten up. But it’s sturdy. Flipping it around, the view through its clear plastic window makes your jaw drop. It’s a DVD. The disc itself is white with big red letters that say NASTY NURSES VOL VI. In a smaller font underneath reads five minute preview – not for resale. A giggle escapes you at the thought of Joel watching something so cliché. Opening the envelope to pull the disc out to get a better look you can see it’s been used – the scratches and fingerprints make that clear.

“Hey” you jump as he calls for you a second time.

“Coming!”

You shove the disc in the front pocket of your sweatshirt and climb the stairs to the kitchen.

He’s already sat at the small dining table, hunched over and half way through a plate loaded with pasta in a tomato sauce and chicken. Taking your seat opposite him, you try to hide the grin that threatens to spread across your face. You know something he doesn’t.

“How’d it go?” he asks, with a mouth full of food, his head only inches from the dish.

“Yeah. Went through everything” you tell him. Your chewing making it easier to disguise your smile.

“You look pretty happy about it. Are we keeping a lot?”

“Not really. Tried to get rid of as much as I could”

“Right” he nods and continues to shovel forkfuls of pasta into his mouth.

You’re starving but you only pick at your dinner. Your thoughts are stolen by what could possibly be on that DVD. More than likely, it’s not anything brilliant. But the idea of what Joel did while watching it is all consuming. It’s not a taboo image – him getting off to porn. But it is distracting, more tempting than the food on your plate. And he notices.

“What’s wrong? Too much salt?” he asks, one eyebrow arched.

“No, no. It’s great” you bite your lip, trying to stifle that same smirk.

“You should eat” he points to your plate with the silver fork. “Been down there for hours and it’s late”

He’s right; it is late. Late for eating dinner anyway. You take his advice and eat until you’re comfortably full. When you’re done, you lean back into the wooden chair and he carries your plate away to the sink. Watching him clean up doesn’t help, it only sends your mind into a whirl. His broad back is turned to you – one arm holding the plate steady under the running water, the other moving backwards and forwards holding a sponge while his head bows, looking down at what he’s doing.

He shuts off the faucet and spins back around to you, wiping his hands with a towel.

“What’s that?” he points to your stomach.

You look down, expecting to find a mess of sauce down your black hoodie but it there isn’t one. But there is the corner of the envelope peeking out of your pocket. Fuck.

“Just uh…something I found” you say, hoping your answer would satisfy him.

“Can I see?” he rolls his eyes.

You hesitate for a second, quickly running through the outcomes of showing him the secret you had inherited from him. He could be embarrassed, he could feign ignorance and claim it’s not his – that it just fell into a box of his stuff.

You take it out and hand it over to him. His eyes fall down to study it, eyebrows knit together as he recalls the moving pictures. He runs a hand over his mouth and it falls to his side again before his eyes dart to yours to see what you’re thinking.

“I, um” he clears his throat, his Adams apple bouncing up and down in his throat as he does.

“It’s okay, Joel” you smile reassuringly.

“Yeah, no. I-“ he shifts his weight on his heavy boots.

You stand and run a hand down his arm not wanting him to become uncomfortable about it. Because he shouldn’t be. It’s an acceptable activity. You start to walk away from him towards the stairs with the smile very much settled on your face now.

“This what you were smilin’ at?” his voice comes from behind you as you leave him along in the kitchen.

________

The hot water of the shower blasts away all the dust and fluff that gathered on you on your journey to declutter. It feels like a weight has been lifted, as you mentally check the day’s activity off your to do list. While you throw on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of underwear for bed, you think about your discovery. You didn’t think he was too embarrassed, but you do assume that it’s something neither of you will bring up again.

When you step out of the bathroom, Joel has already changed out of jeans and flannel shirt and swapped them for his usual sleep outfit of a tank top and heather gray boxer briefs that both hug his muscular body. He sits on the edge of the bed, one leg resting on it and his other foot planted to the floor. The only light on in the room is the lamp on your beside table as you make your way over to your side and sit back against the headboard, taking your pot of moisturizer from the drawer of the nightstand and begin applying it to your calves.

Joel hasn’t moved an inch. When you glance at him his lips are pursed as he combs his fingers back and forth through his moustache, eyes focused on nothing in particular ahead of him. Your intention wasn’t to embarrass him, but maybe you had.

Screwing the lid of your body cream back on and tucking it back into the drawer, you attempt to spark up a conversation about the whole affair but he beats you to it.

“Think we should watch it?” he mutters into his fingers, his gaze still targeted ahead of him.

Your brows raise at the question. This was taking a different route than you had mapped out for yourself.

“Do you want to watch it?” you counter.

“I mean. If you want to y’know, I just-“ he swallows hard. “Haven’t seen it in years” he explains, his voice is unsteady, like he’s trying to convince himself of the idea.

Shit. It must be that good. All five minutes of it. Of course there’s no denying it – you’re curious. he knows what’s on that DVD and you don’t – it could be anything. And the earlier idea of making new memories is more appealing now than ever. He wants to share it with you.

“Put it in” you smile.

He gets up to and inserts the DVD into the side of the TV – a feature that you had never really used for anything other than rewatching movies that had grown to be a comfort to you on a bad day.

He resumes his position, sitting on the bed bent forward with one elbow resting on his knee while the other holds the remote. You brace yourself, sitting back against your pillows. He scrolls through the output options and selects DVD from the menu. With one final look over his shoulder at you, he presses play.

Immediately after the rated R disclaimer, overly enthusiastic moans blare from the speakers. A blonde woman dressed in a flimsy white nurse outfit that stops just above the knee appears. The camera pans down her legs to show off her matching white lace stockings. The next clip has her on her back on a gurney, legs spread open wide as she plays with herself. She’s interrupted by another actor, dressed in a lab coat. You can see where this is going…

Joel is completely focused on the screen, eyes are narrowed and his teeth terrorize his bottom lip. It’s difficult to tell if he’s enjoying it or not.

Meanwhile, the next clip has started. The nurse has shed all her clothes apart from her stockings and the doctors face is buried in her pussy. It’s unclear if she’s having a good time either. Her expression looks forced and you can’t see a thing he’s doing for the back of his head – you find yourself unable to compare his technique to Joel’s. Before you know it, she’s bent over and he’s pumping in and out of her from behind.

It’s all jump cuts - from scene to seedy scene and gratuitous oohs and aahs echo through the bedroom. Then she’s on top, after that she’s on her knees as the doctor stands above her as she moans something along the lines of give it to me. And right before the money shot – the DVD stops.

Joel leans back on the bed as the movie returns to the DVD menu that’s similar in design to the front of the disc. You’re not a porn connoisseur, but you’ve indulged enough to know that that was not quality viewing. You wouldn’t class it as sexy, just rough and ready. There’s no plot, no story and no happy endings for anyone. It’s just��porn.

“So what was your favorite part?” you question him, eager to know just why it showed so much wear and tear on the shiny plastic of the back of it.

He shakes his head. “Dunno” he sighs. He’s disappointed; his viewing experience wasn’t like he remembered it to be. Maybe there were too many people present to enjoy it.

“But you must have liked it before”

“Before, yeah” he agrees and lays down fully on his back beside you.

“Why? What was your favorite part?” he probes you now.

“I kinda liked it when she was on top of him”

“That right?” he turns his head towards you, ears pricking at your admission. “Why’s that?”

“You know why, Joel”

“No I don’t, baby. Gonna need you to explain that to me real good” he drawls, reaching over to grab your leg and maneuver you on top of his hips in a swift movement.

His palms run up and down your thighs that spread wide across his waist. You feel him becoming stiff underneath you already. The feeling of it and image of him broad, and willing beneath you is enough to send a warmth to your pussy.

“C’mon, now. Tell me” he pleads.

“Can feel it better”

“Feel what better?”

Fed up of waiting for clarification, his fingertips slide underneath the fabric of your underwear and you jolt as they brush over your clit, travelling down to part you. He licks his lips as your slick coats their skin. Slowly, you start to rock against the heel of his palm, evoking a high pitched moan at his touch. He stares up at you, eyelids heavy with lust over brown eyes as he watches you move at your own speed, allowing you to take what you need.

“Feel this better?” he rasps as his middle finger slips into you.

“Yeah” you breathe, leaning on his toughened chest for support as you vary your movements, alternating between up and down and back and forth, keen to feel as much of him as possible.

His ring finger enters you next and the sudden fullness makes you gasp but the stretch is wonderful. But it’s not long before the heat of both of you grows to be too much for him. He removes his hand and pushes at your sides so you stand above him. You can see the patch of gray material that’s become a darker shade around his leaking tip that’s been confined to his underwear.

He’s quick to remedy it though – pulling down your underwear and his before lowering you back down on top of him, only straightening back up for a second to pull your t-shirt over your head. You bend forward to wrap your hands around his neck he raises his head slightly to meet your mouth for a hungry kiss. It’s fiery and uncoordinated – all teeth and tongue but you both meet each other's deep moans at the sensation.

His fingers dig and curl themselves into the hair at the back of your head while you start to slide your slick folds along the thick length of his cock, the smooth head of it making a delicious contact with your aching clit.

“Can you cum like this, darlin’?” he wonders, purring into your neck while his hands slither down your ribcage to knead your breasts.

Instead of an answer, you raise up off him to anchor yourself with your knees either side of his hips and rest your hands on his shoulders, pinning him in place to feel the friction of his bare cock against your clit. His hands travel to the curve of your ass to guide you along.

“God” you pant. “Yeah, Joel” you warn him as that spark begins to ignite in your abdomen.

You push your hips harder into him, desperately chasing your orgasm now. The growing heat of it creeps up your back and he swipes the hair out of your face to see your eyes tighten and your mouth fall open when it finally crashes over you and you’re left breathless, pulsing on his cock.

Joel lets you catch your breath for a minute, calloused fingertips skating over the soft skin of your back as you recover from your release.

“Think you can take me? It’s okay if you can’t” he cups your jaw to look at him.

You steady your breathing. He’s not done yet, despite his cotton tank top that’s ridden half way up his stomach growing damp with sweat as it clings to his torso. Tiny pebbles of it forming on his forehead. And truthfully, you weren’t finished yet either. Not with him under you like this –still leaking against his belly – needy.

He offers you his hand to help you position yourself over him, knowing your legs aren’t to be trusted after moments ago. His free hand wraps around his cock, holding it steady for you to slide onto. Inch by inch it stretches and fills you, your soft walls encasing him. He grunts through gritted teeth, head pushes back into the mattress once he bottoms out. It takes a second for you to adjust to this new fullness.

“Jesus, baby. Fuck” he hisses as you slowly start to rock, bodies finding a synchronized rhythm.

Every time your hips rise and sink back down on him the head of his cock hits that spot at front. He’d asked, but you couldn’t articulate why it feels better. Joel can only watch as with each bounce you become a little bit more breathless and your movements a little less graceful trying to angle him perfectly below you. You’re lost in all of it; the filthy slick sounds, the vibrations of his deep hums and the swell of him inside you.

He interprets it well, you think when he brings his hand to his mouth to lick his thumb and starts to massage your clit with the soaking pad of it. He applies enough pressure to draw you dangerously close to another orgasm.

This picture of Joel through bleary eyes writhing below you is more sinful than anything your mind had created when you imagined him watching that DVD by himself. The lamp throwing light from behind him highlights the flexing muscles in each bicep and forearm as they work to hold you. The speed of his chest rising and falling faster underneath his tank top that is virtually stuck to him like another layer of skin is mouthwatering. You did that – not a DVD. The thought of that alone coaxes another tidal wave of pleasure to rip through every nerve ending. There’s no energy left to scream, you only manage a choked cry through a dry mouth while the aftershocks of it cause you to clench around his thickness.

Your body hangs heavy over him as he moves his hands to grip the meat of your ass, lifting you ever so slightly and begins to thrust at his desired pace. The veins and tendons in his neck bulge as he pistons in and out of you, hunting for his own orgasm. With every stab his fingers dig deeper into your skin.

“Hmm. Fuck” he curses and whines, air puffing from his flared nostrils as it hits him.

You feel him spill inside you, its heat coats you. One hand leaves your ass to push your shoulder back, signaling you to sit back and be fast about it.

“N-no. I’m not done” he warns and dips his waist to pull himself out of you. Another two ropes spray over your lower belly and drips down your thighs. Your heavy eyes widen at the sight of it, skin burning at the feeling of it, taking you both by surprise.

You collapse on top of him and lay your head on his shoulder. His heart is hammering against his sternum but yours is matching it beat for beat. Both of your bodies are spent, only focused on stabilizing your breaths in a rooms that feels likes it’s starved of oxygen. Your earlier shower was futile you think as you lie messy on top of him.

“Maybe we can watch something you like next time” he heaves a deep, satisfied breath.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic

561 notes · View notes

ominoose · 8 months

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫-𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

Summary: Random drabble's about Steven Grant meeting other Oscar Isaac characters. No Marc or Jake co-concious, only referenced. Characters: Basil Stitt, Leto Atreides, Poe Dameron A/N: This randomly hit me and I wanted to write it because it was funny. Used a spinny wheel for it. Also idk if BB-8 can do that but now he can.

London was it's usual muggy, busy self as Steven ran down the street, hoping to catch the bus to work. It had been hard enough to get a job after the Museum Incident, but maintaining a position was proving to be a much harder endeavor between his abnormal sleeping patterns and head mates.

"Oi! Wait, please!" Steven was within touching distance just as the bus sped off, and at the lack of anything to rest his weight on or break his fall, the man found himself tumbling face first into traffic.

☽ 𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐭 (Lightningface)

+ When Steven first wakes up in the apartment, his first thought is that he's woken up in a bomb site. The apartment is a mess, furniture and clothes strewn everywhere haphazardly. He's momentarily glad Marc isn't replying in his head, knowing the American would have an aneurysm over the state of the place.

+ Basil is the one to find Steven, jumping up from his spot on the couch and staring at him like he's an alien. The first thought in his mind is that Ricky the Monkey did some crazy magic and brought a clone to replace him. Poor Steven barely has a chance to process the situation before he's trying to calm his scarred, other American look alike down and explain his situation. Nothing manages to convince Basil there isn't some magic going on here, but he stops viewing Steven as an evil replacement.

+ After the initial shock and awkward introductions, they manage to sit down and chat for a few minutes. Basil shares the story of the lightning strike, insisting that its imbued him with magical powers. Steven, bless his heart, immediately believes this and boasts about his own moon powers too.

"You know, I've always wanted to try jumping off the roof and flying, have you done that?"

"Oh no, my mate Marc usually handles that, but maybe we can practice together? Have you got a suit as well?"

"Yeah, it's this paper bag and bed sheet I fixed up myself! C'mon, I have a stool on the balcony-"

"Wait, hang about.... Actually, mate, on second thoughts, lets not."

+ Steven ends up convincing Basil to properly fix his apartment, not just brush away the broken shards and dust. So that's what they do for a while, busying themselves as they theorize on how to get Steven back home with only a handful of brain cells between them. Basil listens with surprising intensity when Steven ends up branching off into Egyptology tangents, and likewise Steven nods along when Basil brings up all the documentaries he'd watched recently. In the end, the apartment does end up in much better shape, and the pair become quite chummy.

"Damn. Thanks for the help... Maybe I did overreact a bit."

"Yeah, it's no problem bruvs, it happens. Surprised the doctors didn't give you anymore meds, though I suppose over here its not like the NHS."

"Oh, no I didn't go to the hospital."

"...You wot?!"

𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 (Dune)

+ Coming to on hot, sandy slabs is enough of a trigger point to Steven Grant as they come. Coming to on hot, sandy slabs with weird astronauts in suits pointing space guns at him goes beyond frighting and circles back into 'Shit yourself' territory. Thankfully they seem to speak English. Unfortunately, his high pitched screams and babbling British noises don't make sense to them while they peer down their guns at him with confusion. It isn't until a booming voice draws everyone's attention that Steven gets a chance to breath.

+ Said breath is swiftly knocked back out of Stevens lungs when a wiser, nobler and older version of him walks into the room, commanding the attention of every single space soldier in the room. The man stares down at him as he lays huddled on the ground, curled into himself, and quirks a single well groomed eyebrow at him.

"I am Duke Leto of House Atreides. You have penetrated your way into my home. Who are you?"

"I-I-I'm S-Steven Grant. Of the... Giftshop."

The Duke continues his stony stare at Steven for a few seconds longer before holding out a calloused hand.

"Well Steven of the Giftshop, I think we both have many questions for one another, and hopefully some answers."

+ When Steven finally gets over being starstruck at the dignified, royal version of himself, and when Leto makes the accidental mistake of mentioning that they're billions of years in the future on another planet, Steven freaks out, having a 10 minute long panic attack. When that's over he geeks out instead, asking a million questions about technology, using apologies as commas and full stops.

"Do people still know about Khonshu in this era?!"

"I'm afraid I am not familiar with that name."

"Lucky sod."

+ Leto thinks the strange, weird sounding clone of himself is a schizophrenic long lost cousin, but at lease he isn't trying to kill him over a title. It's not as common in Arrakis, or the general noble courts, to find someone as earnest, honest and willing to learn as Steven seems to be, which earns him a surprising amount of respect from the Duke.

𝐏𝐨𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 (Star Wars)

+ Waking up in a space ship that's doing somersaults mid-battle while dodging and weaving around beams trying to explode it out of the sky was almost as stressful as waking up on a London bus at 8am. Commendably, Steven didn't scream or cry, but simply had a silent panic attack until a rolling white and orange ball started beeping at him, or rather the ridiculously handsome version of him currently flying the plane.

"Who the hell are you and how did you get on my cruiser?!"

"Bloody hell, not another handsome American me!"

"What?! BB-8, check for a concussion!"

+ After being given a water bottle by the polite little droid, Steven finally managed to calm himself down by the time the ship touch down and the pilot in matching droid colours sprang before him, launching question after question. When he clocked Stevens face, he was speechless, brows slowly knitting over his eyes as he tried to make sense of what was in front of him. Mid stare-down BB-8 nicked the Brits skin, running a quick diagnostic test and beeping the results out to the pilot who's eyebrows swiftly un-knitted at the noises.

+ Taking advantage of the silence, Steven tries to explain himself and his situation, insisting he comes in peace and simply wanted to get home before Donna got another excuse to give him the sack. The pilot finally introduced himself as Poe, the best pilot in the resistance at that, and with a sigh he promised to try and figure out how to get Steven back to whatever galaxy London was from.

+ Poe tries to explain the resistance and the empire to Steven, who in turn compares it to Ammits cult and jointly rants about those who take choice and freedom from the innocent. Poe is happy enough that his weird blood ancestor is with the resistance, even if he does constantly regard him with a quirked eyebrow, wondering how in the universe he managed to evolve from this walking concussion. For a second time Poe is rendered silent as Steven mentions being Moonknight.

"Oh yeah, I've done that too, at least those Jedi blokes doesn't send their jackals after you though!"

"You've... fought? In battle?"

"Course, yeah. Fought off giant gods back to the underworld, stopped the day of reckoning as the souls of the living were flooding the underworld. It was just the other day actually."

"...You killed god?!"

+ Steven absolutely adores BB-8 and Leia, a feeling the bot and all of the resistance seem to happily return, much to the dismay of Poe. Steven's quite flustered from all the attention and questions, leaving Poe to drag him away in a huff, claiming they need to get back to figuring out how to send him home. It feels like a babysitting gig more than anything, but deep down it strokes Poe's ego when Steven ooh's and ahh's at all his resistance tales.

#steven grant #leto atreides #poe dameron #basil stitt #oscar isaac #omiwrites

157 notes · View notes

anystalker707 · 1 year

Text

Boom!

Pairing: Killer x [gender neutral] Reader Words: ~ 1 300 Summary: It literally goes like “says he likes crazy girls, but hates when i act crazy" Tags: Fluffy and funny / Thank god for big men / lots of reader sitting on his lap

Requested by anon "Hey could you do a fluff/crack op killer x female reader who has a devil fruit (...)"

MASTERLIST

• Killer found out you had eaten the Boom Boom Fruit the worst way possible—ended up scaring you in a way you almost blew everything up by accident and didn’t know how to react with part of his mask now black and part of his hair spiked up by the explosion

• Basically, you’re able to blow anything you touch, including air, and your humor/reactions are very much a lot like your ability, so he learned to be careful. About everything, for real, because he didn’t like the idea of you blowing up anyone that did something inconvenient, even more with Kid around

• Because you’re able to blow things up just when you touch them, it sparked your interest in making bombs and, with a limited workspace, you end up requesting Kid to use his workshop for a little. The answer is ‘no’, unnecessarily accompanied by a “you’re not even skilled enough to need it”, which is followed by... quite interesting events

• You are with Killer on the deck, sitting on his lap and mumbling about your day while you play with his hair when there’s a loud sound of an explosion—he tenses up and starts looking around, clicking his tongue when he notices you’re still calm. You can feel his glare, despite the mask, once you hear Kid shout your name, followed by countless curses and crashes

• “(Y/n)...” “It was an accident!” “No excuses!”

• Actually, there are excuses. While he will be willing to do anything so Kid will solve things peacefully, he just can’t do the same with you, even more when you’re pouting and pressing soft kisses to his neck, in a way he will always be trying not to get killed by Kid to protect you from him

• Difficult task, in reality, because you don’t do the littlest bit of effort not to get in fights and neither does Kid, and it’s even harder with things flying around or being blown up at random

• Sometimes, you’re watching someone you don’t like talk and just tell him very quietly “I’m going to blow them up at any moment, no joke.” He does think it was a joke, but then sees you next to them with your hands in stance for an attack, so he quickly runs over to throw you on his shoulder because the crew doesn’t need more enemies—it was already hard enough to get an alliance with Basil and Scratchmen with Kid picking up a fight with them before it’d even been set

• Then, having the annoying Scratchmen around causes a lot of problems, not just because it takes a while for Kid to control himself so the alliance can work, but because sometimes you seem annoyed by his sheer existence. Expect Killer to have you on his lap or at least hold you close the whole time

• He’s actually very protective <3

• Like. No one should mess with you. People will be angry and want to kill you after you pissed them off by blowing things up just because you seemed fit then end up needing to face Killer <3 Imagine big man standing in front of you protectively with those big arms crossed. Thank hell.

• Scratchmen decides he’s done with you and wants to at least teach you a lesson, but can’t do anything because you got Killer. You’re there sitting there on Killer’s lap like you own the world <3

“Stop it at once!” Scratchmen clicked his tongue, still very defensive.

“No, yeah, of course!” You sighed as you threw your hands in the air sort of defensively. “We can’t be fighting the whole time if we’re gonna be hidden here and have an alliance, man!”

He raised an eyebrow, finally cracking a crooked smile as he scoffed with humor. “Finally you’re being reasonable!”

Yeah, of course. A grin took over your lips. “A hug to seal peace?”

Scratchmen raised an eyebrow but shrugged, stepping closer. The grin was still there when you walked away from him after a hug, though it had a different tone as you snickered; your slow walk turned into running, which he only understood when he felt something go off on his back with a deafening noise and the immense burning resulting from it.

“You little—”

Scratchmen couldn’t even finish it, more worried about chasing you, but you were faster and on Killer’s lap before he could do anything—certain embarrassment took over him at how loud his steps were in the silent room in which the three sat at the table quietly talking; Kid, Killer and Basil, and now, you were with them. You leaned against Killer as if nothing had happened, placing one of his hands over your lap and wrapping his arm around you. Besides the fact Scratchmen didn’t want to face Killer’s wrath, he also knew better than to also awaken Kid’s since you were the only one who could just walk in while he was busy without being murdered.

“You’re being bad...” Killer mumbled quietly enough just for you to hear.

“Shush.” You patted his chest, adjusting yourself on his lap.

• He will complain about you getting into problems, but he can’t !! He spoils you all the time, and once he even commented about loving it when you go crazy in fights, blowing everything up, how hot you look, there’s no reason to complain when you do it now !! Doesn’t he like the crazy ones ? Cool, now deal with it <3

The crew had stopped at this island to finish business, but what you hadn’t predicted was that the Marine happened to be there at the same time, same moment. Were they following your steps? Was it a trap? Well, it didn’t matter now—you didn’t even know where the hell Killer, Kid or Heat were, each of you running to a different direction at the moment chaos ensued. You tried your best to outrun them at least a little, at least so you could lose them and return to the ship.

“Fuck,” you groaned already out of breath. The fact you barely knew the city didn’t help at all, having you run into a lot of dead-end alleys or blow a lot of stuff to give yourself some extra seconds to think. At some point, you thought you lost them. Not really. You took a turn, only to find a small group of Marines.

“Stop right there!” One of them said; along with his, other 5 guns were pointed at you. You threw your hands in the air, stopping on your tracks immediately. “You better surrender, things will be worse if you struggle!”

“No, fine, fine!” You dropped to your knees, moving slowly; grins already decorated their faces, not even faltering as they should when you smirked because all it took was a touch on the ground for their victorious faces to immediately turn into defeated ones before you could jump over the debris and run away giggling. “See you, losers—” You interrupted yourself when you bumped into something with force enough to fall to the ground, about to slam your hand against the ground when the weight on your chest made you weaker than you should. The familian effects of the sea prism made a string of curses escape your lips, all you could do was to fall limp to the floor. Worst part is that you didn’t see anyone else from the crew around.

“It’s over!” The Marine held their spear to your chest, grinning wide with a cigar hanging from their mouth. Motherfucker. “You—” They were sent flying against a wall, shattering it, by something you couldn’t see; there was just a blur. You didn’t even have time to question what was going on before you were lifted off the ground—Killer held you in his arms while running away from the Marines.

“Better be careful, love,” he said a little breathless. A lot of destruction covered the way he went, hence he had to jump over some debris more than a couple of times, but there weren’t a lot of Marines anymore.

“Nah,” you sighed, resting your head against his chest. “Not while you’re around.”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #killer #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #one piece x reader #fan fic #fan fiction #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #eustass kid #eustass captain kid #kid pirates #killer x reader

238 notes · View notes

harmonia-university · 8 months

Note

Pyren: Hey Basil, what exactly does “group theory” mean? What kind of study is that? Is it about, like, the science of friendship?

Basil scoffs. "Science of friendship my ASS where do you think you are? Kindergarten class? Get outta here!!"

After listening to Basil's little tirade, Jokull decides to chime in, in an attempt to lift the tense mood:

Basil turns back to the Monferno, clearly irritated. "Anyway, since you're not EDUCATED, and I AM a professor after all. I shall explain the inner workings of the topic to you."

The Leafeon smirks rather devilishly, readjusting the sucker that is in his mouth.

"Group theory is the study of these algebraic structures called...HAH, you guessed it! Groups! It's a beautiful topic, these abstract little structures are particularly used to represent symmetry of the world around us. For example, the very molecules everything and everyONE ismade out of. I've been dedicatin' my entire sorry life to studyin' that stuff, but maybe we should start with the basics first."

"What IS a group anyway? Groups are defined as a non-empty set with a binary operation. Every group needs to have these 3 things: associativity of any 3 elements, an identity element, and an inverse element."

"Lemme give you an easy example. The set of all integers under addition. Just think about it. Any ol' integers can be added together in any ol' order and it'll be the same damn thing. The identity element is 0 - any ol number plus 0 is just that same number! And the inverse, you just add the negative of that number to get your identity element. And boom. there ya have it. Easy, eh? Let's keep goin'!"

Honestly, anyone else would have stopped listening after the very first sentence the Leafeon uttered about the topic. He is now going on a tangent, explaining all the concepts behind group theory. But undoubtedly, everything is going in one ear and leaving through the other...you are utterly and hopelessly lost.

Jokull, who has been standing around listening in on the conversation, turns to Pyren, knowing that this is probably all too much for the poor Monferno.

[ @scaper12123 / @ask-world-guardians ]

#answered #jokull #basil #pyren #monferno #glaceon #leafeon #pokemon #pokeask #anthro #furry #q #and then they stood there for another 9800 years

89 notes · View notes

pineappleciders · 3 months

Note

i feel like ppl do not talk abt found family aubrey and basil sometimes . like to me they r so siblings core

FOR REALSIES they both have family issues and no siblings, and the fact that aubrey introduced him to the rest of the group. makes me imagine little aubrey just going up to basil at recess while he's alone on the swings and boom siblings

#omori #aubrey omori #basil omori #omori game #pineappleciders

29 notes · View notes

ikemen-trifecta · 7 months

Text

Obey Me! Mammon x Selectively Mute Reader

　Posting this during October since it’s Selective Mutism Awareness Month! SM is an anxiety disorder that prevents one from speaking in certain social situations and is something I happen to have. I got the idea to write about the challenges in school from a Webtoon called Cafe de Morons by Basil the Bear 🌿 🐻, but this fanfic’s negative parts will be based on my own experiences in school/life in general. Also, this will be broken up into five parts. With that said, read away! –Edi

link to Part 2:

🎗Part 1🎗

　It was your first day at the Royal Academy of Diavolo, and you had absolutely no idea how to ask anyone for anything. All you could do was shake your head “yes” or “no,” but even that was a challenge.

　You stood in the assembly hall with a few other exchange students, squeezing your arms around yourself as a protective shield, trying to make yourself as small as possible so as not to disrupt anyone. When someone would approach you, you could only look down with a blank expression, not even knowing the face of who was speaking to you.

　Headmaster Diavolo sought you out when he caught on to the fact that you had no idea where to go. You kept your head down as always but recognised his long, crimson coat and shiny black shoes.

　“Are you having trouble finding your first class, freshman?” he asked. His voice was friendly enough, but you flinched at how it seemed to boom with each syllable. You nodded a barely perceptible nod. You could hear him whisper something to another tall demon standing next to him.

　“It says on their record that they have Selective Mutism and Generalized Anxiety, sir.”

　“I see,” Diavolo mused. You heard fabric rustling and saw a small, red notebook enter your field of vision.

　“You can use this to communicate if you’d like,” he said, a bit more gently this time. You gingerly accepted the book as who you’d later find out to be Lucifer called out to someone presumably across the room.

　“Mammon! Take this student to Class 1-E. Get them acquainted and settled.” You heard footfalls echo in the giant room as this person named Mammon approached.

　“Why do I always have to do the hard work? You haven’t even given Goldie back!” he whined.

　“Need I remind you what punishment awaits if you don’t follow orders?” This was a new, cold tone. You didn’t like it. You began inching away before feeling an arm being hastily wrapped around your shoulder.

　“I’m on it, Boss!” You were quickly being ushered away so fast that you could barely take full steps. You had no choice but to look up. You saw someoneー presumably Mammonー with his light hair and disheveled uniform. But who was Goldie?

　You dug your loafers into the floor to create friction.

　“What gives? I’m showing you to your classroom,” he said, irritated. You broke eye contact right away and opened the notebook Diavolo had given you.

　You’re walking too fast.

　“Well, we’ve gotta get ya to class before Luci strings me up-- Er…before I get in trouble.”

　What was this? He didn’t seem to mind that you wouldn’t speak. It had always been a novelty in the human world, but it didn’t bother Mammon at all.

　“MAMMON!”

　He suddenly picked you up and started running.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #selective mutism #long read #platonic love #part 1

45 notes · View notes

kushblazer666 · 26 days

Text

You gotta be careful talking about folks. They say what goes around comes around. I have a friend that thinks she is so much better than the world because she makes homemade pasta sauce. My nephew , who is also her son, will politely decline spaghetti if the pasta sauce isn’t homemade. Im thinking like okay girl. Now I’m bougie, like eco-bougie, but bougie nonetheless. Nobody is that bougie to the point where they will only eat homemade pasta sauce.

I had some tomatoes that weren’t as firm as I’d like them to be for something fresh, so I’m like okay well, I’m not about to waste these tomatoes. I got on Pinterest to plan a few moves and then boom. Apparently my best course of action was to make some dogon pasta sauce. I hesitated for a minute but then I caved in and said well, its so that I’m not waste full. So I roasted garlic, tomatoes, onions, sweet basil, oregano and a few other fragrant veggies.

Baby, let me tell you. You have to be careful about talking about people. Saying what you will and will not do because I’m going to be really hesitant about eating spaghetti sauce that doesn’t taste like this. This was literally a mistake. Making it to this level of I love my self so I want things to taste like life, so I’m going to make it from scratch , I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I’m already a problem.

I can’t believe I was talking about my friend like that. Now I gotta tell her so we can be bougie together making homemade pasta sauce. 😩

Y’all, try making homemade pasta sauce.

Edited for recipe: Roasted Tomatoes, Garlic, onions, a bunch of fresh herbs ( rosemary, thyme, basil, oregano ) salt, sugar, carrots, green bell pepper, Parmesan cheese. Cover it all in olive oil and just roast! Then blend it up.

13 notes · View notes

circus-clownn · 4 months

Text

something something loudly giggles something

#basil go boom #on my knees #PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE #PLEASEEEE

23 notes · View notes

transpanda-1 · 7 months

Text

Birds of Prey might feature Katherine Karlo in the near future

So for those of you not in the know, the new (gorgeously drawn) Birds of Prey is following Black Canary saving her sister from a doomsday scenario, and featuring a breakout role for Maps Mizoguchi, a character who was prominent in Gotham Academy

But, from careful observation (straw grabbing and bias), there might be another from Gotham Academy making an appearance, Katherine

Katherine Karlo is one of Maps' closest friends and her main roommate for the run of Gotham Academy (pretty sure). While not altogether that important in the run, she made a notably important role with Maps in the mainline Batman comics.

Now Maps getting a leading role, even if for one story, in a main Batman comic probably helped keep her on people's minds before her debut as superhero from the future, Meridian.

BUT Katherine being included could be indicative of the same treatment, even if a lesser role!

Furthermore, we'd like to point out one of the characters being included in the new BOP run is Cassandra Cain, who some readers may remember as being one of the very few genuine friends made of Katherine's dad Basil Karlo, AKA Clayface

Intentionally or not, we now have two characters on the team who have had very close ties to a shapeshifting clay Karlo. Bordering on "one of very few friends" territory, too.

(Unsure if Harley should be counted with her show heavily featuring Clayface, but just mentioning that. Clayface is sort of making a surge in relevance lately with The Batman II slated to feature him)

We're getting into stretching territory, but there's a few more things we want to mention that... *could* be something, but might not.

First, this mission involves going to Themyscira, or the islands of the Amazons that Wonder Woman originates from. Who... is made of clay

It's unknown if Wonder Woman will appear, but they do actively talk about her in the second chapter, which may be foreshadowing. But she is a canon clay woman! (We also heard Nubia may be too?)

A lot of clay character hovering around the skirts of this story...

Second is... this specific wording from Big Barda when Maps goes back to the future(?)

"The one from the future was made of dirt?" ...Dirt? Why dirt? She looks more like snow, or potentially electricity or static. And Big Barda is smart, she's royal and uses boom tubes to travel great distances across space. Dirt's, well, brown, Barda knows that.

"Made of dirt" is a small line but it doesn't really make sense to us based both on the visual AND the character's knowledge. Unless it's supposed to mean "We need to allude to clay/mud but can't SAY say clay or mud because that's too obvious." Made of dirt too, there's just a lot to possibly unpack there.

But the weird thing is the only thing we can really pull from that is... could Katherine is pretending to be Maps *right now*?

Unlikely, but it might explain why peppy, hyperexcitable Maps's adult self was... oddly quiet after introducing herself. Not to mention she'd leave right before the part of the mission that involves swimming...

She at least seems to be working with someone, judging by the way her little device goes off (or hit her time travel time limit, idk...!)

(Also we're a bit curious why her superhero name is Meridian specifically. It's a geographical map term to describe lines going upwards from the north to south pole, and there's a prime Meridian, which is cute for Maps' dnd obsession but is there something more?)

We understand if Katherine doesn't make an appearance, but we hope we maybe convinced you how there could be a chance for the character to appear sometime in the story!!

Thank you for reading through this and listening to our rambles about a fellow clay girl...! (-Annie🤎)

#katherine karlo #maps mizoguchi #clayface #batman #birds of prey #cassandra cain #big barda #chirps #🪴Annie🤎

44 notes · View notes