long fingers

Your eyes were glazed over as you hummed along to whatever song your friends had put on, peering through the smoke filled room you spotted a face that you’d never seen before. “Who’s that?” You nudged your best friend. She explained in between bong hits that he was a friend of her boyfriend’s, someone from his work. “Is it the pot or is he literally the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen?" 

 "It’s the pot.” Your bestfriend snorted, but you were positive that it wasn’t the pot. He ran his hand threw his blonde hair and sipped from a bottle of beer. His long fingers wrapping around the bottle with ease, you could see him fiddling with the ring on his pinky finger.

 "God y/N, take a picture for fucks sake it’ll last longer!“ Your bestfriends drunk boyfriend hollered from across the room, the blondes head turned towards yours and you wished that the smoke could hide the evident blush on your cheeks 

 "Shit..shit shit shit..” You mumbled as he started walking over towards you, the baggy tshirt he was wearing, hanging off his broad shoulders billowed as he walked. He said nothing, he simply smirked and took a seat next to you, leaning back on his hands and putting the empty beer bottle on the table beside him. You noticed the joint behind his head and smiled to yourself. Without warning his hand was on your thigh and he was leaning in towards you, you could smell the cigarette smoke radiating off of him. His hot breath hitting your neck, making you twitch. 

 "Got a light princess?“ He whispered, you fumbled with your purse and pulled out your favourite blue lighter. 

 "My lucky lighter, don’t bust it.” You warned and he chuckled, his laugh rough and raspy from all the smoking you guessed.

 "Wouldn’t dream of it sweet cheeks.“ He took the joint out from behind his ear and stuck it in between his perfect pink lips. "I’m Luke by the way.” He spoke with the joint still in mouth, he lit it finally and inhaled, blowing the smoke up to the ceiling. “And you’re Y/N. The one who wanted a picture of me if I’m not mistaken.” He said and took another hit. 

 "I-uh-“ you stuttered and he raised his eyebrow at you. 

"Well?” He shot you a cocky grin and handed you the joint. 

 "I was just staring cause I’ve never seen you at one of these things before.“ You lied and he hummed, you looked up into his blue eyes, his were pupils extremely dilated. 

 "Whatever you say baby.” You were too high to protest against the pet names he was giving you. You just started to laugh, watching him raise his eyebrows at you. 

 "Do you get your eyebrows waxed?“ You giggled even more and he just stared at you. "Cause I totally need the number of the place you feel them done at.” Your giggled turned into a full on belly laugh, eventually he joined in and crushed the joint under his boot. 

 "If you must know, my friend does them for me. Just the middle so I don’t have a unibrow!!“ He protested, only making you laugh more. "Stop laughing.” He pouted and nudged you. 

 "Oh shit I have to go, I have work tomorrow!“ You checked your phone and sprung up from the floor. “Lighter please Luke.” You stuck your hand out and instead of the familiar blue lighter there was an orange one with a phone number on it. 

“I quite like this lighter and obviously this lucky lighter worked, because you met me…so how about we trade? I know you’ll want it back so that way you’ll just have to see me again.” He smirked and lit a cigarette. 

 “Well played blondie…well played.”

“Until next time angel.” 

hiiii I felt like participating tonight :’))  (for  defcliff0rd and wanksclifford roommate!5sos/stoner!5sos blurb night)

What Holmes and Watson say about each other’s looks. Compliments ahead.

The Retired Colourman - Holmes about Watson: With your natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helper and accomplice

Here we go: Holmes compliments Watson on his looks.

The Read-Headed League – Watson about Holmes: All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound […]

Also: Watson once admires aquiline features. Guess who else has them?

The Man With The Twisted Lip – Watson about Holmes: In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features.

These quotes does not need explaining.

Anybody still wants to tell me that they were never attracted to each other in the books?

A creature walked into Amaimon’s house and started down at him. He was really tall, had long arms, long fingers and long legs. On the surface it looked like he was a shadow but underneath he was solid. It stared at Amaimon and tilted its head.

“…Can I help you?” he asked, lowering his fake glasses slightly and inspecting the creature.

anonymous asked:

obviously fingers as long as legs i mean you can carry like 10 dogs and grab more chips with those

Oh didn’t even think of it like that! My legs are quite long tho so would look a tan weird 😂😂

Pearlmethyst fic: Just Breathe

Note: The beginning is set directly after the events of On the Run.

Did I say that I need you?

Did I say that I want you?

Oh if I didn’t I’m a fool you see

No one knows this more than me

           -Just Breathe, Willie Nelson

           The two of you hadn’t actually held hands in a long time. You hadn’t quite noticed until now. Well, you had noticed but never before had the thought hit you so hard your chest hurt and your eyes tingled as they did right before you are about to cry.

           The pressure of her hand on yours is light. You can remember a time when those long fingers intertwined with yours. Now they simply hold you loosely. You look up at her. She looks down. Smiles. You smile. Her grip tightens. Your heart soars.


           When you get back home no one knows quite what to do. You let go of both their hands slowly, but you don’t really want to. You don’t want to have to go back to your room and lay there, with that opened can of worms, too late to close, infesting you.

           Everything is quiet before Steven speaks up. “We should watch a movie.” He’s smiling.

           “I don’t know. It’s going to be your bedtime very soon Steven,” Pearl says.

           “Pleeeeaaase,” Steven begs.

           Pearl looks over at you. You feel taken away for a second by the fact that she would look to you for an answer. “Sounds fine to me,” you say. “Just today though,” this time directed at Steven.

           “Yes! Amethyst come pick out a movie with me,” Steven says, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you upstairs to his bedroom. Steven pulls out his DVD collection and you can hear Pearl making popcorn in the kitchen. The two of you go through the movies and you try and offer input, but in reality you don’t really care what you watch and end up agreeing to Steven’s preferred choice. Pearl comes upstairs with the popcorn and you start the movie. Each of them is sitting on either side of you. It feels pretty good. Not great, not yet, but good.

           About halfway through, Steven leans his head on your shoulder. You feel as if you could sob.


           When the movie ends Pearl scoops Steven up from his position sleeping against you and lays him down in bed. You watch her as she pulls the duvet up against him and runs her hand through his curls. It is such an easy loving gesture.

           You both go down stairs and before you leave to your room Pearl stops you. You see worry in her eyes. You’re not sure whether you want the attention or not. On one hand it was attention, on the other it was just a constant reminder of weakness. “Will you be okay?” she whispers.

           You act strong. “Yeah. Why not?”

           She looks at you and you know she doesn’t believe you but she lets you go anyways. You wonder if you should have just said no.


           In the middle of the night she finds you, hidden, sobbing. You wonder how she found you. You’ve cried before and no one has heard you, no one would. Maybe she came looking for you for something. Maybe she just knew.

           She picks you up in her arms and sits you down in her lap. She holds you with those thin arms; thin but strong enough to pick you up. She just holds you as you sob into her neck and hair.

           Not a word is exchanged.


           She looks so broken and distraught.

           The moment she and Garnet had unfused, you noticed the tears in her eyes.

           “Don’t cry Pearl,” Garnet had said as she walked away, Steven following not far behind.

           You stood back to make sure Pearl is going too. Instead you were met with the sight of her sobbing. It was messy and hiccup filled and it made you hurt to see her so broken.

           You let her cry for a little bit, just watching.

           She then turned to you, wiping her eyes, and said in a broken smile, “Lets go get Peridot!”

           You stared for a few seconds. Then you pulled your whip out of your gem. “Okay.”

           The two of you ran to catch up with Garnet and Steven and you considered taking her hand. But you didn’t.

           And now that you are all back home, Garnet off in her room and Pearl cleaning the dishes. You watch her while eating at the kitchen counter, Steven right next to you.

           To some degree you wonder what Steven thinks of this all, seeing his mothers fight like this. Seeing Pearl so broken. She was supposed to be the role model. But then again you had let Steven see nasty parts of yourself and he had accepted and hugged you just the same.

           Once Pearl finished washing the dishes she said she was going to go tinker with Peridot’s pod and see if there was a way she could track her without the warps. She disappeared into her room. You follow.

           You go from your room, through one of the puddles on the floor, to Pearl’s room.

           You find her crying.

           When she sees you she is bewildered, a blushing mess. She probably didn’t want to be caught crying. Not again.

           You want to be there for her as she had been, has always been, there for you. You lean back on your heels, shrugging slightly, not meeting her eyes, as you open your arms up. She launches into your embrace.

           Her grip is strong and you can feel her shoulders heaving with each sob. Her hands tangle in your hair and you wonder if you should just tell her. Right there and then, after all these years.

           “Oh Amethyst,” she whispers over and over. “Amethyst, Amethyst, Amethyst.”

You stroke her hair. “Shhh. I got you P. I got you.”

           You’re a fool for not telling her.


The Talk

Dawn and Marianne sat on the edge of Dawn’s bed in her room full of sunshine. Dawn was clearly nervous as she sat there twisting her long, delicate fingers. Dawn being nervous did not happen often and that made Marianne a bit worried.

Dawn took a deep breath and finally whispered as if the walls had ears, “I wanted to ask you about…you know…”

Marianne raised an eyebrow at her sister. “I know?”

Dawn nodded vigorously, “Yeah, you know..” Her eyes got really huge and bright as she tried to communicate what she meant through just staring at her sister.

“Okay Dawn I must be suffering from a bad case of ‘I have no idea what you are talking about’…just tell me!”

Dawn blushed so red that she thought for a moment maybe Dawn had a fever.
“I wanted to ask you about…the..thing.”

Marianne stared at her sister until she finally understood. “OooOh! Sex!”
Dawn squealed and smacked her hands to her cheeks as if she were trying to hide and hissed.

“Yes. I keep thinking that Sunny and I are…well…you know…getting ready..but I…I need help! I don’t know what to do!!”

Marianne snorted a laugh and Dawn smacked her on the arm.
“Marianne!!! I’m serious!!”

Marianne grinned pressing her lips together to try not to laugh.
“Sorry. So what do you want to know?”

Dawn’s eyes became even bigger which Marianne found to be impressive.
“I don’t know! I know the mechanics but…”

Marianne smiled at her little sister.
“Dawn don’t worry about it. You love Sunny right? Then just let things happen naturally. You know how it works? Well, let everything else just happen.”

Dawn chewed on her bottom lip. She still looked concerned but Marianne pulled her into a hug. “Dawn, when you’re ready, it will feel right. Don’t rush it. I promise Sunny is nervous too, but you both don’t have to be in any sort of hurry.”

Dawn hugged her sister back.

“ Thanks. I love you Marianne.”

Marianne hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her sisters head. “I love you too even if you drive me crazy.”

«[Joshua’s] long fingered hands swept gracefully over the keys when [Rose] could see them, and she almost stopped breathing at the thought of those hands playing her like they played that piano, with delicacy and loving precision.

He came to the end of the song and she thought to say something, but his fingers never stilled. He played a modulating chord, a short chromatic run, two more chords, and then drifted into something she didn’t recognize. It sounded, all the same, like an apology in music, and she crept closer just to see if she could understand.

“I’m just making it up as I go along,” he said, softly. So he knew she was there, after all. […] “Can’t find anything that rhymes with ‘stupid’.”

“How about 'I won’t do it again’?” she suggested.

“Well, it doesn’t rhyme, but it’s true.” His hands stilled. Then he reached over, closed the piano lid, and turned to look at her. “I am so sorry.”»

- Never Quite Normal, by JessaLRynn & JabberWhoKey (Chap.11)

Chapter II: Home is Where the Heart Is

With one slender, long-nailed finger, the mage persuaded his spoon to gently stir the cup of tea resting only inches away from him on the burnished oak table he was leaning on. He gracefully furled his fingers around the porcelain handle and brought the vessel to his lips while his smouldering eyes fixated on the placid ambiance of the woods outside the nearby window. It was a modest, but beautiful homestead his brother had built only a few hundred trees away from the quiet Elrendar river. A fine tribute to what the Emberfell estate once was- it’s predecessor’s remains lost in the atrocity of what remained the dead scar. Felo'thore leaned closer to the window, studying the metal emblem on the curtain chain he was sure his father had forged. Was it too soon for him to have returned?

The Emberfells were once a prosperous house from which blossomed some of Quel'thala’s finest skilled tradesmen. Its prosperity waned with every war, for a merchant house, no matter how prestigious, could not be exempt from the draft. Faced with repeated tragedy, the name Emberfell became worth little more than the fine weapons it’s last remaining heir could forge. Rhandelen Emberfell was the last thread of the family’s lineage. It was a house no longer after he married the Silvermoon Spellbreaker, Selea Ashalanar, and her family disowned her for doing so. She was to be betrothed to a noble man, but instead she acted on her heart’s desire for the talented Emberfell blacksmith. In year 524, Selea took a leave from her position in guard to bear Rhandelen twin sons who would go on to survive the fall of Quel'thalas, while their parents, sadly, would not. A talented mage and a steadfast warrior were left with little to understand about a name that held no status or meaning anymore after the scourge invasion.

Felo'thore ran his thumb over the emblem’s surface, flakes of earth still present in the tiniest crevasses of the design. A letter “E” carved in a decorative typeface was embossed with the fingers of a stylized flame. It was the same emblem that appeared embossed into every item an Emberfell crafted and it was definitely his father’s work. The man had an unmistakable style. The artifact peaked the mage’s curiosity, causing him to stand up and decide to search the rest of the house for more nostalgia. Thordemar had been deployed and Felo'Thore was reluctantly allowed to stay and care for the warrior’s quiet dwelling in the woods. The mage was willing to make an opportunity out of the situation as his stoic composure would not be threatened by his sibling’s pressing judgement.

The bottom of his robes fluttered as he pressed slowly through the hallway. What looked to be Thordemar’s artwork cluttered the walls. Imagery of plants and various creatures graced the wrapped canvases and pinned parchments, splashed about the wall in a bulletin fashion. Several blueprints and concept drawings for shields plastered a sizable swatch of wall. Gorgeous arches and curves and little mathematical notes littered each one. There was also quite a sizable swath of portraiture on the wall. One drawing, half covered, caught his eye and upon lifting it’s covering, the mage’s sharp lips pressed together. It was a very intimate portrait of a Sin'dorei woman which brought about a minute-long wide-eyed stare from Felo'Thore. The mage lowered the above covering and moved onward. “Well then, Thor. Impressive,” he said with a flurry of eye-blinking, having never expected that from his reserved brother. The mage chuckled a bit to himself as he sauntered into the modest parlor.

Clicking his heels once, he vanished from the spot he stood and reappeared in front of the hearth, which had been constructed with careful hand-masonry. Eye-level with the shelf above it, Felo'Thore studied the several pieces of fine blacksmithing Thor had appeared to be collecting. With two fingers, he swiftly motioned a beautiful hilt piece from it’s resting place, and he levitated it close to him- rotating it to see all of it’s angles. It looked to have been a work in progress as the leather braiding on the handle was only a quarter finished. Was that…..his? The memory flooded the mage’s mind but did not affect his stern composure. He released the levitation and allowed the piece to drop in to his soft palm. It came to him now. It was one of the first pieces he ever made in blacksmithing training with his father. Felo'thore’s gaze averted from the object in his hand to the one that had been placed next to it on the shelf. With his free hand, he motioned it forward as well, floating carefully into his grasp. It was also a forged hilt piece, but this one was finished and embellished with finely carved details, projecting through the metal as antlers would from a stag. The mage’s memory could not deny it was in fact Thordemar’s piece. Felo'thore held the two sword hilts together, one attempted at best and the other, above and beyond expectation, was a stark reminder of the men’s contrasting interests in life. He was not envious nor jealous of his brother’s ability to regurgitate their father’s fine work. The mage had long ago accepted that his talents lay in other ways of manipulating the flame. Felo'Thore placed both pieces back upon the shelf, a tiny hint of a grin creasing his sharp lips. He held his attention to the piece he had unfinished so long ago and muttered, “Why would you keep that thing, brother? I was so terrible at it.”

Felo'Thore turned himself, acknowledging the portrait of the late king on the wall he had observed his first night there and he proceeded to the stairs. They were a work of art themselves, each lip decoratively carved with foliage native to the land. A sense of pride filled his chest and it spilled into his face as he ascended each platform. Reaching the top, his expression fell flat with uncertainty and temptation. Aside from a small table with a lantern on it, the only thing in front of him was an oak door with the words, “STAY OUT. This means YOU!” and a little drawing of a face scribbled onto a parchment nailed into the door’s surface. The face was an unmistakable caricature of Felo'Thore. The mage scoffed for a moment, narrowing his eyes at the drawing’s exaggeratedly pointy nose. It had been eleven years since he last saw Thordemar, and sixty since he last knew the man. His curiosity overshadowed any fear of Thordemar finding out he had taken a peek. Just a peek, nothing more. Placing a lanky hand on the steel doorknob, Felo'Thore pressed onward. The door was unlocked, perhaps his brother knew he would snoop anyway. After all, had the situation been opposite, Felo'Thore was certain Thordemar wouldn’t think twice about it either.

The bedroom that Felo'Thore stood in was open, spacious, and seemed to extend to the perimeter of the ground floor, which was sizable for a loft. Rays of sun filtered by the leaves tumbled through the two windows, illuminating the room with warm light. There was a bed, sheets left unmade, and a short dresser carved from a trunk of an eversong oak. On the other end of the room, there was a bulging closet, which seamed to be in a bit of disarray. Save for a few decorative armor pieces resting on a shelf and nearby mannequin, it appeared as though the rest of Thordemar’s armory was kept somewhere else.

Felo'Thore stepped closer to the dresser, to study the items strewed about on top of it. A fine-sable brush rested next to several hair ornaments both simple and decorative, with a large mirror held to the wall in front of them. A dusty leather-jacketed book lied adjacent. The mage flipped open its cover, discovering some personal ramblings and drawings in it’s first few pages. He quickly closed it and turned away. Felo'Thore was nosy but he wasn’t low enough to snoop through a diary of some sorts. He moved away from the dresser and spent some time walking around the bedroom, admiring things it seemed Thordemar cherished. Was that?–It was! The mage ran his long-nailed fingers over the ornate metal decorating what was his father’s mantle. The ornamental shoulder pieces were polished and treated as if they had been worn recently, a deep crimson cloak tumbled from underneath of them. His father was a burly man, and there was no way the mage’s slender shoulders would ever fit them properly. Nonetheless, it brought Felo'Thore some comfort in seeing Thodemar had made use and preserved them.

After several minutes of admiring what Thordemar’s room had to hold, the mage made his way out, closing the door behind him and making his way back down the steps. He was positive there were more hidden treasures he didn’t know about littered throughout the house, but the few he found had already inspired his interest in his family’s role in weaponry production in Quel'Thalas. Felo'Thore stepped outside, his eyes closing briefly with an inhale of the forest’s atmosphere. He plotted gingerly away from the doorstep and admired the exterior of Thordemar’s woodland home. The mage brought his hands to his chest and spoke to the building, “Why, brother? Why do you conceal such talent?….What have you to hide?” Felo'Thore’s expression quickly grew into a frustrated one, casting his feelings onto the building as if Thordemar was standing there. Felo'Thore understood little about why his brother seemed to bury any value of the family name with their parents. The man was incredibly talented and yet, he didn’t seem to value it more than a hobby to keep him busy off the battlefield.

Felo'Thore tossed his hair with a flick of his wrist and drew an oval shape in the air from which light burst seconds after. “If you will not put our emblem back on the finest weaponry in Quel'Thalas, than I will!” Out from the portal of light, stepped a radiant purple paw, followed by the hulking lustrous form of an armored leopard, glittering with arcane radiance. Felo'Thore clicked his heels twice, vanishing and reappearing into the saddle on it’s back, with both of his legs tucked to one side. “To Silvermoon!” he vocalized theatrically with the wave of his clawed hand. The spectral beast let out a low rumble from it’s chest and surged forward, the mage’s robe fluttering with it’s canter. He was off to find out if there was anything the city could bring to light about how forgotten his family’s craft had become.

Get Fingered Now!

The first thing people ask me when they see me is “whats it like to be an american?” and my response is usually “how about i hold you down and spit on your face to show you!”.

and that my friends brings us to Fingered, a nugget of a little turd turtle headed with love and the best intentions by two guys who arent huge fans of people.

Fingered is a lot of things, so ill tell you what its not to clear up any confusion.

- its not the binding of isaac

- its not super meat boy

- it not grape soda

- its not some tiny bug head with the body of a sour dough roll

- it not more than a hand full of quarters

- and its definitely not something you can live without

so get fingered on steam now, for  $1.87! (cheap)

get your friends fingered, they will thank you, give you favors for favors, kiss your ass and face it.. if you dont, they will probably make fun of you and defriend you on all social media (peer pressure) 


- boring info section for press -

Fingered was made by myself and james id, features the music of ridiculon and narration/screams/moans by matthias bossi. the game was made over the course of a few months with the humble goal of creating a living breathing work of art that would unite the people of the world and make us gods.

if you want more info on fingered or would like to get in touch with us for whatever reason email me at edmund at super meat boy dot com! 




as some of you know fingered is a smaller game and a smaller game calls for less music… but thats not how ridiculon rolls!

no no no, see matthias and jon saw this 2 track game situation as an opportunity to create a whole album inspired by the game itself! why the hell didnt we just put these new tracks i the game you say!? because no one asked us that till just now!

heres some info from the horse himself!

All hail! Never before has your gaming experience been so lushly accompanied. If you like slow, fast, sad, rainy, sour, unsettling, restrained, cinematic landscapes, then look no further than the Fingered OST!

Thanks to Ed and James for their enthusiasm and total commitment to wrongness. As always, there is a bonus track for those willing to pay a bit more. You will enjoy a nearly 8 minute bonus masterpiece IF YOU PAY $1.49 NOW for this soundtrack! Ed McMillen wrote the lyrics for the bonus, and it’s sung by the legendary Chandler Travis. Thanks favorite people on the Earth! Get weird with it! 

you can buy the whole damn soundtrack on their bandcamp page.

do it!

bye bye