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candyfloss-esophagus · 6 months

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CRYING WOLF FOR ASK GAME!!!! GIMME ALL THE INFORMATION!!!!

Okay I'm just gonna spam you with asks here so feel free to ignore them if it's too much <3

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (don't think I've forgotten about the post you made mentioning an alternate ending! 👀👀👀) 10, 11, 13, 14 and 15

Hope this isn't too much! (like I said feel free to ignore these if that's the case!)

I remember you mentioned something about making a lore post about stuff that didn't get put in the fic and maybe you could combine them? If you still feel like making it that is <3 (seriously I still love that fic so much!!!!)

Alright buckle up boys this is gonna get LONG. @voidpants since you sent me an ask with a couple of these in, I'll combine them here <3

This probably goes without saying but there are extreme spoilers for crying wolf below the cut

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way? My recent obsession with vivisection, dissection and cannibalism <33 I know I'm very good at falling into stereotypes and I'm your local transmasc butch unhealthily obsessed with cannibalism <33333

The noirpunk server did, in all honesty. I don't know what I'd do without you guys.

2: What scene did you first put down? The very first scene! I write generally chronologically, unless there's something I'm raring to get down!

3: What’s your favorite line of narration? He pulls back, unable to staunch the hysterical giggles building in his chest, and they tumble free like the intestines of a mutilated fox at the side of a road -- all bloody ropes thick with mucus.

I just like this comparison lol. A close second would be the line about Peter's organs being better to eat than the pigeon.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? “Oh, I know you’re on the square, doll. I don’t think you’ve ever lied to me.”

I really love this line because I love blatant foreshadowing. But also because in the previous line, Hobie really wasn't lying (as is shown later on).

5: What part was hardest to write? The scene directly before the first cannibalism scene. I'm never too sure how to draw it out and build the tension in the proper way and I'm not entirely too sure I managed it.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics? It's absolutely dripping with paranoia, a lot of what is drawn from my own paranoia (where are my insane babes at ik we're around here somewhere). And also it's one of my most violent fics. Didn't tend to write it before now but I'm really enjoying messing around with it now!

7: Where did the title come from? I was brainstorming with myself after I told the people in the discord that I would try to write something approximating what we'd cooked up together and it took a while (probably about half an hour) before I hit on the story of the boy who cried wolf.

In this context, the boy crying wolf is Peter, whose spider senses are so fucked up that he tends to ignore them when he implicitly trusts people -- which means that when that person isn't in their right state of mind, he dismisses any notion that there might be something wrong.

Simultaneously, the crying wolf is Hobie, who is by far the more dangerous one of them, having been possessed by an actual murderous cannibalistic alien, but who is in much more denial about it. (Literally in the scene where he kills and eats Peter, he refuses to accept what's happened, whereas Peter just told him that it was going to be okay. Both of them are Fucked Up okay.)

Anyway this was a long-winded way of saying that it came from a children's story lol

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it? Yeah!!! In the early days of the noirpunk discord server, we were chucking around the vague idea of symbiote Hobie, throwing out a few vignette scenes and pieces of dialogue, and it was so compelling to me that I said I'd take a crack at it, so here we are! Thanks guys!

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic? AHAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHA

Yes. I have an alternate ending kicking around in my head at the moment that I'll probably start with once I'm finished with whumptober and another couple of things I've promised people I'll do </3 the adhd is real you guys

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story? UM?? BECAUSE NOIRPUNK????????

Because this idea was thought up in the noirpunk server with noirpunk in mind and it would have been a disservice to write this pairing as anything other than noirpunk. And also I wanted to give Peter more cannibalism trauma. And at the moment noirpunk is the only thing keeping me sane (which I mean in a very real and worrying way. We ball.)

11: What do you like best about this fic? I got to write cannibalism under the guise of love :>

Also very proud that I came up with the acronym for the D.O.R.M.A.N.T symbiotes

12: What do you like least about this fic? Um. Am I allowed to say my writing. If not, then I know there are plotholes and pieces of lore about the worlds and the symbiotes that don't make sense. Consider: I wanted to write cannibalism.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading? I listened to a lot of Tunng, Troy Kingi and Arab Strap!!

Mostly from Tunng I was listening to a lot of their album Dead Club and out of those were my favourites of Eating the Dead, Man and also Woman (the last two of which are spoken word poems but I choose to treat them as music because they are <333)

Troy Kingi specifically Sleep (Slumber), First Take Strut, and No Reason to 2nd Guess M.G.

Arab Strap specifically The Turning of our Bones, Here Comes Comus! and The Fable of the Urban Fox.

Sleep (Slumber) was looped specifically for scenes where I needed them to be soft with each other. The Turning of our Bones was looped specifically for the cannibalism. Please watch the music video (don't if you're sensitive to gore) because it's actually one of my favourite things in the world.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic? HUNGER AS A METAPHOR FOR DEVOTION. or there might just be a parasite eating your brain lol

Just kidding. Hm. Sometimes we go through something in our lives that's horrific. And we're trying to process it and not getting anywhere because it's so huge that our brains can't wrap themselves around it. Most of the time, we start to convince ourselves that it's us at the core of the problem. Sometimes we are. But to peel back the layers and get to the actual center, there are almost always outside forces that influence us into certain behaviours/choices that we regret later. And that's part of being human!

I'm not saying that you have a parasite in your brain that's making you eat your romantically inclined partner. I'm saying that the love shown in crying wolf is a relatively equal balance of give and take. They try to be as their worlds have shown them that love is, they're unlearning some of the more detrimental things, they're learning and growing together. They take steps back from each other when they need to and try to navigate their situations as well as they can. Idk.

Forgiveness is probably one of the main themes here. Please be gentle with yourself. It's so so important that you are.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic? That I really enjoy writing cannibalism. And that I need to watch a hell of a lot of 30s nyc films and 70s london films because I STILL don't have their turns of phrases down and it's annoying me.

And to take the leap (haha itsv references). This fic was very overwhelming for me at first because I don't tend to write very fast-paced or violent stuff. But I really enjoy reading it and so I really wanted to write it! Even if it isn't that great, I had a blast writing it!

Thank you for sending this ask in!! It's been really good to look past the writing into the inner mechanics of what makes it tick! (And I promise that I'll have that lore post up sometime!! I have not forsaken you!)

Edit: just realised you skipped 12 in your request but in my defence I'm not wearing my glasses and sort of assumed you asked about everything whoops

#sorry about the lack of life on my writing fronts at the moment #life's thrown me a good few curveballs recently #i am but a small lad <3 #esophagus speaks #ask game #ask answered #fiepige #voidpants #crying wolf #hobie brown #peter benjamin parker #noirpunk #atsv #on writing #behind the scenes with esophagus

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girlwiththegreenhat · 11 months

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i know i said don't support corporate pride but do take it as a good sign but after hearing about what c*nservatives are up to re: target just having a pride section i am incredibly tempted to go make a purchase just to dunk on them

#liz blogs #oh my god y'all are so embarrassing. i forgot how much i hate r*publicans #cw politics #gay people aren't politics but mentioning conservatives might as well be triggering #lads i'm this close to smashing a glass plate over my dad's head 👌#anyway uh Do support corporate pride actually. not before small queer artists but y'know maybe throw target $5 DJHBDBGJFH #oh jesus christ i really almost posted this with the 'i' in winger scratched out. that makes. a slur almost #jesus christ #its 3 am i need to go to bed but god #BOMB THREATS?? BOMB THREATS???? WHAT IF YOU BOMB A CHILD THAT YOU CLAIM TO CARE ABOUT SO MUCH #GOD YOU'RE SO STUPID #i have a mirgaine #cw negative #its bad out here lads

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d0d0-b0i · 2 years

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besties i did it again

#IM SORRY FOR BEING A GAMER!!!#this is who i am <\3 #awake at 6 am again #my productivity is at an all time low just cus i like stabbing fake people #please don’t become a habit i am begging myself on the knees and floor #however ac valhalla my betrothed/beloathed #‘viking’ was NOT A TERM DURING THE VIKING ERA AND HAVING THE CHARACTERS REFER TO THEMSELVES AS SUCH IS IMMERSION BREAKING #also drengr’s more common understanding is ‘lad’ or youthful boy NOT!!! ‘COURAGEOUS WARRIOR’#did the writers not realize the word dräng and drengr are eerily similar?#mayhaps even that one is simply a modern version of the old norse word?#because DRÄNG MEANS FARMHAND/YOUNG GUY/LAD #FUCK YOU ACV WRITERS #IF YOURE GONNA ROMANTICIZE THE OLD GODS LANGUAGES YIU BETTER READ UP ON THEIR CHILDREN #BECAUSE WEIRDLY ENOUGH!! WHEN A LANGUAGE IS FROM A TREE; IT CAN BE QUITE EASY TO RELEARN OLDER LANGUAGES FROM THE SAME TREE #BECAUSE IT IS USUALLY JUST A SMALL DIFFERENCE IN SPELLING OR GRAMMATICAL PRONOUNCIATION #IM UNDERCUTTING IT RN BUT AAGGAHAHAHH #this is why i can’t like things <3 as soon as vikings are brought up the historian in me lashes out not unlike a werewolf at a full moon #hilda the show is the only exceptions because it knowingly plays into tropes and fantasizes scandinavian folklore in a good way #amp hibia though…. oh my baby.. vikings never had horns on their helmets<3 *kills you*#sorry for the word vomit #whe. i get this tired pressure forms in my head so something has to come out

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natailiatulls07 · 5 months

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Lemon Sherbet

Mafia!Lando Norris x female!reader

Summary - When Mafia boss Lando Norris comes knocking, you share your lemon sherbets with him obviously

Warning - Mafia??

A/n - I watched Legend yesterday, got inspired by this scene <3

When the legendary Lando Norris, Londons infamous mafia boss came knocking on the door of his top client. He didn’t know he’d come face to face with the love of his life.

Dressed in an oversized jumper and some small white tennis skirt, a bag of lemon sherbets in hand. “Mind if I help you” Y/n asked politely.

Unlike the usual Lando Norris, he became nervous. Something about this women stood on her doorstep, made Lando Norris nervous.

“Yeah I um is Leo L/n here?” She nodded, quickly calling down her brother. This gave Lando that little chance to shamelessly devour her beauty just before she turned back to face him.

“Mind if I have a crack?” The gangster got his confidence back, pointing down at the bag of lemon sherbet sweets.

Y/n just smiled softly, letting him take a sweet for himself. “All right…”

Popping the sweet into his mouth, Lando was quick to politely thank the women. If you know one think about Lando Norris, the London mafia boss, it was that he never ever said thank you. Was never his style.

“Oh that’s nice, innit?” Bristol accent well on show. It was silent until there was a crunch. He had bitten into the sweet.

Y/n’s laughter filled the air. “You’re not supposed to chew it” Smirking slightly.

“No?” Lando continued to chew the citrus sweet, the sherbet delighting his tastebuds. “How else am I supposed to get to the sherbetty bit?”

Shaking her head with amusement, Y/ns giggles continued. “By being patient…”

Swallow the rest of his lemon sherbet, the curly hair lad leaned forward mirroring the same smirk. “Nah, being patient doesn’t get you what you want does it?”

Their eyes locked and he knew in that moment, Lando Norris knew he was gonna go to the ends of the earth for this women.

He knew he was going to make this women his wife and love her until his dying day. His mafia was no longer his first priority, she was. She had taken that spot, and nothing was ever going to take that from her.

#formula one #formula one x reader #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #mclaren racing #mclaren f1 #McLaren #legend #mafia au #kray twins

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sunny-flake · 9 months

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wait omg analysis time bc I am LOSING my mind

I wanted to start with these two, because in the broad image they are looking at each other

In HW, only one song is played ever, and I feel like he may be a bit lost on trying to join in, and is looking to Four for help. Four has notices this, but doesn't understand why he's looking at him. Probably?

LEGEND. LEGENDLEGENDLEGEND LEG. THE LAD. Excuse me as I just- OMG HES USING ONE OF THE LA INSTRUMENTS ANAKAMSKKFJRJJDJD

Aside from that, he looks OVERJOYED to be able to play one of those instruments, and is just having a wonderful time. Good for you bud :)

These two made me laugh, bc I know that Twi had to probably go off onto the woods or something and come back to join in the only musical way he knows. To which Wind, who probably here still knows Twi & Wolfy as two different people. Confused small bean <3

SKYYYYYY THE BOYYYY!!!! In past comics, Sky has said that playing the harp helps remind him of Zelda, and whatever they are playing seems to give good memories

ALSO ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT THE WIND? Throughout the peice there seems to be wind going to the left. You can see this especially in Hyrule. But for Sky, ONLY HE, has a strong wind going to the right. Not sure what that implies but it's cool

I know I've already seen a few things talking about time and how he has the Zora guitar from MM, which I do think it's cool because it implies that Time still has the MM masks on him.

Not much to say about Hyrule, except for the fact you can see the wind I was talking about earlier, and I like the fact that he's playing a recorder, not a Flute, a flute would've gone to the side

Finally we have Wild, who is instrument-less and the audience XD

Petition to have Wild get out a bunch of stakes and some mallets and just be percussion in the bg lmao. No other words here

I imagine the Spirit of Cadence of Hyrule Link is smiling down of everybody

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septemberbells · 2 years

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okay i see the first ship and it's cute

#like!! charlie does deserve somebody who thinks he's cool instead of an embarrassment #so much #heartstopper liveblog #also the book drop moment is very Romance Novel #oh no inviting him to rugby though #charlie omg queen u can't just bait him like that 'so you're saying i am small and weak' like #bestie no #tao: 'are you sure you want to spend an hour with giant moronic rugby lads' samesies #'where is your can do attitude' 'she left' omg #also the gym teacher/rugby coach reminds me of antonia from food network which i kinda dig #i think tao and elle are besties not a ship but i love the parallel with them standing while the crowd walks #'sorry' 'you have nothing to be sorry about' 'sorry'#anxiety moment #they're like extremely sweet but i do worry about Small Charlie with the rugby boy #also want more of him with his friends #'thank you x' :3 #omg nick's lil smile

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goobygnarp · 21 days

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i saw the most fuck ass house centipede in my bathroom last night like I was in some horror film.

here i am, taking a witching hour piss, I get ready to leave and look at the mirror hanging on the door. look at my face to see if anything is growing, ya know, facial hair.

and what do i see at the corner of my eye? some anomaly lined across the shower curtain wall but a FUCK ASS HOUSE CENTIPEDE.

and i don't mean some small boy minding his business, I can tip my hat to those fine lads, but the devil was out for me that night.

call me a believer i couldn't keep her if I tried, but I believe when YouTubers say don't do shit at 3 am,

DON'T PISS AT 3 AM!!?!?!

cause this boy was over my head the entire time I was wizzin and I never noticed.

the way I turned my head back like i owed this guy money and he finally found my tax-evading ass, how I faced the guy while I backed out of the bathroom, eyes trained on him like some weeping angel mess in lethal company, my hands feeling up the wall like we were making out while I searched for the light and fan switch.

i aint pissing at 3 am again.

#fuck do i even tag this as????#fun fact theyre actually harmless #like completely #theyre just super scary looking

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a66-1 · 12 days

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yo what about grumpy simon meets somehow grumpier reader !! maybe at a pub with the lads and she’s with her girls!! just two intimidating idiots <3

Yes!! this is so me as a human lmao..

Grumpy!Simon x Grumpy!Reader

a/n: yay!! second ask!! sorry it took so long, writers block and finals are kicking my ass rn.

You take a seat at the crowded pub, grumbling into a glass of wine. You've downed two drinks in, what, a couple minutes? Christ, how you're friends have more self control than you blows your mind.

Your friends sit around you, sipping from an assortment of drinks, laughing and talking about. Being the quiet friend definitely has its perks when your friend group is chatty, you get all the tea.

Danny's boyfriend cheated. Again.

Lauren's family is arguing two months too early already for the holidays.

Kadence's dogs are being the death of her and her small apartment.

You were never one to drop how you feel to your whole friend group, or even share more than what happened a couple hours ago. I mean, that's already too much information.

A natural grump. The grinch, Lauren called you. I mean come on, not to be one of those guys, but, your smile is so pretty!

You stand to excuse yourself, to grab another drink. I mean, technically, you should be getting water, but another bourbon sounds real fucking nice..

"Hey can I get..." You trail off when you notice a tall man come up next to you, and order exactly what you were ordering. Rude.

"Bourbon. On the rocks." The guy muttered, throwing down cash to pay for the drink. I rolled my eyes and glanced to the bartender.

"Bourbon too, please. On the rocks." You gave the guy a snide look, and sat down to wait for your drink. The guy cranes his neck up to watch whatever football game was going on, enamored with a bunch of men getting handsy on a flagged play.

"You could've been nicer and waited your turn, asshat." You grumbled, sorta for yourself, and a little for him. He chuckled, turning.

"Me? An asshat? Okay, Ms. I'm-Nice-To-Everyone, get some balls." He shrugged you off, and kept his eyes glued to the TV.

"I didn't say- Jesus, you're a fucking grump." You scoff, before realizing you sound just like Lauren right now.. The guy huffs, and turns to you, and lowers his head to be level with yours.

"I'm the grump? You're the one groveling over a little shove." He rolled his eyes. You mutter under your breath and move a seat away, waiting for your drink with a hand under your chin. You grab you drink when it came, and you moved back to your table.

"Lauren?" You mumble, sipping your drink. She curiously turns to you.

"Yeah?"

"Am I an asshole?" You ask, shoulders slumping.

Lauren stifles a laugh, and nods slightly. "When you're in one of your moods, yeah. Why?"

You groan, rubbing your eyes. "I think I met my match.."

anndddd yeah. a little dabble. inspo has been down. Please request more!

thanks babes...

-a661

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon fluff #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x y/n

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pizzaapeteer · 9 days

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maybe a little drabble or oneshot about theo who's usually not shaken by anything or anyone but he get's super flustered when confident!reader starts flirting with him💕

Gobsmacked - Theo Nott blurb

a/n: hehe loved writing this, muah bb for the idea and thanks to @suugarbabe for helping me with some of the dialogue <3 cute divider found here wording: 840 Warnings: f!reader

He watched from afar, eyes drinking in your every move, the lively chatter that bubbled around you, laughter buzzing from the surrounding audiences. Mostly aggregating sucks ups who sought advantage in your kindness, at least that was Theo’s clouded impression. His fingers lift the dying cigarette to his lips, inhaling the last sweet release of nicotine as it fills his lungs.

The afternoon sun shone upon you, radiating the sweet glow of your face, the epitome of sweetness displayed in your expressions. His eyes stayed trained on you, struggling to comprehend how someone could be so mesmerizing, even by the little things they did. From the way you walked gracefully, with a spring in your steps or to how you carried your books, a generally simple task, could entice him in, admiring the way you held them close to your chest tenderly, almost protectively.

Merlin, you were fucking pretty.

At the sight of you departing the crowd and heading inside, Theo stood with eager legs following you, ambling afterwards with a determined goal set in place. Flicking the butt of the cigarette in the nearby bin, his mind whirled with positive thoughts. Today was the day he’d speak to you. You had been quite the challenge in trying to approach, that was clear by the multiple of others accumulating around you. Something Theo wasn't used to, making him stall his advances.

Not that Theo was afraid of seeking you out amongst a crowd, knowing undoubtedly he could grab a girl's attention, even in a throng of other guys. Confidence wasn’t what he was lacking, but rather he found gratification in hitting on a girl alone. Quite presumptuous of him, relishing in the cat-and-mouse ploy that occurred, watching a girl get flustered from the direct, intimate conversation.

Theo knew now as he trailed behind you entering the library that once he got you alone, he’d be able to win you over. It normally only took one or two lines before a girl was swooning at his feet, and from how he had studied you, he was quite convinced you wouldn’t be any different. His usual surge of confidence pulsed through him while he made his way towards the desk you had situated yourself at. Helping himself to a chair he sat, his tall frame looming over you even while seated. A brash grin stretches on his face as he opens his mouth to give his signature line.

Taken by surprise at the sudden interruption, the sound of a chair creaking and the darkness that loomed over your lighting had you lifting your eyes, instantly consumed by a vision of deep blue orbs gleaming. The infamous debauchery Theodore Nott had been anything but subtle lately. It had been easy to take notice of the tall boy observing you within the shadows of his own Slytherin pack. You knew he was probably there to give you a line, but instead chose to beat him at his own game.

“Oh, if it isn’t the Italian Stallion himself,” a small smirk graced your plush lips. “That is what they call you, isn’t it?” Tilting your head in a cheeky manner, watching a pink hue cross over the freckles of Theo’s cheeks. “Well, I am flattered to have caught your undivided attention. It is my attention you want, right? That’s why you’ve been staring at me all those times. So sweet can’t seem to take your eyes off of me, can you honey?” You watch his cheeks flush redder, his mouth parting slightly. It was an amusing sight, seeing someone who oozed confidence freeze up, causing you to smile complacently.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty boy? You’re looking a little shaken up there for a confident lad like yourself.” You couldn't resist the opportunity to continue teasing the flustered boy rendered speechless at your bold words. Unable to help yourself, your hand reaches across to pull out a trick you’d seen him do a dozen of times, caressing his face gently, you tauntingly move his jaw side to side playfully. “Aw, are you blushing? Is this the first time? Am I witnessing a momentary occasion in history?” You keep going, voice laced with a distinct mockery, and hints of sarcasm with your sharp tongue on a roll, basking in his silence. It takes all your strength not to explode into a fit of giggles as Theo's jaw still hangs open. Moving your fingers, you push at his chin, closing his mouth for him. “Don’t go catching flies, Theodore.” Your eyes gleam with a playful tease.

His astonished expression marks your cue to leave, as you gather your belongings, not wanting to spoil the moment, soaking in the satisfaction of playing Theo at his own game. At your leave into the depths of the library, Theo stays sat behind at the worktable, watching your figure disappear amongst the scrapers of bookshelves. Wracking his brain on how the bloody fuck you had just bested him at his own game. And why it made him that much more infatuated with you.

masterlist

#hehehe I loved how this turned out #tyyyyy mari my boo #flustered boy theodore #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott blurb #theo nott drabble #slytherin boys #my requests

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medicetwork · 11 months

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Mercs if they had modern day cellphones!

Heavy:

The screen is too small and his fingers are too big.

The screen also tends to hurt his eyes after a while but he absolutely refuses to turn down the brightness, saying it would make it even harder to see than before

His main favorite functions are video calls with Medic or his family and listening to music.

His life is complete when he discovers E-books

He can’t read them on the screen but he loves being able to clean Sasha while having his favorite book read to him

Medic:

Really doesn’t use it for much else than phone calls and the occasional google search at first

When he discovers mobile games that takes his interest though!

He becomes a candy crush mom.

Oh you have a broken arm? Wellll…You can tough it out, champ. He’s on level 7,229 right now.

He would make all the other men get Life360

Scout:

Total social media zombie(I say as if I am not one)

Surprisingly he’s very popular on apps like Twitter and Tik Tok. People think he’s hilarious!

Unfortunately somewhere along the way he says something less than respectful about something and his account gets banned

Eventually he’s on account number 6 and trying to regrow his following

It never recovers

He finds out about NFT’s

Sniper:

Mainly uses it to watch youtube and play music

His phone is always on silent and Do Not Disturb

He loves those videos where those guys go out into the middle of the woods and just start building a fucking house out of clay and sticks.

He prefers texting to calling, finding it much faster(he just like me fr)

Baffled by just how much porn he has access to now….

But he’s not complaining.

Soldier:

He doesn’t use it because he just keeps breaking his phones.

They’ve been dropped, blown up, set ablaze, dropped in water, eaten by a bread-tumor monster, eaten by Soldier(???) and run over.

Even if they didn’t get destroyed within 3 days he still wouldn’t use it for much else besides setting alarms and sending confusing group texts.

However, with each new phone he has gotten he asks Pyro for stickers and sticker bombs his phone just for fun

Has an American flag wallpaper

Pyro:

Watches a lot of Youtube!

They love art tutorials, cooking tutorials and those videos with the guys that put molten hot metal balls into water and those videos of people crushing things in Hydraulic presses

Their search history is so fucking strange:

“my little pony free episode”

“my little pony movie free”

“how to draw clouds”

“gasoline cheap prices”

They follow Scout’s pages and always send him nice comments and like his videos

Engineer:

Loves listening to music and watching movies on his phone

Eventually learns how to code and make his own apps

This is also how he discovered he could jailbreak his phone and turn it into a universal remote for his sentries

Very slow texter

Uses way more emoji’s than needed

“Hello yall 👋🏻 going to the hardware store today 🔨let me know if yall need anything while im out👋🏻🚶🏼”

His most used app is the settings app

Spy:

Of course all of his phones are burners.

He never uses one for more than one week

Loves pirating movies on it and watching them in bed

He has no contacts. No personal information and keeps his location off at all times

Likes to pretend to be different people and play around with Google and Youtube’s targeted ads and algorithms

One day he’s an 86 year old woman that’s recommended nothing but metal bands and funeral home ads

The next week he’s four years old and getting recommended Mario and Minecraft let’s play videos

He uses twitter

He’s doxxed many people on Twitter

Like Scout he has MANY banned accounts and has also hacked and stolen many accounts

…He hacked one of Scout’s accounts and got it permanently banned

Demoman:

Loves watching Top 10 videos

Also loves having so much ease and access talking to his lads

He video calls his mother often even she just nags him the whole time and keeps accidentally hanging up

Is frequently texting the other team’s Soldier and laughing at what he says back

Uses Discord and Reddit and is in many servers and communities that focus on paranormal activity, urban legends and cryptids

Actually makes his own youtube videos searching for said cryptids

Frequently comments “cringe” under Scout’s posts

#tf2 pyro #soldier tf2 #tf2 demo #tf2 engineer #tf2 archimedes #tf2 headcanons #tf2 oc #scout tf2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 spy

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gassywill · 2 months

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Camping Fart Slave Training - Part 3 (Final Part)

I woke up mummified inside a sleeping bag and herd chatter outside. One voice was definitely Joeseph and the other ones I don’t know who I moved around slightly and Joeseph‘s face peered into the tent, looking at me “Hello again fart slave, I’ve brought some friends” two other guys, in full tracksuits looks back at me one smacked his arse as he looked into my eyes.

They all got into the small tent. Once inside Joeseph started rubbing my dick once again “it’s time for your last challenge fart slut” when I tried to reply all it came out was moans. I slowly realised that the gas mask I was wearing was different to the one before and my mouth had also been gagged with a pair of horrible tasting, dirty socks.

As I looked down as much as I could, I could see three tubes coming from the bottom of the gas mask. This couldn’t be good each of the lads grabbed of the tubes and attached it to their arsehole. I began to smell the horrible smell of three arses mixed together, creating a horrible stink, unlike anything I have ever smelt before.

Joseph started to rub the sleep bag, which felt comforting, which is something I needed, knowing what was gonna happen to me. “Ok, so you’re gonna take all of our farts until you agree to sign this contract”. what contract was Joeseph on about? I would never agree to this! I let out a moan shaking my head. Joeseph lent over and looked into my eyes. He started reading the contract.

“Part one, I promise to sniff my masters farts, whenever I am required, and no matter where I am.

Part two if my master has friends round who need to fart, I can be used as a filter for that rancid gas.

Part three, you are not allowed to cum unless you are sniffing farts.

Part four, you promised to move into Joeseph‘s flat and become his bitch for the rest of your life.”

I shook and disagreement all parts of this contract. I didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t want to be a fart slave for the rest of my life. I just wanted to be released.

Joeseph moved his hand down to my cock and started rubbing it. He lent back “ok boys here we go”. The first fart ripped down the gas mask tube into my face. All I could do is sniff it I start to moan as the next fart rumbled down the hose, followed by more and more and more gas.

Whilst this was happening, Joeseph was rubbing my cock forcing me to be horny to this extensive torture.

One of the other lads lent over and looked into my eyes. He put his hand on the side of my face and asked me to guess what he had for dinner before releasing a massive stinky fart into the tube. I maoned and shaked as he laughed.

This torture of non-stop farts went on for 10 minutes straight without any break. One of them was always farting. Joeseph lent over me again and said it could be all over if I just signed the contract in my head it was beginning to think like the only option I had for survival.

Soon the three guys stopped, Joseph said to them “I think we need the next stage” “Yes sir” replied one of the lads.

My gas mask and gag was removed, I could finally breathe somewhat fresh air. Joeseph and the other two guys, then got out a massive sleeping bag. It looked like a triple one. It could fit multiple guys and at once I was told to get into the bottom of it, I refused. Joeseph climbed on me cuffing my hands and my feet and dragged me in.

I was pushed down to the bottom and then the three lads got in the top. Their feet went on my face, which stunk about as bad as their farts. Joeseph reached down to me and attached a collar to my neck. I was now completely enclosed in this Dutch oven.

I felt the collar pulling and I was dragged up to one of the lads ass. He put his hand on the back of my head, and pushed my face into his rancid, bare arse, and proceeded to start farting on my face no matter how much I tried to pull away, I couldn’t. When I did manage to get a little bit away from his arse, the smell didn’t get any better as the smell was just filling the whole of the sleeping bag.

I was pulled to the next guy who proceeded a fart on my face multiple times and kept on telling me to lick their arse. Eventually, I did as I was told and stick my tongue in. Their arsehole was disgusting. You could taste their farts they had created.

Finally, Joeseph pulled me over to his arse. I could always recognise his gas after all. I’ve taken it for a good few days at this point. Joeseph pulled me with the collar, forced his dick into my mouth and forced me to deep throat him as he released some eggy gas around me. I was now sniffing his rancid farts and sucking his giant dick.

This went on for a good 10 minutes before he came into my mouth. He allowed me to take his dick out of my mouth and pushed me into his arse where he released another few bubbly fart right in my face I felt so submissive. The other guy pulled me over to theirs. Most sat in between them. Both of them sat on my face at once. I had one ass on either sides of my face.

Both of them start releasing eggy farts right onto my nose. I had no escape. I started shaking. I still have to cum from Joeseph‘s cock dripping out of my mouth as I was forced to endure more gas the inside of the sleeping bag, stank of rancid fart and cum. I shouted out at the top of my voice “I’ll sign it, I’ll sign it”.

And right then too much of disgusting farts hit my face. I start shaking from the stench again, and then I felt the collar pull me back up to the surface.

Joeseph was sat in the tent with the pen in his hand, and the contract on the ground. He gave the pen to me and instructed me to sign it. I nervously signed the contract while making the odd glance to my new master above me. I was now a fart slave for Joeseph.

As soon as I signed the other two lads pulled the colour back into the sleeping bag. Where is one of them sat on my face, ripping farts, the other one put his cock in my mouth and forced me to take more of his cum, and then they switched the other one took over the farting duties, as I had to suck another cock and take more come.

My mouth was dripping. My face stank and my cock was harder than it ever been before. I was now fully a fart slave. I was Joeseph’s fast slave.

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year

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Kissing Roman Roy Would Include...

Request: oh my god! your kendall roy kissing headcanons were adorable! would it be possible to get some for roman as well? i just know that man is touch starved and definitely had an awkward time kissing the reader early on in their relationship. obviously, you can choose to ignore but thank you!

Awww yes of course you can get some my love this man is 100% touch starved you’re so right <3

LADS OKAY I’M COMING BACK TO SAY THIS IS NEARLY 7K AND MY LONGEST FIC BY FAR LMAOO BABYGIRL CODED anyway comments are much appreciated because I am so tired lol ty ty ily all! :)

Warning: mentions of injuries/ blood, childhood abuse, and some swearing! Also MAJOR spoilers for Season 4!!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @xihatiancai.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

We all really took one look at Roman Roy and went wet pathetic disgusting meow meow man I love you, and I really love and appreciate that for all of us. Because like... if not babygirl, why babygirl coded?

The first time you guys ‘kissed’, you were both around seven years old: on the tennis court, Shiv had sent a ball flying at Roman that had bent his hand backwards, and left quite a nasty gash of blood running down his arm. Instead of comforting the brother she had just bruised for the umpteenth time, the set of Roman crawling down to sit on the grass while cradling his arm just made her furious, and she went storming off towards the kitchen for some chocolate milk to cool down. You had been watching from the doubles side line, dropping your own racket as soon as Roman began to snivel, squeezing his skin back together and wincing as warm blood gushed out onto the grass. You run over to kneel in front of him, the harsh rays of light blushing across your head like a halo as you grab onto his elbow. You press the back of your shirt against it, hoping it will do until a nurse or one of the waiters comes running out with a first aid kit; as you glance up, the furious face of his father comes pacing past the balcony doors, and so you turn Roman’s head to look at you instead, praying that he won’t spot him. It will only make him whine more. It surprises you when he curses curtly instead at the feel of your fingers pressing down hard against his wound, but when you mumble an apology he finally stops scowling down at the ground and looks up: it’s as if he’s seeing you properly for the first time. His eyes light up as you gently lean down and press a kiss against the bloodstains; just the slightest hint of pressure, and tingling warmth of your your lips is enough to send a flourish through his body and make Roman Roy feel nourished. No longer withered, no longer left to rot. Roman gazes up at you: past the dappled sunlight, past the dotted clouds, past the earth and skies and heavens, and past it all he sees you.

You’re the first and last person he’s ever wanted to kiss. Like craving poison, he knows it will pass through and destroy him if he allows himself to indulge. But by god, if it wouldn’t taste so sweet as it pours down his throat and overwhelms every dilapidated part of his body.

The first time he works up the nerves to kiss you back, is in one of the pool storage huts just past the outer boundaries of his father’s estate. Shiv had finally convinced her father to allow her out into the city to go shopping for some new suits, and Ken had been chained into a business meeting to take notes for Logan, so Roman had been left all alone to wander around the ostentatious shadows and lonely halls of the house he hated to call home. Feeling trapped, like he couldn’t breathe, he wanders towards the ‘safe space’ the two of you had created a couple of years ago: a small nook you and Roman had spent the day nestling out (and nearly breaking his arm shoving unused surfboards and pool cleaning chemical boxes) in the dim, and slightly damp room. Finally feeling at home as he stepped into the mildew-steeped scent cloud that enveloped the square box stuffed full of things his father had wanted out of his sight, his heart is allieved to spot you already there. You don’t even have to look up from your book as he comes dawdling towards you like a puppy afraid it’s about to be kicked. When you open your arm up to him willingly, the true him comes leaping forth: like a darting hummingbird, he comes flying into your side, nestling his chin on the hard part of your shoulder so he can scan the words lazily past your head. After about half an hour of him gripping onto your shirt, as sweet and softly as infant spring, he glances up towards your face and an overwhelming urge overtakes him. Before he can stop himself, before he can make sense of his decision, before he can chide himself for his weakness, he lifts his head up and presses his lips firmly, if a little harshly, against the side of your cheek. Your book crashes to the floor with a thunderous slap, lifting a small cloud of dust as you raise your fingers to the wet spot in surprise. He immediately shuffles backwards at the noise, before making an awkward, fumbling excuse and running out the door.

He never brings it up again, but whenever you’re round at the Roy residence after that you can feel the intensity of his eyes land on you far more often. He blinks away and scratches the back of his neck nonchalantly whenever you catch him, or sometimes scrunches his nose up and starts biting the edges of his fingernails if he’s really nervous. But the love is there. He just can’t say it yet.

Once, when you were the only person in the house besides Connor and Logan, you were asked by the second-born eldest son to help him find Romie. With a concerned sigh, Connor wanders off to check behind the bathroom door off the living room, his lips forming a tight line as he disappears off down the corridor. Turns out, Logan had found out that Roman had been the one to spill his ice cream cone in the car on the way back from his fencing lesson, and Roman had run off cursing and crying when he heard the roar reverberate out from his father’s office at the news. You know where he is, instinctively. Of course you do: you don’t even need to think as your feet guide you towards his bedroom, and your body shrinks down to scoot under the bed and lie on the pristinely clean floorboards. He’s hiding behind the tendril weeds of his fear, making himself as small a target as possible as he balls himself up, trembling like heavy branches when lanced with frost. From behind his raised elbows that protect his face, he’s sniffling, his feet leaving the ground every few seconds from how harshly they shake. You lie down carefully on your side beside him, so hyperaware of any part of yourself brushing against him, in case the wounded creature decides to bolt. Thankfully, he comes sliding towards you, only stopping when your chest does the job for him; being as physically close as he can get to you, he huddles into your embrace while you stroke back the few curls by his ear. Once you’ve finally managed to choke back your own tears, your lips latch onto the spot of skin by the lobe of his ear, eyes closing and ticking his skin. He warbles against you, shivering, and the kiss just makes him whine more harrowingly against your chest.

Romie’s always around you. Always. He finds it difficult to actually be physically intimate, so it says quite plainly (even if you can’t understand it yet) that you’re the love of his life when he comes barrelling down the front stairs of the veranda and straight into your hug whenever your first foot falls onto the estate. It also means that during family dinners, when he’s finally mastering the skill of slouching back in his wishbone chair and tuning out all the horrible and spiteful things wrapped up in faux sincerity his family are saying about each other, he turns instead to kick your feet under the table. The brush of his ankle against your shoe is soon followed by the heavy pressure of his fingers reaching over onto your lap and entangling with your own. When the two of you are finally excused, you decide not to go back inside straight away. Instead, the two of you go for a dander around some of the verdant fields around the edges of the property: a few green patches here there that are filled with the scent of honeysuckle and freshly blooming rainbows splattered amongst the dirt. You decide to stop and sit for a while on the edge of a cobbled stone wall, laughing as Roman nearly falls off the uneven patch as he settles down beside you. He shrugs you off with a wave of his hand, but he’s smiling as you pluck a daisy from between the blades and tuck it behind his ear. For a while, the two of you just exist: watching the sunset brew violet and lilac gleams across your eyeline, talking shite and poking fun at each other, until Roman shyly takes a break from his rapid talking to blink slowly. He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He climbs into your room later that night, and you nearly hit him with a baseball bat when you come strolling out of your bathroom to see a teenager laying splayed out in a heap on your rug, a few pages of your homework flying over your desk from where he had banged his knee and tripped. With a lopsided grin, he decides to just stay lying there (once you had convinced him that you weren’t going to actually hit him). Sometimes Roman just likes to watch what you’re doing: to observe as an outsider what normality, what contentment should and could feel like. As you sit by your lamp and finish off your english essay for the next morning, you notice with furrowed eyebrows that Roman is moochier than normal tonight: he keeps squirming, rolling about and whining as if he’s debating something in his mind. That’s why when he’s gripping onto the ivy and finally climbing back down into the darkness later that night, you grab onto the collar of his sherpa jacket and heave him up through the air like a flustered bird towards you. After his initial surprise at the feeling of you pounding your lips against his own, he melts into you: clumsily, messily, desperately, but with one hand gripping so hard onto your window frame that he splinters the wood. His top lip refuses to let you go: capturing onto your bottom lip over and over and over again, the sweet taste of cherry flooding your senses as you bite down on the lip forcing its way into your mouth. When he pulls away, he looks so uncharacteristically serious for a moment as he hovers a few inches away from your face. His eyes never break from your lips, as if he he looks away the miracle he’s been graced with might fly away and he’ll be left with the hellish nightmare of his normal reality. But it doesn’t, and so you let him go.

He burns a crimson red and starts muttering incoherently as his feet work their way back down the garden lattice, but he’s got this giddy smile and a spring in his swishing walk the whole way home.

I mean, like, of course Connor invited you on the camping trip. And man, I mean the tension that had been expanding between you and Roman over the last few years was becoming more and more obvious to his brothers, and it pierced Roman’s heart with a stroke of fear when he realised it was to him as well. Connor’s little fishing expedition by the river turned out a little differently than he expected: instead of a placid moment between family, learning and teaching new skills together and bonding over one activity they could all share in, it was more of a ‘watch little gremlin Roman flirt obnoxiously with Y/n and, once again, ignore everyone else’ fest. Kendall sat on the shore, itchy against the reeds of grass and sighing every time he looked down at his watch. Connor was still having fun, though, from where he was wading his brand new, and never worn again wellies into the shallow end of the creek. It was just that every now and then he would have to trip over his fishing line and scoot to the right to avoid large splashes of weedy water landing on him; Roman had decided a much better use of his time was to try and pull up handful of mud and chase you around the river side with it. Your squeals, as you ran around the tamarack trees and peered around the sides like a meerkat, could be heard from the campsite. So, too, could Roman’s hyena laugh as he went laughing around the bend after you, and Connor had to spend half the night ignoring your shared snickers as he apologies to camper after camper.

I don’t even know how, but somehow the two of you managed to convince Connor that it was a great idea for you and Roman to share a tent. Thanks to Kendall’s pointed warning for the two of you to behave and ‘not embarrass the family name anymore’, you were both surprisingly well behaved during the night. Mainly due to the fact that before you fell asleep, you leant over and left a chaste kiss against Roman’s cold forehead, before turning onto your side facing him and wishing him a goodnight. He wiggled down into his sleeping bag like a little worm as the electricity from your touch spread down like firebolts through his body. That man did not sleep one wink that night. Not one. Instead he rolled onto his left side, and chose to spend his time contemplating you: taking you in. The milky buzz of twilight flooded through the loose zip, the chirp of bouncing crickets on the darkened rocks outside match the intense thudding of his heart. Fumbling his fingers up so they rested underneath the side of his jaw, he made himself comfortable as he observed the way your chest rose and fall: the way your nose crinkled up in disgust when you were in the throes of a weird dream, the way your mouth mushed as you turned more into the stony ground. How much he loved you. How happy he could be if he could just summon the bravery to tell you. How fucked he was. How, if he did, his father would immediately utilise it, weaponize his love against him.

Roman wasn’t stupid, but he was. He didn’t know if he could find a way to escape this cage. Deep in his heart, he knew there was no key to this dog kennel, to this bird cage, to this leash. But he lay there, still, dreaming of freedom.

You get invited along on their family holidays a lot, mainly because Logan spends his whole time on phone calls and not mentally being present so he doesn’t really notice you’re there. If you and Roman aren’t spending the afternoons sitting together on a sun lounger, reading aloud softly to him by the pool side, it’s spent actually in the pool. A freshly seventeen year old Roman had seemed nervous, besides the usual annoyance at having to wear nothing but swimming shorts: shaken all day; when you touch his pinkie finger and grip onto it, silently asking him with your stern expression if you were okay, only the most miniscule of grins could cross his face in response. He still seemed unsettled in the water, besides the fact that Shiv’s foot nearly thwacked him up the face as she and Kendall wrestled each other under the water, both unrelenting in their accusation that the other had lost their splashing match. While you watched on in horrified curiosity, you nearly jumped when you felt Roman softly touch your elbow and lead you away from the affray. You think he’s trying to guide you towards the Jacuzzis as you bob across the water, or perhaps back to his room to escape the antics of his family. Instead, Roman leads you further into the deep end for a moment; after a sharp turn right, you’re surrounded by a small well, a shallow area just out of sight of the main swimming area. The imposing walls loom over your head as you take a perched seat on the brick bench that runs around the semi-circle, and Roman’s breath trembles as he follows suit, sitting maddingly close to you. You open your mouth to ask him what’s going on, but before you can get a squeak out he’s lunged at you, fervently enough to make you nearly bite your tongue. It’s not super romantic, and it’s incredibly clumsy as an inexperienced Roman Roy mashes his lips against your bottom one until he can feel his teeth clash against yours. You can taste a touch of pineapple from the inside of his mouth as he sloppily raises his cupid’s bow, and soon after the tang of chlorine as he falls too far forward and sends you both tumbling backwards into the water. But when you come back up for air, heaving him up by his underarms and staring dumbstruck at him as he pants heavily and tries to look anywhere else, you burst out giggling. Roman’s smile grows brightly enough to blight the sun as he looks incredulously at you, the laughter only stopping short on his lips when he catches the squinting look of his sister watching the two of you from the boundary edge.

It’s the first and last time Roman Roy kisses you for a while, terrified that one of his siblings will go squealing to daddy and he’ll take you away from him. And then, suddenly, the two of you have grown up. Roman’s still stuck to you like glue, but the repression festers away in his stomach until he feels as if some kind of scaly tooth monster is gnawing away at his insides. He feels the leather tighten around his neck whenever he’s standing like an affronted ostrich in that office with his father, his master, his demise, his ghost, him.

So, Roman starts to try and avoid you whenever he’s at Waystar, worried that the grief that never seems to leave his mind will strangle you if he lets you in. Terrified that his father will die, but also that his father will never die. That this is just another cage. Eventually, after weeks of him turning on his heels with a manic jolt and running out of every board room he spots you in: after months of the child dressed up as a man putting his phone to his ear and having nonsensical phone calls every time he passes you in the corridors, you manage to nab him when he’s walking out of the break room. Even though a stuttering cousin Greg thinks you’re trying to kidnap him when you grab Roman by the collar and start dragging him to the elevator, you refuse to let go until Greg’s waving hand is firmly shut behind the metal sheets. You let go, and he fumbles backwards onto the hand-rail that runs around the small rectangle with a bemused ‘what the actual fuck’, but you just cross your arms and stare at him, refusing to talk first.

Your austere façade quickly drops, and you’re quick to slam your first into the emergency button on the panel, gripping onto Roman’s sleeve as the elevator lurches to a stop between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. A kind of acceptance has washed over Roman, some kind of known and familiar claustrophobia from having spent his whole life locked up, his whole life thrown about sets in. He picks at his fingernails as his eyes dart about, wild and brutal and crushing as he looks around for an escape route. It’s only when you put a hand on his shoulder and draw him in for a hug that he breaks down; he squats down so the two of you are resting a few inches off the floor, his face buried just atop of your heart as he shakes and he cries and he allows himself the security to just crumble. To melt down. To kick his feet and hope his father feels the wring of the shackles against his own ankles. He hopes for the first time in his life, as you stroke the back of his head and shush him comfortingly, that they hurt him.

Something changes between the two of you that day. You’re kinder to each other, and slowly to yourselves. It’s not outspoken, or rushed, or ravenous, but it begins to grow and grow and grow until it’s not only confusion and anguish that lies at the pit of Roman’s rotting core.

It starts with him becoming more comfortable showing affection to you around his family. Like you sitting on Roman’s lap at Shiv’s wedding reception, not listening to the speeches but trying to hide your giggles in Roman’s palms as he’s busy trying to take roses out of the centre piece and pin them through your hair. Or his full weight against you during the professional photos out on the balcony, and not even Shiv flicking her brother or Tom waving his hand at Roman to try and get him to behave could stop him from leaning backwards and planting a kiss underneath your jawline once the man said he was taking the final photograph. The two of you go out into the gardens later that night, trying to escape the ear-hammering loud beats of the D.J., and to try and make an early escape from the growing fight that seemed to be coming between Tom and Shiv’s old work acquaintance. With two beers and slightly tipsy heads, you sit down and talk on the dew-ridden grass, shoulders swaying against the other’s in time with the falling pine leaves. You felt like children again, and against the smouldering clash of fireworks that brandished the sky in bursts of red and gold, you both felt undying as well. He kisses you then, his hand reaching up to brush against the side of your cheek, his bottom lip teasingly tugging at your bottom lip and making you swat him away with a laugh. As you take his hand in your own and press a promise filled kiss against his middle knuckle, he hopes that one day he’ll be able to kiss you at your own wedding.

When you know he’s having a rough day at work, you like to try and sneak into his office and wrap your arm around his stomach, peppering kisses up and down his spine. Although he tries to shake you off like a startled starling at first, when he realises that you also managed to close the blinds on your way in without him noticing, he quickly relinquishes himself onto your barrage of adoration. He becomes all whiny, and soft, and needy, and all the things he’ll never allow himself to be outside of the security blanket of this closed off room. Although he still isn’t comfortable with anything too sexual, you won’t find him complaining as he wrestles you to the sofa. Once you’ve had the wind knocked out of your lungs, and Roman’s satisfied with how fully you’re splayed out on your back before him, he’ll go scuttling over to the end of the sofa and kneel down beside it. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, he’ll swish his hips from side to side and come crawling up the sides of his body like a wolf slinking towards its dinner. Then he attacks: his tongue heavy and slick as he draws a hickey out just under the pulse point on your neck, pressing him firmly against you if you try to squirm away, chiding you with a warning. When it becomes too much, he lets you grip him up by his tie and walk him backwards until his thighs hit his desk. He jumps up to perch on it, and you stand between his legs as they tighten around you. You’re slow and careful as you loosen the material between your fingers, opening the first button of his shirt, and only the first so he doesn’t become too uncomfortable, with a satisfying loud pop. He whimpers as you lean over to scrape your teeth against the exposed skin, working your way up until your lips are tantalisingly hovering over the stubble on his jaw. He can feel your breath, hot and unsteady as it pants against him, but he still can’t stop the shiver that racks through him as he takes your hand and guides them under his shirt. With your hands firmly planted against his abdomen, you look at him quizzically, worried, but he just keeps his fingers on top of your own and answers you by sweetly pressing his top lip over his own. Just once, he wanted to feel safe, to feel okay with the love of his life touching his body.

The two of you have this game where you try to steal kisses from each other during the most inappropriate and annoying times possible. Oh, Shiv’s trying to talk to you in her kitchen about how her trip to England went? Roman barges in between the two of you, nearly making Shiv chop her thumb off, just so he can interrupt his sister by smirking against your mouth. Kendall wants to run through a presentation the two of them have to give the next morning? You’re grabbing onto Roman’s head as you run through the office, nearly giving him a heart attack as he scrambles backwards and allows you to drop his head back onto the cushion. With a full plant landing on his already pliant lips, Kendall’s left with a fed-up ‘hey’, yet unsurprised look of disappointment on his face as you run off back to your own desk.

When his father called Romie a moron in Prague, the look of desolation that crossed through his teary eyes was enough to make an angel weep. But it broke you even more when he pattered out of the dining area, walking shoulder to shoulder with you, but not saying anything. He was just staring down at his hands as if they were blotted: stained with specks of blood, and he would have to spend another sleepless night scrubbing them out of his skin. It wasn’t the first time he heard it, but it was the first time you were there to hear it too, and you weren’t going to let him get comfortable wallowing in that fearful acceptance. You grip onto his shoulder and steer him away from the milling crowd of sheep, stuffing him into a bathroom stall of the east wing of the hotel. Crowded together, Roman’s hamstring bumps against the porcelain as the two of you scoot about until you’re standing facing each other as best as you could. He looks at you, bleary eyed, and you look at him, bleary eyed. He breaks. Choking, gasping, breathless sobs, drowning in his misery. He grabs onto your shirt, clawing into the meat of your shoulders as if he’ll sink if he lets go. He keeps babbling through bubbles of spit about how he just wants to make his father proud, how he wants to be just like him, how he wants to prove that he can rule all this too. How he can never replace him. But he can. He wants it all to burn, but he wants to stand on the ruins and be the one to plant the foundations again. To make a better world, in honour of his father: in honour of the god of war that rages within his head. You press quick kisses on his sweaty forehead whenever you can, doing your best to dodge the quick turns of his head and wiping away the trails of tears with your thumb. All you can do in that moment, as you press your lips against the side of his ear and whisper it to the most intimate, lost parts of himself, is to let him know that you’re proud of him, no matter what happens next. You always have been, and even the ghost of Logan that possess Roman can’t stop that.

The sloppy kisses he gives you the next morning omg. When the two of you are sitting on your bedroom steps, and you’re biting your bottom lip in concentration as you try to do up the buttons of his dress shirt and make him look presentable in front of his family. Like a feral dog, he uses all of his leftover energy trying to nip and bite your fingertips, catching them on his tongue and pursing them against the roof of his mouth whenever he can.

You cannot convince me that Roman isn’t a jealous bitch. Like at Kendall’s fortieth birthday party, when he finally gives up trying to get up into his special little secret treehouse club, and Shiv has left him to go ham on the dance floor instead. You finally manage to convince him into relaxing for a fricking minute, making him join you at the bar. If someone tries to grab your waist, though, or butt into your conversation while the two of you are hyena giggling and seeing who can spurt more beer into the other’s face, Roman will full on goad them into fighting him. I mean, chest puffed out, crazed look in his face, hands up by his side until they send a weak shove in their general direction. It only ends when Roman either: near topples you to press a bracing kiss against your lips, or you dragging him off and having to hold him through the brackets of his arms. In the corner of the room, over by the sheets of warbling fire that seems to be coming from a central room, you stand behind his feet and wrap your arms up his chest. You can feel the fury roll off him, allowing him a moment to blow off the steam, until his head finally falls like putty and begins to synchronise his breathing to yours again after you hold your lips against the nape of his neck.

The kisses when he comes back after being held hostage (I am doing this so out of order apologies) omg??? He clambers sombrely to sit beside you on the deck of the boat, looking so out of place and serious as he leans back against the cushions. His siblings make fun of him, and tease him, and although he realises it’s harmless and he’ll see it as a key bonding moment a couple of years down the line, in the inside the typical Roy storm is brewing. He can’t say anything: just hides behind the jokes and snide comments so the words don’t choke him. You just feel his weight fall against yours little by little, until his hand reaches out and takes your own so tightly you know it’s going to bruise. The muscle in his jaw tightens and he squeezes his eye shut in an enduring pain at the sight of his father’s helicopter coming in to land. So, for that kind second before his life comes crashing back down around him again and he has to revert back, to hide behind the brick wall again, you take him over to the railings. It’s just the two of you, the warm sea salt stinging against your grimacing faces, and the ungodly sight of a near-naked Cousin Greg lying stretched out beside the slide below you. After a few goes, you manage to unlatch his claws from the white metal and replace them with your soothing palm, rubbing semi-circles against the back of his hand. You’re here. You’re here, with him. You’re not going to let him go it alone again, if he wants.

And he does. He could cry, he so desperately does. Some of the tension falls from his shoulders as he raises your joint hands to his lips and kisses them, gracing over every inch of skin his mouth can latch onto.

You both know, in that moment, that it’s enough. It’s a promise. You’ll stick together, no matter what. You’ll love each other through everything, no matter what. You’ll stay around, no matter what or who he becomes.

Which brings me to... kissing him when you find out about the passing of his father. Standing on that boat, on the most joyous of occasions, feeling as if the whole world is shattering around you. Feeling miserable at the knowledge that deep down, some part of you is overjoyed by the news. Feeling even more downtrodden to realise, as the streaky eyes and thousand-stare faces of the Roy siblings flash back and forth in your line of sight as they pass the phone to each other, that Logan will never really be gone. They’re talking to his lifeless, empty shell through the speakers, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s here in this room. He’s staring through their eyes. Talking in their quivering, harsh voices. Pounding through their feet. Tearing them apart as they try to cling onto each other. In their accusations that burst through their mouths innately. In the ordered instructions hurled out to keep business running smoothly. Hidden between the cracks of their voices as they sharpen their words and seethe them out between clenched teeth when the slightest chance of Logan even being dead is raised. He’s here, right now, as you let go of the death grip Kendall and Shiv have on both of your hands and catch sight of Roman rocking backwards and forth on the floor.

Giving a final squeeze of apology to Connor’s arm, you take Roman out of the room before he combusts. The whole air seems to be chilled: still, like something’s lurking unspoken between the threads of air. Like you’re leading Roman through the cold remains of a morgue. He wanders around for a minute, not even hearing the click of the door as you close it behind you. Not even crying. Not even speaking. For the first time in his life, he looks so much like his father. Too much. It scares you. Until eventually he just closes his eyes and trods over to the wall, thumping his forehead down on the cool metal until it burns. He holds his hand out to you, cufflinks gleaming like the edge of a knife past the ceiling lights, as if he’s offering a contract out to you. Apprehensively, your tentative hand creeps out and places itself gingerly on top of his own. He takes it, his dry lips latching onto you until the bridge of his nose is resting now upon your hand. The deal is done.

When you get back to your apartment though, and Romie finds out that Matsson wants him to fly out and meet him in Norway... that’s when Roman gets weird. Devastated. Freaks out. Grieves. You come out from your shower, wearing one of his suit shirts as your pyjama top, and he doesn’t even give a whistle of appreciation. Instead he’s crumpled on the floor by the canopy of your bed, cradling his knees to his chest, swearing into his kneecaps furiously. But you - you, oh god, you’re the only thing that can stop him from being swallowed up by Logan’s fury. You tilt his chin up during a tangled rush of expletives I don’t dare to copy down here, a scowl setting itself into his face like stone. It begins to soften when he realises you’re touching him, when he can feel the scrape of your nail around his jugular. You do your best to warble an unconvincing smile as you turn his head to the side, so you can better wipe your bottom lip against the edge of his throbbing mouth. You mould yourself to him, working at his pace as he winces at first, before slowly falling more and more easily into your grip. His hands loosen from his arms and fall onto your triceps as he deliriously tries to come back to himself through searching through the velvety warmness of your mouth: by swiping against your tongue and choking back his grievances as you pant into his open, waiting mouth.

You wake him up the next day with a fond kiss against the tip of his nose, and for the first time in a long while he smiles before he wakes fully up. The morning light cradles his bleary face as he sleepily runs a few fingers over the edge of your cheek, before cradling himself into your side again. He feels safe, weary, anguished, loved enough to fall asleep again, after pressing a few gentle licks behind your earlobes to try and hear you laugh again. Even through it all, his main concern is you.

You trace his features while he restlessly dreams, although he squirms from time to time and alludes you to the fact that he’s secretly awake. A kiss here, between the junctions of wrinkles on his furrowed forehead. A kiss there, on the patchy stubble just underneath his left ear. A few there on the dark circles underneath his eyes, until you’re balancing over him and holding yourself up by the hands splayed over his pillow. He just needs to be reminded he’s beautiful from time to time. That he’s perfect. That he doesn’t need to try and be someone else. To encapsulate his father.

But also like, Roman fucking hates Matsson. The way he looks at you during the whole field trip, like a hunter about to swallow its prey whole. Although the continuous comments about his family, and the two new Co-Ceo’s, and the legacy of his father make him burn down to the pit of his stomach with a white hot fury, he can deal with them if he would just leave you the fuck alone. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone but him looking at his soulmate with such adoration and lust in their eyes, so if that overgrown yeti gives you the up and down check out one more time he might actually just deck him in the middle of the retreat. He bites down on his tongue so harshly that his taste buds begin to bubble and prickle with blood, deciding it best to storm off and collect his thoughts before he lashes out and does something he can’t take back. You finally manage to track him down a little way off the beaten track, winding your way over some cobbled steps to find a branched alcove with nothing but a bench and a breath taking view of the gushing river down below. He’s hunched over with his fingers knotted over his knees, his lips so tightly drawn together that at first you don’t even spot the droplets of blood until he turns with a raised eye to look at you.

He knows it’s not your fault, so there’s no convincing or apologies when you join him. Just Roman finally getting all of that pent up sorrow and distress out. After an awkward moment of bouncing your foot up and down, you decide your best course of action is to just open your arm up to him again, like you used to do when you were children. At first he raises a confused eyebrow, before the realisation dawns over his face, and his features crumble. His lips purse, his throat bobbing as he heaves the tears back down, but he can’t stop his lips from trembling as he falls into your side. That kiss was the sweetest, as he leans his chin familiarly against your shoulder and bumps noses with your own. He frowns, sobbing at the knowledge that he can kiss you, finally, in the way he’s been yearning for all his life, and yet it all feels so wrong. So upside down. So far away from what he had dreaming. The freedom feels like a tether, and yet he juts his chin out and latches placidly onto your bottom lip anyway, the tears trickling down and falling between your mouths.

It’s an act of defiance. A key sliding into the lock. He still can’t say it, but he won’t allow himself to smother the feeling anymore. The first sip of poison gliding down his throat, and Roman prays as he presses his forehead tearfully against your own, that it would kill the Logan part of him first.

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whimsical-roasting · 11 months

Note

You reblogged that Sam gifs post and it reminded me of that headcanon i have of being Sam’s friend but you’re feisty and take no one’s shit. Like he’s always takes the high road and you’re like when they go low i go lowER. I would fight that Akufo dude for him no questions asked.

hi wifey <3 you are absolutely right!! i fucking love that idea of Sam having a bestie who'd throw hands for him.. it's on sight all the time.

special thanks to @sokkigarden for bouncing ideas off me, love you bby. okay, i wanna write about being friends w the AFC Richmond boys more, so if yall have ANY thoughts on being friends with ANY of the lads then send me requests on it so we can DISCUSS

OKAY BUT BEING BESTIES WITH SAM OBISANYA

he's such a wholesome and loyal friend... a breath of fresh air yknow?? Dani is more of that 'unconditional sunshine' energy, but Sam is positive whilst still keeping it real w you

and sooo you're hella loyal to him too. well, you're loyal to everyone you care about. you'd take a bullet for them, no questions asked, but probs a lot of cussing involved (same, but i'll come back to this)

sharing an airpod each if yall go out on a walk or join the team on a bus ride - if you're dating jamie then he NEEDS you next to him on the ride back, probs uses your shoulder to sleep on and has an arm around your waist so you can't leave, but that's a diff post ahahaha

having a shared spotify playlist that you both keep adding music too...the vibes are all over the place. "Y/N, I was trying to jam out to J.Cole, and then Adele came on??" "Oh yea, I was sad bout something earlier"

blanket forts and microwaveable caramel popcorn for when he's missing home

playing as him in FIFA when you're with the lads and yellin "YEA THATS MY BESTIE" every time you score as him

pinching his earlobes like his dad would for good luck on the days of a big match/when he's really nervous

since opening OLA'S, you join him when he attends small business owner conventions, but that's mainly to try the free food

since i'm vegetarian, telling him that his menu looks great but you can only stick to sumn like the jollof rice.. so next month when he invites you over to his restaurant for a catchup dinner there's a whole new lil section for vegetarian dishes on the menu (or whatever dietary inclusivr thingy etc.)

warning Sam about Afuko because "a man simply doesn't feed you pasta and lobster and send you a stack without something in mind" and him being like ??? what and you groan, "did you watch the tiktoks I sent you??"

hearing about how the Afuko rejection went and Sam only focusses on "he called me medium talent??" and you're SEETHING

you're like "what the living F U C K" and he's like "oh hey Y/N, don't worry, I know I am not medium talent" and you're like "what? no, shut up, obviously not, but that's not the POINT here. how did that ASSHOLE have the audacity to speak to you like that?!!"

you're searching up flights to Nigeria and opening a google map from the airport to Afuko's business residence or something, and Sam is like, "seriously, forget that guy. bullet dodged." and you're angrily muttering about how Afuko's gonna have to dodge the bazooka you're gonna smuggle onto the plane

"We cannot be best friends if you end up in jail because you tried to smuggle a bazooka onto the plane." "I just wanna talk to him...with a bazooka." "No." "Pleas-" "No."

telling Sam you might be getting feelings for Jamie and being nervous he'd be mad because of their relationship in S1, but you promise he's changed, and Sam is like, I know

wearing the Obisanya jersey and the rest of the boys are like 'hey why don't you ever support our merch' so like every match you're switching out jerseys before texting a pic to the groupchat

running into that Francis guy who's Afuko's right-hand man and "accidentally" stepping on his foot real hard like OOPS

giving him updates on your love life and vice versa. "Y/N, please tell me this one is not a loser." "Um, Sam, shut up; you know my rizz only seems to work on losers??" "hey, Jamie told me that telling a woman my favourite movie is Ratatouille is a bad idea... is it?" "just bake her a lasagna or something and say that's how you learnt to cook." "I am not doing that." "dammit, I thought we'd get lasagna for dinner"

doing random tiktok trends or challenges - the baking one where one person is blind, one is deaf, and one is mute, but they all gotta work together to bake a cake!! sam (tape around his mouth) x you (blindfolded) x jamie (loud ass headphones on)

jamie: pass the FOOKIN sugah!! *back turned to yall as he stirs the mix*

you: WHAT. WHERE. *randomly smacking shit, picking up the salt and dropping it on the counter and onto a spoon*

sam: mmmhnph! *waving his hands in your face like NO but you can't see*

you: *turning to jamie with a spoonful, which he probs tastes absentmindedly whilst stirring* OI TASTE THIS

jamie: FOOKS SAKE

#sam obisanya #besties with sam obisanya #sam obisanya x reader #ted lasso #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt x reader #afc richmond

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petcr3 · 7 months

Text

something to rely on | chapter one

series masterlist (coming soon!)

summary: despite being separated, bob floyd is there to support his wife and their son after she sustains some injuries in a car accident.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: separation/divorce, reader is frequently referred to by she/her pronouns, is called bob's wife/ex-wife, mrs. floyd, etc. bob and reader have a son, but i have tried to be as inclusive as possible with regards to appearance and the type of family! (meaning, if i've done my job correctly, charlie can have been adopted, not necessarily carried by the reader, etc.) non-graphic reference to a car accident, non-graphic description of injuries. chapter one is set entirely in a hospital. readers parents are present in the story, still married, and have a good relationship with reader because this is fantasy lol

a/n: lads, it's here. some of you have been hearing me blather about this story for fucking ages and chapter one is finally done. i'm proud of it, i think, but if nothing else i simply cannot keep sitting on it, so here it is! very excited for this story's future <3 i hope you love charlie as much as i do lol

It’s a rare occasion that one hears Bob Floyd before seeing him, but you suppose your getting into a car accident is a special enough occasion.

Things feel hazy–– with two broken wrists and a broken leg, you’ve been given quite the painkiller. You’re not sure how long you’ve been awake, exactly, but it can’t have been very long. There’s a digital clock on a small table next to your hospital bed, but your neck is too sore to turn far enough over to see it. A thick wooden door is shut against the buzz of the floor outside: the ringing of phones, the click of computer keys, and the clatter of patients being wheeled to and from scans and tests and specialists.

Even amidst all that, the sound of Bob’s words cuts through. He’s raising his voice, you realize. That’s not like him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the nurse says on the other side of the door, “but outside of visiting hours I can only admit family, and––”

“I am family,” he says, impatient.

“I understand that, but when a patient is separated––”

“Separated,” Bob interrupts, “not divorced. That is my wife and the mother of my child, so will you please let me see her?” It sounds much more like a demand than a question. The nurse sighs, clearly frustrated.

“Let me go speak to her.” She steps out from behind the counter and cuts Bob a severe look. “If she is awake, I’ll let her know you’re here. But given that rest is one of the most crucial things for her right now, I will not be waking her up. You can wait.”

“Thank you,” comes his clipped reply. The nurse approaches your room, only a few steps away from the front desk–– Bob would have just gone straight in, had he known— and when the door creaks open, he can be seen standing over her shoulder–– a respectful distance behind, at least.

“Ma’am, there’s someone here to see you,” she says. You can tell it’s taking everything Bob has not to run to you, but he’s smart enough to know that showing this nurse any more disrespect isn’t wise. “He says he’s your husband,” she continues, “but if you don’t want to see him, I can tell him to leave.”

“No, that’s okay,” you say, “he can come in.” She turns around only to discover Bob right behind her. He squeezes quickly past, murmuring a hurried thank you before practically flying to your bedside. All his frustration quickly dissipates as he leans over you, a deep furrow in his brow. Over his shoulder, you see the nurse shake her head, exasperated, and leave, shutting the door behind her.

“Hey honey,” Bob says, hand lifting to brush across your cheek, as if it’s two years ago and nothing has changed. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m okay, Bobby,” you reply, tired. You surprise yourself, though, using his old nickname like that. Since you two broke up, you’ve only ever called him Bob. “Someone lost control of their car in the rain, apparently. You owe that nurse an apology.”

“And I’ll give her one later. First I need to know that you’re okay.”

“I just said that I’m okay,” you laugh softly. “Bob, I’m fine.” Reluctantly, he nods, leaning back to grab at a chair. He won’t even stand all the way up, refuses to take his eyes off you lest you run off somewhere else to nearly get yourself killed.

“How’s Charlie; is he with your parents?” You nod, heart clenching at the thought of your son, how distressed he must be right now.

“Yeah,” you say, voice getting a little watery. “Yeah, I got to talk to him a little while ago. He wants to come visit after my surgery tomorrow.” Bob’s brow furrows.

“Surgery?”

“Just my left wrist. The right one and the leg only need braces, but,” you sigh, “yeah, the left one took the door pretty hard, so.” He nods.

“How about your head? All okay up there, no bleeding?”

“I have a concussion, but that’s all. They know what they’re doing here, Bob. Don’t worry. I’m gonna be just fine.” He studies you for a moment, then sighs, nodding his head again. “Not so fun being on the other side of it, huh?” you say without thinking. It isn’t meant to be cutting, but blue eyes snap up to your face, a faint expression of shock on Bob’s features.

Still, you have a hard time feeling too guilty. How many times have the roles been reversed? How many times have you held your baby boy to your chest murmuring reassurances that you can’t promise are true? How many times has Bob been gone, unable to tell you he was okay or even alive? Or looked up at you under the harsh white light of a hospital room on base and told you there was nothing to worry about when you both knew that there was?

Bob schools his expression into something a little softer and gives a curt nod. You can’t decide if that was over the line. But that had always been the problem, hadn’t it?

Neither of you had known how easy it would be to push each other over their limits. You’d thought love and a thick skin would be enough to survive the looming fear of losing your husband. Bob had thought it would be easier to outrun the guilt he always felt leaving you behind, the way it weighed on his chest like an anvil. Eventually, your wounds were rubbed raw and his ribs began to crack beneath the pressure.

The times when he was home were supposed to be precious, but they had become tense, uncomfortable. It wasn’t good for either of you, and it certainly wasn’t good for three-year-old Charlie. Splitting up had been the best choice, even though it pained you both to admit it.

Bob had been adamant about a separation rather than a divorce. Ex-spouses of the military were still entitled to some benefits, but for Charlie’s sake and yours he wanted to remain legally married. You’d both agreed that if you met other people and got serious enough, a divorce would be back on the table. It hadn’t been the easiest decision, but now, laying in a hospital bed, you can’t help but feel grateful. And how many people can say their ex husband came rushing to their side in an emergency?

Regret is already creeping up across your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, reaching to touch the back of his hand. Your fingers brush awkwardly against his skin where they protrude from your brace, but you can see the gesture means something to him–– his eyes shine a little sadly when he looks at you. He gives a faint shake of his head.

“S’okay. Me too.”

Despite your best efforts to persuade him otherwise, Bob stays the night in your room, sleeping with his legs slung across a second chair the nurses had been kind enough to provide for him. (He’d apologized to the nurse he spoke to when he arrived, and she’d taken it rather graciously, all things considered. In her place, you’re pretty sure you would have had him thrown out.) You fall asleep fairly easily, exhaustion having taken its toll, but you wake up in the wee hours needing the bathroom. You press the call button, hoping it won’t wake your sleeping companion, but Bob rouses when Jermaine, one of the nurses, comes in. The whole bathroom song and dance is a process you certainly don’t enjoy, but you’ve gotten used to it over the past several hours.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” Jermaine quips, walking to your bedside.

“I keep guzzling water when he’s not looking,” you say, nodding towards a still groggy Bob. Jermaine only laughs and pulls back the covers.

“All right, ready?”

“Yep.” You grimace as he braces his hands beneath your armpits to help lift you up enough to get into your wheelchair. You sigh as Jermaine rolls you to the bathroom and braces an arm around your waist to help you onto the toilet. The door stands open, but you’re too drained to care–– besides, this isn’t anyone’s first rodeo.

You don’t see the way Bob’s eyes widen with worry. How he watches each maneuver carefully, filing it away in the back of his mind. The decision had been made before he walked through the door, really, but seeing you struggle only cements it. He doesn’t say anything as Jermaine helps you back to bed–– only a quiet thank you as the nurse leaves the room. He can talk to you about his plan tomorrow.

A low murmur of voices filters into your consciousness as you wake that morning, your eyes flickering open to see Bob standing with Dr. Alvarado, who will be performing your surgery. She notices you shifting in your bed and comes to your side, Bob following suit on the opposite, returning to his seat.

“Good morning, Mrs. Floyd,” she says warmly, “how are we feeling?” Your mouth is dry and you swallow thickly before responding.

“I’ve been better,” you rasp, wincing at the scrape of your voice. Bob is holding out a cup of water before you even have a moment to think, and you start to reach for it before faltering. In the fog of waking up, you’d almost forgotten.

“I’ve got it,” he says quietly, bringing it to your lips. You drink, far too worn out to protest.

“Your procedure is scheduled for 12:30 this afternoon. It’s about 8:15 right now. That’ll give you some time to rest before pre-op. I’ve also been told you have a special visitor, if you feel up for it.” Your heart lifts, and you can’t help but look expectantly up at Bob.

“Charlie?”

The hopeful lilt of your voice splinters something in his heart. He smiles, tight-lipped but genuine all the same, and nods.

“Uh-huh. I know you said the plan was post surgery, but your mom called saying they were up and ready to go. I figured you’d want to see him.”

“Yeah,” you say, voice high and thin, “yeah I’d like that.” Dr. Alvarado smiles.

“I’ll let them know. They’re all very anxious to see you.” You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. Ordinarily, you try not to let Charlie see you crying. With the separation, you’ve been doing everything you can to be his rock. You remember how scary it was when you were a child to see your parents upset, or worse, hurt. But today, you don’t know if you’ll quite be able to manage it. Gracelessly, you swipe at the tears on your cheeks, but before long, Bob is at the ready again, tissue box extended toward you. You nod your thanks and clasp one in between your fingers. Blotting is much easier.

You’ve just about gotten it together when the door opens again.

“Mommy?” Charlie calls, and you hate how you can hear the frightened tremble of his voice. He makes it a few steps over the door jamb when he sees Bob.

“Daddy!” For a heartbreaking moment, wide eyes dart between the both of you, unsure of where to run.

“Go say hi to Daddy, sweetheart,” you say, heart swelling to see the reunion. Charlie beams and runs directly into Bob’s arms.

“Hey, big man!” he says, scooping Charlie off the ground in a strong embrace. “I missed you so much, little bear.” He presses a big kiss to your son’s cheek and is rewarded with a delighted giggle that has you crying again. Hurriedly, you dab at your eyes once more.

Your parents enter the room behind Charlie, your mother’s smile wavering and your dad’s brow furrowed. The braces make hugs awkward, but your parents’ presence is an enormous comfort.

“Charlie’s been very brave,” your father informs you. “And we’re all very glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you say wetly, wishing you could hold their hands. “I love you guys.”

You cast a glance over to your left, where Bob and Charlie are engaged in conversation, faces close together and voices hushed. Watching Bob parent has always made your heart ache, even now when things have fallen apart. He was meant to be a father, plain and simple. People who don’t know him might expect a Navy man to be gruff, tough on a child, especially a son. But Bob is all gentleness when it comes to your Charlie. He is patient and invested and even though you two aren’t together, it’s difficult to imagine parenting Charlie with anyone else.

You tear your gaze away to talk with your parents, explaining what happened and asking about how Charlie has been coping over the course of the last few hours.

A few feet away, Bob has his son cradled close in his arms.

“I was really scared,” Charlie confides in him, “but I gotta be brave for Momma.” Bob’s heart breaks just a little, and he smooths a hand over Charlie’s hair. Perhaps this instinct to protect is just built into the little boy– knowing you and Bob, that’s a distinct possibility. But Bob can’t help but worry it’s a result of the split.

“You don’t have to be brave for Momma, honey,” he says softly. “That’s our job. Parents get to be strong for their kids, not the other way around. It’s okay to be scared when someone is hurt. And it’s also okay to express that. Especially with me and Mommy. And being strong doesn’t mean you can’t feel your feelings. In fact, being able to feel your feelings is a part of what makes a person strong, because some feelings are really hard.” Charlie listens to his father with rapt attention–– he always has. “But it’s important not to ignore them. Does that make sense?” He nods sagely when Bob is done talking.

Bob can’t help but smile, heart swelling with affection. It’s moments like these when he thinks he could leave it all if it meant getting to spend every second of every day with his baby boy.

“Should we go say hi?” he asks, bouncing Charlie gently against his hip. Charlie nods, his gaze flickering over to you.

Though you’re talking with your parents, you can’t take your eyes off of your son. Call it selfish, but ever since you’d been able to think straight you’ve wanted nothing more than to see him. You’re reaching out for him the second Bob starts towards you, but he gives you a look.

“With your leg?” he asks quietly, even though Charlie is right there in his arms.

“I still got one good one,” you quip,” and I think a hug is gonna help me get better much quicker. Besides, all my problems are below the knee— I’ll be fine.”

Bob has always had trouble saying no to you.

“Be gentle, okay bud?” Charlie nods.

Carefully, he sets Charlie down in your lap, positioning him mostly on your uninjured right leg.

“Hi baby,” you beam, the pain you’re in practically forgotten. “I’m so happy to see you!” Charlie snuggles immediately into your chest, eyes impossibly big when they look up at you. Tucking him under your arm is awkward, but you do it anyway.

“Hi Mommy,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid talking too loudly will hurt you.

“Hi,” you say again, matching his hushed voice, smile wider than it’s been for the duration of your stay. Bob stands slightly off to the side, feeling a little bit like an intruder. Still, he can’t help but watch the way your eyes sparkle when you look at your son. He’s never seen anything like it.

A gentle hand on his shoulder catches his attention, and he turns to see your mother, her expression warm. He counts himself incredibly lucky that your parents don’t hate him. Sometimes he hates himself for what happened, and yet they still treat him like one of their own. The three of them exchange hushed greetings, each thanking one another for taking care of the two of you.

Over in your hospital bed, you’re playing with the ends of Charlie’s hair. He’s been telling you about everything that happened between yesterday afternoon and now, cheerily informing you of how much he cried and how he got to choose what he and your parents had for dinner last night. You drink in every detail with enthusiasm, grateful as ever for his enormous heart and his resilience.

“I was really scared,” he says softly after a moment. You nod.

“I bet. I was scared too.”

“Daddy says it’s okay to be scared.”

“Daddy’s right, baby. It’s more than okay to be scared. It’s important— it’s how our brains keep us safe.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. You know how I’m scared of snakes?” Charlie nods. “Well, not every single snake is dangerous, right? But there are some that are. And because my brain remembers that some snakes are dangerous, I get a little scared when I see them. That fear is my brain telling me to be careful and stay safe.”

“So I was scared because it’d be dangerous if you got hurt?”

“Kind of! It can also be scary to not know what’s happening, right? Because if you don’t know what’s happening, it’s hard to get ready to deal with it. And it can be scary to know that something sad might happen, because it’s hard to feel sad.”

“I don’t like feeling sad,” Charlie says, nodding his understanding.

“Me neither, baby bear. But today I’m not even sad, because you’re here.” Your son’s cheeks turn pink and he hides your face in his chest. Heart swelling with fondness, you cross your arms over his back in an awkward embrace and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Is it okay if I’m a little sad?” he asks, voice muffled by your hospital gown.

“Of course it is, sweetheart. You gotta feel your feelings. And feelings don’t last forever; they change all the time, right?”

“Right.”

Out of sight, Bob swipes a few tears from his eyes. He’s always proud of Charlie, but he’s proud of you, too–– with three limbs freshly out of working order, you would be well within your rights to be out of sorts, but there you sit, still parenting admirably. Beautifully, even. Your father squeezes Bob’s shoulder and he looks up, almost a little startled. Your father smiles and the two men exchange a nod.

Your mother steps over to your bed and pets a hand over Charlie’s hair.

“I think me and Grandpa are gonna go home for a little while, honey,” she says to him before looking at you and resting a hand on your shoulder. “Someone gave us a good scare yesterday and I don’t think either of us slept very well. We’re both a little worn out.” Suddenly, she seems to catch herself. “Unless you want us to stick around and––”

You shake your head and reach out an appreciative hand to cover hers.

“Go get some rest, Ma.” She nods.

“We will. But we’ll be back when you come out of surgery. Bobby told us he’d keep us updated.” Too tired to even think that far ahead, you nod.

“Thanks for looking after Charlie,” you say, tangling your fingertips with hers.

“Well, that’s my pleasure,” she says, pressing a loud kiss to her grandson’s cheek. “And we can figure out next steps, we’ll find someone—“

“Mom,” you say softly, “let's just— can we take things one step at a time for now?” She nods–– the anxiety of it all reads clear on your face.

“You know, you’re right. Let’s get you through surgery first.” You nod, grateful. “We’ll see you soon, then.” Your mother smiles and turns to get her bag. Charlie giggles as his grandfather comes over to playfully jostle his shoulders.

“Be good for your mom and dad, okay kiddo?” Charlie nods eagerly.

“That’s my guy,” your dad says fondly, giving your son a hug before turning his attention to you. “You give ‘em hell in there.”

“What,” you laugh, “in surgery? Dad, it’s just my wrist; I’m gonna be fine.” He shrugs.

“Can’t hurt though, right?” he says lightly, but you can see a glimmer of anxiety in his eyes. He leans down to kiss your cheek and you return the gesture.

“Right,” you affirm, softening. “I love you, Dad. I’m gonna be okay.” Your dad gives a final nod and links arms with your mother as they leave the room.

It’s so easy to forget that to him— to both your parents— you are still a child. Charlie is still so young, it feels impossible that he’ll ever be as old as you are now. Of course, you still marvel at the fact that he’s as big as he is; that he can walk and talk and do math equations and paint pictures. But it’s easier to manage how much he’s grown because you can still bundle him up in your arms and count on one hand how many birthdays he’s had. Maybe if you were having less of an emotional day, you’d be able to imagine what it’ll be like when he’s grown up, but you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again so you push the thought out of your mind.

“Mommy?” Charlie asks, bringing your attention back into the present.

“Mm?”

“Did Grandpa use a bad word because he’s very stressed?” Laughter sputters out of you before you can help it, and Bob raises an amused eyebrow.

“Yeah, baby,” you say, “I don’t think he was thinking very hard about which words he was choosing. He just meant that he wants my surgery to go well, that’s all.”

“It’s like telling someone to give it their all,” Bob explains, coming to sit down at your bedside again.

“It’s what Daddy does when he’s on a deployment,” you offer, curling your arm into something akin to a flexed muscle, “he gives ‘em heck.”

“And that’s what Momma’s body is gonna do when she’s in surgery. It’s gonna do everything it needs to do to keep her safe while she’s asleep.” Charlie looks between you two, worry creeping back into his features at the mention of the surgery.

“Hey,” you murmur, “I’m going to be okay, Charlie-bear. I promise. Sometimes things can go wrong during a surgery, but the likelihood of anything bad happening is very, very low.” Charlie nods, wide-eyed. “So there isn’t anything to worry about sweetheart. But it’s still okay to be scared, right?”

“Right,” comes his hushed reply. Your heart aches not to be able to soothe his anxiety, but you know there’s no sense in trying to talk him out of it–– especially in the wake of what you’ve been trying to teach him. Still, it seems to you that the rules shouldn’t apply to Charlie, with his delicate soul and enormous heart.

Bob lays a comforting hand on your son’s back and his little form immediately relaxes into the touch. The three of you sit in comfortable silence for a little while, but soon the door creaks open and Jermaine enters with a wheelchair.

“Is this Charlie?” he asks brightly.

“It is!” you chirp. The boy in question looks up shyly. “Charlie, this is my friend Jermaine. He’s been helping me since I got to the hospital.”

“Your mom is a tough lady,” Jermaine says warmly, squatting to be closer to Charlie’s eye level. “I promise we’re gonna take very good care of her.” Charlie nods.

“Pinkie promise?” he asks, heartbreakingly earnest. Jermaine smiles.

“You got yourself a deal.” He locks his pinkie with Charlie’s and stands up. “I’ve gotta take Mom for a couple of tests before her procedure, and then we’re gonna take her off to surgery. But you’ll get to see her in a few hours when she wakes up, okay champ?” Charlie holds on to you a little tighter and peers up at his dad, who nods encouragingly.

“Okay.”

“Mom is very lucky to have people that care about her so much,” Jermaine says. “You should be proud.” A little divot of determination forms between Charlie’s brows and he nods. Bob starts to stand and Charlie clambers around to give you one last hug.

“I love you Mommy,” he says. You squeeze him as tightly as you can and press a big kiss to his cheek.

“I love you too, baby bear. I’m gonna see you so soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, a heartbreaking waver in his voice. You give him another kiss before Bob scoops him up again, and before you know it, Jermaine is wheeling you off into the hospital halls.

Back in your room, Bob has Charlie wrapped up in a tight embrace.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby bear,” he coos, “everything’s gonna be okay.”

#something to rely on #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #top gun fanfiction #top gun reader insert #bob floyd reader insert #bob floyd x you #quinn writes #petcr3 writes #my writing #bruh im sweating #lewis pullman x reader #robert floyd x reader #ok fuck it we ball

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factual-fantasy · 3 months

Text

26 ASKS!! :DD THANK YALL!! 🎉🎂🎉

@ardent-38 @lime-ether @piperjistic @elegysonnet @storylover2 @forestrests

AAAAAA THANK YALL SO MUCH!! :DDD YALL ARE THE BEST!! :}} 💖💖💖

(Sorry I'm a bit late!)

:DD Thank you!! My favorite might be plain vanilla 😋💖

@unpopularartist14

I have definitely heard of it and seen it around. :0 And I got a good taste of it from SMG4s video on it XDD I've thought about watching it in the past. Though hearing about that widely accepted ship.. Ehhh,, I'm not so sure now.. <XD

@sunshine-vr6

@wdillustration

:DD THANK YOU!! :}}}

@badlyblurry (Post in question)

XDD It really has. The poor guy is so conflicted. This really seems like a romantic moment. But surly she's just excited about her new form and doesn't understand the typical boundaries friends have.

Surly someone as beautiful and desirable as Blue.. wouldn't be interested in a old cookie like him.

..Right??

@jesterpiecethejester

They're still on my blog, I never deleted them or anything. You just gotta go to my #undertale tag and scroll down a bit-

@minnesotamedic186 (Post in question)

AWW!! Its might be a bit out of character for Blue, but its still a cute scene!! :DD

@keakruiser (Sorry for replying a bit late!)

:DDD THANK YOU!! I had some giant cookies and cream cupcakes! 😋😋

Huh, suprising!

....now what does Urchin taste like.. 🍴🍪

@edgywithaheart

Ooooo interesting!! :DD Though I wonder if this would change Barnaby and Howdy at all <XDD

GASP!! Nooo not my boy! He would never do a crime. XD

@jenny-the-fox

XD I think I have a couple of OCs that belong there--

(Post in question)

Oh! Thank you for the info! :DD

@candyglumboy (Post in question)

That could be an interpretation of it yeah :00 but to be totally honest, I haven't thought it all through yet..

The intention behind that comic is its showing that Eddie used to be a human. And now he's.. well. He's Eddie.

The comic was trying to show that there was someone he used to know when he was human. His sister? His mother? Someone.. He knew someone. And now that he's in the neighborhood.. she's gone. What happened to her? Who was she? Why do I miss her so much?.. Why.. am I crying? Why am I shaking?

"..What was I talking about.?"

@astaherussy

EATING THIS SCENARIO LIKE GARLIC BREAD FR!!! AAAAA JUST IMAGINE EVERYONE'S REACTIONS!!

I think the 3 of them are no strangers to bloody scenes, but that wouldn't make seeing their Octokids so hurt any easier.. <:(( Now I'm not much of a writer, and idk if this is the kind of response you were expecting.. but none the less you have inspired me! :}}

I can see them offering their services if needed, but mostly just staying out of Peso's way and letting him do his thing. when everything winds down and they're able to see each other.. it would be tough. :((

Kwazii would be in high spirits as always despite the injuries. He would proudly tell Calico Jack about how he was bravely able to fend off multiple sharks! He expected a lot of enthusiasm from his Grandad.. "..Y-Ye did great Kwazii, ye protected yer crew well. I'm real proud of ya for that.." Instead he got a more.. somber response.

With the time Kwazii has spent with the Octonauts, he's gotten a lot better at reading people. Its not hard to tell when someone is shaken. His ears are pinned back, his tail is puffed up and flicking back and fourth.. its clear that Jack isn't taking this sight well.

Kwazii would probably sit up straighter. "Hey,, Grandad I'm.. I'm alright, ye don't need to worry." He'd gently grab Jacks arm, getting his attention. "I'll be alright, this isn't a big deal! Really, I'm ok! It looks a lot worse than it actually is."

Jack might take a deep breath and nod "..I know. I know you'll be alright, lad.." His ears were still pinned back. Kwazii frowns. "..I'm alright now Grandad. This is small, trust me.." Jack would pause.. but then nod. Seeing Kwazii so beaten is hard for Jack to stomach. But Kwazii is one tough cookie.. Just like him. He knows that things will be ok. Kwazii will be ok.. They're both ok..

~~~

When Marsh came in to see Tweak, he almost lost his composure. He knows Tweak is tough. And she's gotten hurt a lot growin up, this ain't nothin she cant handle. But gosh, this hurts. That's his little girl. It hurts so much to see her like this. She's collapsed in medbay, and has her leg all bound up in a cast.

"Pa! Heh, uh- sorry about all this. You an I were supposed to go out swimmin after that mission. I guess uh.. it'll have to wait.. heh.."

A deep breath, "Now don't chu worry bout none of that," He sat down beside her bed and pat her on the shoulder. "You just put all yer energy into gettin better. Ok? We can always go see the reef another time." His droopy ears and shaky voice wasn't helping his tough façade..

Tweaks pauses for a moment. But then offers her hand to Marsh. He takes it, confused at first.

"..I'm sorry I scared you pa.. I'll be ok.."

...Unable to reply, Marsh just nods. He sighs and wipes his tears away. Gripping Tweaks hand tighter. He sniffles, and just nods..

~~~

Natquik's meeting with Barnacles went a little smoother than the others. He is no stranger to the sight of blood. And knowing that Barnacles is tough as nails, he wasn't too worried about him.. but still. Seeing Barnacles in such a state.. it wasn't easy.

When Natquik came in, he placed a gentle paw on the bears shoulder. "Barnacles, how do you feel? Are your wounds bad..?" Barnacles' voice was gravelly and slow. He had a nasty headache after that facial injury.. "..Oh.. I'll be alright.. its nothing I.. cant recover from.."

Natquik pulls up a stool and sits beside him. "You gave me a big scare, you know. You must not do that to me! No more dangerous missions for you!" He said wagging his finger.

Barnacles chuckled. "That wasn't meant to.. be a dangerous mission. Things just.. got out of hand." Natquik nods. "Yes yes, I can see.." His tone seemed off at the end there..

"..Are you alright, Professor?" It takes Natquik a second to respond.. Seeming to think over his words. "Don't worry for me, Barnacles. I am better now that I have seen you. And you will heal fine, yes? So all is ok." His hesitation wasn't reassuring.. But he knows how Natquik is. So doesn't push it further. "Yes, despite the scene we caused.. most of these injuries are minor. We'll be.. alright." Natquik puts on a smile that cant truly be read. "That is all that matters, my friend."

~~~

ALSO WAAHAGA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD I'm so glad to hear you like my stuff!! And you're interested even when you don't know thE CANON? BESTIE I AM HONORED!! 😭😭💖💖😭💖💖

And of course I would respond! :DD I LOVE receiving comments/interaction with my work. Its the #1 thing I hope my posts receive! Now I cant respond to every single one unfortunately, but I do read them all and respond to as many as I possibly can!! :D I'll take this moment to give a big thank you to all that leave me messages/comments/asks! They're my favorite thing!! 💖💖🥰💖

@couchwow

Thank you! :D Also OOOO CREATRURES! :DDD

@peaspods

I don't have a master post for those, no.. it would take a ton of effort for me to comb through my entire blog to compile it all so I haven't done it..

You can find all/most of that stuff under my #octonauts tag and my #deltarune tag. I hope this helps!

I did have a blue blanket for a time.. though that blanket doesn't actually exist irl-

Also man, that would take me forever to make. Bibi and the other's quilts were really small and easy to work with. I cant imagine all the time it would take for me in this state to make a full human sized quilt-

Plus I would have to draw the quilt with me whenever I draw my sona. Which would suck because then it would take longer for me to draw myself <XDD

XD Thank you!! :D I'm so glad you like them! :}}

WAAAAA THATS SO GOOODD!! 😭😭😭😭

#my response #tw descriptions of blood #tw descriptions of injury #octonauts #welcome home #eddie dear #factual fam #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs

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gollancz · 1 year

Text

Why I'm Not Allowed On Twitter Unsupervised Any More: A Photo Essay

Key Notes:

Since this was posted I discovered that the books had briefly been available in the UK under the name Peter Beagle rather than Peter S. Beagle in the mid-90s, which is why they didn't show up on the British Library search

The article by Tor.com @torbooks: Peter S. Beagle Has Finally Regained the Rights to His Body of Work

If you want our gorgeous limited edition, I believe there are still a handful left (except for the US and Canada, sorry lads), and you can get it here. I'm not kidding when I say I got a little teary-eyed when these showed up.

[Image Description: A tweet thread from the Gollancz twitter dated 20th July 2022, which goes as follows -

Tweet 1: You may have seen that we're printing a Brand New Edition of The Last Unicorn. We're very excited! I was asked to tweet about it. I wasn't asked to do it quite like this, but I also wasn't asked NOT to do it like this, and I have the twitter login so whose fault is that? (Thread emoji, and gif from the film Scream reading 'The Call is coming from inside the house!')

Tweet 2: Imagine, if you will, you are a small child in the UK during the late 80s/early 90s. You might look a bit like this, or you might have had parents who didn't choose suffering (ask my mum about The Saga of the Hat) (an image of a small girl approximately 3 years old wearing a blue dress and a big white hat)

Tweet 3: Imagine you have a cool older cousin, one who, as you get age, introduces you to fantasy films like Ladyhawk and The Princess Bride and has a post the whole family knows as 'the vampire and the naked lady'. She's extremely responsible for the way you turn out as an adult.

Tweet 4: One year, for your birthday, this cousin buys you a video. It's the first video that is yours, not to share. It has a bright yellow cover. The butterfly scares you. But you watch it on a loop. You don't realise how special it is, but it's a seed that burrows into your brain. (An image of a VHS of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 5: A decade or so later, in your teens, you rediscover it. None of your friends have heard of it, despite also being fantasy-inclined. That's odd, you think. Is this an outlandishly weird title? Then you get older and you realise: no, it isn't. (Principal Skinner meme reading 'Am I out of touch? No, it's the people who don't know about The Last Unicorn who are wrong')

Tweet 6: Time and tech march on, you get a DVD of the film. You realise it's got Christopher Lee in it! And Angela Lansbury! Your mum tries to get you to listen to songs by America other than the soundtrack, but the only one that really sticks is the other one they did about a horse. (Gif of Walter White from Breaking Bad singing along to Horse With No Name)

Tweet 7: You realise that the film is based on a book. Like The Princess Bride, which you've also read (after spending longer than you're proud of trying to find an unabridged edition). 'Neat,' you think, 'I'll have to read that!'

Tweet 8: And then you can't find it. Because, as mentioned previously, you're in the UK. The Last Unicorn was published for the first time in 1968. But, if you look at the British Library's National Bibliography (super neat resource btw), that was, uh, about it. (screenshot of the search results from the National Bibliography showing four editions of The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, one from Gollancz in 2022, one from IDW in 2019, one from Tachyon Publications in 2018, and one from Bodley Head in 1968)

Tweet 9: The Tachyon edition is the unfinished first draft of the story. The IDW edition is a gorgeous graphic novel. But in terms of the novel? I don't know how many reprints it had (if anyone knows, I'd love to find out), but there's a good chance it went out of print in the 70s.

Tweet 10: The film, however, was released in 1982. Although it didn't make it to the UK until 1986. Conservative estimates could put that between 10 and 15 years since the book was last available in the UK. This gives you a generation in the UK who only know the story through the film! (A screenshot of the IMDB page showing the different release dates for The Last Unicorn around the world)

Tweet 11: The screenplay was written by Peter S. Beagle, and made by the legendary animation directors Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass. That's right, the guys behind Thundercats and 2 out of the 3 films based on The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

Tweet 12: The Book has been in print in the USA (and possibly all of North America) constantly since its publication, so it seems baffling that people in the UK haven't heard of it. As the internet became more prominent, however, it became easier to just... import a copy of the book.

Tweet 13: But! This also isn't quite as simple as you think. You see, until last year the rights to The Last Unicorn were tied up in legal limbo. And the US edition of the book contained changes that Peter wasn't happy with. (Link to the Tor.com article about the rights)

Tweet 14: Back to you, the 80s/90s kid, who is now an adult, happy that unicorns are A Thing again and you're living your best life. You're very easy to buy presents for. Your partner despairs of unicorns. You get a job working in books about magic and space. (unicorn emoji and photograph of a collection of unicorn memorabilia, including three different versions of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 15: You mention that one day you would like to publish The Last Unicorn. That if you did, you would like to do a really beautiful edition of it. And you would like it to be purple. Because since the film is what you know, you associate it with purple.

Tweet 16: And, after taking a very circuitous route, here we are! This is the original text, that was first published in 1968. Reading it after you have only seen the film is the strangest experience - like being introduced to a very dear friend that you have never met before.

Tweet 17: Peter's screenplay kept the voice of the story so well, you can hear the characters when you read the book. But now there's so much more depth, softness and warmth to it. The butterfly doesn't seem so scary any more. And, it's beautiful. And it's purple. (Image of a hardback edition of The Last Unicorn, with a black base, purple background, and a linocut image of the unicorn in her wood. On the black cover underneath is a foiled unicorn with the moon and butterfly, the page edges are sprayed purple, and the endpapers are black with silver butterflies)

Tweet 18: Anyway, I've taken you on a three day trip that could have been done in a single tweet, but that's what happens when you let me drive. This edition is the limited exclusive one only available through the Gollancz Emporium and you can preorder here: (link to Gollancz Emporium)

Tweet 19: But there is also a standard edition available through all booksellers! You'll be getting the author's preferred text, with an introduction from Patrick Rothfuss. There's also a brand new audiobook and it will be available in eBook for the first time ever.

Tweet 20: It's like going from famine to feast, and I wasn't able to talk about this for months so now I am able to talk about it, I'm going to make the social media team cry. UNICORNS. SPECIAL EDITION. PURPLE. The End.

Tweet 21: Additional behind the scenes bonus detail - I did take this cover to the art meaning while wearing a unicorn onesie.

Tweet 22: The comms team wrestling me away from the twitter account: (gif of Ross from Friends shouting 'Stop typing! Stop typing!')

End ID]

#The Last Unicorn #Peter S. Beagle #Gollancz Blogging #Twitter Threads #Books #Long Post

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