#i can't help reading it as ironic
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Little but Fierce VI
She winds up… there's the pitch…
Poor Nick. It never stops being funny. I'd feel sorrier that this happened to him but he's such a bastard in his introductory episode. It's like karma in advance.
Heheh. Kar-ma.
Meryl and Wolfwood behave very much like siblings to each other, while Vash and Roberto treat them like their awful terrible kids. Roberto does actually try reach out to Vash as a mentor once or twice, but of course Vash is fuck-off old and doesn't need that kind of assistance, so he's gently deflected. Roberto is old and wise enough to keep his distance. Nick, for his part, enjoys pissing Roberto off, and Roberto is for his part duly pissed off.
Still, Vash is the reason they're all even there in the first place and Meryl shows him concern. And Vash, in his way, fusses over Nick the way Roberto feels responsible for Meryl. A lot of what Vash does, he's doing pretty much solely for Wolfwood's benefit. I mean, look at this pathetic wet kitten of a man - you can't tell me he doesn't need it.
I've already talked at some length about why exactly Vash is like he is about Wolfwood, but what's he like about Meryl?
Pretty much exactly as fond. He's just quieter about it. To my read, he's confident she and Roberto can look after themselves and each other. That's really endearing to him, but not something he has to do anything about. And Meryl's not suffering the same kind of identity crisis as the Punisher/Wolfwood/Nico. Meryl knows exactly who she is, she's just trying to get everyone else to acknowledge it, and Vash does so from the first - she's never anything but "Meryl" to him, not "newbie" or "little lady". She never has to demand that of him.
Nor is she in directly a victim of his godawful brother, which thankfully means she isn't his responsibility to help - or at least, no more so than any given human. Also, it's Vash. What's that? Someone is invested in his well-being? Golly, that sounds suspiciously like he's being cared for (which of course he doesn't deserve), or (more reasonably) like someone vulnerable to being caught up in Knives's manipulations. Or just someone vulnerable to Knives period. Stampede out!
I though you guys were buddies./I thought you three had something special.
No way./Yeah, not really.
Too bad for him, he's met his match in Meryl Stryfe.
In direct contrast to every other character around Vash, she's only one there not because she has to be, or because she needs or wants something from him, but because she decided to be. She's one of the only characters with agency, after all.
Real people aren't monsters like that./He's a man, not a monster.
But I won't give up, no matter how unreasonable the assignment!/I won't abandon an assignment just because it's silly.
We can't just leave him hanging here./No way. We can't just leave him here.
And she's also decided he needs help. So come hell or high water, this man is getting helped.
It's her knack for finding the truth without quite knowing the reasoning behind it. In physical terms Vash really, really doesn't need help, and it's the mistake Knives always makes; that because Vash ostensibly doesn't have powers like him, he's in need of a defender. (And because this is Knives, that means it's up to him personally, and he's entitled to Vash and his exclusive love/loyalty/devotion in return. Any protests Vash makes are clearly just human corruption.) But what Vash actually needs is something his brother has never, in any version of the story, demonstrated the capacity to give him. Even sensitive little boy Knives back in Maximum relied on others for reassurance up until the moment he decided he couldn't.
Vash is more inclined to be someone others rely on, to the point of being maladaptive. It's being unable to help that gets to him, especially when he's held responsible.
What he needs is emotional support. Or, well... faith.
Wolfwood gives that to him eventually, but it takes some serious work, and it comes with its own attendant difficulties, like the fact that Nick's not in a position to extend Vash help himself no matter how much he might want to. Nick is, like Rosa and like Vash, a pragmatist. Do what you have to do.
Meryl has never needed that kind of direct demonstration. To her, Vash is a person, and people always need help, and she's not going to be prevented giving it. End of discussion. And despite being mistaken on some particulars, on this point she's more right than even she knows.
The contrast with Wolfwood is incidentally why Meryl hitting Woofwoof with the truck isn't just fucking funny, it's the perfect way for him to be introduced. He can't catch the same bus as Vash by happenstance because this time Vash is his actual target. He can't have Angelina II because personal transport is autonomy he's not permitted to have.
Instead, Meryl's own autonomy and narrative significance had her run the plot right into him, completely ruining whatever plans were laid for his entrance. Notice Roberto tries to steer Meryl away from the collision course they're on, to no avail, and Vash winds up flipped over. Fantastic.
Wolfwood is getting dragged around; Meryl is the one doing the dragging. When she discovers Vash's secrets, she works to accept them and integrate them into her worldview - which means that the moment she learns he's a Plant, she doesn't reject him or become fearful of him. She instantly accepts that must mean the Plants are also people. That gives her a fuller understanding of the conflict, and especially Vash's view of it, than most. It's not a matter of "Whose side are you on?" It's "How do we move forward together?"
Wolfwood's knowledge has all been filtered through the Eye of Michael, so he's more aware of the details, but can't disentangle his true beliefs from the ideology driving them.
Meryl has a better understanding of the abstract. And that, in turn, entitles her to learn what the available methods are, and judge them...
...But it also entitles her to something more precious: Vash's unquestioning trust.
It's certainly much less dramatic than the demonstrations between Vash and Nick, but I have to say: any amount of exposure to Knives and his histrionics would leave me, at least, pretty relieved to have it.
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
#trigun stampede#trigun meta#tristampparty#meryl stryfe#vash the stampede#meta: little but fierce#at this point I'm leaning into the yapping#so many words#i guess she is a journalist#also nick's introduction just gets funnier. it's such an absolute shitshow#and at the end zazie's still like “well done”#i can't help reading it as ironic#like “lol great job getting hit by a truck punisher”#idk the way wolfwood interacts with other eom members always cracks me up. he fucking hates them so much
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I have a personal l&co hc that I can't get out of my head, so now y'all get to enjoy the absolutely riveting content that is the Portland Row budgeting system. under the cut because this is a needlessly detailed post that like 5 people will be interested in
I think that when they are paid for a job, the first thing that happens to the money is that there is a big cut that goes to bills for the house and business. mortgage, utilities, groceries, ghost supplies, advertising, etc. I think it's probably 50-60% of most jobs pay. probably a smaller cut on big jobs that come with bigger checks.
I think Lockwood started out trying very hard to be a "proper business man" and split the remainder evenly and paid them every other Friday because that's what your supposed to do. but I think that would have devolved after only a few months living and working together. between covering each other for dinner or coffee and getting household stuff with their money and everyone feeling a little weird on payday because it was one of the only times there was a clear boss/employee dynamic because they all saw each other as genuine equals, it just didn't make sense to keep doing it that way.
and so I think George (after pestering Lockwood about fixing the budgeting) sat down and set it up so that it was basically automatic profit sharing. first the bills and expenses cut goes straight to an auto pay acct. and then the remaining cut goes to a general house acct, which pays out a small allowance to each of their personal accts each week. most of the stuff they get and do is covered from the joint acct because it makes sense that way. but they do each have their own money and savings.
after the new system is set up George checks on the balances and bank statements once a week but it mostly manages itself. he folds it into the other chores that he does and likes how simple it is to keep running.
Lockwood pretends to be grumpy about not being in charge but is not so secretly very happy to not have to worry about it. he is also very happy that this puts all of them on equal footing with the business because he he like being the leader and the face of things, but he doesn't like the power dynamic of being the boss.
Lucy is worried at first that they will argue about spending from the joint acct, but they very rarely ever run into issues with it, and when there is it is almost always resolved quickly because while they all bicker about smaller things and about everyone's bad habits, they actually get along and manage house very smoothly
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edit: i have in fact added more domestic head canons in this thread and I have been seeing a lot of people tagging asking for more. they are in the notes if you're interested
#i have so many detailed and boring domestic headcannons for these guys#and they all work regardless of how you read their relationships#there is something that is just so homey and domestic about Portland Row and their little family#i can't help myself coming up with all the boring adulting things for them#but just know that there is more where this came from#lockwood and co#lockwood and co headcannons#anthony lockwood#george karim#george cubbins#lucy carlyle#cot3#iron trio
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i love "purple prose" . i love rambling paragraphs & describing seemingly mundane things in overly poetic ways
#not being ironic by the way#there are times when i'm tired so i can't help but to skim paragraphs from time to time but in moments where i go back to read it properly#i nearly always love it#txt
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it's so "funny" that whenever a catastrophe happens, everyday/poor people are the first ones to be asked to give money when rich people/companies literally exist... makes you wonder why they (the rich) are not asked to donate. only make an appearance in a music video to "show support" to the victims and their job here is done.
#i've always had this thought but i just stumbled upon two articles that just blew my mind by their nonesense#it's always the people that don't have enough money to pay food that are targeted by these ads#asking to donate money to victims#the most ironic thing is the poorest people are the first ones to help when they can#but you can't ask them to donate large sums of money when they need to live#on the contrary i do know a few people that have enough money to end hunger in several countries#i tried to reach them but they didn't answer my call#smal talk#sorry it's just that like i said the news that i read has left me in shock
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My period is 2-7 days late.
Not concerning, normally. I've missed periods once or twice a year before.
Except now I have a "suspicious" polup in my uterus and all my signals are messed up.
I'm trying not to worry about it but like.. I'm starting to get worried.
#Doesn't help that my iron levels are like... REAL BAD.#If I read my report right it's like 7. If I didn't and my Cardiologist is right it's 13.#One is much worse but neither is great at all.#And I can't get anyone to help me with that..#I feel SO sick rn.
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currently my mental health is precariously held together by cheap scotch tape and a prayer but I think I have some duct tape and superglue lying around somewhere. I just have to find it.
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I saw a comment by someone on reddit who said they no longer comment on any fanfiction because of the risk of it being AI and ... that just seems like such a cop out to me, not to mention incredibly cruel to authors.
Please please please do not stop commenting on all fics or interacting with authors because you are worried about things being AI. The risk is slim, and the damage you do to authors by doing this is awful.
Writers put so much effort into their fics. For people to openly admit they still read and consume these fics, but choose not to comment on anything because of the possibility of someone using AI for their writing is incredibly selfish. You're punishing authors by doing this. You're not being moral or helpful or crusading for any useful cause - you're just hurting authors.
Ironically, by doing this, you're actually more likely to cause authors to stop writing (silence does this), and people who can't write will fill the gaps left by creating AI writing - so you're making the problem worse, not helping anyone.
If you want to support authors and writers, then SUPPORT them! Reblog work and send authors asks, leave comments and kudos, and above all don't punish people with silence.
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A fair payment [W. W.]
Willy Wonka x fem!reader
word count: 1.5k
People who might be interested: @strugglingwriterwattpad @cattail5 [Timothée masterlist]
some minor Wonka spoilers I guess! If you like it, tell me in the comments, that will make me happy :)
“Can you mend it?” Willy asked, carefully holding his emerald green jacket that had the sleeve seam torn.
The boy had arrived a couple of weeks ago to turn the world of everyone present in the laundry upside down and, honestly, you were already beginning to enjoy his presence. You looked in the background at the blackboard that Noodle used at night to give him lessons in the hope that he would learn to read because, according to the girl's words, because of that he was almost eaten by a tiger. But in the man's words, what was important was the almost part.
However, tonight he had asked you especially to go to his room, because he had a problem that he thought only you could solve.
“I think so, I just have to pass the needle a couple of times” you smiled.
Since your arrival Mrs. Scrubbit had used your sewing skills for her own benefit, because after all you had ended up in that mess trying to save a little to be able to buy the necessary materials to make a pretty dress that would be worth enough to advance in the business. Although, obviously, that had not been possible.
"Thank you! I'm afraid that's my only jacket."
“It will be ready in no time. I’ll just go to my room and come back, okay?” you said kindly, placing the garment in the boy's lap and earning a sweet smile from the aforementioned.
Just as Willy had his little briefcase for his chocolates, you had your own, full of threads, needles, and buttons, which you just had to grab from the floor to get everything you needed. When you arrived back you settled at the little table and he remained attentive to your every movement, pulling out a chair so he could observe what you were about to do.
“There was a boy on the ship who helped me with these things,” he began to tell you, keeping his curious nose on your shoulder “But I never thought about learning. You know, for when I had to be alone”
“Well, it's lucky you ended up here. We are a curious collection of workers,” you murmured ironically, referring to all the people gathered there against their will by the work of fate "What did you do on the ship?"
"Cook. Mostly sweet things, but I also know a couple of useful non-chocolate-related recipes. I was the chef,” he said, and you laughed at the exaggerated way he pronounced the last bit.
Willy began to tell you about some of the adventures he had had on the high seas and you listened attentively as the tip of the needle went in and out to join the fabric. It only took a few minutes to get his clothes looking like new, taking the liberty of repairing other places that also needed it.
“Put it on,” you asked, trying not to look at him too much when he did so or pay attention to the way the jacket fit him perfectly.
"It is perfect! You can't even tell it was torn, huh?” he said with emotion, feeling with his hands as much as he could. “How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, it's nothing.”
“I insist,” the man murmured. His curly hair bounced across his cheeks as he sat next to you and he lifted his small briefcase off the floor, opening it to reveal all the little bottles of ingredients. “Your talent for mine. It's a fair exchange."
You had to admit that the chocolates you had eaten were a complete delicacy, but a part of you didn't want to get used to that luxury or you knew that when Willy was gone you would miss his sweetness. In the literal and figurative sense.
Locked in that laundry it was impossible to meet many people your age and Noodle was your greatest company, as if he were a little sister to you. But now that he was there, there was a certain happiness in chatting with him, much more now that his ingenious mind had devised a way to get you out of there even if it was just for a few hours to see the light of day and get coins from the sale of the chocolates to free you of the enormous debt to Mrs. Scrubbit.
“What flavor do you want to try today? Do you want me to add some unicorn skin glitter? Rays of sunlight from a twilight on the seashore? Tears of an African crocodile?”
“Just give me something you think I need,” you replied softly.
Willy thought about it for a moment, because it wasn't the kind of answer he would have expected. What was he supposed to give you that night? A little hope? Happiness? Nostalgia? It was difficult to decide.
Through his bright eyes you watched him reflect and just a second later his hands began to work. You noticed there was a hint of mischief in his smile as he poured milk, chocolate, and the contents of a couple of jars into the processor, glancing at you from the corner of his eye from time to time.
“What are you going to do when we get out of here?” he asked suddenly, not neglecting the tasks.
“Working in a sewing workshop, I guess.”
“Why don't you open your own fashion house?” Willy suggested carefreely, as if it were a very easy thing to do, “You are a great dressmaker.”
“And you are a great dreamer”
“It's my best quality,” he exclaimed, almost offended. You waited a moment before answering.
“I just don't think it's that simple. It requires effort, time, and a lot of money…”
“We will have everything,” he interrupted you, with that optimism that characterized him. Suddenly he stopped what he was doing and one of his hands traveled to take yours. “When I open my factory, we will all be able to fulfill our dreams. And you are going to have a fashion house, I promise you.”
“You make a lot of promises,” you responded, blushing.
“And he planned to fulfill them all. I always do it"
Maybe there was something about the softness of his grip on your hand or perhaps the sparkle in his eyes that made you look away out of sheer nervousness. He seemed to be good and innocent, to the point that he probably didn't even realize how close he was to you or how inappropriate the position would be if Noodle ever walked in.
A tap interrupted your moment and then he abruptly pulled away, excited to show you the product he had just made. It was a pretty circular candy that was bright pink and seemed to be emanating smoke from the inside.
"What's that?"
“You'll have to try it to find out,” he murmured, as he extended the treat in your direction.
You had to admit that you were somewhat curious to discover what the man was offering you, so you took it between your fingers carefully, and even under his watchful gaze you took a bite.
At first it tasted like ordinary chocolate, but then it took on a strange tone, which made you feel a certain warmth in your chest that spread to your cheeks. It was a most pleasant feeling, like bubbly joy combined with the embarrassment of a hug.
You thought for a moment about what flavor that could be, without any success, until after a few seconds you realized that it wasn’t a flavor in itself, but a feeling, an experience... Was it love that Willy had given you?
“How does it taste?”
“Yummy,” you responded, covering your mouth so he wouldn’t see the wet chocolate on your tongue, but also to hide your smile “Delicious, actually. What does it contain?”
“A special and secret ingredient”
"Oh, come on! Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“I just want to know if I got it right,” he murmured and you frowned slightly, not understanding him “About what you asked for. Did I give you something you needed?”
You had to bite your lip to keep from smiling again, your cheeks feeling hot from the simple fact that he was looking at you. You thought that this could even be a love potion that you had consumed without thinking about it, just because he was the one who was offering it to you.
“We could say yes”
“We're even, then,” he exclaimed as he waved the sleeve of his jacket and you nodded in amusement, eating the rest of the chocolate he had made for you.
A yawn leaving your lips made you aware of how exhausted you were and although you didn't love the idea, you knew it was time to leave.
“It's late, I should go to sleep before we wake anyone up.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Willy said quickly, getting up from his seat to accompany you to the exit. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Rest,” you said kindly, and, gathering courage, you leaned forward a little to say goodbye with a hug that he gladly returned.
As you walked down the hall to your shabby, damp room, you thought that it probably wouldn't have even taken a love potion to fall for the charms of the pleasant chocolatier. You just needed one of his smiles.
#wonka 2023#willy wonka x reader#wonka x reader#wonka movie#timothee chalamet#timothee chalamet x reader#timothee x reader#willy wonka#roald dahl#wonka fanfic#willy wonka 2023#wonka fanfiction#wonka x fem reader
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Sick!Hazbin Hotel x Reader Hcs
i love reverse comfort sm. im also currently being brutally murdered by allergies but i prefer comforting others so here we are
🥀 Cw: fluff, crack, teensy bit of angst with comfort
🥀 Pairing(s): Lucifer x reader, Alastor x reader, Vox x reader, Adam x reader
Lucifer:
sick? him? please, the king of hell doesn't get sick!
thats what he claims anyways
lucifer brushes nearly everything off as just plain allergies, he could literally have a 103 fever and be shaking on the floor and would still be pouting and saying he's fine
the thing about him tho is that he's easy to take care of- after a little coaxing lucifer just sighs and nods glumly before pretty much submitting himself to your care
once he's admitted hes sick tho, he wants you around him 24/7
lucifer wants cuddles, hugs, kisses, he just gets so clingy when he's feeling under the weather
THIS MAN LITERALLY BURNS UP WHEN HE'S SICK ITS ALWAYS THE LITTLE ONES WITH THE HIGHEST RAGING FEVERS THAT LAST FOR DAYS like he'll be sweating and shivering and crying he gets hit HARD when he's sick and it happens so suddenly too- like one day he's fine and then the next he looks like he's one small wind away from collapsing
he lowkey feels bad about asking for things when he's sick so he'll say something offhand like "yk im in the mood for soup" and hopes you get the message
ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE TO GET FEVER DREAMS AND START RAMBLING WHEN HES SICK
like he'll wake up from a nap and still be half asleep and he just starts genuinely rambling about literally the most obscure things
lucifer definitely gets nightmares even when he isn't sick, but when hes feeling like shit and is so delirious he can't tell reality from fiction? be prepared for him to wake up crying and shaking, he just gets so so scared :(
lucifer feels bad about you taking care of him and wants to help, but will lowkey end up pushing himself too hard. PLEASE reassure him and tell him it's alright he'll literally melt
once its all over, lucifer will genuinely trust you more after you saw him in such a vulnerable state and is much more likely to come to you instead of hiding how he's feeling in the future
Alastor:
alastor? weak? lmao no
he would literally rather die than admit he's sick like he would literally just keep pushing on
alastor is one of those people that has an iron immune system like he VERY rarely gets sick but when he does its like torture
to even be alastor's partner you'd have to know him for a long time and you'd probably be able to read him pretty well (at least compared to other people), yet even you sometimes miss his sickness in the earlier stages
alastors biggest tell tale sign of being sick? exhaustion. he very rarely sleeps on the regular, but when he's sick that all catches up to him
he also gets more irritable and a little less composed, he'd be more prone to getting angry and would lash out if anyone asked if he was ok
alastors ears would also be turned back slightly, like most animals do when they're being aggressive, but its pretty much only obvious to people who know him closely
alastor never wants to be vulnerable or weak but you notice that his eyelids keep drifting of their own accord, and how irritable he's been, and it clicks to you that he's obviously not feeling well
approach him about it in private, while alastor does trust you he still doesn't want others to knowm
no matter how much you try he will not lay down, take medicine, or do anything (at least at first)
alastor genuinely thinks that he can just push through on his own and lowkey thinks you're worrying too much
however after two weeks of pure suffering and exhaustion, combined with no sleep and your irritation at his lack of will to take care of himself, alastor finally breaks
he'd prob come to your room at like 4 in the morning and just curl up on the edge of the bed, shivering a little but staying quiet
you wake up to him fast asleep, his ears twitching every once and a while as he rests peacefully near you
get a cool towel and lay it on his forehead to break the fever, and he'll just keep sleeping
he probably wouldn't wake up for at least a few hours, months of lost sleep are catching up to him at this point, giving you the opportunity to make him some soup and medicine
alastor will stir a little when you get out of bed but wont wake up, but once he does wake up he wants you to come back
when he's sick he wants you to be nearby, alastor isn't the touchiest person and being sick makes him feel gross, so he wouldn't want to be touched but would want you arround just to know you're there
this is probably the first step in him being more open to vulnerability around you, and while it may have been a bit of an irritating process to get him back to his usual healthy status, it's definitely worth it as he begins to trust you more
Vox:
lowkey a man child (affectionate)
vox is one of those guys who will take care of himself when he's sick, but he'll complain about it every step of the way
i think he's pretty responsible when he's sick, he'll take the day off and relax but won't do much other than that
he likes when you pamper him though, and a part of him lowkey enjoys being sick because he just gets to have your full attention all of the time (as if he doesn't already💀)
vox would be irritated about showing weakness and not being in control, but he wouldn't be irritated at you
if an employee was being too nosy about his wellbeing? yea he's pissed but if you're the one taking care of him, he'll just sigh and let you do what you want
VOX IS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHOS LITERALLY ALWAYS COLD AND ITS AMPLIFIED WHEN HES SICK
he becomes like a literal ice cube he's SHIVERING and everything
vox has the cutest sneezes too, he glitches out and denies how cute his sneezes are but they really are adorable
vox takes like 2 baths per day when he's sick he hates feeling unclean, and def wants you to join him in the bath (just to relax, get your mind out of the gutter)
vox would be a little pissed about missing work, i think he's a bit of a workaholic and might try to work in bed or sneak some paperwork behind your back
it doesn't work though because he just ends up passing out anyway
vox is big on sleeping when he's sick he's definitely the type to just sleep it off and thats that
like he CRASHES in bed and just does not get up for hours
he sleeps like the dead too, his screen is blank and he barely moves in his sleep
like lucifer, he has fever dreams but they lean more on the weird side rather than the sad side
its funny but instead of talking more when sick, vox actually talks much less. he starts getting super quiet and a lot more needy for your attention
vox is more than happy to return to work and be back on his feet, but will send you a little thank you gift and pamper you in return for taking care of him
Adam:
manchild x2 (also affectionate)
adam DREADS getting sick like he genuinely hates it so much, he sees it as one of his own flaws and it makes him lowkey disgusted at himself
he whines like a baby over a common cold, its almost sad how the slightest sickness will make him act like he's on his death bed
adam whines and complains whenever you aren't around him, he wants cuddles and kisses and is 10x more clingy when he's sick
he has little to no appetite when he's actually sick but gets a huge appetite right after
like you'll have to force him to eat at least a piece of toast per day while he's actually feverish but once he's in recovery he's literally FAMISHED and will ask for so much food
he barely eats or drinks while hes sick it just feels icky to him
i also think he's the type to not want to move like he just collapses on his bed and barely moves an inch (unless you force him)
adam exaggerates when he's barely sick and then underplays it when he's genuinely really sick its lowkey so confusing
like he could have pneuomonia and be half dead and say he's fine but he could have the most common cold and complain foreverrr
he doesn't think you're genuine when you say you want to help him and take care of him, he thinks its just a joke since nobody has ever really taken care of him before
like sure he's been told what to do and bossed around and treated him like a foolish child, but no one has ever sat with him while he's sick and held his hand yk?
while he can be irritable and annoying while he's sick, he apologizes afterwards
its one of the few times he ever apologizes but he genuinely feels bad about lashing out
adam isn't used to being below someone when it comes to status or health and relaxing and letting someone else take care of him is kind of foreign for him, but you both work it out over time
while he isn't the easiest to take care of, he genuinely appreciates that you want to help him and wants to return the favor someday
I WILL MAKE A PT 2 OF THIS WITH MORE FEM CHARACTERS OR WITH HELLUVA BOSS CHARACTERS BUT I DIDNT WANT TO CROWD UP THIS POST TOO MUCH!!!!! ALSO SORRY FOR ANY SPELLING MISTAKES I WROTE THIS WHILE HALF ASLEEP ♥️ HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS TEEHEE
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel x oc#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar#alastor x reader#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor hazbin x reader#alastor x you#alastor x y/n#alastor altruist#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer magne#lucifer magne x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#vox x reader#hazbin hotel vox x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#adam x reader#hazbin hotel adam x reader#hazbin hotel adam x you#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel headcanon#lucifer fluff#alastor fluff#vox fluff#adam fluff#hazbin hotel fluff
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Are the Trump indictments election interference? asked someone whose question I will take in good faith against my better judgment.
The American presidential election (November 5, 2024) is more than a year away. There is more than a whole year for these four (4) trials to occur. If candidates want to start campaigning (and have already been campaigning) year(s) in advance, that is not the American judicial system's problem. Do not let anyone tell you that "I DECLARE CAMPAIGN SO YOU CAN'T TOUCH ME" is how this works.
I welcome criminal charges of actual substance for any candidate of any party. If you have dozens of pages of carefully documented charges against any/all Democrats, please have a DA call a grand jury whenever you would like. Political parties are not sports teams to me. Justice can do what it gotta do, whether it's convenient or not.
If someone doesn't want to get pulled up on racketeering charges (RICO), they maybe shouldn’t have racketeered. Or falsified business records, or mishandled documents to the tune of 31 charges under the Espionage Act, or incited an insurrection, the latter of which, I don't know about you, but which I personally watched on TV, live, for several hours, including coverage of the Trump rally that sent crowds marching over to the Capitol. We have heard the Georgia phone call that is part of the fourth indictment. We have seen pictures of classified documents piled in a random Mar-a-Lago bathroom. I am confident that these are not frivolous accusations.
District Attorney Fani Willis was careful to state that there should be a presumption of innocence (a standard American judicial doctrine). That said, I consider (as one example), this fourth indictment to be “charges of actual substance” because she delivered a 96-page document describing the racketeering (which, ironically, WAS ITSELF ELECTION INTERFERENCE):
u/code_archaeologist:
The math on this is easy.
For a jury to find a person guilty on a RICO charge in Georgia the prosecutor has to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that they engaged in two incidents that predicated the overarching conspiracy.
The RICO charge lists 161 predicating incidents.
So Fani Willis has 161 shots at each defendant, and only has to hit twice.
(I like to read r/politics.)
Fani Willis has 161 predicating incidents of conspiracy to work with. I am pretty confident that, while a defendant is innocent until proven guilty in the American justice system, these charges have some weight and deserve to be heard in court.
tl;dr if you don't want to campaign under a legal cloud, don't do crimes.
Also try not to publicly intimidate witnesses. And prosecutors. And judges.
If anyone reading this truly wondered if the substance or timing of these proceedings are warranted, sincerely, I hope laying it out like this helped.
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hey so. i’ve seen many people reblogging some variation of “israel spent millions on a superbowl ad to distract everyone from the airstrikes on rafah” and decided to do some fact-checking. the ad was produced by the kraft foundation to stop jewish hate, founded by robert kraft, who owns the patriots. kraft also partnered with dr. clarence b. jones—who advised dr. martin king luther jr and helped him write the i have a dream speech—to create this ad. according to tara levine, the fcas president, this ad was made in response to rising antisemitism on social media platforms, which her team tracks.
here’s a link to the foundation’s about page on their website. their mission statement solely focuses on combatting antisemitism and does not mention i/p or the ongoing war. the ad itself does not mention i/p or the ongoing war. it’s pretty ironic, and yet not surprising, that an ad created to stop antisemitism is currently the eye of the antisemitic storm on social media. if you sincerely believe netanyahu secretly funded this ad campaign to “distract everyone” from the idf’s airstrike attack in rafa, then you have bought into two different antisemitic conspiracy theories: that jews control the media and that diasporic jews have dual loyalty to israel. while political zionists have used accusations of antisemitism to invalidate pro-palestinian efforts, that’s not what’s happening here. all this information is obtainable via google. please learn to fact check yourselves before posting. thanks!
(bonus: here’s a 20-minute video where kraft and dr. jones discuss the civil rights movement, anti-black racism, antisemitism, and the history of solidarity between black and jewish activists during the civil rights movement.)
EDIT 2/23/24:
after publishing this post, i researched robert kraft and fcas' funding source and pro-israel efforts more deeply, then analyzed my findings in a reblog, which you can read here. tl;dr version - in 2019, kraft was given the genesis prize, a $1 million dollar award. the awarding foundation has direct ties to the israeli government. kraft used part of these funds to finance fcas. this additional information does not negate my original post, however; i can't find any conclusive evidence that the israeli government directly funded kraft's superbowl ad. there is also no evidence that kraft is targeting anti-israel sentiment in the ad rather than antisemitism overall. assuming this connection is still evidence of antisemitic conspiratorial thought, as i detail above.
i'm including this information because i believe it's important to acknolwedge wider context. i don't share kraft's politics re: israel and believe his stance compromises his foundation's overall messaging. i also condemn any efforts to silence pro-palestinian efforts with accusations of antisemitism, but that is still not what's happening here. i also want to clarify that i'm only discussing responses i've seen to kraft's ad, not the ads produced by the israeli government. thanks again!
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ᴛɪᴘꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀꜱ [ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ]
don't let your skill in writing deter you. publishers look for the storyline, not always excellent writing. many of the greatest books came from mediocre writers—and also excellent and terrible ones.
keep writing even when it sucks. you don't know how to write this battle scene yet? skip ahead. write [battle scene here] and continue. in the end, you'll still have a book—and you can fill in the blanks later.
find your motivation. whether it's constantly updating That One Friend or posting your progress, motivation is key.
write everything down. everything. you had the perfect plot appear to you in a dream? scribble down everything you can remember as so as you can. I like to keep cue cards on my nightstand just in case.
play with words. titles, sentences, whatever. a lot of it will probably change either way, so this is the perfect opportunity to try out a new turn of phrase—or move along on one you're not quite sure clicks yet.
explain why, don't tell me. if something is the most beautiful thing a character's ever laid eyes on, describe it—don't just say "it's beautiful".
ask for critique. you will always be partial to your writing. getting others to read it will almost always provide feedback to help you write even better.
stick to the book—until they snap. write a character who is disciplined, courteous, and kind. make every interaction to reinforce the reader's view as such. but when they're left alone, when their closest friend betrays them, when the world falls to their feet...make them finally break.
magic. has. limits. there is no "infinite well" for everyone to draw from, nor "infinite spells" that have been discovered. magic has a price. magic has a limit. it takes a toll on the user—otherwise why can't they simply snap their fingers and make everything go their way?
read, read, read. reading is the source of inspiration.
first drafts suck. and that's putting it gently. ignoring all the typos, unfinished sentences, and blatant breaking of each and every grammar rules, there's still a lot of terrible. the point of drafts is to progress and make it better: it's the sketch beneath an oil painting. it's okay to say it's not great—but that won't mean the ideas and inspiration are not there. first drafts suck, and that's how you get better.
write every day. get into the habit—one sentence more, or one hundred pages, both will train you to improve.
more is the key to improvement. more writing, more reading, more feedback, and you can only get better. writing is a skill, not a talent, and it's something that grows with you.
follow the rules but also scrap them completely. as barbossa wisely says in PotC, "the code is more what you'd call 'guidelines' than actual rules". none of this is by the book, as ironic as that may be.
write for yourself. I cannot stress this enough. if what you do is not something you enjoy, it will only get harder. push yourself, but know your limits. know when you need to take a break, and when you need to try again. write for yourself, and you will put out your best work.
#writing tips#lyralit#writerblr#creative writing#writblr#writing#writers block#writers#writing advice#writing characters#writing motivation#thoughts
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the day of my execution
sukuna x reader
summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick.
w/c: 2.7k
tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n.
a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though.
series masterlist // masterlist
truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.
"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."
"we need to talk."
sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"
"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.
"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."
"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."
yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?
"no one else would be so brazen."
it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.
"i should call gojo—"
"that is out of the question."
"do you want to keep her safe or not?"
sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."
yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."
"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."
yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."
before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.
that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.
once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."
"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"
though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.
"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."
gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."
"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."
"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"
"almost anybody—"
"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."
"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."
"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."
gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.
"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."
"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"
"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."
sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.
but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.
for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.
and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.
"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.
"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."
sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.
he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.
"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.
"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."
crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."
"it's fine. it's only a little glass."
when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"
"i don't make a habit of it."
"i know. the question was rhetorical."
sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.
"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.
he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.
and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.
but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.
it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.
so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.
reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."
"what.. what is it?"
he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"
you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."
you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.
strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.
"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"
"sure of what?"
"that i should have it."
he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.
he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"
"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."
sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."
his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.
moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."
and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?
"but promise me something anyway."
"anything," you say without delay.
he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.
"promise you won't ever take it off."
you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.
you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.
"say it."
"i promise."
he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."
it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.
it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.
"i... i don't know what to say."
"well, that's a first."
"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."
"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"
you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."
he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."
you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.
he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.
you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.
although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.
it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.
his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.
now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.
but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.
he has to get back to you after all.
the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:
for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.
in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.
and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.
however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.
the very thought makes him sick with grief.
looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.
he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.
so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.
opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.
your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.
you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.
"you're back," you rasp.
"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.
you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."
"charming."
you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.
you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."
he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."
recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."
"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."
"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"
he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."
he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."
you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.
"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.
he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.
"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."
"what?" you ask sleepily.
"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."
"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."
"i'll hold you to that."
and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.
a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3
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#m!writes#sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna imagines#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna imagines#sukuna fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fluff#ryomen sukuna fluff
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the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)
this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head.
needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it.
tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.
You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.
'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week.
But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.
'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'
You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.
He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.
"Hi baby," you say sweetly.
"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.
"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."
"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.
"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.
"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"
You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."
You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.
You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.
You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.
"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"
He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.
"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"
You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.
"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.
"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.
His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.
"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.
"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."
'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!'
It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded?
You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.
With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.
Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.
With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.
“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”
His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”
“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.”
You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips.
You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core.
"Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt.
"Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"
"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.
"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"
You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations.
"Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress.
"Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out.
"No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.
"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"
You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.
"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"
You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.
"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.
"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.
"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool.
"Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."
You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.
"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.
Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.
"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."
Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."
"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words.
"You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.
"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish.
"Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?"
"Turn it on, please," you whisper.
"Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips.
"Please what?" he asks again.
"Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on."
"Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."
He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit.
"Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there."
"That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"
"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him.
You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.
"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."
"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good."
He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.
"You'll be so good?"
"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way.
"Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck."
"That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids.
"Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood.
"You're very nice," you whisper against his lips.
"Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease.
Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort.
"Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."
A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes.
"Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could.
"Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."
He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.
"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."
He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.
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You’re My Book Boyfriend
Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none, just a reporter being gross, booktok books mentioned
A/N: This is horrible, I’ve been sick since yesterday and wrote this while half dying from being sick, so apologies for whatever this is
It was known that Carlos was dating someone, but no one really knew for who. Fans and media would get a glimpse of you once in a while, but it needed to be longer for anyone to really speculate anything, like in the past. But that would never really happen. You didn't want to be in the spotlight, which is ironic since you're dating an international athlete.
Meeting Carlos was an utter accident. Your father was some big sponsor for Ferrari's F1 team and was granted tickets to one of the races, which your father had dragged you to. Sitting in a corner, you didn't think anyone would find you; you just wanted to read your book. It was a good book series as you were reading Katee Roberts new series, and it was so good.
Getting comfortable, you become unaware of your surroundings, but your eyes catch a movement of red, and it freezes, making you look up. Casting your eyes up, you blink at the person and take them in. Do you know those traditional ways of describing the male lead in the book? Yeah, this guy was the definition of male lead looks. Sun-kissed skin, honey eyes, and thick hair curling around his ears and neck, you try hard not to admire the rest of him. He stares at you like a deer in headlights, almost expecting you to bother him, but you just look back down at your book, more interested in Eros and Psyche than the real man in front of you.
The guy stares at you, shocked you paid him no mind as he moves, sits down on one of the couches, and just lays back like he owns the place. You try to ignore how he fidgets around, trying to get comfortable, or when he types loudly on his phone.
"Can't you just stay still? You're acting like you own the damn building." You snap, annoyed with your peace being interrupted.
"My face is on the side of the building, so I guess so." The man snips back, and you try hard not to blush from his accent or the fact you just insulted one of the Ferrari drivers.
"Which one are you?" You ask and almost laugh from the absolute shock on the man's face.
"Carlos Sainz." He mumbles like he just got knocked down a peg, which he was.
"My dad likes you. I guess that's why he sponsors you." You shrug and put your nose back in your book, ending the conversation.
That was Carlos's first conversation with you and one he remembered. After that, you slowly started to come around more and more, your father thought maybe you were enjoying the sport, and you did. You decided to read Lauren Asher's Dirty Air series and concluded that she definitely framed Santiago after Carlos, which always made you blush.
Carlos would always find you in some random spot of the motorhomes, with a book next to you. This time you had a book called Twisted Games on your lap. He froze, realizing you had fallen asleep in the morning sun. Your head was tilted back, your hair slightly messy, and your clothes comfortable. He couldn't help but picture himself coming home and seeing you like this on his couch.
After that, he set his mind to asking you out. He loved being able to talk to you about everything and anything and never having to talk about F1. Yes, he loved his job, but sometimes being with someone with no interest was the best. Asking you out was simple. He noticed which book series you were reading and decided to get the last book before it was released. It took a lot of convincing, but he gifted you, Twisted Lies, resulting in you kissing him. You shocked you both, but when you went to pull away, Carlos kicked into gear and kissed you back as his arms lightly wrapped around your waist. After that, the rest was history.
"Carlos, have you seen my book?" You asked your boyfriend. He was sitting outside enjoying the sun as it was Friday and had just gotten done with media and was enjoying the quiet around the paddock until it became swarmed with people for the evening practice.
"C'mere." He grumbles, not opening his eyes as you huff but moving towards your boyfriend. He pulls you into his lap, making you sit down as he draws you closer, kissing your neck and squirming, but you lay your head down, his chin resting on your head.
Neither of you cared to be in this position as you sat on the roof motorhome under the shade of the net that covered it; barely anyone could see the two of you. You move around some more, but Carlos's fingers dig slightly into your hip, making you stop.
"Unless you want to cause a problem, I suggest you stop." He whispers, almost nuzzling you as his words make your skin tickle.
"You pulled me on your lap, so it's your fault." You tease, making him laugh and finally open his eyes to look at you.
He watches you as you look around the area listening to the crowd of people slowly grow more and more as it inches closer to the first practice for the weekend. Carlos always hates leaving you because he never knows who's trying to find you or be around you, and he hates it. Carlos just wants to make sure that you're okay. After rumors got out of you two dating, he's been meticulous with keeping you out of the public eye. You always remind him that you'll be in your corner, where you both first meet, reading and book and watching the practice or race.
He knows that you'll be mainly reading a book more than anything.
"Please be careful. The media is heavier this weekend; I don't want them overwhelming you." He whispers, his grip tightening on your hips, making you nod.
You both remember the last time a reporter got a hold of you; he was insulting and disgusting and asked you about your sex life. You vaguely recall running into Carlos while the reporter kept following you. Carlos is usually the calm one, with a level head, but when he hears the question about which of you is on top, he loses it. It took multiple mechanics and Charles to pull Carlos off the guy; of course, the speculations of what caused this was spinning, but Carlos turned off both your phones and held you close for the rest of the night. Anytime it was mentioned, Carlos still saw red.
"I'll stay away. Besides, I prefer my book and you; that's all I need." You giggle, which has Carlos calming down.
When a soft dinging sound from Carlos's phone goes off, your boyfriend sighs, lifts you up, and pats your ass gently, telling you to get up. Carlos stands, stretches, and looks down at you as you admire the peak of his happy trail, really hating that he must leave. Chuckling, his hand wraps around your jaw, and you look at him as he leans down, kissing you gently but possessively. Pulling away, he pulls your bottom lip slightly, making you whine as he gives you a quick peck on the lips before fixing his hat.
"Please be safe, don't wander, and read your book. Hmm, I looked it up. News things to try." he winks, making you laugh and blush, waving him off as he jogs down the stairs.
Yeah, he's better than any book guy.
#f1#formula 1#f1 fandom#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 imagine#f1 scenario#formula one#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz f1#carlos sainz junior#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos x reader#carlos sainz jr one shot#carlos sainz jr imagine#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlos sainz one shot#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 fluff#f1 imagines#f1 one shot
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I am on hiatus because of exams but @danijaci you have pulled me out of it for today thanks to your biker!Wriothesley drawing. 😭😭💫💕🦋
Please allow me to add some words to your scrumptious art because I am obsessed with this man.
biker!Wriothesely x 9 to 5 job!reader.
not proof read i wrote this in 30 minutes and put it in queue.
It was a wet day. The air was moist and puddles had formed around every corner. You walked with your files clutched under one arm, umbrella held in the other, sheltering you from the light drizzle that remained after the heavy downpour from a few hours ago.
Your clothes were recently washed and neatly ironed. Atleast they were till someone whizzed past you, splashing you with puddle water, soiling your clothes. You yelled curses at them, trying to brush away the water on your clothes which clearly was a futile attempt.
You turned around to walk home and get changed into a new pair of clothes till you noticed the biker who splashed water on you, was coming back. You came to halt as the biker parked their bike in front of you before pulling the visor of the helmet up.
You could see icy blue hues staring at you. The voice was muffled you could make out a 'sorry' in their sentence. "I can't understand what you are saying." You frowned, not pleased with the situation at all.
The biker removed their helmet to reveal a man, beautiful beyond comprehension. His hand reached up to fluff up his black locks which had been flattened by the helmet, while his other hand placed the helmet on the handle of the biker. He swiftly kicked the stand of his bike before making his way to you.
"I said I am sorry for splashing you with water. It was an accident and I should've been more careful." He sighed, assessing the damage caused by his recklessness.
"Oh it is fine, it will come off. The only problem is that I am late for work." You grimaced at the feeling of the clothes sticking against your skin. He seemed to have noticed that.
"How about I give you a ride back home and to your office? It'll save you time and in exchange of helping you, you'll forgive me. Sounds like a win-win." He offered. You hesitated since getting on a bike with a strange guy was complete violation of the stranger danger rul— screw it.
"I'll take you up on that offer."
"Great. One more thing.." he took off his jacket and leaned in to wrapped it around you. You took your time to admire the man while he was busy zipping the jacket up. After he was done he glanced up at you. There was an awkward silence, you could feel his body warmth radiate upon coming in proximity and—
"Let's go. The jacket will prevent you from feeling cold while riding on the bike." He walked over to his biker and mounted it. He gestured you to take a seat while strapping his helmet back on. He then handed you a spare and drove off.
Your life was usually dull. A boring 9 to 5 job, same old sceneries and same old people had made life monotonous, yet this moment of sitting on a bike with the cool air hitting your body, the vehicle effortlessly taking smooth twists and turns was an escape from all of that.
You had your arms wrapped around his waist. Part of your arm could feel his muscular built under the clothing. He was a gentleman, responsible, quick-witted and good looking. What more could a girl ask for—
"We are here." He dropped you off at your house. If only you knew that from that day, the strange man would become an inseparable part of your life.
biker!wriothesley who would drop you to your office and back everyday under the excuse that it will save you time and energy even though he simply wants to enjoy the warmth of your arms wrapped around him.
biker!wriothesley who would bring big bouquets of your favourite flower each week in hopes to impress you.
biker!wriothesley who steals you away from your friends to go on an impromptu outing with him.
biker!wriothesley who loves watching sunsets with you while sharing a pint of icecream.
biker!wriothesley who fell harder after you fell first.
biker!wriothesley who would feel happy even at the smallest biking related gift you get him. He is a strong believer of sincerity.
biker!wriothesley who always gives up his jacket whenever you feel cold and always puts your comfort first.
biker!wriothesley who was hesitant on confessing but eventually mustered the courage to do so.
"Hey big guy, why did you bring me here all of a sudden?" You enquired softly. Wriothesely was a man with many scars and a fragile heart. He only ever dragged you away when he was feeling upset.
"It's nothing. I am just- I have to come out clean about this.." he sighed, trying to face you. The sunset's beauty only made you look more captivating in his eyes than you already were.
Wriothesley had always been gentle with you. Ever since the day he splashed water on you, to the time where he accidentally hit you in the face with the helmet while tossing it to you, hoping you would catch it, uptill now.
He looked at you with endearment, sincerity and love. You were his solace in his adventurous life while he was your spark in your mundane one. You two were like puzzle pieces. Meant for eachother. Meant to complete one another.
"I like you. I find my thoughts drifting towards you all the time. I thought biking was my only passion, nothing could take my attention away from my love for bike riding but then you came and—" he cupped your face, his frost blue eyes spoke a thousand words which his mouth couldn't utter.
biker!wriothesley whose partner in crime (not literally) is you. He can confide in you about his problems and loves when you talk to him in biker terms.
biker!wriothesley who loves taking you on long drives. He loves exploring new places and seeing the smile that traveling brings to your face.
biker!wriothesley who flaunts you off to his biker buddies or 'gang' he named 'The Meropide' talking non stop about how amazing you are.
biker!wriothesley who teases you alot.
"Wriothesley- you have been cleaning your bike since the past 2 hours!" You complained, he treated that bike like royalty. Cleaning it, greasing it, getting air in the tires—
"You see sweetheart, I have to take care of my wife. I am simply spending quality time with her." He smirked at you.
"Oh yeah? Then what am I?" You asked, arms crossed across your chest.
"You are my mistress—"
You didn't let him touch you the entire day.
biker!wriothesley who gets all shy and clammy at physical intimacy, be it holding hands, hugging or stealing kisses.
biker!wriothesley who wouldn't trade you for the world. He holds you dear and the day he confessed to you, he had given a piece of his heart to you and vowed to always be by your side.
this is so scuffed- I haven't written in so long especially in this format.
but hell do I not love wriothesley.
don't copy, plagiarize, repost.
©definitelysel
#genshin fluff#genshin impact#genshin x reader#fontaine#genshin impact x reader#wriothesely x reader#wriothesely#wriothesley#wriothesley x reader#wrio x reader#wriothesley imagines#genshin imagines#genshin impact imagines#wriothesley x you#wriothesley fluff
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