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aliasrocket · 11 months

Note

Could you write a fic about reader introducing Rocket into the BDSM lifestyle. (I feel like the concept of BDSM is a Terran thing)

The set up is Rocket and reader are just starting to get physically intimate in their relationship and the topic of “what do you like to do in bed” comes up. It’s during this conversation that reader admits that she’s into BDSM and she explains what that involves and what she likes and dislikes.

And while listening to her talk, Rocket discovers something new about himself (if you get what I mean 😈).

Eventually, reader looks over to see Rocket honed in on everything she’s saying and she asks;

“Do you wanna try it, Captain~?”

HAHAHA DID YOU GET THE ‘CAPTAIN’ PET NAME FROM MY FIC I AM SO SORRY

Okok, in any case I shall deliver!! I hope you don’t mind me making this into a ficlet :DD sometime in the future if I’ve got nothing I might write it into a full length fic, but I hope this will do for now <33

But anyway, I’m not very experienced in BDSM so sorry if this isn’t up to your expectations!

Also, side note, I know handcuffs used in bed usually have a soft texture to them but I’m gonna use regular ones since I imagine those types of handcuffs are strictly a Terran thing and the fic takes place in Knowhere.

credit me if you use this gif! / masterlist! / request stuff <3

The orange hues of Knowhere skies stained the walls of your room as you laid limp and just breathing. That was all you could afford to do after the brain shattering sex you’d had with your … sexual partner. That was what you were going to call it for now, you decided.

He had just come out of the bathroom after cleaning up his mess on your bed and on your stomach when he popped the question.

“What do you like to do in bed?”

You scoffed the moment the question registered in your head.

“We’ve done this like what, seven times? You know what I like in bed,” you said, propping your back upwards and setting the pillows higher so you can sit.

“You don’t expect me to believe you’re a vanilla baby, do you?” Rocket cocked a brow at you.

The realization hit you harder than the orgasm did.

Well no, maybe not, the orgasm was way too good.

But it was comparable nonetheless, because what followed the realization was a bubbling pit of shame stirring in your gut as you withdrew your legs into your duvet.

“You wouldn’t wanna know,” you began with a breathy laugh. “Besides, I come like three times before you even get to the verge of coming. The sex is already good.”

“If you’re into something that we’re not doing, it could be better,” he reasoned, giving a slow shrug before his hands fell into his pockets. He looked so damn good in cargo shorts, whoever allowed this man to look so sexy even in loose clothing?

You let out an audible sigh, letting your shoulders slump forward.

You slide out of bed and turn on your computer. Rocket leans into your chair as you type the words ‘BDSM’ in the search engine. You specifically click on Terra’s search results for the term.

You watch as Rocket’s eyes narrowed, eyes searching through the various images before they widened.

“Oh,” he murmured.

You rolled your lips into a thin line.

“Yeah, it’s not—we don’t have to—”

“Wait, so what exactly is BDSM?” He asked, turning to you. His eyes glimmered under the low lights of the apartment and he waited for your answer even when you just stared at him.

“Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, Masochism,” you listed. “It’s a very tiring kink so it’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“Bondage, I’m assuming is all the rope stuff,” Rocket thought aloud, eyes shifting back to the screen for a brief moment before turning back to you. “Discipline … stuff like not letting you come? Punishment, and shit like that?”

Your jaw dropped. Even your eyes were hesitant to blink at the fear that when you do, Rocket will be ready with a whip and some rope on your bed.

You say fear, but when you put one leg over the other in your seat, your lips slipped over each other from the lubrication that dripped out of you.

“Yeah but the ropes are really complicated to tie—”

“Princess, you’ve gotta be kidding,” Rocket scoffed with a grin pulling one corner of his lip up. “Have you seen the shit I make? This is nothing compared to that. Besides, I’ve figured out all the knots already, I got this.”

Your heart swelled at the thought of Rocket restricting you. You swallowed dryly, licking your moist lips in hopes of reserving what little dignity you had left.

“Let’s start with something light, okay? Like maybe—maybe handcuffs,” you began with a shaky breath. You wondered if your excitement was radiating off of you and you prayed it hadn’t been the case because nothing was even happening. It had just been a long time since you’ve opened up to someone about this side of you.

“Sure,” Rocket agreed. “Besides, I spank you enough already, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. Lowering your forehead to your desk as you could feel your hand shaking from the thoughts alone.

“I left my handcuffs back at my apartment, I’ll go grab them.”

You grabbed Rocket’s wrist, making him turn to look at you.

You smirked.

Your other hand reappeared from under the table to reveal a pair of thin metal handcuffs, and you dropped one of them to let it dangle in the air.

“Shall we try it, Captain?”

Thank you for reading <33

// tip jar. commission me for art/fanfic <33

#rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #rocket raccoon x you #gotg fic #gotg fanfiction #gotg vol 3 #rocket gotg #rocket raccoon x reader #gotg vol. 3 #gotg vol 2 #.alias.inbox.request.#.alias.drabbles.imagines.

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aknosde · 3 years

Text

Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

The first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Percy Jackson & Reyna Avilla Ramírez Arellano // Hurt - Comfort // roughly two or three days post-Tartarus // tw vomiting & tw implied/referenced past child sexual assault // light swearing // 3.4k

(hey, @specific-dreamer, i started writing it :))

ao3

—————

Reyna exits her bed smoothly, flicking on the lamp as she goes. At night, when her cabin feels too dark and too small, the light is one of her only wards against her stiff spine and the shake of her shoulders. She ghosts her hands through her closet, searching for something thick and substantial, like the light and the reassuring click of the lock as she opens her door.

The floor of the quarter deck is cold under her bare feet, but the polished wood is soothing in its smoothness. She tugs on her sweatshirt against the cool temperature that accompanies flying far above the warm Mediterranean. Someone must have screwed with the thermostat last night–tonight–otherwise it would be compensating for the chill in the air.

It doesn’t affect the rest of the ship. The wood doesn’t contract or expand under the temperature, the boat doesn’t creak. It’s immune to the cold air and warm water in that way. She can’t quite decide if the silence that accompanies it is comforting or not as she descends to the main deck.

All of the lights are on down here, the rooms devoid of people. She knows that the lights of the lower deck will be off, because Leo sleeps down in the engine room, but the main deck is no man's land at this time of night. Someone has swept the floors, and with the lights on and undisturbed by organic shadow, this level seems more like a model of a ship than somewhere where people live. When the feeling turns from interesting to uncanny she finishes her route to the galley.

Though the galley is less of a galley, straight and narrow, than an actual kitchen you would find in a home. It’s large, even though Leo claims it’s unnecessary given his plate technology, and rather comfortable. A counter winds around the room, a large refrigerator with people’s personal food labeled, an oven and stove, and lastly, the sink: her destination.

She’s almost to the kitchen island before she sees Percy, sitting on the counter, looking for all the world as if he is a fixture of the kitchen itself. She doesn’t freeze when she sees him–she’s better than that–but she does let herself take stock of him, one leg hanging off the counter and his other knee propped under his chin, holding his head up.

His eyes look irritated, bags underneath that more closely resemble bruises, and a few pieces of hair are falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t do more than glance her way as she crosses to the sink next to him, so she leaves him be. Percy’s always been… observant. She could tell by the way he looked at her as she dropped from the Argo’s rope ladder. But since Tartarus he’s gotten quieter. Before, it used to just be a thing about him, not speaking unless he had something to say. Now it’s more obvious, like something or someone is keeping him.

She fills her glass of water and leans against the island, staring at the fridge.

She and Jason had had their own kitchen, as praetors. It was in the Principa, tucked out of the way, cold blue-greys and aggressively modern appliances. It reminded her of her childhood kitchen in that way. Cleanly impersonal–it more closely resembled an office break room. She and Jason barely used it, but still, they tucked their s’more supplies into a corner cupboard, and occasionally they would find each other there, making tea during late nights and early mornings.

The Argo kitchen is nicer, filled with warm colors and the smell of cinnamon. Percy cooks in here, she knows, though she has never seen him at it. When she had woken up that first morning after the disaster in New Rome there had been conchas on the counter. Leo, for all his initial grumbling, took to cooking in here while Percy and Annabeth were gone. His own little way of grieving, she thinks, taking a sip of water.

Percy lurches as if the ship has, uncharacteristically uncoordinated in his urgency. She straightens immediately as he twists off the counter and onto his feet. His forearms come down hard on the ledge of the counter, bracketing himself, and then he retches into the sink.

Strings of hair hang in his face as he does, she can now see that they are separated by sweat, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s across the aisle and holding his hair back and gives him the privacy of looking away, tucking away loose strands of hair. It’s deceptively soft, even with charred and patchy places here and there, and curlier than Leo’s. Memories of Hylla rage strong as she twists it around her finger, leaving no chance of it falling in the way again, the grey streak resembling a swirl.

Reyna can practically feel Hylla’s hands in her hair, her body sprawled against the wall of their cabin, head in a bucket. Hylla’s body, pressed against one side of her back, not overbearing, just a reminder that she was there now. On good nights they would end up in their bed before Reyna fell asleep, talking until Reyna’s brain could come back home. Hylla would twist Reyna’s hair into braids more beautiful and pure than Reyna could ever imagine being, and Reyna would complain about the smell of the bucket until Hylla got up to throw the contents overboard.

“Better your lunch than yourself,” Hylla sometimes joked upon her return, in that way people do when they are living through horrible things, doing horrible things, having horrible things thrust upon them. The memory burns now that Reyna isn’t there. She can’t find the humor in the joke now, only the threat of the first mate holding Reyna by the hair and threatening to make her walk the plank if she didn’t stop crying.

She couldn’t stop, but he didn’t seem to understand that, he just held her wrists until Hylla was there, in his cabin, talking with her voice smooth in a way it had never been before the Queen Anne’s Revenge. She talked until Reyna was allowed to leave, until the door shut with her still inside.

That was the night Blackbeard and his crew decided Reyna wasn’t worth it, a night she would forever be thankful for. Reyna couldn’t recover as fast as Hylla, she couldn’t put up with as much, she was wrecked after each encounter, and that night she would be thankful for it, and the day after, and the next, until she and Hylla were running the ship and she never had to think about it again.

Percy pants against the sink, signaling that he is done, and she takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable and anxious for something to do.

She decides on giving him her glass of water–gods know he needs it more than she does–and watches him down the whole thing greedily. An air of clarity seems to blow through him, clearing his eyes and fixing his posture. Maybe that is the magic of a child of Poseidon. Water: an instant cure to all ailments.

“Thank you,” he says with a gasp as he finishes drinking. He wipes some vomit off a corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning before he rinses it off in the sink. Reyna nods serenely in response, no judgement.

It’s a wrestle with herself, to decide if she wants to ask what has him puking his guts out. The fine line she always walks is taunting her, telling her not to alienate people, telling her that knowledge is power. The voice sounds suspiciously like Michelle, which only makes her prickle further. It’s a moot point, regardless. She can remember sitting with Thalia, legs swinging over the edge of a bridge, “I loved him to pieces, Reyna, but that asshole wouldn’t tell me he was hurt unless I pinned him down and threatened to zap his eyebrows off.” She’s going to ask.

“Are you okay?” They are hollow words, because none of them are, and she knows his answer.

“I’m fine,” And then a second later he is over the sink again, all of the water coming right back up.

She takes a place behind him, Hylla’s place, holding his hair back and drawing on his back with her other hand. She can feel his muscles clench each time more of his stomach empties, takes in his breathy swears, traces the letters on the back of his New Rome hoodie. She thinks it might have been hers at one point. It swallows him.

He pulls back, eventually, putting space between them. She lets him have it, but sticks to her spot, crossing her arms.

“Want to try that again?”

He breathes raggedly, head hung. “I can’t–” he lifts a hand to gesture to himself vaguely, but rests it swiftly, looking like he regrets the action. “I haven’t been able to keep food down. Since we got back. It’s too rich. Too much. I was stupid, forgetting how that worked,” he explains, reading the pull of her brow. “Forgot how it felt, too,” he adds, quietly.

She flicks the sink on, letting his remnants wash down the drain, and looks at him thoughtfully. He’s too tired to notice, or maybe to care. His knuckles white out on the edge of the counter, pulsing no doubt in tandem with his stomach. One of his legs begins to quake and she nudges it with her knee. He shifts.

“Is there a reason you’re camped out in here and not the bathroom?”

His breathing, slow and steady, a trained pattern, is interrupted by a faint chuckle. “Thought I wouldn’t run into no one. It’s not working out, clearly.”

He sits back on the counter gently, already clutching his stomach again. “I’ll get over it soon. Just a couple more days. I just–need to make sure I don’t tear my stomach lining.” His words come spaced out and slow, working between his breaths.

“Annabeth?” she asks, unable to mask concern, or maybe uninterested in doing so.

“Got over it,” he answers swiftly. It almost sounds like he is going to say more, but he doesn’t, and she lets it drop in favor of watching him. When he gulps she’s already by his side.

This time bile is the only thing that comes up. He hacks, searching for more, but all that's left is acid. She’s supporting almost his entire weight with one arm. A twitch of worry makes her muscles tense, alien to any type of worry she experienced while he and Annabeth were in the pits of hell. This is immediate, intimate, not abstract. Like seeing Jason’s face dripping gold.

Percy’s whole body shudders, head so deep in the sink she thinks he might be able to touch the sick and the porcelain with his nose if he were to go any further, but the spell seems to have stopped. His arms shake against the counter, and before he can follow through with getting his own vomit plastered across his face she uses her hold on his hair to gently tilt his head towards her.

His eyes are almost completely unfocused, squinting against the kitchen lighting behind her. His water lines have released their tears, finally surmounting the amount of control he had been maintaining. He looks utterly wrecked, and not in the deranged and semi-wild way he had been fresh out of the Doors of Death.

She switches her arm from propping him up to wrapping it around him, keeping him from falling back against the sink and grunting between his weight and his condition. His limbs are loose with relief, now. Almost limp. She orients him until he’s pressed against her hip, utterly malleable under her hands. An odd sense of warmth seems to travel up her arms and into her heart as he slots against her. From what she’s seen, from what she knows, Percy is not one to be controlled. He rebels against it, particularly resistant to anyone who is not a peer, or better yet, a friend. Yet here he is, letting her move his body for him.

It’s something she could never imagine herself doing; willingly handing herself over like this. But with the warmth is a new desire, a spark of hope that one day she will grow with people until she can let them take care of her like this.

“Let’s get you to the med bay,” she says.

“No.” It comes quiet and breathy, and then again with urgency, “No. Annabeth likes to take inventory there when she can’t sleep. Not the med bay.”

Avoiding the med bay on account of Annabeth is a stupid decision, but she reminds herself that Percy cares more about other people than he does himself. He doesn’t want Annabeth to be worried, Reyna thinks, to keep his problems to himself, and though that is not always the best plan, it’s not the worst. Reyna recognizes the necessity of keeping your shit to yourself. Percy might be one of the only people she knows that understands that and deserves it, so she just sighs.

“Okay.” She hooks her other arm under his, making sure he’s steady, and lowers him to the floor. “We’ll just set up camp here.”

He presses the back of his head against the cabinets, hands groping the cool stone floor, and then lets himself tip fully onto it. No complaints. Apparently he likes the change in location. She grabs a dish towel, folding it up and sliding it under his head, and a bowl, if he needs to give up his internal organs while she’s gone and can’t quite make it to the sink. With a shove of his shoulder he turns on his side, loosely grabbing his stomach and making her feel safe in the fact that he can’t choke on his own vomit.

She feels funny when she stands again, brushing her hands against her pant legs. She’s never taken care of someone like this before, never had to. She and Jason were there for each other during their fair share of unfortunate situations, but she never had to watch him like this; curled up on the ground, shaking, weak. She wonders if he was ever caught like this, in the bathroom across the hall. If he had ever wanted to ask her for help.

Annabeth isn’t in the med bay when Reyna goes to scrounge up some anti-nausea medication, and she isn’t coming down the stairs when Reyna makes her way back to the kitchen. Percy’s in the same spot, though. She supposes that counts for something as she sits next to his head, reading the directions on the back of the box.

It’s generic, a syrupy red that reminds her of fake blood in old horror movies. Percy coughs as it goes down, making a face and muttering something about cherry flavoring and scented markers.

When she’s sure he’s not going to up chuck the medicine, which would be a type of irony she is not ready for, she goes searching for something he can eat. The stores on the Argo II are significantly better than that of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and greatly aided by the presence of a fridge, but she ends up with a packet of pedialyte powder she remembers seeing Percy use during their first week on the Argo. It’s orange, which she can respect as it’s the best artificial flavor.

Percy groans while she’s stirring it, and before she knows it she’s sitting by his side, letting him press his face into her leg. Her body seems to know what to do, even if she doesn’t, and she’s grateful for it.

“Would you rather rehydrate or take more medication?”

He groans again, nose brushing her thigh, and says, “Both.”

“Disregard the instructions?”

He hums against her leg, whispering her resolve into the ground, because she doesn’t argue. It doesn’t hurt that she couldn’t decide either, or that she has always been good at knowing when to break the rules.

“Whatever repercussions there are to this, it’s your fault,” she says instead, already measuring another dose.

He downs it like a shot and with a grimace, even though he is still laying on the floor. It manages to wring a snort out of her, as does the way he remarks that the straw she put in the pedialyte looks like a worm: “Which I’ll allow only because you chose blue; the best color.”

He fumbles in and out of consciousness, mind half addled, and she thinks she’s found a cheat code to becoming his friend. With his sharp eyes half closed and his height stolen by his horizontal position on the floor, too tired to keep his body wired and slurping through a straw because the energy to sit up seems like a far flung concept, he’s easy to see and even easier to like.

“You made the good shit,” he half slurs as he takes another sip.

“Yeah?”

“Grew up on this stuff,” he says by way of explanation. “It was free at my first school, low income and what not. Wanted to make sure we had enough calories to suffer through the school day. Picked it up at food banks, too.”

She hums, pretending he hasn’t just revealed something that she doubts he’s told anyone else. “Kept it around for the taste?”

“Malnourished after Lupa, just a bit,” he says arching his neck in discomfort before taking another sip. “I made sure to pick some up while we were still in the states. ‘Beth knows I like it though. I think she already bought some.”

“Yeah.” Reyna can vaguely remember something along those lines, sitting with Annabeth and going over supply lists for the ship. She’d been rambling and scatterbrained, which Reyna now knew was her default state.

He switches subjects after that, nothing sticking for long. It’s an interesting contrast to the Percy that she’s met. She wonders if he was like ths as a kid, or maybe it was longer than that. Maybe it was until they were swapped, maybe it was until Tartarus and she just never got the chance to see.

“You’re talkative when half your guts are down the drain,” she tells him, after listening to him ramble about the Knicks for a couple minutes.

“Blame my state.”

“I am, dumbass.”

“So rude,” he says in Spanish, sounding like her neighbors in Puerto Rico, getting together under the shade during the heat of the day, complaining about their daughters. “What’re you doing here anyway,” he asks, “Why aren’t you nice and cozy in your bed.”

“Obviously sitting on the floor with you is superior.”

He coughs out a laugh, there. Weak, but she can feel his amusement from the crinkle of his eyes before he sobers. “Really, why?”

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Want to talk about Tartarus?” she snaps, because no, she does not want to talk about her historical issues with boats, or how she’s thinking of Jason, out there escorting a forty foot statue in an attempt to stop yet another war.

“Sorry,” Percy whispers, pulling his head back a bit.

“No, I’m sorry.” She’s supposed to be better than this. She’s supposed to be a leader, which does not include letting her frustrations out on others, no matter the time of day–or night. “That was unprofessional of me.”

He snorts. “We’re lying on the kitchen floor and I’m wearing Black panther pajama pants. Trust me, you don’t have to be professional here… And I’m sorry–for asking.”

“It’s alright,” she ends up saying, mostly thinking that he’s right. She’s about to tell him so when she notices that his eyes have slipped closed. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I’m not gonna sleep,” he grumbles.

“Well if I get you some more magic potion can you lie to me?”

He smiles at that, one side of his mouth going up farther than the other, like in almost every photo she saw of him during her months at Camp Half-Blood. “If you, Reyna Ramírez Allreano, get me more orange pedialyte, I will absolutely fall asleep as soon as I’m in my bed.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

#percy jackson #reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna ramirez arellano #its been a while since i posted something for pjo #pjo #pjo fanfic #hoo fanfic #hoo #alea iacta est #Reyna!Swap au #chart writes #fic: Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur #riordanverse #anyways I'm pretty happy with this and if you want some explanations or clarifications you can ask me or look at my final notes on ao3!#i already have another one in the works! it just needs to be beta read

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beauregard-s · 4 years

Text

Take The Wheel (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader (aged up)

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: NSFW. Sex, Oral (fem receiving), cursing and light dirty talking. Also mentions of alcohol.

Anon said: “ alright for whatever reason I can only ever think of Richie concepts but that's okay he's my boy :0 Anyway, So like a Richie x Reader smut where Richie is teaching the reader to drive in an empty parking lot and he sits them in his lap so they're both in the drivers seat. And he gets a boner and then car sex boom that's the concept ”

A/n: I must say it’s some *chef’s kiss* concept. I really liked this one, and had a lot of Cigarettes After Sex’s help to write it lol. Hope I fulfilled your expectations, my dear anon.

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“Come on, doll, it’s your eighteen!”

“I already said no, Richie.”

It’s been years since you both realized you were too big to share the old hammock anymore, but you acted like it wasn’t an important detail. You and Richie had spent the afternoon laying there, he previously napping and now smoking a cigarette while you went through a thriller book Ben had lent you a couple weeks before and you were taking too long to return to him.

Richie had his long hanging down, foot on the floor and here and there he’d swing you both from side to side, softly, in a way the had your eyelids fighting not to shut close.

“What are you doing when I’m not around, then?” He teased once more, and it was enough for you to softly hit his ribs with your bare foot, since you two were so tangled in such little space that your legs rested by his sides.

“You’ll always be around, Trashmouth.”

“Maybe I won’t...” He blew smoke through his parted lips when you shoot a look, narrowing your eyes at him from over the book. The little lopsided smile he had made your insides tingle.

Next week you’d turn eighteen and, until present days, you had not learned how to drive. That’d be a result of very strict and overprotective parents, alongside a not so irrational - in your thoughts -, but for sure overscaled fear of taking the steering wheel.

Usually, Richie was the one driving you around on his beat-up truck, blasting Tears For Fears, an arm slung out of his window. Sometimes it was Stan or Bill, Mike and Ben were busier but they were always down to give you a ride if you needed it. Beverly was a heckin' reckless driver, but she was the one who usually took you shopping and even Eddie had rebelled against Sonia Kaspbrak to get his license.

You were the last “baby” among the grown-ups.

“Come on, y/n, I can teach you. I’m the best driver-”

“Stan is the best driver,” you corrected.

“Stan is bullshit!” he went, now pointing at you with his lit cigarette. “And you shall never say such fallacy again.”

You laughed his fake offended tone off, but, yeah, he was right. Stan could be the most prudent one, but he was too prudent even for your coward standards. Richie was, indeed, the best driver. Reckless, but not too reckless at the point of almost run over people on the street - like Bev did at least a couple times -, also he was surprisingly skilled, but had some worrisome courage, for sure. And he had got a few speed tickets, yeah, but he always knew what he was doing.

Those facts, plus the way he kept looking and expecting at you made you roll your eyes and break.

“Fine, Tozier,” it was enough for his smile to widen up “but don’t blame me if I shove your car through a wall or something.”

He laughed and tickled your feet by his side, what made you jump on your place and kick him harder than the last time, earning a grunt of pain from him.

“Don’t worry, toots. I got you.”

It was an empty and probably abandoned parking lot behind the library. What on Earth could go wrong?

That was exactly what you thought when Richie set things up the last day, but, now, when you looked blankly at his truck parked there, with its doors opened, just waiting for you, it didn’t seem such a good idea anymore.

“Richie...”

“No fucking way, doll, it’s the tenth time you call out for my name, not that I’m complaining.”

You threw him a pissed look, but of course it wouldn’t do any harm on those mocking eyes of his. But you looked better at Richie, right there under the golden hour light. His dark curls messed by his fingers and by the breeze that gently hit you, glasses always full of fingerprints on its lenses, but not hiding his narrowed eyes due to the clarity. He seemed more freckled than ever.

All of that made you tingle inside, again. Had been like that for a while now, and every time it’d happen, every time you’d feel that weird sensation, you’d just turn away from his view, not that bold to face whatever it was.

“Come on, toots, it won’t bite you! Let’s go!”

He placed his hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you to the driver’s side. You hopped onto the seat and Richie was so damn tall you felt you were miles away from the wheel and couldn’t even dream about reaching the pedals. He helped you adjust the seat to your height and ran around the car while you buckled your safety belt.

“Fasten your belt.” You enjoined, the second he closed his door and looked up at you with expectation.

“For God’s sake, y/n, we’re just driving around the lot,” he scoffed, and you rolled your eyes. “Easy now. It’s no big deal, come on, start the car.”

Maybe you’d be able to focus and make your legs stop shaking, but Richie’s hand reaching for your thigh to supposedly soothe you down didn’t make it possible. And he stayed just like that when you turned the keys and the truck roared.

“Okay, now let’s switch the gear and loosen the handbrake...”

You had no idea of the amount of work involving getting a car to move. Richie kept instructing you and, for your disbelief, yes, he was a good teacher. He was clear as water when he told you what to do, and his voice went down to a soft and patient tone that made the tingling feeling hit you wave after wave. But even like that, you couldn’t put the thing on the road. The engine kept dying and you just weren’t coordinated enough to get it to move.

Richie and you switched places and he tried to teach you through visuals, letting you watch him as he drove around. And you really tried to. You focused on his hands but you wouldn’t absorb his moves. You’d just absorb how he firmly gripped onto the wheel and how skilled he moved the gear around. You tried to learn from his feet pressing the pedals, but your eyes would trail up to his sculpted side profile in the fading, cold light. How his lips looked soft, talking to you and dictating how you’d have to switch the gear every time the engine roared in en specific pleading way.

But you were fucking drooling over how handsome Richie Tozier was.

Before you had a chance to actually start paying attention to the mechanisms, he stopped the car like it all was the easiest thing. “See? Just like learning how to ride a bicycle.”

You tittered, not sure if you couldn’t keep up with all the steps on properly driving because there were a lot of them, or only because you just could take your eyes off Richie himself.

“I don’t know... I mean, I think I just can’t coordinate enough,” you shrugged.

He shushed you immediately.

“No fucking way! You’re learning how to drive, and I’m teaching you, doll!” he raised his brows, his determination making you laugh again. Richie bit down his lip for a while, sitting sideways on the seat so he could face you.

“Do you want to sit on my lap, then? So I can help you?”

You slowly raised a brow and your brain sent off the red alert with a neon sign of “bad idea”.

“How messed up could this be?” You sneered.

“Not messed up at all, that’s actually how I first learn how to drive,” he smirked.

“Richie, you were ten, and no, pretending you’re driving isn’t learning how to drive,” you laughed.

You remembered that story very well, how Mr. Tozier would put Richie on his lap while driving around safe places when he was a little boy. But now this was a whole, dissimilar situation.

Richie rolled his eyes, leaning in towards you, and you swore you were all hooded eyes at him.

“Come on, doll, just like the truck, I won’t bite you.”

The red alert in your head went off even louder, but, still, with him that close and with the evening’s darkness engulfing both of you, your lips had a different plan than your mind.

“Okay...” it was what scaped through them.

And the way Richie smiled at that answer warmed your heart beyond what was acceptable.

You unbuckled your belt as he pushed his seat back and even like that, fitting in between him and the wheel was a difficult task. You propped yourself up from the passenger seat, passing a leg over the gearstick to sit it between his. You both were a mess of legs and arms.

“Okay, toots, careful now-fuck!”

“Holyshit, Richie, did I hit you?”

“No, just my thigh. Big Richie’s okay...”

“I hate you.”

You managed to settle down to his lap, not too comfortably, but enough to access everything around you. To feel all of him beneath you.

“No way, sugar, you love me,” he whispered from behind, very close to your ear.

With a simple turn of neck, you could see Richie over your shoulder, and there was where he rested his chin. He took your left hand and placed it on the wheel, under his own. Your right hands together met the gear stick.

“I’m starting the car now,” he warned. His hand left yours just for a moment, and his truck roared again. It vibrated slightly and that way you couldn’t help to friction down against Richie’s lap.

You thought you felt him stiffening up, but soon enough his hand was back over yours and he helped you switching the gear.

“Now can I speed up?” You asked, trying your best to don’t look back at him, or else your lips would almost touch.

“Yeah, slowly. And keep those beautiful eyes on the road, toots.”

You did as he told you, slowly pressed your foot down the accelerator, and the truck slowly and finally left its spot under your riding.

You couldn’t help but smile. It was something really childish to do, but it was unconscious. Richie kept his right hand over yours, helping you through the gears correctly, his left one was supposed to guide the wheel with you, but as soon as he heard your giggles he let go, his arm resting lazily on his open window.

You only sped up to an acceptable speed to keep during a parking lot training, but it was enough for a breeze to blow through the open windows. You felt somehow proud, even if you have been strolling for five minutes in circles behind the library. You didn’t even notice Richie letting go of the bare control he had, but you were pretty aware of his hands falling down to rest on your thighs.

And you were pretty aware of the forming hardness underneath you. You could feel him, and every time you made a turn your hips would be dragged around due to physics causes you never understood while in high school. Every time that happened you could hear Richie sighing really close to your neck.

His thumbs traced circles against the skin of your thighs, right where it met the hem of your skirt. You were already relaxed back against him by now.

“I’m so sorry, toots...” You heard both a certain embarrassment, but also some guts in his voice. He was also pretty aware of what was happening, but you wondered if he was aware of the growing heat inside your chest, and the wetness inside your panties.

Or if he was aware of the way you “helped” physics by dragging your hips down onto his.

“Don’t be, Rich.” You muttered.

His hands went for yours again, and his feet took the place yours once had. Richie himself stopped the car and as soon as he turned the motor down you noticed how silent it was because he didn’t turn on the radio earlier, probably because he didn’t want to distract you.

But he ended up doing way more than that.

It was starting to get dark, maybe a little too dark. Dark in a level that’d be perfect to do hidden things and they’d remain safe under its cover. Maybe that was why you felt it was safe enough to turn your body slightly to the side, just enough to face Richie, and you two kissed in the dim light.

No words needed, not a single trace of hesitation because you both knew you'd been aching for this for a long time now. You parted your lips under his tongue insistence within time, tried to fought him for dominance. Absurdly unsuccessful that was. Richie had a hand through your hair, slightly pulling it so you couldn’t turn your face away from him. Little did he know you wouldn’t do that anyway.

He was the one who pulled away after a while. You could tell he was smirking, eyes on yours, and then down to check on your already slightly kiss-bruised lips. He leaned in then, his nose softly brushing all the way up your neck, sending goosebumps through your spine just so he could talk lowly in your ear.

“I want you in the backseat, y/n/n.”

You didn't know if it was how he sounded deep, or how he called you by the nickname that only he’d call you, nothing generical, but he made you whimper untouched. You just nodded and Richie pushed you off his lap gently, helping you to pass through the front seats.

You didn’t think car sex was comfortable at all, having experienced it in other guys’ sedans, but Richie’s car got some valuable space. It was enough for you to be dragged into Richie’s lap without your head bumping into the ceiling, as soon as he joined you there, kissing you as his life depended on it.

Richie smelled like smoke and tasted like mint chapstick and cola, and the way he held you so tightly against him was driving you insane alone. Slowly the darkness was taking over and you couldn’t see much of him, but you could feel him everywhere. Hands on your hips and crawling up your sides, underneath your top inch by inch. You couldn’t help to grind your hips down against his, earning yourself a low grunt every time you did that.

It was happening, and you couldn’t believe it. Richie and you've been friends over the time, but you’d be lying if you said you never looked at him in a messed up way, here and there. Mainly when you’d get drunk together in parties and he started to get extra flirty towards your horny self. And now, what you have fantasized about was happening.

“I want you down on me so bad...” You moaned.

You widened your eyes because it wasn’t meant to escape your lips like that. But it did and made Richie pull away from the spot he had been kissing on your neck, looking up at you.

You expected him to laugh or scoff, but he raised a brow slightly, lips curving in a way that had your legs weak.

“Don’t ask me twice, doll.” He mumbled.

Richie held you by your thighs before pushing you down to the seat. You propped yourself up to rest your back against the side of the car, ready to push shoes and clothes off, but he got different plans. Richie made his best to fit properly in between your legs, hands pushing your skirt up so it was lumping around your waist.

With no warning, Richie just pulled your panties down your legs, taking them off skillfully and shoving them in his pocket. With a smirk, he leaned himself down on you, drawing a bold lick all the way up from your slit to your clit.

You moaned louder than would be safe. Just the vision of Richie in between your thighs like that was enough to make you purr like a kitten, but the way he kept his eyes up just to watch what he was doing to you was top-shelf.

His hands were on your thighs, keeping you as spread for him as the space allowed, tongue flicking through your wet folds. And the motherfucker dared to hum against you.

“Fuck, y/n/n... How can you taste so good, doll?”

Your chest weaved up and down as you panted, a complete moaning mess. Your hands went for Richie’s curls, messing them up even more as he took turns closing his eyes to savor you, and then looking up at your blank pleasured face.

“Richie...” You cried out.

He pulled away for a second, thumb still rubbing circles on your clit to keep your pace.

“What, babe, are you gonna cum for me?”

You did. As soon as he reattached his lips to your heat again, you came by his mouth only.

Richie smirked satisfied at the way your legs were shaking and your eyes shut closed, still lazily licking you down your high, and as soon as your breath calmed down he was sitting back up, pulling you into his lap again, holding you so close you lost your breath.

When you and Richie kissed again, you could still taste yourself on his lips. Your hands fumbled with his jeans, unbuckling it quickly because you needed more of him. He groaned at your eager manners, immediately bucking his hips up so you could pull his pants and underwear down to his thighs.

“Holy fuck, Richie...”

You couldn’t hold it back when you looked down at his cock, fully hard for you. Richie didn’t praise himself for nothing. You felt like some stupid depraved girl, but Richie seemed to like it judging by the melodic laugh he let out. A laugh that quickly turned into a deep moan when you took him in your hands, pumping slowly.

The way Richie’s mouth hung opened when he breathed out heavily and the sounds that came outta there made you clench around nothing. You didn’t delay much before aligning yourself over him, slowly lowering your hips.

Richie cursed out loud, hands gripping onto your waist for his life as he threw his head back. Now you were the one observing how his chest went up and down fast, how he licked his lips with eyes closed in bliss. You had all of him inside you, every inch. He was stretching you out, yes, but he felt too good filling you up like that.

Richie finally looked at you, all hooded eyes and hands going for your shirt. He lifted the fabric enough to expose your breasts, mumbling something about loving that you didn’t wear a bra much often before attaching his lips to your nipple.

Your hands on his shoulders for support must have squeezed too tightly, but he didn’t seem to notice it under the loud moans you gave him. Richie’s lips slid from a breast of yours to the other, taking a time to kiss the valley between them.

“Ride me, doll...” He softly demanded, and you did.

You held tightly onto him when you started to bounce up and down very slowly, trying to adjust to him, but as soon as you picked up your pace the previously silent and dark truck was filled with both your moans. Richie was loud and it was something you expected and now his hoarse groans only drove you closer to your high.

He gave you a hickey on your breast, right before his lips escalated to kiss and mark your neck as well.

“How good you feel around me, y/n/n...”

You melted more in his arms every time he'd fill you up, every little nibble he’d plant on the sweet spot of your neck. You felt your muscles tensing, clenching tightly around Richie’s cock right before you came undone once again.

As soon as you reached the peak, your loud moans were muffled by Richie’s hungry lips on yours. When your legs went numb, he kept thrusting up into you, hands grabbing handfuls of your ass until he came.

Richie came moaning into your mouth, while you drifted away from your orgasm and your fingers caressed back the curls that covered his face. You could barely see him by now, but the few traces you could discern made you smile numbly.

Holy shit. You were in love.

You fucked Richie in his car, and now you were in love.

No, you’ve been in love with him for a long time but only now, when the facts were spread right in front of your eyes, you admitted it. Only now, feeling the numerous small kisses he was spreading all over your shoulder and collarbone, and how his cold hands cupped your breasts gently, only now you admitted it.

Things were silent for a while, while Richie had his face buried against the crook of your neck and you still cockwarmed him. You didn’t want to leave him, you were afraid that as soon as you put yourself together, he’d check you out off his hook up list and drag you back to the friend zone.

“I fucking love you, y/n/n.”

You still breathed heavily when he whispered that, but you immediately felt like your lungs stopped working.

You pushed Richie away from you, making him look at your face in the dark, although you could only see the little reflection of his glasses.

“What the hell did you just say?”

“Nothing, I-Shit...”

“Richie.” You were serious, and that made him bite down his lips, thinking he had messed things up with you.

“I’m fucking in love with you, doll.”

You kissed him.

The second he finished that phrase you took his face in your hands and kissed him. A long, slow, and breathtaking kiss.

Richie’s arms wrapped around your waist and his glasses were for sure getting dirtier touching your face, but he didn’t care about it and nor did you.

Only your lips parted away a few moments later, but you kept your foreheads together, eyes closed and hearts going a mile a minute.

“I’m fucking in love with you too, Trashmouth” you mumbled.

You smiled in a cheesy way and somehow you knew he was doing the same.

“Although you’re a bad a drive instructor who ends up fucking your learner”

“Shut up, y/n.”

You laughed together and Richie hugged you against him. That was for sure a not recommend spot to be parked at that hour, but none of you minded that. He was still inside you and you'd keep him like that for at least some moments more because you needed your legs to stop trembling and you also needed to feel more of him against you like that.

"Rich..." You furrowed your brows lightly, curled into his chest. "Where the fuck are my panties?"

He chuckled.

"They are safe, toots. And, by the way, those are mine now."

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sasarahsunshine · 3 years

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Hello!! Could you write anything for jennifer jareau x elle greenaway please? 💕💕

Okay so this is my first time writing for either, so I hope I didn’t disappoint! I decided to do something fluffy 💖 With some angst because how I can write anything that’s not angst in some way.

Pairing: JJ x Elle

Warnings: some mentions of a hard case they had, but nothing specific. fluff! And kisses!

~~~~~

Cases like these were never easy. Especially when children were involved. Thankfully, the children in this particular case were okay, and young enough that they wouldn’t remember how an unstable woman kidnapped them in order to try and “bring her family back to life.” She was arrested, the children were safe, and everyone was exhausted.

The plane ride home was quiet aside from the dull roar of the jet’s engines. Everyone was sleeping (even Hotch), catching up on the rest they all desperately needed from their three-day case.

But even as tired as she was, JJ couldn’t manage to keep her eyes closed. She wasn’t even an agent, let alone a profiler, but she could see the creases of anxiety on Elle’s face from where she sat. Elle herself seemed to be sleeping, even though her mouth was down turned into a tight frown, and the lines of her forehead held days worth of worries within them.

JJ watched her for a little while, trying to let the steady rocking of the plane drift her to sleep. But after twenty minutes of staring at her friend, who was growing more restless as the seconds passed, she couldn’t with a good conscious ignore her any longer. Especially when this would give her a good excuse to sit with her.

So she stood, silently, and made her way across the cabin to the couch where Elle was propped against the wall. She sat down, her hand taking her friends, interlacing their fingers together. That small gesture was enough to rouse the sleeping agent, Elle’s eyes fluttering open

The brunette glanced at JJ for a moment, taking longer in her sleepy state to register what was happening. She blinked, peering down at their hands. Then she smiled, “Hey, JJ. What’s up?” She whispered.

JJ smiled in return, pulling her legs onto the couch and tucking them under herself, “I can’t sleep,” she said with a shrug. Elle nodded slowly, frowning after a moment. “Were you having a bad dream?” JJ asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted, sitting up a little and adjusting herself so they could sit closer together. JJ took the invitation by pushing their legs against each other. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Elle mumbled, her free hand pushing her hair from her face, “But I can tell you that it was about those kids.”

JJ was silent a moment, mulling over what she wanted to say.

“You’re a great agent, Elle,” she said finally, “and a great person. Always thinking about others before yourself. You guys saved those kids, and you’re still worried about them.”

Elle arched an eyebrow, scoffing, “Nah, I’m just traumatized by this job.”

“No, it’s true. I saw your face when you guys came back to the station. You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”

Elle was silent. She leaned over and rested her head on JJ’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles in their still-twined hands. JJ smiled and leaned her cheek against Elle’s head, content to listen to her breathe.

“Today was a hard day,” Elle said at last, “And it was a good case. I just... sometimes I see those kids who are hurt, who don’t make it, and I wonder if it’s selfish of me to want my own someday, you know? Especially when I know the cruel world I’d be bringing them into.”

JJ frowned. True, she didn’t see as much as the rest of the team when it came to the cases, to the field, but she also knew well enough how bad the world could be. She pulled Elle a little closer, “I think you’re not selfish. Because if you’re selfish, then so am I.”

Elle peered up at her from under her lashes, a quizzical look crossing her eyes. JJ shrugged, “I want kids too, someday.”

Elle cracked a smile, “You’d be a good mom.”

JJ’s stomach did a little flip- something that happened all too often when she was around Elle. The butterflies were something she had gotten used to a long time ago, but every once in a while Elle would say something and her brain would become mush, her heart rate increasing tenfold.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” Elle’s smile grew as she sat up a little, looking into JJ’s eyes, “You’re practically the teams mom already.”

JJ laughed softly, shaking her head, “I think raising a baby is different than keeping Spence and Morgan from fighting over who gets the front seat,” she pointed out. Elle chuckled, “Nah, I’m sure it’s the same. Just with more spit-up.”

JJ laughed a little, her shoulders shaking as she did. Elle’s smile grew, “Thanks. For waking me up from the dream. And distracting me.”

“You’re welcome,” JJ offered with a shrug, “I could see you were upset. I don’t like you being upset.”

Elle didn’t reply, choosing to hum quietly and look down at their joined hands.

JJ bit her bottom lip. The dimmed lights of the cabin made the sharp angles of Elle’s face look all that more angelic. The steady hum of the engines were nothing but background noise compared to her laugh, her voice. Sitting there together, in the peace of the aircraft, making her smile, was heaven.

Elle must have thought the same thing, because she let go of JJ’s hand, instead cupping her chin gently. JJ’s heart rate sped up at the gesture, a small gasp escaping her throat. Elle studied her for a moment, watching JJ’s pupils dilate.

Then she leaned forward. Her breath smelled like cinnamon gum. It was hot against her face as she slowly pushed their lips together, locking them together in the most intimate kiss JJ had ever received.

It didn’t last long, but it left her breathless. Her face was hot to the touch, her eyes clouded with thoughts of more. Elle smiled after she pulled away, still cupping JJ’s face, “Sorry. I just couldn’t thinking about doing that.”

“N-no problem,” JJ breathed. She wasn’t sure what she said or did to spur that on, but she wasn’t going to complain.

“Would you, um, want to get coffee when we get back? It’ll be morning by the time we’re home.” Elle looked hopeful. JJ nodded all too eagerly, “Yeah, I’d love that.”

Elle leaned a little closer, whispering, “Okay. Can I do it again?”

“Yes.”

The second kiss was a little longer than the first, but that was more than okay with JJ.

#JJ x Elle #what is their ship name idk #Sarah replies #anon #Fluffy!#Criminal minds fluff #criminal minds #Elle Greenaway #jj #Jennifer jareau #Elle x JJ #criminal minds fanfic #blurb

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velvetinewitch · 4 years

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WORLDBUILDING 1/4; GIFTEDS

of the four magical sectors in Aromayan Earth, Gifteds tend to be the most proud, as, unlike the rest, their power comes solely from their own dedication and talent. unlike Mysticals, who gain magic through worshipping deities, or Distinctuals, whose magic comes from strings and other worlds, or even Spirits, who are born with a connection to something and are able to possess magic related to that thing, Gifteds' magic comes from their talent with something like Makeup Art, letting them use magic related to said skill.

Gifteds attend a magic school called Nyxivis, a campus built into the side of a tall mountain with a cliff-side view of the hidden city of RDA, which functions on a separate plane of reality for their own protection. after graduation Gifteds can choose to stay in RDA as a teacher or some other profession, move upward to the all-magics college, or forge their own path in non-magical Earth. usually, the latter is the least chosen. those who do choose to return to the normal plane of reality often get a tattoo or some sort of signaller that they are Gifted so they can find others, usually a model of Aromae, the previous world, which is shaped similar to Earth but has a distinct land formation that sets it apart. for example, Natalie Faye wears a necklace that has a charm of Aromae on it’s chain.

ENERGY

one downside of Gifted magic is one’s own energy. similar to mana in video games, Gifteds only have so much energy to spare for their magic. as time progresses and they’ve used more of it, their energy grows higher in amount, and they can do more draining magic. if a Gifted runs out of energy, they’ll be physically and mentally exhausted, to the point of collapse. during what can often be a multiple-day coma, their brain will shut off entirely, and their own personal storage of magic will take over the body as it works on recovering. unfortunately, magic is very bad at one important thing: providing entertainment for the body while it is asleep. this is seen in the nightmares that Giteds have during this state. often these nightmares are visions of the present, past, and even future. sometimes they are straightforward, sometimes they are heavily abstract. always, they leave a sour taste in your mouth.

having multiple unrelated Gifts leaves a Gifted more tired and easily exhausted. these Gifteds are most notable by their tendency to fall asleep in class, or basically wherever. some Gifteds have multiple Gifts that heavily relate to each other, which is less exhausting.

SECTIONS

Gifts are sectioned into three main sections, although they usually can fall under multiple depending on specialization. Creatives are Gifts that involve the arts and any form of heavy expression. Logistics are often scientific or mathematical. Practicals fall into your everyday areas, Gifts centered around skills that are, as the name implies, practical.

CREATIVES:

painting, graphic design, sculpture, animation, etc: the ability to bring one’s artistic creations to life. example, Penelope "Pallet" Davin.

photography: the ability to use a camera (or at higher levels, take photographs and use magic without one) to manipulate one’s environment and capture recordings or images of points in time that one can revisit physically later on. example, Orange Sullivan.

(more under cut)

drama/theater, directing, editing: magical manipulation of visuals such as “props,” camera angles, playing speed, etc, as well as things such as sound effects. can often be specialized to a certain genre, such as horror, in which one’s magic is stronger when manipulating related things. example, Jonathon "J" Dean.

makeup art: the ability to modify one’s own appearance, similar to a shapeshifter, as well as the appearance of others. example, Ella Lavthorne.

writing; journalism, creative writing: the ability to bring one’s writing to life, as well as see one’s backstory, manipulate or record a real life plot, etc. example, Aralion Faye, a fantasy-specific creative writing Gifted.

vocals; public speaking, linguistics: the ability to control one’s voice, have voices or words have magical effect, understand any form of language, etc.

dance: often coincides with music and athletics magic. involves the ability to control one’s body, achieve mystical effects through dancing, and sometimes cultural magics. example, Arista Way.

music; composition, instrumental, vocal: magical, often siren-like abilities, sometimes with powerful effects on those listening that vary with genre or song. example, Rain Wilson, a classical musician who often lures people to sleep with her pieces.

landscape; geography, interior design, architecture (can also fall under logistics): magical understanding and ability to manipulate one’s own environment. example, Ebony Foret.

fashion design: magical enhancement or adjustment of fabrics, accessories, or outfits in general. example, Willow Dean.

LOGISTICS:

mathematics; statistics, geometry, probability: the magical ability to understand and manipulate numbers, quantities, and space. example, Ethin Grey.

sciences; geology, hydrology, neuroscience, psychology, anatomy (some of which fall under practicals): magical manipulation of areas of study. for example, a geology Gifted is equivalent to an earthbender at many points.

engineering: often coincides with landscape. magical understanding of and ability build and use structures. example, Eren Faye.

coding: magical usage of a coding language to change and manipulate one’s own environment. example, Alice Baker.

PRACTICALS:

health (most of which also falls under logistics): the ability to magically manipulate one's body, whether that be healing it or controlling the systems. example, Caden Wright, a nursing student whose power to control one's body is overpowered, but his Hippocratic oath prevents him from using it to harm others during the events of the books as his magic would be suspended.

history: the magical ability to peer into the past of an object, person, or place, so long as one is touching said thing. example, Clarissa Claire, a teacher with the ability to see the past and project it to her students during class.

public speaking: the ability to control your own voice or the voice of another, usually making a voice have a specific siren-like power, programming someone else’s dialogue, or cutting off their ability to speak temporarily. example, Raven Wilde.

agriculture; gardening, animal keeping: example, Maisy ⬛.

cooking/baking (some of which may be categorized under creatives): equivalent to potion-making with any sort of edible beverage or food. example, Linus "Ladle" Jackson.

athletics (can also fall under creatives): magically enhanced physical abilities. ex, sprinters are equivalent to the Flash when needed. example, Christopher Lewis.

organization: the magical ability to organize/sort things in any way possible. can be especially helpful when sorting in ways such as, “by who will die first to last,” or, “most to least likely to kill me.” example, Zane Smith.

travel; navigation/cartography, aviation, etc: enhanced modes of traveling or tracking, including better control over certain modes and the ability to magically alter them. example, Asrian Tseitlin.

MISC:

spiritualism: due to a strong connection with one’s spiritual practices, stronger enhancement of mind and magical abilities. often in relation to pagan practices. example, Maryline Northwin, a wiccan student with inexplicably purple powers that are especially strong when she is given access to her herbs and beloved crystals.

⬛ ⬛ ⬛ legally, no one is allowed to know that this power exists until it is revealed in book 4 of Faye and Fate. example, ⬛ , a student that we grow to love before they rip our heart out in Book 3.

#so here's this lol #worldbuilding #faf #faye and fate #my wips #writeblr

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waifutella · 6 years

Text

on cosplay planning and research

So, for those of us who opt to hate ourselves make our own cosplays, starting a project can be hugely overwhelming. A lot of characters are amazingly and intricately designed and in being so are difficult to duplicate and can be very stress making, but, as with any large task, the best way to go about it is to break it down into multiple build/buying goals. For illustrating my point during this post, I’ll be walking you through my process and occasionally using bits and examples from the research I did while building my Infinity War version of Steve Rogers.

And yeah, I know. This is a long post. It’s going to be a decent chunk of work before you even start building your cosplay. BUT, the better you prep, the smoother the rest of the process will go. Plus I find that having a record of all this is surprisingly useful in future cosplays- they might have similar elements or pieces to them, so if you can just reference the work you’ve saved from before you won’t need to do it all over again. So put on a playlist, make yourself a nice cup of tea, get comfy and let’s start this process together~

Step 1- Reference Photos and Window Shopping

The first thing you need to decide (after you’ve chosen your character) is if you’re going to try to replicate the costume as closely as possible, or if you’re going to make it your own. You’ve got to keep in mind that the closer you want your costume to be to the original, the more difficult (and most likely expensive) it is going to be fore you. Having a screen accurate cosplay is hugely satisfying, don’t get me wrong- but if you’re the type of person who likes to cosplay a bunch of different characters, it might not be the best choice for you financially or in terms of time commitment.

So once you have in your head how you want to go about it, you’re going to want to collect as many reference images as you can. If you’re doing an original design/mashup/taking liberties, sketch it out! You don’t have to be a skilled artist, but draw out a few versions of what you’re going for. If you’re genderbending, find fan art and other cosplayers who have done the same and take inspiration from them. If you can watch the show/play the game/own the original source material, go through it and save as many stills/photos from the character at every angle you can possibly find. This’ll take a few watches through but when I was researching for my Infinity War Steve Rogers cosplay, that meant I got to sit and look at Chris Evans all day (week) soooooooo it was worth it. Some companies release in depth art books or reference images (like Blizzard’s “cosplay kits”), so if you can access those, take advantage of them. If, like when I started this project, your source material hasn’t actually been released yet, be creative. Cap has similar suit designs throughout his trilogy, and his IW suit is a damaged version of one of his prior uniforms, so I pulled reference images from Civil War. I looked at all the promo posters and trailers, I even pulled from toys and other promotional products. You’ll notice (especially when it comes to toys) that the design might change slightly between that and the real deal, but you can never have too much information. At the very least, you want a full body shot, from a minimum of four angles- front, back, and from the sides. Print out the pics for when you’re actually making the cosplay, and save them all in one doc/folder so you can come back to them if you need to.

Step 2- Window Shopping

EVEN IF YOU STILL WANT TO MAKE YOUR COSPLAY after looking over the design in great detail, don’t skip this step. Trust me.

Now, companies that manufacture these cosplays have to have slight variations on their final products from the original design, but for the most part they’ll be decently accurate. If you look at the way they’ve constructed theirs, you might get some ideas on how to go about building yours.

This next bit kind of morphs into step three so bear with me

Your next stop is Etsy. There are tons of talented seamstresses, foam smiths and prop makers on there, and I absolutely believe in supporting them. You might fall in love with someone’s work and decide to commission your cosplay from them instead, and that’s great! Support artists within the community and all that. But if you still would like to make your own, be sure to look up the individual props and pieces instead of searching for the cosplay as a whole. If you’re lucky, you’ll find someone who sells blueprints or tutorials to their work, and you can support them by purchasing those and it’ll be hugely h*cking useful when you’re making it!

Step 3- Tutorials

AWW YE, hit up google, youtube, and the rpf. (in that order usually works best for me, but to each their own.) you’d be surprised how often searching <character’s name> + cosplay + tutorial can help you out, the cosplay community is amazing and a great source of information. If your character hasn’t been turned into a tutorial yet, or you can’t find a tutorial for every aspect, don’t worry! There’s always SOMETHING out there for you. If your character has similar aspects to another character, search for a tutorial on that character instead. Or if you can’t think of a character that’s remotely close, try to think of something from real life that might prove to be similar in design (while researching my Twilight Princess Zelda cosplay, I ended up on a lot of wedding dress forums.). If you really loved a piece on etsy but that shop hasn’t listed patterns or tutorials, write in to them and ask if they’d be willing to sell you their pattern/draft notes. If they do have them for sale, buy it! Being able to skip out pattern drafting when you can is a huge blessing. You can also ask other cosplayers, but

MAKE SURE you’ve actually researched and tried to find it on your own before asking them how to do it. Nothing was more annoying to me than when I had a flood of questions asking how I made my MJ/spiderman shirt, when in depth tutorials and walkthroughs are easily the first 124788 results if you google that question. I would absolutely love to help if you need it, but at the same time I’m not your search engine. (I feel I need to apologise to my BestFriendMikky™ right now, because when it comes to these things I absolutely use her as my own personal encyclopedia. Especially with sewing stuff. I’m sure it’s h*cking annoying to her do’t be like me, kids)

They might not have it? The first year I cosplayed, i didn’t keep any of my notes/patterns/wip pics (which i highly regret now), or they might not go about making these things in a conventional way, so their pattern might not exist in their head so much as it does in their brain. So sometimes when people ask me how I did something, I can only talk them through it rather than give them actual pictures/patterns/examples.

MAKE SURE you’ve actually researched and tried to find it on your own before asking them how to do it. Nothing was more annoying to me than when I had a flood of questions asking how I made my MJ/spiderman shirt, when in depth tutorials and walkthroughs are easily the first 124788 results if you google that question. I would absolutely love to help if you need it, but at the same time I’m not your search engine. (although, I feel I need to apologise to my BestFriendMikky™ right now, because when it comes to these things I absolutely use her as my own person encyclopedia. Especially with sewing stuff.)

Once you’ve found about 200 sources, bookmark them all. Start reading them. Save them, even. Print some of the ones you’re partial to out. Decide if you want to follow one of them verbatim, or mix and match steps and methods to make your own plan. Even if you have a pretty good idea of how you want it to go, you might want to save your other findings just in case something doesn’t go according to plot during the building process.

Step 4- Break up your plan

I like to do this on graph paper. I have a notebook that I’m partial to using during these projects, and a system of binders that the writings transfer over to once the project is finished. If you aren’t partial to a particular method/prefer technology, the cosplanner app might be a good way for you to go. It has spaces for you to do everything I’m about to describe, but in a convenient, cloud using app, and is a lot more mobile than your phone. Tbh I tend to use both, but my physical copy is always much more in depth than whatever I list out on the app.

The first thing I do is list out every piece of the cosplay, from head to toe. This doesn’t mean “shirt + pants + prop”, it usually goes a little something like

(we’re using my IW steve research, again, for reasons)

Wig/hair

Shields (x2)

Shield Harness

Shirt

main shirt/base

Shoulder/overlay piece

Gloves

Belt

main/base (buy)

buckle (make)

utility pouches (make)

Pants

Boot Covers/Shinguards

Boots (buy)

So if I already know I’m going to buy a certain piece I make a note of it, if I already know that one piece is going to be broken up into multiple components, I separate them out... you get the idea.

Next, you break these down individually. If you’re going to buy some of the pieces (I pretty much always buy things like boots/shoes/wigs,) on the cosplanner app you can move them into the “to buy” section, and everything will be separated out in terms of what you need to buy and make. (This is kind of cool on the app, because it has a place to save how much you spent on the purchased pieces and how much time you put into the making of each specific piece)

For each piece, you kind of start this whole process over again. Choose a piece, and google where you can buy it. If you did a good job with your tutorial research, I’m sure you have some you found that are for specific pieces of your build (ayyyy all that step 3 work paid off!) Start searching for sewing patterns and figure out what type and how much of the fabric you’ll need. Write it all down in it’s own little subsection/within the app so that when you’re shopping you can easily reference the list.

Now when it comes to timing this out- just a quick observation- I find that I do better quality work when I don’t have a due date, but those projects tend to sit unfinished for longer than I’m willing to admit. And the projects that I assign due dates for definately get done faster/on time, but usually aren’t my best work. Just something to think about.

If you’re on a time budget, now’s the time to figure that out and set goals. Look at the due date and estimate how much time you’ll need for each aspect of the costume, how much free time you’ll have to work on it, and plan accordingly. I’d recommend leaving extra cushion of time, especially if you’re using tools or techniques you’re not familiar with, so that if it goes slower than you expect or if you need to remake a piece you’ll have the ability to do so. And be sure to figure out what you’d like to do first! If you’re waiting on funds for the bulk of your project, start the cheaper pieces first. If you get overwhelmed by the larger pieces, start the smaller ones first. I mean, the order is really up to you, but I personally like to take a log of the materials I already have and start whatever I can finish whatever smaller pieces I can with what I have on hand >.< I also like to leave my wig purchasing/cutting/styling for the very last thing, it doesn’t usually take more than a couple of hours for me and it’s a nice low-stress thing to have to do if your project has been pushed into con crunch.

Of course, I started practicing this method as a way to combat con crunch, but it always seems to end up right around there, doesn’t it?

#cosplay #cosplayer #cosplay research #cosplans #infinity war #infinity war cosplay #capsicle #steve rogers #rant #tutorial #wip #tips and tricks

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dolphinshark · 6 years

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[SPOTIFY PLAYLIST LINK]

25. J Hus feat. Burna Boy - “Good Time”

I started writing something about how well this song encapsulates J Hus’s London upbringing, his Ghanaian heritage, and the current dancehall boom through it’s canny blending of Afrobeats, bashment riddims, and a just a sprinkle of grime…but then I realized that that is what’s interesting about the song, not why I love it. The reason it’s stuck in my mind is really simple: it’s a suave, unassuming earworm of the highest caliber.

24. Alice Glass - “Without Love”

I really can’t express how heartbroken I was to learn about the abusive relationship that existed during Alice Glass’s time in Crystal Castles, who were my entry point into the entire world of electronic music. But that sadness pales in comparison to how glad I am that Alice is now out of that situation, making art on her own terms, and dropping alternately eerie and whiplash-inducing Fuck You’s like “Without Love.”

23. Stormzy - “Big For You Boots”

The song that took Stormzy from the guy who was making charming videos with his mum on a shoestring budget and getting tagged as “grime’s next big thing” to making arresting, big budget video epics and getting dubbed “the biggest thing in grime.” What a leap. And he did it while rapping about how “You’re never too big for Adele.”

(Oh and if I had made a Top 5 Pronunciations of 2017 list, his pronunciation of “boots” as “boooouuuus” would definitely be #1.)

22. The xx - “I Dare You”

Here’s where Taylor writes a really hacky paragraph by saying you should listen to this song and then ending it with, “I dare you.”

…

Or it’s where he just says that this song may be the perfect xx song, an ideal swirl of a silvery, romantic duet.

21. Drake - “Gyalchester”

There is only one way to improve this song.

20. St. Vincent - “New York”

A few weeks ago, my aunt (who mostly attends Fleetwood Mac and Marshall Tucker Band concerts) and my sisters (who mostly attends Miranda Lambert and Kelsea Ballerini) somehow wound up going to a St. Vincent show together. They liked parts of it, but didn’t like others. (The fact that her “opening act” was the middling horror short she directed for the anthology film XX, for instance, was not well received.) And although they couldn’t remember the names of any of the songs they liked, I’m sure they liked “New York,” because I’m pretty sure it’s impossible to dislike “New York.”

19. Boy Harsher - “Motion”

You know that feeling you get when the blacklights sweep over skin as you’re on slinking your way through a German industrial dance club, on a mission to assassinate a double agent who crossed your secret government organization for the last time? Well, I guess I technically haven’t either. But I’ve listened to Boy Harsher’s song “Motion” so I basically have.

18. Chief Keef - “Can You Be My Friend”

2011 Taylor looks though the Future Sight Machine.

2011 Taylor: Chief Keef and Young Chop made one of the best songs of 2017? Nice! I’ll bet that’s one helluva headpunch of a drill track, right?

2017 Taylor: Actually, it’s a playful, romantic dancehall jam.

2011 Taylor’s monocle pops out.

17. Perfume Genius - “Slip Away”

You know how some songs can go from “I like this. This is good. This a good song,” to, “HOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS OH GOD WHAT YES THIS IS A MOTHERFUCKING SONG MOTHERFUCKERS,” in single pivot point? Well, “Slip Away” has the best pivot point of any song this year. If you’ve heard it you know exactly what I mean; if you haven’t, you will as soon as you do.

16. Amber Coffman - “No Coffee”

Even though I ranked other songs above it on this arbitrary and poorly defined list, I don’t think there’s been a song that’s made me happier this year than “No Coffee.” Though Amber made her name with vocal fireworks, her voice is still every bit the wonder in subtler, smoother settings like this. And when it’s paired with a chorus as utterly inescapable as this one, the result is pure contentment.

15. DJDS feat. Amber Mark and Marco McKinnis - “Trees On Fire”

After their album Stand Up And Speak left me cold, I was worried about DJDS’s transition from working with vocal samples to actually collaborating with singers. But after hearing the Jenga tower of R&B hooks and house shuffles that is “Trees On Fire” (and that Charlie Wilson collab from last year) consider any fears I had to be wholly dispelled.

14. Dirty Projectors - “Little Bubble”

There was no more aptly named song this year than “Little Bubble” a perfect, self-contained miniature nestled in the center of Dirty Projectors’ deeply petty and fitfully brilliant self-titled album. While most of that record revels in deeply specific personal detail, “Little Bubble” touches on something more abstract, the ultimate impermanence of all things, no matter if it’s a shadow, a relationship, or (as the video suggests) man’s place on earth. It’s all just a little bubble, for a while.

13. MUNA - “I Know A Place”

Dancing to pop music at a club is often used in films and television as visual shorthand for carefree joy, the sort of thing that people to celebrate happiness and success. But in the real world, it’s just as often something that people do to escape the troubles and fears that burden them. MUNA’s “I Know A Place” is expressed about that experience, dancing yourself free from whatever inescapably looms in the daylight. The result is uncanny: a joyful pop song that’s also a shoulder to cry on.

12. Lydia Ainsworth - “The Road”

Sometimes when I write these things, I hope that I can come up with some sort of perfect three-or-four-word summation of a song or album. But sometimes I encounter a description so perfect that there’s no need for me to even try. So, mad props to Lydia Ainsworth’s friend who described this song as “a marriage of Enya and The Weeknd.” As soon as I read that, I threw in the towel.

11. Cardi B - “Bodak Yellow”

If this list were based solely on which song I rapped along with the most during my commute, we all know what song would be #1. If this list were based solely on how dramatically a song increases the hype of any party that it’s played at, we all know what song would be #1. If this list were based solely on how likely a song was to come up in any given conversation I had this year, we all know what song would be #1.

…wait…

Did I just completely invalidate this list?

10. The National - “The System Only Dreams In Total Darkness”

Six notes. That’s all it took to announce that this was new kind of The National song. Sure, all of their hallmarks were there (Matt Berninger’s rich baritone, swelling strings, their brooding rhythm section) but there were also those six notes, a quick electric guitar riff, like an engine desperately trying to turn over. And when it finally does and Aaron Dessner rips into a massive solo midway through, the mold is shattered forever. “We’re in a different kind of thing now,” indeed.

9. Miya Folick - “Give It To Me”

On this list last year, I said that Mitski’s “Your Best American Girl” was the best soft-loud rock song ever written, so be aware of the import that the next sentence holds: Miya Folick’s “Give It To Me” should be the lead in to “Your Best American Girl” on your next mixtape.

8. Posse - “Horse Blanket”

The title track from Posse’s final album is a glorious contradiction: a slacker rock epic. A towering, laconic achievement for people who hate achievement, with ringing guitars that echo to infinity and dead pan vocals drifting through a duet. Then as the whole thing ambles aimlessly up the mountain, the guitar solo starts. And then the other guitar solo starts. And the whole thing tumbles toward nirvana.

7. Lorde - “Green Light”

A few years ago, I once jokingly handed out The Lorde Memorial Award For Most Infuriating Reaction™, to artists that I thought were fine, but that everyone else needed to just chill out about. While I still stand by that evaluation of the award winners (Are you still hyped about Raury?) I have come here to officially announce that I’ve changed my tune about the award’s namesake. Oh and also to say that “Green Light” is a delightful romp of a song.

PS: Clicking that Raury link will also let you travel back to a time when I had to explain who the Chainsmokers were before I railed at length about how much they sucked. Simpler times.

6. Haim - “Want You Back”

“Want You Back” aka the exact moment that Haim’s blend of 1970s soft rock and 1990s R&B finally (FINALLY) hooked TWG and he finally chilled out and finally got on the same page that like 99.9% of cool humans on the planet have been on for, like, y-e-a-r-s at this point.

5. The War On Drugs - “Strangest Thing”

Adam Granduciel’s m.o. as The War On Drugs has always been to take the classic rock of Bruce Springsteen and Tom Petty and smear it across the cosmos.

“Strangest Thing” is when the whole thing goes supernova.

4. Migos feat. 2 Chainz - “Deadz”

Man, remember when Migos made fun, disposable, chintzy music that evaporated from your brain the minute it ended? Who would have ever thought that they’d eventually wind up making rap music that’s approximately a billion times more grandiose, baroque, and bombastic than their early recordings? Or that it would somehow also be about a million times more fun than anything they’d ever made before? It’s enough to make everything they made before this year seem like juvenalia.

3. Carly Rae Jepsen - “Cut To The Feeling”

How great is it that we’re just going to spend the next decade getting cast offs from the best pure pop album of the century, and then people are going to ask why they weren’t included on the album, and CRJ’s just gonna keep giving explanations that all kinda sound like “because it was too good…?” See you guys next year when some other terrible French animated movie snags a piece of undiluted pop gold for its soundtrack!

2. Creek Boyz - “With My Team”

A while ago, I had a conversation with a fellow student at my grad school about how his pick for the best movie ever is Forrest Gump. His rationale was that that film makes you feel every emotion at one time or another. Although I remain unpersuaded that Forrest Gump is the greatest film ever made, I do think he has a pretty good definition for great art. And “With My Team” does it one better. It doesn’t just make you feel the entire spectrum of emotions one by one; it gives you every single one at the same time. The joy of friendship. The sting of loss. Anger and resignation and resiliency. But the real secret of the song is this: those emotions hit so hard by the fact that the song is about sharing them. Humans are inherently social creatures and the only way that we can survive is by sharing them with our friends, with our family, with our team.

1. Charli XCX - “Boys”

Why didn’t a get around to listening to a bunch of major albums?

I was busy thinkin’ ‘bout “Boys.”

Why did I forget to pay my gas bill in December?

I was busy thinkin’ ‘bout “Boys.”

Why isn’t my master’s thesis in better shape?

I was busy thinkin’ ‘bout “Boys.”

What was I doing at any given point this year?

I was busy thinkin’ ‘bout “Boys.”

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