#oof including calling me a good girl
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something about non-traditional family dynamics with gojo just speaks to me…
includes :: co-parent!gojo, rich boy!gojo, mentions of pregnancy + leaky nips hehe
note :: this is just pure brainrot, started thinking about him in class today and i needed to get this out of my brain!
link to part two + link to part three
i’d like to think that after he knocks you up in college, the two of you take it upon yourselves to get married because, “‘it’s the right thing to do.’” and so, for a few years, you do the whole marriage thing—the family thing.
no longer were you the twenty-something-year-old who partied hard every weekend, and studied until the break of dawn every school night.
no, now you were the twenty-something-year-old who fixed bottles at odd hours in the night, whose nipples leaked through all her favorite tops, who had a husband that paid a mortgage and kissed her goodbye before he went off to work for the company passed down to him.
and after some time, things finally start to fall into place—your little family.
the baby gets bigger. you go through the terrible twos, of course, and the teenage-threes, but once she hits five, it’s suddenly pie in the sky—and god, it feels like you can finally start to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
so, you and gojo have one more. one more girl that’s precious, and smart, and quick-tongued, and every bit of her dad as she is you.
things are touch and go for awhile, but for the most part it’s...easy, smooth. that is, until married life starts to feel like a task, and your husband starts to feel like your roommate instead of your companion.
conversations becomes brief, the bed becomes colder, morning kisses are exchanged for nods of acknowledgement, and you can’t even remember the last time either of you desired each other…
one day though, the two of you come to a mutual decision to separate. you spend the night talking, and talking, and talking. you talk about things. memories—before and after. you even talk about your mis-comings, and if things could’ve gone differently had either of you did ‘this, this, and that’.
when you tell the girls, you’re half expecting them to be upset, but all they can think about is how, “‘they’ll get twice the amount of gifts during holidays’” — at least, according to your oldest who heard that from a kid in her class with separated parents.
a few years pass after your separation and now the both of you have come to a place where you can just be...friends. it was weird, at first—dropping your kids off to their 'other home'. walking them up to the grandiose sky-rise apartment building that's always bustling with people who've got places to be, and working class people to probably torture—but that's neither here, nor there.
gojo's waiting in the lobby. he's leaned up against the side of the elevator, dressed down in all black athleisure, and he's sporting that damn cheesy grin that you find yourself missing lately.
"hey girls," he greets, lowering down to his haunches and opening his arms for hugs, "oof—big hugs, almost knocked me over! missed me that much, huh?"
while the three of them get their hugs out of the way, you stand there idly watching, rocking back and forth on the balls of your heels.
"hey," he finally acknowledges you, "how was the drive? they got everything they need?"
"it was fine, and yep! they insisted on packing their own bags like big girls but i checked them," you say, before whispering, "and then repacked them."
he laughs at that, and then grabs their suitcases.
"but yeah, i should get going before traffic hits. if you need anything, let me know, and if you need anything," you drop down to your knees, "mommy's only a call away, okay?"
the two of them nod, "okay, mommy!"
"good...now come on, hugs and kisses!" you pull them in, getting enough kisses for two-weeks time. eventually, you pull away—albit, reluctantly, and wave your goodbyes.
the three of them watch you walk away, and when you're finally out of ear-shot, gojo utters a 'miss that'.
"miss what, daddy?"
"uh-huh," he clears his throat, "daddy didn't say anything..."
"liar, you miss mommy. don't you?" the youngest grins, all cheeky and knowing. gojo rolls his eyes—not out of annoyance, but because of how much they reminded him of himself. much like he, nothing ever got past those two...and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. right now, though? it's gonna be a good thing because he needs to know if-
"does mommy have a new boyfriend?"
"why?" the oldest answers, squinting her eyes in suspicion.
"jeez kid, just answer the question."
she ponders for a second, then extends her hand out, opening and closing it in a fast manner. gojo pouts, then takes out his wallet to put a five dollar bill on it.
she doesn't budge.
"oh, c'mon! i'm your father!" he pouts, but acquiesces and pulls out another five, "fine, you little brat."
with a smile on her face, she stuffs the bills in her front pocket and nods her head.
"wha-really?" he gasps, "is he better looking than me? how old is he? is he younger than daddy? is he richer than daddy? what's he do for work?"
ignoring his questions, she only extends her hand out again.
"i'm not giving you any more money, so we can settle this with some ice cream or nothing."
she ponders for a second time before nodding. "ice cream works for me."
"you little...c'mon get on the elevator."
20 floors in and the questions never stop coming.
#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x you#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#jjk imagines
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Some Murder Drones Episode 7 screenshots I thought were interesting and my thoughts on them :>
SPOILER WARNING!!!! is spoilering
Nori, despite being a middle aged woman with a child, appears to be an Otaku or otherwise likes "edgy" and "scene" stuff, as well as listening to nightcore, very much like her daughter. Good for her tbh you're never too old to have fun
She also has a photo of Khan and what I can only assume is baby Uzi, though it appears to have blue eyes, but maybe it's just the lighting. Still very cute she has a pic of her husband
As well as all the previously mentioned Otaku stuff, she also drew herself as an anime character. She has a skinsona. Phenomenal (pos)
Nothing much here, just Uzi coughing up blood. Girl got the goop (gore) inside of her already
Lab Space. Apparently the Church was just down there and not even the humans know why. The canonicity of this is questionable; it could just be a joke
OT, as per google, stands for "Occupational Therapy". Makes sense for the context, and makes the bottom text funnier
"Fun Time To Universe Big Crunch: 87". The Big Crunch is a hypothetical way the Universe could end, where the universe folds on itself and shrinks into a single point. 87 "what" I don't know. If it's months, that 7 years and 3 months
Honestly the Murder Drones lore is super confusing. I think what this is trying to say is that every other Zombie Drone is doing poorly, (Except for Yeva), they are trying to reactivate 002 (Nori) via the USB. I'm not sure what this means. Maybe they only got the results they wanted from the two of them, and are trying again with Nori since she was the only other one that worked (also why they got Yeva when she failed; this may all be referring to how the episode opened up) Also, the date says SER. As revealed in the episode Cabin Fever, Copper-9 has months that Earth does not. SER most likely stands for Seramorris, the month revealed in that episode
Looks like the "bad event" wasn't the first one. Certainly was the last one though lol
Just a good pic of ghost/hologram V with the scary stuff. Might use this as a wallpaper
You can literally see the hole in his neck where N bit him in...
...And it's to the point his HEAD FALLS OFF. (including because I didn't notice the first time around)
Yup, the idea that Uzi became the Admin for N and V is completely true. I wonder what would've happened if she didn't, since Cyn didn't react whatsoever
friggin bug (very pos)
You would not believe how difficult it was to get a good pic of this (I'm using snipping tool lmao). Always a pleasure to see Uzi's doodles. Things her gun can do (upper right):
NOT judge her
Forced prom date (?)
Allows her to say she had friends before she frickin murdered them with sci-fi machinery
The cut off text at the bottom: Plan B: Normal gun + Shoot really fast
This is while Tessa is looking for something in the lockers. Claws, chains, magnets, Wings, and scribbled "HELP". Looks like the lockers were all specifically to hold the infected worker drones. Oof
We are in the future now baby. We have rererererereCAPTCHA. Funnily enough, it still couldn't stop a robot
There is a message board where someone who doesn't like robots is talking. They also are scared. Also no one else is using this system, which is unsurprising. "Ur aight ;)" Wait is the winky face intentional foreshadowing? Or unintentional?
We get the names of a bunch of other Worker Drones. Unfortunately for all 029 fans, her name was not visible. (also can someone tell me what "JWEB" could be short for?) And Yeva is said to have a patch. That may be the crucible thing idk
Cyn (which I will be calling this version Skyn [Skin + Cyn]) apparently took of the space suit just to give Doll the Withered Foxy jumpscare. Honestly really terrifying. If this photo was teased before release I think the fandom would've exploded
Just N being a good boy :3
The MDs, Cyn's pets. Nori refers to them as "Nerfed" so the "Entity" can ensure control, and says they were made to destroy other hosts. I don't know why Cyn would want them dead, but I'm not the loremaster here. YouTube line is there because I couldn't be bothered after the Railgun image
Probably already confirmed, but doubly confirmed that a symptom of the Solver is giving Drones organic insides. A Worker Drone body with a rib cage and guts. I wonder what would happen if the infection continued uninterrupted (also R.I.P. Doll I loved you :frown:)
I'm sure everyone noticed, but when Uzi tried to manipulate Tessa, the ERROR noticed appeared. Already hinting Tessa is not all she says she is
Apparently the Solver can create Black Hole Saws. Interesting development (Blackhole Blitz)
I know most people (I think) see this as a joke and N just being a bit of goofball. But honestly, I think he did it intentionally to shock Cynuzi and give Nori a chance. In the Pilot, he licked V's sword to surprise her too, which means he isn't unfamiliar with doing something weird and surprising for the advantage
Skyn eating Doll's core. R.I.P. Doll again. Seriously, was that Doll in Core Form like Nori was? Or was Nori a fringe case because she was "Exorcised" and this is just a regular core? Questions, questions. Also yeah the Solver also gives you a Core. Fun
This tag makes me think that this body is Cyn's actual body. Not longer a hologram, but her actual body from the mansion. The reason Tessa gave N, J, and V their names was because that was the first letter of their Serial Designation (she's very uncreative). However, Cyn's tag was slightly faded, which meant her SD couldn't be seen, so Tessa gave her the name "Cyn" after her P/N, even though the other 3 already have the same P/N as Cyn (Tessa, again, is very uncreative)...
...and for some reason, Cyn or the Solver, which ever theory you subscribe to, decided to wear Tessa as a skin suit for some twisted reason. It did help her with the Captcha. Also scary because this doesn't have the right proportions for an adult (unless Cyn really forced that skin on), which leads me to believe that this is a Younger Tessa, and she faked having an older voice. Maybe I shouldn't call her my wife... I'm sure Eldritch J is still available :^)
(Seriously, the eyes are burnt out, leaving two eye holes over the visor, so she gives herself two X eyes so it looks better. Also yeah we found out what that thing on the "It Came From Copper-9" poster came from. It really was Cyn or Skyn)
Just a frame of the final...frame... for coolness. I'm probably also going to use this for a background. Also, this is definitely Copper-9. You can see the ring and ringless moon together on the right. Uzi somehow got sent to orbit after falling in the meat hole
Well that was all for now. This series has consumed me entirely, body and soul, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Goodbye and goodnight
#murder drones#murder drones n#glitch productions#murder drones uzi#uzi doorman#serial designation n#murder drones cyn#murder drones episode 7#md ep 7#md episode 7#murder drones spoilers#murder drones doll#md doll#murder drones tessa#md tessa#murder drones skyn#md skyn#md uzi#murder drones theory#md theory#murder drones nori#md nori
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HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!
some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!
content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!
word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D
This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.
A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.
Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.
Y/N doesn’t drink alone.
But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.
In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.
She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.
And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—
The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.
She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said.
So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.
The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.
It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.
She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”
And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.
Or so she found out.
And he looks… the same. Of course he does.
Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.
All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight.
And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.
Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.
She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.
The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?
“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.
She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.
His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.
The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?
…Did it matter?
It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.
And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.
The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—
“Sneaky little thing.”
Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.
“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.
When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”
Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.
Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.
It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.
Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”
And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”
It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”
Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones.
Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.
So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?
Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”
She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.
Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.
But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.
“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.
Yes. She did.
But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.”
It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest.
He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.
He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.
“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.
“Shut up—”
“When you were cumming inside me—?”
“—Shut the fuck up.”
Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.
“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”
He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.
It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”
“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”
Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).
“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”
“—It wasn’t a date—”
“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”
Something real? Something real?
“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.
She’s granted no such thing.
“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.
Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)
It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.
“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.
Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”
“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”
And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.
He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.
But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”
The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”
She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”
Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.
Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.
They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.
Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.
She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck.
He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.
“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”
A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.
“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”
“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”
“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”
Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.
But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.
“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”
“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.
“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.
Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”
A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile.
The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.
“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”
She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.
“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”
“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.
It’s not.
“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.
“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.
“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.
So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”
Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear.
The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.
They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.
“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”
And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.
She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.”
Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.
“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”
“—Mhm—”
He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.
“Ye-yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.
He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”
Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.
“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.
Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.
His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.
“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”
She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.
Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”
“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.
A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”
It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.
“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.
He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form.
One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.
“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”
A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming.
“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.
He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”
“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”
“You’ll what, pet?”
“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.
“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”
“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all.
“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”
No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.
“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”
A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.
“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”
She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.
The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.
He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.
He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”
Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.
He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to���the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.
But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them.
Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.
“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.
His hips snap back into her.
“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat.
It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.
“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.
“Don’t you?”
“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them.
He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure.
Her noises topple out.
Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”
The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.
He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”
And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way.
Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.
This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all.
Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers.
And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.
But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.
“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.
“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.
He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.
“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.
She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.
“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”
Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.
And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.
It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.
“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.
Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.
“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.
She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.
“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.
Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.
“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.”
He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.”
Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.
Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”
It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.
It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.
He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone.
Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.
“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.
“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.
He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.
“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.
But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.
Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat.
He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.
“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”
Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”
Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.
She waits.
The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.
He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better.
Y/N never sees him again.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles smut#harry styles one shots#harry styles fanfiction#dark harry styles#dom!harry#dom!harry styles x sub!reader#dark harry#harry styles writing#harry styles imagines
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Not so much of a request as much as a short imagine I wanted to send over for you to read.
Personally I love imagining Miguel with a Y/N who's the absolute polar opposite of him. Like this girl can't stand working but loves to goof around and party. (Her dimension runs on its night life)
She's always trying to get Miguel to loosen up and tries to flirt with him whenever she gets the chance. (Which he hates. 100%. It's not like he'd miss it if she stopped. Right?)
Like 90% of her time is just spent trying to get him to laugh. Which she does with everyone but with Miguel it's different yknow. She wants him to be happy. Maybe secretly a little more than everyone else.
(Maybe she's not as happy as she lets on but hell if she'd ever let anybody find that out)
Like I could talk so long for this dynamic I have in my head of them. Big grouchy boss and silly little party girl. (Very inspired by 80's/90's and early 00's club culture. I just want her to have cute little leg warmers and glow stick bracelets that she keeps trying to sneak on Miguel's stupid big wrist AASGHH 😭💕)
It's such a cute dynamic that I can totally see happening. No lie, when I was reading this I thought of the song, "Shut up and Dance"
But I LOVE the idea of a world that's all party life. I can do a little one shot for this even if it isn't a request! I love cute shit haha
Warning: None, just fluff
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Earth-331
Silence was foreign to this loud and lively world. Not a single person knew the term, 'relax'. Every day and night was like a nightclub.
The Spider of this world, oof, you were a trip.
You didn't know the definition of sit down and relax. You had to make sure everyone was having a good time. You had to make sure that everyone was happy.
Miguel included.
He was a tough nut to crack. You first met Miguel when he crashed into your world, blinded by the bright neon disco lights. You were in the middle of dance fighting your Goblin and a Goblin from a completely different universe.
"Oof, hey buddy, you okay?" You asked with a chirp, swinging over to him with a skip in your heel.
Miguel get out a soft growl as he tried to regain his footing. He couldn't believe what was happening. The lights, the music, everything was driving him crazy. His Spider DNA enhanced his senses, causing him to fumble and have a horrid reaction to his world he landed in.
"Shock me," Miguel hissed, squinting as he saw you stand before him, "Just...help me get that Goblin and I'll explain everything." He hissed.
You cheered as Miguel recruited you into his Spider Society. You were having so much fun. There was a smile upon everyone's face as you approached them.
You were a party animal. Every time you were in the mood to cheer someone up, music started to play from what others called magic. No, in your world, everyone had these portable music players that could turn any room into a nightclub.
You were happy knowing that you made others happy. There was just one person whom you had trouble with...but not for long.
"Hi, Miguel! I heard you were stressed. Need some help?" You asked with a chirp.
"No."
"Oh, come on. I can help loosen you up~" You cooed, rubbing your hands against his shoulders.
Miguel was getting irritated by your presence. Why did you always have to bug him? You always had your hands on him, flirting and trying to cheer him up. Miguel wasn't sure how much more he can handle of you.
The loud music that played whenever you cheered someone up. Your silly little remarks to Miguel. The different party lights that would appear almost every time you spoke. Everything. Everything you did started to wander across his mind.
It was so oddly quiet whenever you were out on a mission. Miguel didn't want to admit it, but he had started to miss you. Lyla would appear every now and then and would tease Miguel about you.
The grump and the party girl.
You nearly squealed as Miguel finally agreed to your request. You had been begging him to let you take him on a night out. There were rules of course.
It had to be in his dimension due to his sensitivity.
And you had to behave.
"Oh! There's a song like this in my world! C'mon Miguel, let's dance!!" You chirped.
You eagerly grabbed Miguel's hands, pulling him onto the dance floor. Miguel was hesitant, but went along with you, after all, he agreed to this.
The smile on your face couldn't have gotten any brighter as Miguel finally smiled. His arms were wrapped around your waist as the two of you danced along to the music. Finally. You finally got to see his smile.
"Lovely," You whispered. Miguel cocked a brow,
"Only for you." He hummed.
You could feel your cheeks warm up towards his words. Was Miguel always this quick with his words? Either way, this gave you motivation to see him smile more.
Miguel didn't want to admit anything. He didn't want to admit that he had feelings for you. That he wanted you to be by his side. It felt almost strange to have someone so lively next to him. Almost illegal to have you.
"M-Miguel," You whimpered, entering his office.
Shocked by your sadden tone. Miguel hurried to your side. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you cried. Miguel hushed you gently, pulling you into his embrace while Lyla appeared and informed him quietly of one of your canon events.
"H-He died! I-I couldn't protect him!" You sobbed.
Miguel frowned as he sat you on his lap, gently playing with your hair. There was no colorful background with your words, no loud music playing. It was quiet. Miguel didn't like this.
As Miguel comforted you, he began to think. This wasn't like you. Humming very quietly, Miguel began to sing for you. He would never do this for anyone else...
But you were special to him.
"M-Miguel?" You whispered, eyes sparkling as your spirit came back slowly.
"Only for you, mi amor (my love). So please, let me wipe those tears." Miguel whispered.
The Spider Society's biggest secret.
You and Miguel were a couple.
There were special rules that the two of you had to follow, but you didn't mind as long as you got to be with Miguel. He made you smile and visa versa.
Like anyone would believe that big ol' grump could fall in love with someone as peppy and wild as you.
"This stupid little-"
"Ah, ah, ah~ Stress free~" You cooed, wrapping your arms around Miguel's back, "I have an idea! Let's go out tonight!!"
"Very well, but I'll pick the spot."
"Awe, okay!"
It was your little secret, but one you were happy to hide. After all, not every day you could snag a man like Miguel. He was one in a million.
Your one in a million.
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I know it wasn't a request, but I hope you enjoyed anyway~
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel spiderverse#spiderman 2099#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel spiderman#atsv miguel#across the spiderverse#miguel x you
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Silver Lining 2
Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes
Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.
Note: I was going to add this to the bookstore au but realised Bucky is a side character in Steve’s and not old so….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You leave the cafe with your lukewarm cup. You were so anxious you'd almost forgot about the pepperminty goodness. You sip, slightly disappointed in the temperature. Still, it's yummy and you have your bag of books in hand. The day has been a mild success.
You walk along the icy pavement, the season nipping at your cheeks. Most people complain about the snow but it's your favorite. You don't drive so you don't worry for a slippery commute, you have your heavy-treaded doc martens and a downy coat.
You head down Ironwood hoping to catch a streetcar car only to find it skimming past. You sigh and drop your shoulders. You could use the exercise and it would be so bad as long as the path behind Jerry's Submarines isn't snowed over.
You cut through to the next street along a short alley and hop over the bank between the sidewalk and the road. As you do, you slip and stumble, a pair of headlights turning just as you fall into the street. I long fearsome honk blows in your ears.
You whip around to face the driver, raising your hand in an apologetic wave. Not the smartest move but the street isn't usually that busy. You brows pop up as you recognize behind the wheel. Oh boy. Not again.
You skitter away hoping he didn't recognise you too. That very same man who invaded your personal bubble and insulted your taste. Lisa doesn't believe it when you say you're cursed but it's hard to deny from your vantage point.
You get to the other side and keep your head straight, marching away without looking back. He drives by slowly past your peripheral and you dip onto the path, letting out a breath. Alright, no way you'll see that jerk again.
There's a blanket if snow over the path but not enough to deter you. You kick through the powder as you bob to the music in your earbud. You know, Mariah Carey's non-Christmas tunes aren't too shabby either.
You come out on Orchard, sipping your mellowed candy cane cocoa and swing the paper bag carelessly. You could start your podcast. You have more than enough resources now and the new books will be the cherry on top.
As you stride along Orchard towards Cornish, a car door opens and shuts. You don't see the figure before you until they step over the curve and nearly take you off your feet. You drop your cup, spilling what's left of the cold hot chocolate.
“Oh, oof, d-dude–” you sputter out as the liquid drips down your lilac docs.
“Dude?” The man grips the bag in his left hand, his other opening and closing in a tight fist. No way.
“Ew,” you let out the syllable without filter.
“Ew?” He eyes you head to toe.
“Y-yeah, y-y-you're following me.”
“Following?” He growls, “you girls sure do have quite the imagination these days.”
“B-b-but… you saw me….g-go down the path.”
“I wasn't even looking at you, doll,” he scoffs.
“D-d-doll?” You scowl.
“Oh, don't even--I could call you worse.”
“L-leave me a-alone,” you back up, gripping the wire handle of the shopping bag tightly.
“Happily,” he sneers, “I have a job so get out of my way.”
He shoulders past you, harshly. Your trads slip on the salted walk as you grunt and turn to eatch him strut towards the house just a few feet down. You rub the sore spot left by his gruff impact.
You shake your head a leave, thinking better of shouting ‘old man’ at his back. You probably shouldn't antagonize him. So you spin and tuck your hands into your pockets and carry on.
Your street is only a few blocks away. By then, you've almost forgotten about the strange encounters. The closer you get to the haven of your bedroom, the more excited you are to crack open your new books.
Your parents house is trimmed in bright coloured lights and the lawn decorated with plastic candy canes and full entourage of fake reindeer. The familiarity of your childhood home is both comforting and stagnating. You can't believe you're still here.
You go inside, leaving your wet boots on the mat as your mother calls your stepdads name from the kitchen. You unzip your coat and hang it on the rack mounted against the wall. You reclaim your bag of books and make your way to the front room.
“Dean,” your mom calls again as she appears in the hall, peering in after you, “oh it's you.”
“Just me,” you drone and continue towards the stairs. You stop at the bottom, “mom,” she keeps from retreating and looks back at you, “need help?”
“Oh, no honey, I almost got it figured out. So, how's the job hunt?”
You try to smile. Oh, that. You can't live off severance forever and the settlement is never going to happen.
“Good,” you lie, shifting the bag behind your hands.
Maybe you should be a bit more prudent. It's an investment, for your podcast. You just need to figure out how to record. And how not to stutter every other word.
You're only thirty. You have time to smooth out details. Don't you?
You turn and plod up the stairs and into your bedroom. The clutter greets you along with the nest of blankets tangled in your bed. What are you even thinking? You can hardly keep your room tidy.
It's not your fault. Your mom says so. Lisa too. But it has to be. You had it all, a good job, a nice apartment, independence. You blew it all. If you'd just kept your mouth shut.
But wasn't that the problem? Isn't that why you're getting therapy? So you can speak up next time. So there won't be a next time.
You sniff and sit at the desk, adding the bag to the mess. You hang your head in the darkness as the snow reflects the sheen of street lights through the window. It takes time, Lisa says, but you feel it running out.
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#drabble#series#au#silver lining#mcu#marvel#avengers#winter soldier
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My Astro Observations . . . TROIS
Welcome back to my posts. 😁👋🏾💗
Erm let's get into it I lol haha
This first one is not even an observation ✨but✨ whenever I just hear about Pisces I think of this photo:
This probably does not even freaking make sense to you. Well literally I was on Pinterest and I saw this and the very first thing that popped into my mind was Pisces. Like I don’t know. I think that the seal signifying toothpaste laying on the toothbrush in the middle of a rainy day very mutable water energy. There is something neptunian about it. It’s very Pisces moon to me being specific. Probably doesn’t not even make sense. My cousin is a Pisces, he reminds me of this. Hm. Idk. 🐟🫧🐟🫧
The three fire signs for absolutely no hickory darn dickory reason at all :
OOF Okay. Stereotypical. But these fuckers are just loud for no reason !!! Like fren I PRAY THEE TO SHUT THE FUCK UP🥺🥺🥺. I’m lying lol !! I love loud ppl ahaha !! 😭🤣 Like girl yes let’s yell for no apparent reason at all 😆💖 !! They’re so crazy you can take them anywhere !! But like girl wait cause you don’t want to be in A Quiet Place with them- they will have you UTTERLY. FUCKED😵🤯. Like okay- it’s not even if the person just talks loud or laughs loudly- the fellow sillylington just might quite literally make random noises. These are very spontaneous individuals. And when I speak of this I mean like maybe they might have a good amount of fire placements dominating or have some good influence of it. Like girly your just loud. 😭 I also want to include Gemini partially in this mix cause you guys do weird things out of nowhere I love it- I kind of mentioned this in my last post.
These placements are the Fifth Harmony of astrology- im talking Demi Lavato💀 I'm talking Exo 💀 Just big and loud 💀 You guys give Secret Love Song by Fifth Harmony💀
Taurus, Aries, Capricorn, Sagittarius ,Scorpio remind me of this:
My mom is a Scorpio- with prominent Capricorn influence- she is very much welcomed into the Nation of Idgafsia. LIKE WOW. I aspire to not give a fuck like her !! Like these five placements be minding they bussiness foreralzies !!! Like a bomb in somebody house across the street could go off and mean while they’re in the bathroom setting up their soaps and bodycare right before they get in the shower- like dimming the lights n lighting their candles n everything IM CRYING😭 AOSNDODNSK. These ppl r nonchalant. They’re relaxed and easy to hang around, I love it I love it I love it 💖
like no this be them fr 😭😭😭 :
But personally and specifically I think a Taurus would be the mayor/president of Idgafsia. Using a old friend for observation, I don’t personally know how you could not be cool with one. She reminds me of capybaras.
When I litteraly say shes this gif I mean it. I could put a posionus snake her bed. She would have probrobly wake up and be like “not you put a poisonous snake in my bed while I was sleep. girly that’s so crazy girl let me go to the hospital real quick. ima be back. 🏥🚶🏻♀️🗿 ” LIKE HUH??? CQFBHENNR😭. Like if it SERIOUSLY has nothing to do with anything pertaining to them they will rlly just be chilling forreal foreal. 🗿
Aries/Gemini/Water men are so breedable imo
LOL. Let me stop😭
but yeah i could give these men the meanest strap.
Also water sign men are so sexy? wtf??
You can’t tell an Aquarius or Scorpio SHIT. They are very much “erm ackshually my fellow scholar🤓👆🏾 the sun is shuprshingly 📝🤓not the biggest 🤓📚🧪 celestial body within our vast mind boggling universe-🤓👆🏾 you may want to consider looking into stars such Sirius 🤓🤓🤓”
Like yeah dude. We know that. An Aquarius would probably try to explain to you how to walk as if you had not learned that many years ago in your fresh years on this planet. Girl move.
It’s so infuriating!! I CANT count how many times I’ve seen Aquarius like this specifically. Like ouu girly you want to be an encyclopedia soooo bad 🙄🙄 Like I don’t know. You guys really seem like know it alls, it’s really your way or the highway. I wanna prove an Aquarius girly wrong so bad. JUST BECAUSE 😈
They are the personification of finding out your ass was really on the remote after all- and now you just don’t want to admit it. Like we don’t care fren just give us the remote I’m trying to watch Once Upon a Time for the 12948372th time. 😔😞
Like girly wrap it up or whatever 🙄
But no.
No.
I do understand genuinely you guys really like to find information that really helped you out at times-and spread it to dear ones. It's very nice of you seriously- we appreciate it. Thank you my beloved wanna-be-encyclopedia, like rlly seriously my pookie scrimblo sticks. 💗🥰
Speaking of Aquarian influence. MY GOD. Idc if it’s Saturnian or Uranian or whatever. If it’s Aquarian/Capricornian (does that even make sense? I have come to this DEFINITE conclusion; that AQUARIUS/CAPRICORN IS JUST SO SEXY🤯🤯🤯 but the big emphasis is on Aquarius like MY GAWD.
*Dance for You by Beyonce starts to play* Like no . . . Papi Hiddleston is SO. FOINE. *DRAMATIC EXPLOSION* He be having me GAWKIN!! you ever see somebody so sexy you get scared ?!?! 😧 like oooh im shivering in me timbers !!! 😰🫣😨
several Aquarius have done me like that N LOOK. DONT EVEN TRY IT- Yes. I’m a marvel girlie. I might litterly bring up anything marvel related on every post so don’t even be shocked lol. Just expect that from now on im so serious lol. and yo my sister mad whacky she said he’s ugly and talked about his bamboozled hairline what a friggin' bitch😔✋🏾n if you think so too on January 22nd, 2024- on that Monday at 8:17 AM you will slip on a banana peel. 😈 🍌🍌🍌
I’m getting sidetracked BUT I watched that new BBC interview of him after season 2.
AND YO.
HIS VOICE IS SO DEEP WHAT?? ZOO WEE MAMA !!! 🤤🤤🤤
But this is how Capricorn/Aquarius have me😋😋😋
like it’s me bby . . 😜😉 let me be ur girl . . . mmmh stop trippin papi 😚😋🥰
They are sex walking I’m so sorry. This goes for Capricorn too with that Saturn energy. You guys r so hawt n sexay. Like sheesh meowwwww puurrr slay the boots house down yas. 🐈😼 😈
Like jeez let’s play Cool Cat by queen real quick.
Now listen up!
Virgo, Sagittarius, Leo, Aquarius, Aries, Capricorn, and Gemini !!! Im talking to you !! 💗😋 These placements are so accepting imo. Like no- I've just noticed that these placements.
Virgo- I think you guys seem to be good listeners. This goes for Gemini too- maybe because they may share qualities with Mercury. They both do so in a caring sense- such in a sense that if you feel like maybe no one is hearing you/dont feel heard they will maybe at least try to hear you out. I think they r just great when u need an ear 💗
Now Aries, Sag, Leo Gemini and Aquarius I LOVE YOU AGH. Is it me or like I LOVE WATCHING YOU GUYS BE YOURSELVES AHH. You inspire me so much AHH!!
YOU GUYS INSPIRE ME TO BE BOLD N TO JUST BE MYSELF LIKE ARGHH MATEY!! IM GONNA DO IT!!!!!!
I feel like there are times. Where you can feel or felt unsure or awkward about yourself. In my opinion I often see these signs just doing their thing at times- it can be unapologetic. It does not even have to be bold or anything they can just be minding their business doing their everyday thing. I guess what I'm saying is I love how authentic the sign can be.
There is some sort of level of confidence in them that they can stand on. I love it.
And yeah- I've just come to this conclusion that Capricorns, Geminis and Aquarius can just be weird? Like lol. Thier humor can be so weird and so out of the box sometimes- personality too. I feel when they are literally just being them, it is very inspiring to me imo.
Like i feel like you can have a dance off in the kitchen like this at 4am with them idk 😭:
N i guess its why I think these signs (Cap, Leo, Aqua, Aries, Sag) can usually be very sexy easily bc they r just so authentic n raw to me its kind of poetic like im twirling my hair rn n giggling 🤭
I feel like Leo, Aquarius and Scorpio can be like this when hurt:
"I'm so tall, can't get over me
I'm so low, can't get under me
I must be all these things
For I just threw out the love of my dreams"
Of course- when it comes to modality the four signs will obviously have something in common. What I mean with Leo Aqaurius and Scorpio is- they are just so- well- fixed. I noticed they try to act like they don't care about something- when they very much in fact do. You can't jump over them, you can't get under them- you can't get besides them, and like even if you did- it cannot really affect them that much anyway . . . -right? It feels like punching a stone made of jelly on the inside (literally so random- ik fren lmfao) I can punch a stone, It's fine- well not my knuckles ofc- they can be so hard when hurt. Sheesh. Only if you knew that you wobbled up that Jello a little bit on the inside. (Does that even make sense?)
And don't even try to pick up the stone- its too heavy. They ground themselves whatever philosophy they got going on in their noggin🥴🥴🥴🥴- no matter if its emotionally or whatever.
"He is in my eyes, he is in my ears
He is in my blood, he is in my tears
I breathe love, and see him everyday
Even though my love's a world away
Oh, he's got me wondering
My righteousness is crumbling"
It will bother them. And bother them. And bother them. And bother them. Bother them. And Aqaurius with think about it- try to bargain about it imo. Scorpio with feel a very fucking speicfic way about it and not say SHIT. 🙄😒 Leo's are so silly- they just try to act unfazed
but we easily know lol like ok girl-I'm sorry but there is something too whimsical/unserious about them to not know when somethings wrong 😭. But yes-back to the point. In short- its so annoying with them bc three gwrorlies dont just want to admit or submit to things at first. These three live off of cool down time !!! lmfao 🤣 you really got to give them a moment. Maybe a long time too. They care so much. Too much at times- like girl be calm.
I feel like they can do the most. They will do all sorts of things just to stand on something- or an idea or feeling that they had. It is hard for them to be wrong, or to lose. Sometimes I feel like these three need to learn how to truly let things be or go. Not everything has to be a chess game fren. ☹️💗 It like they feel they need to be a few steps ahead- they might feel ashamed or disappointed or sad or otherwise with them.
erm i have few more things to say but im literally tired of typing lol.
Ciao!!
#Spotify#leo placements#leo#piscies#water placements#Pisces moon#Cancer#Fixed signs#scorpio placements#astro observations#astrology#capricorn#scorpio#taurus#taurus placements#sagitarius#Sagittarius placements#aquarius#aquarius placements#ikd how to tag like that
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Show Me Your Firetrucks (Bob Floyd x Reader)
Summary: You, Bob, the Daggers and the kids get to experience an event in Bob's hometown that's been happening for the last 22 years
Notes: This fic is dedicated to the civilians and first responders of NYC, those who are still with us and those who were called home on that fateful day. To the firefighters, police and first responders, we are forever grateful for your service. (The music that inspired this fic can also be found here, I highly suggest listening to it while you read along).
Cheyenne Falls, Oklahoma
September, 2023
You and Bob were a little less than pleased at the prospects of having to get up so early, your children still at the age when they needed sleep and with them just having started school, which hadn't made anything easier.
Auggie and Patrick excitedly ran into the firehouse where Bob's brother, Sean and his teammates all worked. Both of them ran to their uncle who eagerly scooped them right up off the ground in a big hug.
"Uncle Seanie I ate a bug at school!!" Auggie exclaimed proudly.
"Oh did it taste like chicken?" he teased.
You laughed but Bob rolled his eyes. Typical of his older brother who had always told Bob that bugs tasted like chicken when he was little.
"Well hello, little brother of mine," Sean greeted rather cheerfully. "I see Auggie inherited the male line's shit eyesight."
"Yeah and that was only after he ran into the screen door and broke it two years ago," Bob chuckled.
You, Bob and Sean watched as Auggie and Patrick ran around the firehouse garage, wanting to try on the helmets, boots and jackets that were far too big for either of them. Sean's wife, Zoe, had come down the stairs from the loft just a few minutes later in a pair of ripped jeans and a navy blue t-shirt bearing an NYFD logo.
"Did we miss anything?" Natasha yawned as she walked in with her and Cole's son, Gabe.
"Nope, you haven't missed anything yet," Bob chirped.
"Good because I haven't had coffee yet and the ghoul is driving me crazy."
"Hey I'm going to the donut shop across the street for coffee, does anybody want anything?" Zoe announced.
Everyone put in their orders, including yourself and by the time Rooster, Rusty and the boys had all shown up with Baby Carrie in tow, Zoe was back with your orders.
"Looks like we've got some future firefighters in the family," Rooster remarked, adjusting four month old Carrie in his arms.
"Oof, I shudder at the thought," Bob answered.
Sean snorted and stifled a laugh but went stiff when Bob gave him the dreaded look as a warning not to say anything else.
"Alright, alright, alright!" Hangman announced loudly as he strode in with one twin girl on each of his hips. "I come bearing my trophies!!!!"
He set a giggling Missy and Molly both down on the concrete floors, their little sandaled feet flapping as they chased after their cousins. Mickey showed up with Isabella, Sebastian and Rodrigo some moments later, Coyote following with Paloma, Carla and Baby Tiago while Payback and Maverick were the last to arrive with their own kids and Amelia. Missy and Molly ran straight for Geneva and Neveah while TJ remained happily perched on his father's shoulders. Maverick's two little adopted ghouls were excited beyond words when they saw all the firetrucks and equipment on full display.
"I have never seen a bunch of kids so excited like this before," Sean chuckled as more people began to gather in the fire station.
"Doesn't even begin to describe it," Penny told him. "That's all they play with at home is toy firetrucks."
Everyone shared a few good laughs and caught up with each other over the coffee and donuts that Zoe had brought back. Soon, the whole station was almost full of people, some who were close to Bob and others who were just ordinary members of the community.
"Looks like it's gonna be a good ride this year, little brother," Sean remarked.
"I know," Bob chuckled as he sipped on the cinnamon flavored coffee. "We've got almost everybody in town here and more."
Sean nodded with a bit of a wistful look in his eyes, remembering Joe's two brothers, Stephen and Christopher who had been in New York, one a firefighter and the other a police sergeant. Though both had survived, Sean knew too well that there were others who had not been as lucky.
"Hey," Joe greeted happily as he strode up to his sons. "You two numbskulls ready? Michael's got ants in his pants from waiting in the police cruiser with the K-9."
"We'll get the kids ready Dad," Bob told him.
Joe and his sons both hugged each other tight. "This one's for your uncles," he croaked.
Bob met up with you and the kids to help get ready for the ride. "Am I gonna do good Daddy?" Auggie chirped.
"You will Auggie," Bob laughed, putting the much too large fire helmet on his son's head. "Just remember what Uncle Sean and Chief McKenzie tell you ok?"
Auggie nodded, pushing his glasses onto his nose as his little hands helped button the tiny little jacket that Chief Dan McKenzie had found for him and some of the other children who had come to join the ride.
Father Daly, the firehouse chaplain, led everyone present in a short prayer, giving the blessing for the ride, praying for the souls of the departed and those who were still in the line of work. When he had finished, the brass bell in the yard began to ring loudly, signaling for everyone to jump in the trucks.
"Bye Daddy, we'll see you later," Auggie chirped as Bob lifted him into the cab of the truck with Sean and Chief McKenzie.
"Bye buddy, I'll see you when we get to the city," Bob said, giving his son a kiss before the doors were shut.
You, Bob and the others each jumped into a truck, the kids all riding in the cabs or in the backs with the other firefighters. You gave each other a look, his hand gripping yours tightly as the trucks began to roll out of the station, the sirens going as soon as they were part of the way down the road.
You and Bob hung onto the back rails as the truck rolled down the road with the long line of firetrucks and police cars not far behind. The wind rushed through your hair as the procession rode through Cheyenne Falls, heading towards Oklahoma City. So many others from in and around town had come to stand on the streets, cheering everyone on and to show their support.
You and Bob had never experienced anything like this before, the exhilarating feeling filling you both from head to toe. Bob held your hand even tighter as you hung on, ready for the 110 miles into Oklahoma City, side by side with the man you loved.
#top gun maverick#robert bob floyd#pete maverick mitchell#penny benjamin mitchell#amelia benjamin mitchell#bradley rooster bradshaw#natasha phoenix trace#mickey fanboy garcia#jake hangman seresin#javy coyote machado#reuben paybak fitch#bob floyd x reader#dagger squad
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hi fellow bsd enthusiast ? in the most respectful way possible because i don't know how to start this normally
would you like to help an artist out of an art block? just a small personal project.
if so, what flowers do you consider most suitable for your favorite bsd characters?
based on your own preferences. for example: flower symbolism, colors, scenarios you've been thinking about , or from said character's backstory ( or general development ).
though i'd like you to explain if it's a little complicated so i can capture it accurately.
if i manage to finish it, i'll be sure to give credit.
if you're ok with it, thank you. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this ask.
Hello hello! I'd love to help if I can!
Ahaha you know anon I regularly check out flower meanings and stuff like that so this was really fun. I did a selection of characters for you to pick and choose from if you'd like (ones who are on the brain right now) but if this list doesn't include a character you really love and want to draw, then please leave a comment here or send another ask and I'll pick a flower for that character too!
I'm using a mix of hanakotoba and western meanings here.
Yosano - Red Spider Lily (death, abandonment, never to meet again, but can also be a sign that celebration will soon occur - Yosano is drawn with these flowers on the cover of the volume containing her backstory... the number has escaped me sorry. You could also give her the Red Poppy for the wartime connotation if you want extra pain.)
Aya - Black Eyed Susan (the flower of justice! also it's bright and cheery and I thought they suited her)
Wells - Begonia (they are a sign to take caution or warning, much like Wells is a similar sign - they are also associated with deep thought, something that suits her intellectual nature)
Atsushi - Hibiscus (there's a lot I could do for Atsushi but I like this one - these flowers represent a person who is gentle, welcoming and friendly, which reminded me of the way he is usually the one to reach out to people who remind him of his younger self and "welcome" them into a new chapter of their lives)
Kyouka - Violet (I am unsure what the flowers are in her hair exactly, and while Kyouka loves hydrangeas the meaning doesn't apply to her - I picked violets as they mean honesty, watchfulness and loyalty, things that apply to her quite well, but also because the Japanese word for violet is "sumire"... which is the same name as her seiyuu :D)
Akutagawa - Hydrangea (oof this was a hard one. These flowers have wildly contrasting meanings, ranging from pride, to gratitude for being understood, to a cold person. All of which I feel represents him fairly well. Their flowers can also change colour depending on the pH of the soil in which they were planted - something that calls to mind Akutagawa's differing paths in canon vs beast depending on where he was "planted".)
Higuchi - Yellow Tulip (one-sided love. rip girl. can also mean sunshine-smile and a trustworthy person though so it's still sweet and suits her character.)
Mushitarou - Aloe (Associated with grief and affection, but outwardly it looks spiky and rather unfriendly (well I suppose. I think aloe plants are cute personally). Has a nice green colour and is cultivated and used for all sorts of practical purposes, much like Mushitarou is constantly being captured and sought after for the use of his ability. Sorry lol)
Jouno - Dahlia (another tricky one... dahlias can have negative meanings such as dishonesty and instability, but largely the positive ones overtake that - being symbols of positive change, dignity, and inner strength. They can also symbolize having good taste, something I'm sure he believes he has, at least over Tecchou lol)
Chuuya - Peach Blossom (I could've gone the official skk route and said red camellia... but I like the meaning of momohana much better for Chuuya, and it's also the flower people send to the real poet's museum - I believe he liked them. They represent the transience of life and the importance of every moment. They begin to grow in winter and bloom in the spring - symbolizing the transition from hardship to growth. They are also apparently considered somewhat protective against evil spirits, which fits well into his role as protector)
Teruko - Larkspur (symbolizes commitment to responsibility and duty, as well as pride and the capacity to face challenges directly. They can also be used to symbolize youth as well as remembrance - which I think captures that age ability she has. Once we learn more about her I might be able to find a better flower, but I wanted this to go by what we know so far, not my own headcanons about her for which I have several).
Nikolai - Strelitzia (Meaning joy, freedom and immortality, also known as the Bird of Paradise flower. It's a very striking and unusual looking flower that I'm sure Nikolai would enjoy. I had wanted to give him a flower that's important symbolically in Ukraine, but I didn't feel the meanings of the ones I found made a lot of sense... unless you'd like to get ironic with it and give him the Mallow, which symbolizes love and attachment for family, homeland and potentially a lover - like the way he has yet to fully break free from these tethers, hard as he tries)
I have images for reference here and here. I hope this helps!
#thanks for the ask!#flower language#bsd#bsd yosano#bsd aya#bsd wells#bsd atsushi#bsd kyouka#bsd akutagawa#bsd higuchi#bsd mushitarou#bsd jouno#bsd chuuya#bsd teruko#bsd nikolai#storyrambles
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episode 2 commentary - Let Go of Me
major spoilers for show and books, swearing, me obsessing over lockwood's hands probably (edit: definitely, and George's)
why did I immediately think jellyfish
omg the flowers
Luce you really shouldn't have taken that
just like @demigoddess-of-ghosts said, why tf are deprac asking if there's anyone else there when Lucy is quite literally screaming 'lockwood'
"miss lockwood" and "lockwood's my partner" 🤭
"we called your mother" ok well her mother is a Bitch so that wasn't a good idea
"rest up until he's given you the all-clear" like fuck she's gonna do that
omg the flowers!!!
ooo spooky green lighting
omg the ghost lock victims ward 🥲
I would love to know what they were planning on doing with this scene actually bc I feel like it sets up some sort of ghost lock victim storyline for the future - maybe using them for science? idk I'd just love to know
oof lockwood's hands
just this whole scene of lockwood
hands
barnes is not fucking around lol
HANDS
HANDS
the way he sits back in the chair has me WEAK
THE JAW MOVEMENT
can you tell I'm going feral
George's lil run omg
George is so neurospicy I love it
George your posture needs sorting out my love 😭
"You're meant to say no, Lucy" well it's difficult to say no to lockwood when he looks at you with his beautiful eyes and smile and-
"I'd say like a house on fire" 😭
my poor baby looks so tired :( and he definitely needs a shower oh dear
I didn't think I would hear lockwood with his queen's English call someone 'mate'
I love that George just says straight up facts
"posh one who thinks he's god's gift" sounds about right
"his weird mate with zero social skills" also sounds about right
I love that they included the tapes for norrie bc actually it's a great way of adding to the narrative (bc we don't have any voice overs) and we get lucy's view on stuff
and we see her survivor's guilt too - "like how I should have helped you" omg 🥲 (excuse me while I go cry in a corner)
ruby stokes the woman you are
"no it doesn't, it looks like I cooked it in an active volcano" pfffft George I love you
"Andrew lockwood"
"girls are funny about baths" he's trying goddammit
HIS SMILE
"she's not unhinged" "you're hardly the best judge of these things" "you need normal people around you" "you really think you're normal?" your honour I love their friendship
"the world's mad, and normal never fixed anything" gonna make it my motto
"let me... sleep on it" BOY YOU DON'T EVER SLEEP
oh Luce
okay but these special effects are so fucking cool
hang on why the hell did Lucy go to sleep holding the ring
Jesus Christ that scared the shit out of me
ooo green lighting!!!
pfft goes to hold his hand to wake him up
HIS FACE WHEN HE WAKES UP OMG 😭😂
also: NECK and THE FACT HE SLEEPS WITHOUT A SHIRT
I love the disgruntlement of george
WHITE T-SHIRT LOCKWOOD
"trousers are for wimps" ICONIC
omg I love that we get to see George's Touch!!! also his hand??? brb gonna go melt
LOCKWOOD'S HANDS AND FOREARMS WITH THE CHAINS
FOREARMS
omg Georgie it's not a wasp I'm sorry
ARMS
I am dying how the hell did Ali manage to make his voice say "oh shit" like that
LOCKWOOD HAS A RAPIER I'm gonna faint
"I can't believe you stole a Source" GEORGE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK
yeah Luce call him out
"we need to destroy her source and move on. let her go" I have so much to say about this omgggg bc on the one hand the episode is called Let Go of Me and rn I'm 1/3 of the way through this episode and they've repeated those words in different ways so many times it's unreal. and then on the other hand (spoilers for the books) there's the way that Lockwood isn't doing this himself, because he hasn't destroyed the source in his house and let his own ghosts go 😭
omg George loves an experiment you can hear the joy in his voice
NOT THE WAY HE PHYSICALLY MOVES TO PROVE HE'S ON LUCY'S SIDE omg they're becoming friends even if they don't know it yet
ARMS
OH LORD THE HOODIE??? I wanna steal it
NOT THE WAY HE HANDS HER THE RING AND LETS HIS TOUCH LINGER AND LUCY DOES THE SAME OMGGGG
THEY LITERALLY JUST STROKE EACH OTHER'S HANDS I CAN'T TAKE THIS
his smile omg
ruby stokes the woman you are omg
lockwood's face omg he's so conflicted bc on the one hand he's worried but on the other he's trying to not say yes when she goes 'you love me don't you?'
lockwood immediately pushing her aside
HANDS
HANDS
lockwood you need to stop taking sole responsibility for things
the sadness in his voice when he says 'this place is all that's left of my parents' omg
"Jesus, lockwood, we're screwed!" yep (also the way George says it is so funny help)
HANDS AND RING
barnes isn't taking any shit omg
such an ominous phone call
George's prison outfit (I can't remember who called it that)
omg I want lucy's playsuit
PINK SOCKS
also lockwood get your shoes off the table you heathen
no bc I actually want her playsuit
HANDS
HANDS AND RING AAAAA
:3
HANDSSSSS
"not a braying gallery for bellends" George I love you
BOBBY!!!
Lucy going straight in with the hard facts I love her
omg the scoff
THE SIDE PROFILE OF LOCKWOOD IS KILLING ME
kipps is such an arse
THE STANCE HE TAKES WITH THE SPARE HAND AND UGH
AND YOU NEED A LADDER
the way he says "yes you do" has me in a chokehold
the sMIRK
"irrelevant prick" love it
when the mutual friend leaves and you're left with the one you don't get on with
George you might be a weirdo but I love you for it
Lucy getting the juicy gossip and immediately becoming besties with george
ok well your mum is a bitch
oh lockwood wtf are you doing
"he's a little shit sir"
lockwood why
he looks so proud of himself I can't help it
"you're our biggest asset" oh boy
the regret on his face oops
"my judgement's been a little off recently" yeah bc you just met the love of your life
ok but women with swords 👀 bonus points if they're angry
HANDS
pink socks again
barnes once again not taking shit
she is a child sir you can't just spring that on her
omg Lucy :((((((
"let me go" - is that another reference to the episode title I see?
"lockwood's a charlatan" pfft
DONT YOU TALK ABOUT MY LOCKWOOD LIKE THAT
"they always make the most boring, unimaginative moves possible, don't they" - it's giving Cameron saying that everything is basic
lockwood read the room (cab)
"You were brilliant" boy's in love
"can we talk about this in the car" *taxi drives away*
"you might be able to turn your feelings on and off like a tap, but I am drowning here, lockwood" 😭
"You know sometimes I just... I just think I'd be better off dead" oh Luce 😢
also lockwood's reaction to that omg he pauses for a while and is all glassy eyed and then: "I understand that"
never mind them I am drowning here (in my tears)
"We need you, and it's not because you're an asset" "why then?" "because... because you're..." *looks away and clenches jaw* "Lucy Carlyle" *smiles really widely (I feel like he was considering telling her his feelings)
"we can't let you go" ANOTHER REFERENCE TO THE EPISODE TITLE
"that's why I went on tv, silly" WHERE IS MY BUCKET??? I DONT KNOW WHY HIM SAYING 'SILLY' LIKE THAT PAIRED WITH HOW HE WALKS TOWARDS HER MEANS I NEED MY BUCKET BUT I HAD TO PAUSE THE EPISODE TO MELT A LITTLE
"We're lockwood and co. you, me, and George" FUCK YEAH YOU ARE
"please stay" 🥺 (anything for you my love)
"so you'd look cool" lol
greeeeeeen
"you're more of a liability than an asset, Lucy" HE SAYS WHILE LOOKING AT HER WITH HEART EYES
oh Georgie
OMG HE HAS A PLATE OF BISCUITS AND A TINY GLASS OF MILK
GEORGIEEEE NO DONT YOU HURT MY BOY
green lighting!!!
"I'll take him" says boy with immense confidence
"can I offer you a cup of tea while you ransack my house? one lump or two" *throws torch and misses*
HNNNNNNNN THE NOISE I MADE WHEN HE DOES THE RAPIER THINGY AND GETS INTO HIS STANCE AND TWIRLS THE RAPIER AND PUTS HIS HAND UP
AND THEN WHEN HE DODGES THE TORCH??????? SIR WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BE THAT FINE DODGING A FUCKING TORCH?????
oh my god the still I paused it on to write the above comment is gonna make me pee myself with laughter 😭😂 I wish I could screenshot to show everyone
ooo I might be completely delusional but Lucy smashes the mirror with her elbow in this scene (and the camera pauses on it for a good couple of seconds) and then plays a part in smashing the bone glass later on??? am I delusional or am I making connections???
Georgie omg
LUCY PICKING UP HIS GLASSES!!! I love this omg I would be lost without mine
HEHEHE STAB THAT INTRUDER
fuck me that neck crack was hot (also could lockwood fuck me please?)
green lighting!!!
also how did I never notice the stairs were spirally?
George you are so funny and I love you
I AM SORRY. WHAT. EVERYONE GO WATCH THIS FIGHT SCENE AND STUDY THE WAY LOCKWOOD FIGHTS/MOVES THE RAPIER IN HIS HAND BECAUSE- I need my bucket holy shit
George hauling those chains around like it's nothing 👀
green lighting!!!
yeah you better run bitch
"we should have people round more often" lolllllll
lockwood can kick me-
"why are you making that face?"
"that's not your normal face, that's your 'I know something you don't' face"
sweaty lockwood
George's face when she pulls the ring out is so funny to me 😂
"you lunatic" *lockwood grinning widely* I love their reactions
aww let Georgie swear :(
#belle's episode commentaries#lockwood and co#lockwood & co#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#george karim/george cubbins#montague barnes#wade
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Inviting controversy by asking a controversial question which you may feel free to ignore but. Thoughts on Karen Traviss' Star Wars books, from the old EU? I assume you've got Opinions
BOY DO I
I'll probably forget to include everything, but I've gone on an hour long Rant before and I'll do it again lmao
Okay, so the good. There is good in these books and I'll drag it out with teeth and claws if I have to.
I love Kal Skirata. You can crucify me for that if you want to, but as a daddy issues having bitch, I want him to be my dad. He's a wonderfully flawed character, and he owns up to those flaws. He's made mistakes and he's grown and he knows he isn't perfect but by god, he'll try for his boys. He fights tooth and nail to protect them from what he can, and what he can't, he'll go through hell with them (literally, I can't remember the exact wording, but it's said in Hard Contact I believe, that any training he puts his men through, he does it himself first). He's overprotective because there's so much he can't protect them from, and it's clear that he loves them with all his heart.
The clone and GAR and Mando culture building. This is a grayer area for me because there is a lot of internalized bullshit KT is dealing with that I'll talk about later, but! We wouldn't have nearly the background we do for these cultures without her books. I love most of what she did with it, from the military worldbuilding to the Mandalorian culture and the different facets of it we see through the eyes of different characters. And the language! Mando'a isn't a heavily developed conlang, but the tools are there, and it makes sense within the world. And we have music! We have songs.
I love the characters. There are gray areas, no one is perfect, and they all get down and dirty when things call for it. They love each other deeply and make good and bad decisions, they're realistic. The relationships are tender and gentle, and I love the interactions between everyone, the loyalty and the devotion, and the overarching feeling of grief because we know how this ends.
The clones! I love them! They are wonderful and well developed, and I love hearing their thoughts on everything, and their bond with one another and those around them. I'm not coherent about this one because I think about them for five seconds and start making high pitched noises like an overexcited dog.
The descriptions are so deliciously visceral, and I love reading them.
The bad:
Another unpopular opinion: I loathe Vau. Hate him utterly. He's a good character but a deeply horrible man, and this might be my trauma talking but it's my opinion and I'll die on this goddamn hill. He's verbally and physically abusive, and sees absolutely no consequences (or even reproach) for it in the narrative, aside from Kal breaking his nose, and he deserved so much worse than that.
The misogyny. Oh, Karen honey. That internalized misogyny got you good, huh? The blatant way she treats Etain and Besany through the mouths of other characters is... oof. There's a little bit of reversal, but it's still pretty bad. Even though they're "not like other girls," it's pretty obvious that Karen has a lot of issues with womanhood. It was the 2000s, so I'll let some of it be with the caveat that the 2000s were pretty damn misogynistic in general, but goddamn. Also, on that note, she seems to be fighting herself on whether Mandos have a gender neutral society or not? Like, she'll say on one page that there's no difference between men and women, and then go on to say that men go out and fight but women stay to guard the home and raise the kids. I am putting my head in my hands.
On a related note, Karen is the Jedi who hurt you in the room with us right now? Why do you hate the Jedi so damn much? It doesn't make any sense in the story and it doesn't make sense on a metatextual level. Bro, are you good?
Anyway! Yes! I have many opinions about this book series and I'm sure I forgot to cover everything! Please feel free to ask more questions!
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i know everyone has an opinion but to me Buck n Steve are both gay canonically.
it's deeper than memes to me, but to use memes: every version Steve ends up being that "maybe a man hurts every woman in his life because his real soulmate is a man 👆🏾 " meme, and Bucky.. admitedly all Buckys are believable as bi, but to me he only dates women to prove he can pull them and would only go the Lavender Marriage route as gal pal #ally Bucky Barnes 😊
now if marvel truly had the vision, they'd let Steve come out of his centuries' worth of repression and 🎤be who you are🎶🎵 and let himself be a little fruity when the occasion calls for it. occasions including, hanging out with the other gays, or when the public is scandalized by papparazzi pics of Steve Rogers being a homo so he, being uncompromising and even contrarian at times, starts purposefully acting zestier and zestier whenever he spots the paps trying to get pictures of him.
I can see it.
(I have a looong long meta here on why I, especially, cannot Steve as any kind of w-attracted, in fact! To the surprise of no one, lol.)
Bucky to me seems like he has more of an aesthetic appreciation of women. (Like, if one of them was ever going to have a drag persona? Bucky) He seems more motivated to be gallant and polite to them than Steve, whether or not he is attracted to them. He will dutifully perform comphet for women, in situations where it would be expected (and thus to not do it, in his day, would be tantamount to an insult??). Whereas Steve won't even bother lol. He'll just assiduously avoid those circumstances altogether, and only relax around women when the context is strictly familial/platonic/work-related.
(Plus, y'know, Bucky had sisters, and ofc his hobby of dancing literally requires a woman, back then, so he'd need a gal in his life in order to access that particular channel of joy, safely.)
Steve however is the type to be pretty masc when he's just chillin, but the second he gets the merest whiff of homophobia that Lil Shit Mode activates and he becomes Captain America: ✨Camp Icon✨.
Would attend drag brunches, Pride parades (shirtless but with his shield harness), derail a pundit interview trying to imply the 'good old days' were better to talk about the time he was gay-bashed by the troops literally the same day as rescuing the 107, would own a set of pastel 'QUEER AS IN FUCK YOU' t shirts and wear them out to places he knows the paps will try to snatch a picture of him, would re-enact his 'lifting up chorus girls on a motorcycle' stunt with trans women, do a physique calendar w/ trans men for queer charities, etc etc etc.
And if anyone tried to micro-aggressively sneer at beefy Bucky for, eg. having prettily-braided hair or wearing pastels? Oof, they better hope Steve isn't within fuckin earshot.
#toAyourQ#dat's me#hey nonny#mcu meta#meta#stucky#steve meta#bucky meta#stucky meta#steve rogers#bucky barnes#gay steve#gay bucky#steve's sexuality meta#bucky's sexuality meta#my meta
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Home
Well hello! It’s been a while since I posted something and caught random inspiration from this gif because it gives me hardcore soft husband and dad vibes. Which we all love. Enjoy loves and I’d love to hear what you think🤍
The lock clicked and the door slowly opened, Harry quietly stepping inside with his suitcase behind him. After a week of being in LA and promoting the new single, he was ready to be home just as much as you were. Especially his mini me.
You watched him as he shrugged off his coat, slipped out of his vans and placed his keys in the designated dish on the coffee table. Something you never realized how much you missed seeing until you saw him doing it.
“Hey you,” he whispered when he caught sight of you. His smile only grew bigger when he saw Viv as he walked over to greet you, the dimple in his cheek deepening with every step he took. “Hi there,” you say through a half asleep smile. His lips give your’s a soft peck before giving one to the top of Viv’s head.
“Missed my girls,” he says while crouching down, “Didn’t think you’d be up still or down here even. Especially this one.”
“She was very set in her ways of wanting to stay up until you got home which as you can see, didn’t happen.”
His finger tucked a curl of her’s behind her ear, brushing it across her cheek afterward. “I can see that,” he said behind a breathy laugh. When she let out what sounded like a snore, he stood. One thing that he missed the most when he was away, was not being able to help put her to bed. Of course there were FaceTime calls that made it seem like he was there but it wasn’t the same as tucking her in and making sure each one of her stuffed animals got a kiss, including Belle. So when he started to lift her off your chest, carefully so as to not wake her, you knew where he was heading.
“Daddy,” she whined. The way she recognized who’s arms she was in tugged on your heartstrings in the most adoring way and by the look of pure love on Harry’s face in that moment, you knew it did the same to his.
Being a parent was by far the most rewarding thing but watching Harry be one? Nothing could beat that.
Wrapping his arms around her, he squeezed her small frame and kissed the side of her head one, two, three times. “Hi bug. Let’s go to bed, okay?” He whispered. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you watched him carry her up the stairs.
The next thing you knew you were being carried bridal style Into the bedroom, not sure when you dozed off or how long you were out for. But it felt good to be in his arms again. Feeling that familiar comfort you always got whenever you were. “Could’ve woke me up, ya know,” you mumbled.
“I debated it when I felt the drool on my shirt.” He pushed the door to the bedroom open with his hip, taking a few steps before dropping you onto the plush duvet with an “oof.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile as he admired you at the foot of the bed.
You tilt your head to the side, cheek pressed against your shoulder and reach your arm out to him. His fingers laced through yours and hovered over you, your intertwined hand resting next to your head. “Your freckles are showing,” you said, your finger running along his sun kissed skin. The delicate touch had his eyes fluttering shut with a content hum and his head dropped to your shoulder.
“The sun was good to me,” he mumbled. His lips made their way up your neck, across your cheek, before stopping at the corner of your mouth. He could hear your breathing increase, his lips just barely grazing over yours. “What’s got you all flustered, love? You’re blushing.”
“For a guy who’s trying to get in my pants you’re doing a lot of talking.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” he teased.
His nose nudged yours before his lips landed where you needed them. “Gonna show you just how much I missed you.”
#harry styles#harry styles fic#fic rec#harry styles fluff#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#home#harry’s house
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Notes on Kafka's trailer, "A Dramatic Irony", this'll include the obvious and the less so noticeable details. I'll be elaborating on and making use of these in the future, but for now— a little list for myself (and you?) on things I want to talk about. Oof, my dear girl, there is a lot to unpack about you and I still won't be done in a year from now:
Edit: It ended up being long, but who's surprised, really?
— Background music. Entirely based on Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Most very accurately pick out 'Winter' as that's what it starts with and it's also immediately recognizable, but it actually transitions into 'Summer' just after about halfway through and beautifully ends in it. The inclusion of them both is one of HoYoverse's finest decisions musically.
— The usage of rose petals instead of blood. This one thrills me, because they add such an inherent romanticism to the concept of death, which is an ages old tale and concept (hey, do we want to tie in the beauty of how Blade craves its peace so desperately yet cannot obtain it and she cannot grant him it? I do), and it plays in beautifully to the concept of what 'fear' is usually most tied to, and how she doesn't feel it. Now what exactly are these petals of? If it's your regular red rose, then yes— it is likely referencing the intrinsic romanticism of death. I initially wondered if it could be the China rose, which would indicate longevity which could be hugely interesting but no. However, with the impending goal of 'seeking fear' and tying it directly into 'the value of life', I find the more traditional take of the red rose, a sign of intense passion/love, or a potential for the hope of passionate love, incredibly intriguing (my stance on the potentially implied ship with the MC is still where I stand, but another is creeping in through a lot of rationality and logic; because I do think that's how they plan on doing it— it's what makes most sense with implications made in her dialogue).
— Inspiration: Rorschach inkblot test. "What do you see?" It says at 0:15, and it threw me for a moment, until I looked around the text. The ink blot. Leave it paused for a second. What do you see? It's the Rorschach inkblot test. It hit me with the ferocity of a ton of bricks. For those not sure what I'm talking about, do a little search and you might have seen it used in television by some psychologists, it is a test to examine a person's personality characteristics and their emotional functioning, everyone may see something different in specific ink blots. When you leave it paused at 0:15 seconds in, that's the first card and it's called The Fear Card; intrinsically fitting, considering: "Elio said that I'm good at creating "fear", even though I don't know what it is." I didn't actually recognize the ink blot until I started typing this up and analyzed it again for the umpteenth time. I'm losing my mind, no, I've actually already lost it, because on further analyzing, I think the spider on the back of her coat also looks like it's been designed after the ink blot/card in question because it grows into a similar shape, though more so when it grows into the lines/threads of her Spirit Whisper that you see around the 1:13 mark. The entire sequence of ink blots at that timestamp give us an insight into what the guard sees that she's talking to, he sees his own death. /breathes very casually. God, I'm losing my mind, this might actually play so much more into her character. What do you see, she asks— Kafka, what do you see?
— She's so incredibly cultured. There are a lot of very classical but also archaic elements that play into the design of her character across the board. Classical music is so rarely used anymore, but it adds such a different level of sophistication to her character. Kafka stands out amidst most of the other characters, not because she's classier in general, but because they tie very old-fashioned and less used concepts into a very modern design and mold them into a perfect whole. The classical music and how she never foregoes this intense connection she has to it, the insane archaic katana versus the very modern uzis (ode to Devil May Cry, anyone? A pair of guns, one black and one white, and a katana? Along with having once worked as a 'demon hunter'? Capcom deserves the nods) and grenades, her attire especially between the coat, the high waist, the glasses and the dress shirt— but it's all beautifully put together in an incredibly modern outfit. She's so cultured, there's an intense class to her and I will not stop falling more in love with it with each passing day.
— Storytelling. 'Intermission', 'oneiric structure', 'MacGuffin', 'non- linear structure', 'fin', these are all firmly tied into the art of storytelling in film (and literature as well). Intermission is a pause in the midst of a performance. Oneiric structure refers to a structure of a tale that replicates something non-linear, so something relating to the dreamlike (oneiric comes from the Greek 'oeneiros', which means 'a dream'), think of... something surreal or distorted in reality, something that simply can't be real. MGuffin in a plot device that takes form of an a goal (an object, for instance) that is an important element in a story due to it being firmly tied to the story's characters, a driving force if you will (so for Kafka, you could see her pursuit of feeling fear). Non-lineaur simply means that a story does not follow an order of events that's necessarily chronological in terms of timeline. And 'fin' marks the end of a performance. I cannot stop being feral as to how consistent HoYoverse is with this. It isn't just referencing her trailer, or the overarching narrative of the game of Honkai: Star Rail, but also her character directly, terminology commonly used in film are in her trailer, she herself seems to be rather passionate about film (you receive a text from her regarding being alone in a movie theatre during the play of one, and she laments that there aren't more people there to watch), her eidolons being after musical terms tied to music that she thoroughly enjoys and is used time and time again to represent her. God. God.
— What some may note as being a clock counting down, is not a clock at all, but an elevator that represents a life counter. With each kill, the elevator descended one more level until it reached the ground floor. I've seen some make references to Inception and upon further glance, the reference can be intended. The 'floors' can be seen as being representative of the different levels or layers of a person's subconsciousness as she delves deeper and deeper, as she is inherently able to control and manipulate minds. God, Kafka, surely this isn't a power all from New Babylon have.
— Threads of silk; a Moirai reference tied in with the arachnid? "The silk is too fragile to be a threat, unless you're more fragile than the silk." We know she isn't fate itself, but we know, in essence, a puppeteer that ensures all sort of unfolds as Elio has foreseen, particularly with the Trailblazer, even if she trusts him/her to make the right decision. We know arachnids are far and wide associated with manipulation, which we know she's abundantly capable of and responsible for, but it goes infinitely further than that. Spiders spin webs of silk, threads of silk, threads of fate, destiny, this is an incredibly thorough and intricate character design that they settled on. Everything is so perfectly interconnected, it's absolutely unreal.
#[ ooc. ] don't try to make it logical or edit your soul according to the fashion. rather; follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.#[ post-it. ] in a way; you are poetry material. you are full of cloudy subtleties i am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out.#[ did i make a tag to use for myself to store references and to-dos? yes. yes i did. ]#[ franz kafka; you are a minefield of wonders. ]#[ ... there's more things swirling around in my head; like the reference to no country for old men. ]#[ the continuation of the arachnid motif-- granted you know this'll be a huge topic that i'll keep coming back to... ]#[ considering my url for her means '/her/ spider web'. i'll be touching on it but as i'm learning-- ]#[ it's tied into so much more than just the obvious. god. ]#[ just. god. ]#[ alright-- let's add... ]#[ mini study. ] she must have sought something extraordinary. everything she does comes at a great cost.#[ meta. ] the mara's tether is firmly in her grasp. she will not pull upon it before the designated time; nor shall she relinquish it.
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Hello 👋🏻
Hi ! I hope I'm not bothering you. Just wanted to pop into your ask box and tell you that I really enjoy reading your fics! I've been a fan of pedro pascal for some time now and I really really love reading your take!! Esp on Javi in liar liar! It was really funny and you made me laugh so much! Thank you so much for writing and sharing !! I really hope you write more soon! I can't wait to read 🖤
I saw you shared an ask game?? I had some questions? if you don't mind answering that is because I know its been some time since you posted it? Feel free to ignore it if you want.
15 16 29 34 39 41 and finally 69 for Liar Liar
Sorry if they're a lot you dont have to answer all of them! I just couldn't resist.
I love your work ! Hope you have a great day! 🖤
okay so i had to take a minute to read this and reread it and reread it again. You are absolutely NOT bothering me -- I read this after a particularly humbling day at work, and wow, I thought about it the rest of the day. Thank you SO MUCH for reading my work! I am so touched that you are a seasoned pp reader and you find my take unique! It's hard out here for a fic writer so messages like this truly make all the frustration and head-banging that comes with writing really worth it. 💗 you are so sweet and i hope there are good things for you to look forward to!
As for the ask game, I am more than happy to play! :) And if you'd like, you don't have to wait for those games to come around if you have a question about a fic or would like an update! My ask box is always open! Here's your questions:
15. What’s your favorite time to write?
Probably the mornings. I like the mornings the best in general and there's nothing better than starting the day with a good writing flow!
16. Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?
oh man, laptop every single time. I write notes or ideas to myself on my phone when I'm in bed and the brain waves are pulsing, but I could never write long form on anything but my computer. I know writers who write everything down first AND THEN type them -- to me that is like god tier writing process. I am a weak, weak woman.
29. What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?
When I make people laugh. Call it my "fawning" instincts, but I always try and make people laugh in different social situations -- to varying degrees of success. So when people laugh at my dumb jokes in fic, I'm really pleased with myself!
34. How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?
😬 oof y'all are gonna be able to spot my kinks after this. But honestly, it depends on which fandom/situation I'm writing for. I wrote a Midnight Mass fic that was very, very personal to my experiences growing up in Texas around Catholics. On the other hand, I don't have the guts to be, uh, so public as the reader in 'blood makes noise'. I think most of my reader characters are a mix of myself and who I want to be.
39. What’s your most self-indulgent wip?
(oh, honey, they all are) i think it's a tie between (working title) Living Dead Girl, where reader becomes Max's blood donor and (working title) Riders of the Purple Sapir, where Din and reader go on a quest for vengeance against the men who killed her father. The cowboy goth in me is REAL excited about both of those.
41. Who’s your favorite character you’ve written?
Max is quickly becoming the little bug in my ear about most things. He has such a distinctive personality from other Pedro boys, I love it so much. All his little faces kill me.
But I've said this to a friend -- i think half the fun writing for the pedro boys is coming up with a reader character that perfectly meshes with them. What personality traits would drive them up the goddamn walls? What do they need to feel fulfilled in a partner? So if "reader" can count as a character, I really liked the reader in Go Ahead, I Dare Ya and Recovery Road. Just as insane as their counterparts.
69. What are your favorite fics at the moment?
YES YES YES i get to GUSH about the fics that have me gnawing at my cage bars:
Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat is literally everything I want in a fic. perfect extensions of the characters from the source media. new problems for them that make you see more facets of their personalities. so.must.fantastic.smut it makes me want to scream. the angst and the grief and the literal haunting of a dead spouse - or a spouse that you lost but maybe didn't ever actually have adsfaksldjf GHOSTS I LOVE GHOSTS. i cannot recommend this fic enough. i am on my hands and knees begging people to read it.
This one isn't pedro specific, but @astroboots's Every Me Every You is like my kryptonite. Every new chapter hits me in a place that I didn't know could hurt while being such a fun throw back to the good ol' days of the MCU. i feel like it's written specifically for those of us who were on tumblr during the 2012 avengers take over. Good times.
For just the sweetest, gentlest Dieter Bravo, please consider @stardustandskycrystals 's Curls. I stumbled across it one night before bed and I was up until like 2AM to finish it. It's adorable and I just need them all to be okay forever and happy and little Charlie is basically my child at this point. Oof!
*takes you by the shoulders* if you even remotely like Prospect or the sci fi genre, I am BEGGING YOU to read Compulsion by @iamskyereads. Like. Like. I cannot formulate words to express how fantastic this piece of fiction is. I want to leave detailed, thoughtful comments but my mind just goes blank after reading it. Her work is truly a staggering piece of world-building and character development. I cannot believe this art is just free for me to consume. i am . . . undone by how good it is. (you should also read her Lie To Me series, insanely good too)
I KNOW i'm missing some so if I forgot yours I am SO SORRY FOR BEING AN IDIOT.
This response ended up being way longer than intended but I hope this show how much messages like these matter to me. Thank you again for reading and I hope my future fics don't disappoint you!
#taylor talks#more like taylor cries#this was so much fun and i am so glad i got to gush about my current faves#dieter bravo#max phillips#ezra prospect#javier peña#miguel o'hara fanfic
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2022 end-of-year fic review ✨
thanks so much to @vivilove-jonsa for tagging me! I’m putting this under a cut because ya girl can get wordy
1. what’s your ao3 account?
ganymede_elegy
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2. how many words did you write in total in 2022?
434,360. oops
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3. how many fics did you publish in 2022 // multi-chapter vs. one-shots?
8 multi-chapter (I’m counting ephemera in this because I’m lazy), 6 one-shots, 2 follow up one-shots.
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4. what was your longest-fic // shortest fic?
longest: you on the run (73,410)
shortest: say anything (2,290) (possibly something from ephemera, but I’m too lazzzyyyy)
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5. what was your most popular // least popular?
my most popular are always the ones I dub my “rom-coms”, and the least popular are always my darker stuff, but I also think longer fics tend to be more popular too, so because I need things to be very organized, I’ll split them up.
multi-chapters:
-most: take me out
-least: the ghost inside
one-shots:
-most: i’ve got your number
-least: red lights mean you’re leaving
(see! this tracks with rom-coms vs dark lol)
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6. what fic didn't perform as well as you thought it would?
I don’t know. Because I have terrible anxiety, I always feel like the thing I’m currently writing is the least performing and then once it’s completed I go “oh! the response it got was so nice!!” no matter what it is. Like I was slightly disappointed the ghost inside didn’t do 'better' because I personally adored it and had it sitting around half written for years, but also I posted 4 chapters in 4 days for the event, and the tags are SUPER off-putting. So is the format. And the subject matter.
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7. what fic performed way better than you thought it would?
i’ve got your number. It was a one-shot that did a lot better than I was expecting. But I personally love it and I’m so glad everyone else did, too.
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8. what was your favorite fic you wrote in 2022?
very tough. I think help me out of the shape I’m in is the one I’m the most proud of, though half of it was written in 2021. But I’m also really proud of sketches of what was there before, if only because it’s the only thing I’ve written that wasn’t shippy (in this fandom). This question is hard because as I’ve said before, I write for me and so I have a deep fondness for everything I’ve written (with some exceptions lol)
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9. what was your favorite fic that somebody else wrote in 2022?
OOF I’m so bad at this. I’ve already admitted I don’t read a ton of fic anymore, and I also get SO anxious about leaving people out or making anyone feel not included? I also just plain can’t remember because time is an illusion. So I'm choosing a bunch?? These are not the only great fics though!!
I always love me some good @thewolvescalledmehome fics, like Reach Out With Both Hands and currently enjoying On the Edge of a World so Cold
@vivilove-jonsa‘s you give me goosebumps was such a fun ride to start off the new year
Late Night by @justadram because I always love reading fics where it feels like the writer is very interested in/knows a lot about the subject
Death and the Dancer by @sibyldisobedience because I LOVE ghost/spooky stories
The Man Called Snow by annie_loves_starwarsstories just updated and reminded me that I also love historical fic
I did consume a LOT of Edissy fic this summer, but I also fell pretty quickly out of it and can no longer remember what I read & liked
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10. tag your friends so they can play as well
@hilarychuff @northernladywriter @sibyldisobedience @justhereforfandomandfriends @mkstrigidae and whoever else wants to play! I’d love to see them
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Oh! Well I can solve the mystery for you. My first mom and my second mom were married before my second mom came out as a transwoman! They are both my biological parents. They got divorced before she came out, not because she came out or anything. They were very much already divorced when my second mom came out. I call her "second mom" because she's younger than my first mom.
Also, yeah, I totally agree that the fandom at large only headcanoning the Murder characters as nd is. Really bad, actually! I do forgive it more for Danganronpa specifically since. Most of the cast are murderers, lol, but when in fandoms with a ton of morally upright characters in it, only the villains are headcanoned as nd is just. Oof. I would love to see more characters like Izuku Midoriya being headcanoned to have bipolar, because (imo) I can definitely See it for him. Another character I headcanon as bipolar from Danganronpa is actually Kaede Akamatsu! She's great. I didn't mention her though since I tend to see V3 as taking place in a different universe unless it's a AU, tbh. But you're definitely right that it's an issue in fandom spaces. Funnily enough, my therapist specifically told me to headcanon more characters and/or create ocs with bipolar, so that's what I've been doing. She said it was good to see myself in characters.
But yeah!!! Sato & Mikan murder4murder nd couple who messily makes out!!! Tbh I think a lot of people forget that Sato and Mikan were Friends!!! I want to see more content out there exploring their dynamic. They are both So Normal about love (read: they both get extremely attached to people who show them even An Ounce Of Kindness. relatable tbh)
A FOURTH second mom option!! We Love To See It. (& you absolutely should headcanon characters as bipolar!! The reason I was specifically like "this isn't directed at you" was because it's important & wonderful to see people looking at characters like themelves - I just wanted a General Disclaimer, since DR is so. Gestures To DR. I'd LOVE to hear more about bipolar Kaede, what a great concept!!)
One of my (many) (sorry DR3 fans) gripes with DR3's choice to make Chiaki a Real Girl TM and setting Sato into the Reserve Course instead of making Sato the 16th student in Chiaki's place is that there's no indication of the group friendship we see in Twilight Murder Syndrome in the anime. (Especially when the game specifically hinted at Sato's ultimate talent! She mentions archery club! For no reason!! Except to establish the "ultimate sportsperson as class' first blackened" parallel to Leon!!) And there's a lot of other reasons that happened, too, including the anime relegating what was an ensemble cast into a couple mains and a series of background characters, and the overarching story choices that restricted their timeline.
But it's always SUCH a bummer to me to watch "Ibuki, Mikan, Hiyoko, Mahiru, and Sato had a complex group dynamic, the breaking of which ultimately led to the ruination of all their lives and the lives of several others" into "Mahiru had a girlfriend and it made her sad for a few minutes, and then everyone moved on." Like. There wasn't ANY other way to establish Hajime's character arc?? I have to stop or I'm just going to work myself up about DR3. But it bums me out. And I LOVE seeing representations of the dynamics that could've been. Sato and Mikan is a top tier of them for SURE.
#danganronpa#asks#anon#this strayed from the initial point. anyway youre SO right affection starved murder girls 4ever#talk to the mod
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