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sinsmockingbird · 30 days

Note

Speaking about attires, any thoughts on Zoya's Supreme Negotiation attire, Cinnabar's Courteous Call attire and Chelsea's Moonlight Rendezvous attire (separately) would be strongly appreciated... You know it starts so fancy and ends up so steamy and delightful 🤭

LOOK SO GOOD | Zoya (Supreme Negotiation), Cinnabar (Courteous Call), Chelsea (Moonlight Rendezvous)

PAIRING: Zoya x Afab!Reader, Cinnabar x Afab!Reader, Chelsea x Afab!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut, NSFW, Sub!Reader, Dom!Reader(s), Sub!Character(s), Dom!Character, Trans!Zoya, Jealousy (Zoya), Marking (Zoya), Rough Fucking (Zoya), Grinding (Cinnabar), Dry Humping (Cinnabar), Clothed Sex (Cinnabar), Cunnilingus (Chelsea), Begging (Chelsea)

AUTHORS NOTE: Oh, I have many thoughts on those three's attires. So much so that please enjoy these free mini fics on them.

�� ZOYA (Supreme Negotiation)

IT WAS rare for you to ever accompany Zoya to any sort of negotiation, but this time was different. It was being held at a lavish event, and with your experience with the elites, your girlfriend thought it would be good to have you there and charm the people the Legion were negotiating with. You had accepted without a second thought, not expecting that going would lead to this situation.

"Z-Zoya, please-!" You tried, but were quickly cut off by the woman slamming her lips against yours, silencing you while keeping you pinned against the round table that had just held over 20 people.

"Fucking hate elitists, thinking they can have what's mine," Zoya growled, while pushing her cock into you without much warning, causing you to throw your head back and let out a cry of pleasure mixed with pain.

Seeing some stuck-up older guy flirting and touching you during the negotiations set something off in Zoya. She had ended everything prematurely, ushering everyone out of the room before slamming the door closed and locking it. You hadn't been able to register what she was doing before she had you pinned.

"Zoya!" You threw your head back against the table, a broken moan falling from your lips as Zoya began to mark up your neck while fucking you nice and deep, her nails lightly digging into your thighs as she kept you perfectly spread out for her.

"You're mine! What do those fuckers think when they think they can have you!?" Zoya is ranting, her anger on full display while she thrusts her cock deeper and deeper into you, your walls tightening around her length making her grunt.

"Yours! I'm yours!" You sob, trying to reassure the angry woman, but the only way you were going to get her to calm down was letting her fuck her jealously out onto you and allow her to fill you up with her cum.

✧ CINNABAR (Courteous Call)

"MY HANDSOME Prince Charming," You cooed softly, leaning down to press tender kisses against the woman's face who was lying under you, looking dapper in the outfit she was wearing. She was your own personal prince at the moment.

Cinnabar flushed at your words, a small sound falling from her lips as she felt your knee press harder against her core through her pants. Her eyes were screwed shut, face contorted in embarrassment and pleasure as you encouraged her to grind down onto your knee/thigh.

"You're so pretty," You stated, running a hand through her short cropped hair, moving some of it out of her face, allowing you to see how red her face was. She really did look so enchanting like this, dressed like a prince and all for your eyes. "Come on, grind harder for me, darling."

"Y/N-" Cinnabar tried to mutter your name before stopping and shuddering as you pressed harder against her core. Her pussy throbbed with need, her underwear already soaked through with her arousal. Why did you have to look so enchanting yourself and tease her all night until you finally got home?

"Please, can you touch me?" Cinnabar begged, her voice so small as she looked up at you with pleading eyes, needing to feel your fingers or your mouth on her throbbing core instead of just grinding uselessly onto your thigh.

"If that's what my Prince wants... who am I to deny you?" You smiled, kissing her softly on the lips while your hands moved down to begin undoing her pants.

✧ CHELSEA (Moonlight Rendezvous)

WHEN YOU had gotten an invitation from Chelsea for a banquet she was hosting at her manor, you took it graciously. You had dressed up in your best dress, perfected your makeup, preparing yourself to be among the elites of DisCity, but you were shocked to find that you were at a banquet for two- the other person being none other than the woman who invited you.

"F-Fuck... come on, work that tongue of yours faster," Chelsea whined, a hand tangled in your now messy, undone hair, tugging at it while her perfectly manicured nails scraped against your scalp.

You looked up at her, on your knees between her legs, her tights torn and panties discarded, showing off her glistening pussy that you currently had your tongue shoved into. At her words, you stilled your tongue, making her whine and press her hips forward, seeking out your tongue.

"I didn't hear a please," You stated, pulling slightly away from in-between her legs, making her whine louder, and try to push your head back to the place it was previously.

"Y/N, come onnnn, don't do this to me!" Chelsea whined, pouting and looking down at you with pleading eyes. You knew how much it made Chelsea struggle when you'd stop or edge her in these moments.

You raised an eyebrow up at her, making her whimper while huffing in distaste, her nails digging into your scalp in annoyance, only making you wince in pain before you heard her begin to beg, "Please, Y/N! Please keep eating me out, I need your mouth on me!"

"Good girl," You smirk, before moving your head back between her legs and latching your mouth back onto her slick pussy.

ENDING NOTES: These were supposed to be purposefully short, but enjoy this little bit of content for these three.

#*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟsins writings #*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟsins inbox #path to nowhere #ptn smut #zoya #ptn!zoya #dom!zoya #zoya x reader #zoya x you #cinnabar #ptn!cinnabar #sub!cinnabar #cinnabar x reader #cinnabar x you #chelsea #ptn!chelsea #sub!chelsea #chelsea x reader #chelsea x you

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merakiui · 3 months

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[01] 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁.

villain!azul ashengrotto x magical girl!reader note - welcome to this very impulsive magical girl parody! i'm not sure how many chapters it will be exactly, but i'm looking forward to writing more. i hope you'll enjoy reading! chapter navigation: [01] (you are here) // [02]

Magic is a messy, complex thing.

It can enchant and amaze with beautiful, endless possibilities. It can terrify with traumatic results. Like any sort of power in this world, it is a heavy responsibility for those who wield it. Everything has its dark side; you’re sure the same holds true for magic. No matter how marvelous it may be, surely there exists some shadow.

It’s also something you can’t use, and so the good and the bad don’t really apply to you!

Not that this is cause for envy. Rather, you’re relieved you don’t have to worry about experiencing the problems that accompany magic. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is; magic would only further complicate it. With no other plausible way to return to your world, you’ve had to make your home here on Sage’s Island. It’s an isolated place, boasting two elite magical universities and a bustling town.

It also happens to resemble a chicken wing on maps, so that’s a plus. Truly an ideal getaway! If only you weren’t trapped here indefinitely… Maybe then you’d have better appreciation for it.

As it happens, you’re a janitor living in the abandoned, decrepit dorm on the outskirts of campus. It took a month since you moved in, but you’ve managed to clean it up into a habitable space with the help of its resident haunts. The Headmage hasn’t been very helpful or present since your arrival, and so you’ve had to make do with what little you’ve been given. But for all of his troubling qualities, he isn’t inherently cruel. He’s kind enough to pay you for your services (but then that was only after you threatened him into an agreement), and he doesn’t overwork you (again, this is because you made it abundantly clear you won’t do anything if it violates your own sanity in some way, shape, or form). At least he’s willing to negotiate every time you argue for humane working conditions.

He’s an irksome guy. You can’t believe he has the gall to call himself the ‘embodiment of magnanimity’ when he’s done the bare minimum. Even the ghosts have offered more assistance and they don’t have any sort of authority here! You’re pleased to share a space with them. Sometimes they seem more reliable than the Headmage.

Despite your attempts to acclimate, the illustrious Night Raven College is still a place wholly unsuitable for a magicless human such as yourself. You’re the same age as some of the students here, but they feel like they’re on another level. Flying overhead on brooms, casting spells, mixing up potions… You listen in on some of their conversations while washing windows or sweeping the floors and wonder if all magic schools are this rigorous.

Maybe that’s any school regardless of its curriculum. Any sort of academic pursuit comes with difficulties; that’s normal. But magic is a facet unique to this world. There aren’t any arcane academies where you’re from, but now you wish there were. They seem so fascinating.

“Not much of my problem, though, is it?” you mumble, shaking free of that thought. Being a janitor is great. You can avoid the stress of school and keep up with the gossip exchanged in the halls. It’s like reading the newspaper, only it’s spoken instead of written.

Morning spills through the part in the curtains when you open them. You shut your eyes and bask in the warming glow of a sunshine smooch. It’s going to be another great day—you’re sure of this—and a day as pleasant as this deserves to be lived in its entirety. Perhaps you’ll have a picnic outside or you could even—

BAM.

Your eyes snap open just in time to view the raven who’s slammed itself against the window. Disoriented, it jerks itself up and away from the glass, flapping its wings wildly. You watch its attempts with a pitying frown. And then, inching closer to pull the window open to allow the raven respite, you see it: the blue flames racing towards you at a rapid speed.

With a yelp, you dive out of the way just in time. Due to the forceful blast, the window shatters in a spray of glass. Heat licks at your face, so hot it almost singes your brows, and you stumble to the other side of the room in a panicked daze.

“You lousy bird!” someone exclaims, the words pronounced in a growl. “Get back here so I can nab ya and prove that I’m worthy of bein’ at this school!”

The raven squawks, fluttering wildly about your room. A sleek, obsidian-colored feather floats into your hand. You don’t have time to admire it, for the curtains have just caught fire.

“Come on—I just put those up last week!” you bemoan, looking on in abject horror.

From the opening, a furry creature bursts through. He resembles a grey cat with his short, fluffy stature, but his tail is shaped strangely and there’s blue fire flickering from his ears. The same blue fire he’s currently conjuring in an attempt to catch the raven…

You grab hold of the coat rack—the nearest viable weapon you can think of—and jump in front of him. He startles and leaps back when you swing.

“What’re you doing?! You can’t do that in here! Fuck—my curtains! Don’t light anything else on fire!”

Baffled, the cat-creature scoffs at you. “How was I supposed to know someone’s livin’ in here? Not my fault!”

“It’s a residence! Of course someone lives here! I live here!”

“When they make me the Great Mage Grim, I’ll fix this place up for ya. That’s a promise! I just gotta catch that bird and prove myself a worthy candidate. Just you wait—they’ll be puttin’ my name up in lights!”

“Like hell they will!”

With a devastated groan, you whack the curtains down with the coat rack. They land in a heap, smoke curling from beneath the pile and sliding out the shattered window in dark, wispy tendrils. It takes a frazzled few stomps and smacks before the fire fizzles away, leaving you with charred curtains and the distinct stench of something scorched.

Still panting from the adrenaline rush, you loosen your grip on the coat rack. This is a mess. What am I going to do? I don’t have enough money to fix this!

You turn your hateful scowl on the cat-creature. “You!”

“W-Wait! Wait!” He raises a paw to his lips and gestures towards your bedside table. The raven sits perched, a golden chain wrapped around its neck and an envelope clasped in its beak. In all of the chaos, you must have missed that. “Don’t say a word. It’s right there.”

He approaches stealthily, slow as a sloth, and pounces. He misses narrowly, ending up with a mouthful of feathers instead. The raven caws and takes flight, circling overhead.

He spits feathers. “Myahaha! I got it! I actually—oh. Dumb bird… No one can escape the Great Grim.”

The raven lands on your shoulder next. It cocks its head at you.

“What? Is this for me?” you ask, even though you’re certain of the answer. You pluck the envelope from the raven, who sets to preening itself now that it’s no longer occupied.

“Give it here!” The cat-creature hops up onto your bed, reaching with an expectant paw. “That bird’s got my admission letter!”

“Your letter?” You hold it out of reach and stick your tongue out at him. “No ‘great mage’ sets someone’s home on fire. You’re a subpar mage, if anything.”

“I am not! You just wait—I’ll show you!”

“I don’t want to see anymore.” Turning away, you break the wax seal and procure the parchment waiting within.

He swipes at you impatiently. “Lemme see! What’s it say?”

Written in elegant script, complete with a stamp you’ve never seen before, it looks very official. Whoever wrote it is exceptionally good at cursive, their letters swooping together seamlessly. It’s almost like a decorative artwork with its double-looped O’s and dancing cursive. You marvel at the craftsmanship, wishing your handwriting could look as refined as this person’s.

To whom it may concern, Greetings and congratulations on your admittance into the program! We recognize your outstanding achievements as a model student and believe you have what it takes to do wonderful things. It is with great pride that we bestow upon you a piece of magical history, referred to as The Tried-and-True Trident. You will find it enclosed in this letter.

You look up from the letter just as an aureate necklace lands in your palm. The raven blinks at you once before lifting itself off of your shoulder with a flap of its inky wings. It departs through the window, up into the cloudless, cerulean sky, in a flurry of feathers. There’s a tiny trident pendant hanging from the chain. It winks at you in the light, so shiny you think you might catch your reflection if you stare long enough. You’re not sure what part of it is tried or true, for it looks more like costume jewelry than anything. At least it’s cute. Kind of fashionable, even.

With this historic piece, you are now free to wield the wonders of the sea as you please. You are expected to use these powers to defend those you hold dear from the threat of tragedy. You should have met with your mentor already. If not, we shall send someone to escort you. We look forward to beholding your excellent heroics. Sincerely,

“Gimme that!”

Grim snatches the letter before you can glimpse the name signed at the bottom. The enchanted letter tears in two and then, before both of your eyes, it promptly disintegrates.

You eye the fuzzball with a fresh bout of vitriol. “What did you say your name was again?”

“It’s Grim—the Great Grim—and I promise ya as soon as I—”

“Good. Now I know what name to carve on your tombstone when I put you in the ground for ruining my letter!” You reach for the coat rack, expression ablaze with newfound ferocity.

Grim yelps and scurries away. “H-Hold on! I can fix it!”

“How? It’s ash!”

“Well, what did it say? I’m sure I can explain it to ya!”

“It said something about this necklace. The something-something trident. Protecting loved ones from tragedy. Admittance into some program. A mentor…”

“Mentor… Mentor! Yeah, that sounds about right!” Grim laughs proudly. “Aren’t you in luck, human! I’m gonna be your mentor.”

“Sure you are.” You rest your hand on your hip, brows raised. “The same cat who destroyed my window and curtains is gonna mentor me in whatever this is. Funny story.”

His jaw drops. “A-At least pretend like it’s cool! And I’m not a cat!” He hops off of your bed with a huff. “Ungrateful human. You’re undeserving of the Great Grim’s teaching anyways! I don’t need you!”

“Other way around.”

“You don’t need me!”

“There we go.” You applaud him sardonically. “Look, I don’t know what any of this is. I’m sure it was a mistake. I’m not even a student here.”

Grim, who had been on his way towards the door, halts. He turns to face you slowly. “Yer…not a student?”

“I work here. There’s no way for me to be enrolled here because I can’t use magic.”

“W-Wha—can’t use magic?! Then why did you get in, but I didn’t?!”

You can only shrug. The necklace twists idly when you hold it up for closer inspection. “So this thing is supposed to help me? Hey, Grim, do you know what this is?”

You lower to his height and hold your hand out. He watches you dubiously before approaching and leaning in to sniff at the chain.

“Smells fine to me. Kinda like wet metal.”

“I didn’t ask for a flavor profile.” You heave a tired sigh. The day’s only just begun and you’re already swamped with nonsense. “Maybe that Headmage knows something.”

Grim gasps. “You’re chummy with the Headmage? You think you could talk him into lettin’ me join?”

“Why do you even want in so badly?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a renowned mage! They should be begging me to join!”

Anyone could’ve sent that letter. It might not even be from the Headmage… If I knew the sender’s name, I could just track them down and ask them.

“You said you wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you?” You offer your hand again, this time to shake on it. “Become my mentor. That’ll show that Crowley you’re plenty capable. Then you can get into this school and I can find a way to return this necklace to its rightful owner.”

Grim folds his arms over his chest, avoiding your hand like it’s the plague. “And what’s in it for me? My services aren’t cheap, y’know!”

“You can live here with me. I’ll find ways to sneak you into the lecture halls if you wanna sit in and observe the class.”

“How about food?”

“Food is…” Nonexistent, really. That cheapskate Crowley! I’ve got to talk him into raising my pay. “I get paid at the end of this week. We’ll have to survive off of what’s in the fridge and the lunch I’m allowed to get from the cafeteria for now.”

Grim’s features soften. “Hm… I guess it’s not terrible. Could be better. But all great mages start from humble beginnings—including myself, but you’d never be able to guess!”

“Right…”

With how carelessly you tossed that fire around, you’re the last mage I should be partnering with.

“Do we have a deal, Grim? You’ll be my mentor and I’ll help you wherever I can.”

Grim places his paw in your palm, his chest puffed out. “You’d better start callin’ me Teacher!”

A smile strains on your lips. “Not happening.”

With a firm shake, your pact is made.

“So what spells do you know? Any that might be able to fix up a window and some curtains?”

“You don’t need those lame spells! The Great Grim can do plenty of other amazing feats.”

“Like?”

“Very amazing feats. Didn’t you hear me?”

“You don’t know anything, do you?”

Grim flinches, guilt flashing across his countenance.

“Is blue fire all you can summon?”

“I… I can do much more! This is just a fraction of my true power! If I had a magestone, this whole spell business would be a lot easier.”

“A magestone? Ah, those things the students have on their pens? I guess that would be helpful. Where can we get one, though?”

“I’d tell ya if I knew.”

“The library might know. If we head there now, we can spend the rest of the morning researching and then we can get lunch.” You reach to fasten the chain around your neck. It’s tucked under your shirt next, safe and sound. “Wait outside for a minute. I’ll change out of my pajamas, clean up the window, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Grim trots out the door without resistance. “I’ll grab a snack from the fridge while yer doin’ all that stuff.”

“One snack! Don’t eat everything!”

But he’s already bounding away, singing as he goes: “Free eats can’t be beat!” Sighing, you shut the door and turn to assess the state of your bedroom. It could be worse. Your bed could have been damaged, or you could have sustained quite the nasty burn.

One mess at a time.

You change into your uniform, which is really just a PE jumpsuit. The same one the students wear. This one has seen better days and it’s a size too big on you, but it’s all Crowley claimed to have on hand when you asked about work clothes. Once again, you soothe yourself with your favorite adage: It could be worse.

You could be homeless. You could be starving. You could be dead.

So it’s not so bad to wear the spare. It’s still got the dorm patch and class numbers sewn onto it, albeit both have worn considerably. Your eyes are drawn to them as you admire yourself in the mirror. Octavinelle Dorm… You’ve heard there are seven dormitories at this school, each based on a historical figure and representing the various spirits of these people. The sorting at the entrance ceremony was something special for the incoming first-years. You’d felt a little awkward to disturb such a grand occasion, even more so when the Dark Mirror announced to a hall full of talented mages that there isn’t an iota of magic in you.

Quite the humbling experience.

But sometimes you wonder which dorm the Dark Mirror would have chosen if your soul was bursting with magical capability.

As of now you’re a faux member of Octavinelle—whatever that implies.

By the time you’ve managed to sweep the glass, dispose of the ruined curtains, and patch the window with a temporary placeholder—what a relief for pasteboard and masking tape—Grim’s nearly through the few items left in your fridge. You yank him away just as he reaches for a container of leftovers.

“If you eat too much, you’ll spoil your lunch.”

“Can’t imagine that problem.”

“You sound so proud of your bottomless stomach.”

“And you’re not?”

You roll your eyes and tug your sneakers on. “Let’s be off.”

“How’re we gonna sneak me in?”

“How do you feel about becoming my temporary purse pet?”

Grim looks unimpressed when you hold your tote bag open for him. “No way!”

“It has lots of space and it’s stylish. Besides, shouldn’t your dedicated student pay proper respect to her great, glorious mentor?”

He doesn’t bother hiding his approving smirk. “Well, when ya put it like that…”

After Grim clambers into your bag, you lock the front door behind you and set off for campus.

“Please don’t blow our cover, Grim.”

From within the depths of your tote, he scoffs. “The Great Grim is the stealthiest mage you’ll ever meet!”

“I highly doubt that.”

It’s the second time you’ve found yourself in the library, but it’s still just as impressive as ever. You could spend hours here, wandering between shelves and skimming all sorts of tomes. Some of them are written in languages you can’t decipher, so you observe the pictures provided in hopes of gleaning any clues. Grim lounges on a chair beside you, absentmindedly turning through a thick textbook. You managed to find a relatively isolated corner in the very back and it’s not especially busy today. The promise of a hearty lunch keeps him well-behaved.

“Find anything?”

“Nothin’ important. Ugh. This stuff is the worst! Why can’t a magestone fall from the sky? That’d be a whole lot easier than this.”

“It sucks, yeah, but what else can we do?” You rest your face against your palm and scan through yet another page of information. “Let’s keep looking. I’m sure we’ll find something useful.”

“Nngh… I’m hungry.”

“You just ate.”

“That was hours ago!”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Feels like it.”

You lean back in your chair and stretch, listening to the satisfying snap of your joints as they crack into place. “Can you understand any of these words?”

“Most of ’em.”

You point to a specific place in the paragraph. “Can you tell me what this one means? I think I’ve got the general idea based on the graphics, but I could be wrong.”

Grim glances at it, his blue hues waltzing across the page. “It’s about merfolk.”

“Merfolk? They exist in this world?” And then you pause to gather your delayed thoughts. “Never mind. That would make sense.”

“What about ’em?”

“Where I’m from, merfolk aren’t real. They’re fiction.”

“Huh. A place without any merfolk… Bet they don’t have anyone like me either. I’m one of a kind!” Grim chuckles. “So where’re you from?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. You usher Grim under the table, who goes but not without protest. He ducks under just in time, hiding within the shadows. A student rounds the corner and stops short when he sees you. He’s holding a few books in his arms, each looking more heavy than the last.

“Ah,” the both of you say in unison.

He clears his throat and offers you a cordial nod. “I wasn’t aware someone had already claimed this corner.”

You eye him carefully. He looks familiar. Glasses. Silvery-grey hair. Blue eyes. Where have you seen him before?

“It’s all yours. I was just leaving.” You move to stand, but he steps closer.

He peers at the open textbook lying in front of you. A smile you can’t quite classify as friendly spreads on his lips. “Is that so? You seem especially engrossed in this book.”

“I like to stay educated.”

I genuinely can’t understand a word in this text.

“On the anatomy of merfolk?”

You shut your mouth at once. That’s what this is? No wonder the diagrams looked…unique. But you’re too committed to your story to falter now.

“Especially the anatomy of merfolk.”

The student chuckles, but it sounds hollow to your ears. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. You’re in Octavinelle?”

You gape at him like a fish out of water before realizing the jumpsuit and its patch. “Oh! Ohhh, no, not at all. This is an old uniform.”

He looks at you with more scrutiny until it clicks. “I remember now. You’re the magicless girl who so carelessly interrupted—ah, forgive me—fortuitously appeared during the entrance ceremony last month.”

What a little fake. You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly defensive. Now you’re made aware of who he is. He was one of the few in the audience during your awkward arrival. Back then, he was clad in a robe with his hood up and so you only caught sight of his glasses and the swoop of his silvery-grey hair peeking out. You’re certain this is the same guy. You could’ve said that without the backhanded barb.

“So my reputation precedes me.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I disagree. You’re still quite the mystery.”

“Well, there’s nothing to solve.” You rise from your seat, reaching for your bag. “I’m just a janitor trying to get by.”

He hums. You can’t decipher the meaning in that, but you don’t particularly care enough to drive yourself mad over it. You feel around on the chair for Grim. He was just here a moment ago…

You drop to your knees to check under the table. Your heart plummets into your stomach.

Grim, you had one job!

“Is something the matter?”

You pop up from beneath the table so fast that your head knocks into it. “Shit! Ow! Yeah, no, I’m fine. I thought I dropped my pencil.”

You scan the rest of the space as discreetly as you can. The student watches you. You don’t like the way he seems to stare through you as if intending to gain access to your very soul. As if he sees something you don’t.

“Have a wonderful day. Study hard. Pass your tests. Get—uh—the scholarship or whatever.”

Flashing him your most nonchalant grin, you make your way down the aisle at a pace that is the exact opposite of relaxed. There’s no time to dwell on that off-kilter exchange. You’ve got a runaway cat-creature in dire need of capture!

The one day I take off and it’s the day my window’s ruined, I get a weird letter, and my new roommate is missing. That’s horrible luck!

You walk briskly through the library, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. Grim couldn’t have gotten far. You were only distracted for a few minutes, and the library is huge. Perhaps he’s just lost and waiting in place for you to find him. For some reason you can’t fool yourself into believing this train of thought.

Your search takes you out of the library and down the hall. Where could he have possibly gone? Surely he didn’t make his way back to Ramshackle. You check the time on your watch. It’s almost lunch.

Lunch! Of course!

You hurry towards the cafeteria with rekindled purpose.

I’m going to start calling him Gluttonous Mage Grim if he makes this a habit!

Fortunately, Grim is predictable. You’ve only known him for a day—not even—but it’s not so difficult to pinpoint his location after you’ve worked out his motivations. Unfortunately, you make it to the cafeteria just as the grand chandelier falls from its support in the ceiling, crash-landing in a broken heap. And standing just feet away from the damage, looking very guilty, is Grim alongside two students you’ve never seen before. Crowley’s there as well, just as frazzled as the feathers on his coat. He’s in the middle of lecturing them about the importance of this relic—how it’s been with the school since it was founded and it’s an irreplaceable piece that would cost over a billion Madol to fix—when he takes notice of you.

“(Name), it’s devastating! A most heart-wrenching tragedy! Why, it’s enough to bring one to tears.”

“Seems so…” You shoot Grim a vicious look. So much for being covert. Not so stealthy now, huh? “I’ll get the broom.”

“No, not yet. These three—” he turns towards them, yellow eyes fierce— “are expelled!”

“Expelled?!” the navy-haired student exclaims. He looks like he’s just stared Death in the face. “This can’t be… What will my mother think? I promised her I was gonna get good grades, attend all of my classes, pass my tests…”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. That hairball’s the one who started it!” the other argues, his arms folded over his chest.

“No way! It wasn’t me!”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “Unbelievable. This school has zero tolerance for blatant tomfoolery. Surely you’re all aware…” He pauses to look at Grim. “And you! You’re not even a student here! Just what are you doing, trespassing on school property?”

Grim flounders dizzily. “Spinning…”

“He’s my roommate.” All eyes flick towards you. “I’m letting him stay for now. Sorry if that breaks any rules. I just don’t believe in turning others away, even if they’re prone to causing trouble.”

“What a noble soul,” Crowley murmurs, impressed. “Well, if that’s the case, seeing as he’s nothing more than a talking pet cat—”

“I ain’t a pet or a cat!”

“I’m afraid my previous statement still remains in place. He’s not to be on school grounds.”

“You heard the Headmage. No school for you.”

But Grim’s already lying flat on the floor like a defeated pancake.

“Then what about us? That hairball can’t get the easy way out and leave us with the worst of it!”

“There’s a way to fix this, isn’t there?”

“Y-Yeah! Can’t you just use magic to fix it right up? It’ll be good as new. Someone with your skill should be able to do it.”

Crowley shakes his head, mournful. “Magic is not limitless. Not only that, but the magestone powering this great chandelier is cracked. And those are not so easily replaced. I fear this is the final day this miraculous chandelier will ever grace this grand hall with its light.”

The ginger-haired student grimaces. “Not good…”

The other withers. “Expelled… What am I going to do? I can’t go back home with this news!”

A magestone… That’s what Grim needs. You glance at the one set into the chandelier. A ghastly crack runs up the surface. Are they really that special?

Before both can succumb to their melancholy, Crowley says, “There is one way! Possibly…”

“Really? What is it?” they say at once, eyes bulging with hope.

“This very magestone was mined from the Dwarfs’ Mine. Perhaps, should you procure one of similar qualities, the chandelier can be repaired.”

“Then… Okay! I’ll get a magestone! As long as it’s all right with you, sir.”

“Ah, but the mines have been closed for some time. I reckon the magestones are all but gone.”

“I’m sure I can find one. Please, sir, I’ll do anything to stay here!”

Crowley seems to consider this. Eventually, he nods his approval. “I’m willing to postpone your expulsion for now.” The navy-haired student’s relief is short-lived when he adds, “However, if you fail to bring a magestone to me by the first rays of the morning sun, it will be expulsion for the both of you. No further exceptions.”

With a hasty nod, he says, “Of course! I understand! Thank you so much for the second chance. I won’t let you down!”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with.”

You gather an unconscious Grim in your arms while Crowley instructs the students on how to access the mine. They stride off with different degrees of enthusiasm. You open your mouth to ask permission, but Crowley beats you to it.

“Please do accompany them. I trust you’re responsible enough to handle any trouble?”

“If you raise my pay, I’ll do anything.”

He clutches his chest. “Your proclivity to bargain strikes through to my very soul! Ah, but since I am the kindest Headmage I shall grant your request.”

With a satisfied grin, you hold Grim tighter and run off after the pair. “Thanks again, Headmage!”

You follow them all the way to the Mirror Chamber. It’s just as imposing as you recall, but there’s a serene quality to the space that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s because you’re here willingly and there isn’t an audience to witness your poorly timed debut.

You approach both of them. “Hey! Sorry to bother, but could I join you?”

They turn to look at you. Grim shifts in your arms, groaning.

“I don’t see why not. Welcome to the team,” the navy-haired student says with an awkward smile.

“Might as well. More people means a faster chance at finding that magestone.” He points at Grim next. “And he better be coming, too.”

“That’s the plan. I’ll make sure he won’t cause any problems for you.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Today’s just not my day. What bad luck…”

“No time to sulk. We’ve gotta get that magestone,” the other says, turning towards the mirror. “Dark Mirror, the Dwarfs’ Mine!”

Grim jerks awake then. “Myaah?! Where am I? What’s goin’ on?”

You hold onto him tightly, preventing him from squirming out of your arms. “Relax. You’ll be fine. I think.”

“What d’ya mean by that?!”

The Dark Mirror brightens with life. There’s a blinding flash of light and then, just like that, you’re taken to the mine’s entrance.

Magestone, here we come!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #marvelous marine magic: sweet sea sorceress #3M:3S #3M:3S chapter one

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thedroneranger · 1 year

Text

Say My Name

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Précis: You and your crew enjoy playing games with the aviators at the local navy bar. You may have finally met your match...

Note: Stumbled across a meme that inspired this one. Hoping you think it’s as fun and light as I do—enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only, smut.

Word count: 3.0k

It was innocent enough. Meet someone, introduce yourself with a fake name and see where the night takes you.

The game was even more fun as a civilian in a Navy bar bursting with aviators. They had no shame introducing themselves with their call signs, taking you home and never speaking to you again. Why should I?

I have to admit: It was a lot of fun. Made things feel low stakes. The hookups were a mixed bag, but that was part of the fun.

The following week, you reconvened at the bar to brag about your time between the sheets or, at the very least, share a funny bit you gleaned as compensation.

Since the bar was about as transient as the LAX airport, it was rare to run into someone twice. Plus, by now, we knew the Regulars—Regs for short. They, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered to remember us.

An in-game challenge we liked to issue each other was running into Regs and seeing if they remembered us. You lose, you buy a round. You win, your drinks are everyone else’s problem for the rest of the night.

This week was no exception. Skye, real name, had saved seats at the bar for Jane, real name, and I. Perfectly timed, the bartender delivered our drinks as we sat.

Upholding our tradition, Skye arrived first, so she shared her conquest first. She had caught the eye of a tall, sun-kissed pilot, call sign Rooster, that lived up to the implied innuendo. For the first time, Skye wanted, no needed, a Reg! Our resident one-hit wonder, she refused to touch the same pawn twice.

Meanwhile, Jane went home with a handsome guy, call sign Harvard. The three of us chuckled as she proceeded to rant about how he must’ve been a nepo baby to get into the country's most elite university. That, or all the jet fuel really killed quite a few brain cells. Thank goodness the head between his legs required only blood flow—it did not disappoint. However, she would rather watch paint dry than have to attempt to hold a conversation with him again.

Now my turn, the pair looked at me expectantly. Both saw me leave with a suave blond pilot, call sign Hangman.

Hangman was one of the smoother pilots I’d met. He stumbled upon me alone, sitting at the bar, Skye and Jane elsewhere toying with their catches.

“This seat taken?” He had a faint southern drawl.

“All yours,” I responded. The bartender arrived with my drink, and Hangman wordlessly ordered his own.

We looked at each other. His eyes were a stunning jade, and his smile was absolutely lethal.

Thankfully, I’d been told time and time again my grin was just as fatal. I let myself pretend that was the reason he was looking. Throughout the night, his gaze would drop to my mouth often. Occasionally, it would drift down my neck and sometimes lower.

His beer arrived and we continued to banter. Finally, an opportunity arose to exchange names. “Hangman,” he said, tipping his beer bottle toward me.

“Alex,” I lied as I touched the edge of my drink to his. “Friends call me Lex.” I winked as I sipped my beverage.

Part of the fun was how long you could keep their attention or how often they got distracted by an easier target. I had to hand it to Hangman, I did not peg him as a blinders-on kind of guy, but he was.

As the night wore on, we sat closer and closer. Surprisingly, I had not noticed when he hooked his foot on my barstool and was subtly inching me toward him.

My elbow was resting on the bar, our bodies turned mostly toward each other. Hangman had just delivered a punchline to an actually funny joke that made me genuinely laugh.

“You know,” I looked at him through my lashes, “your accent gets thicker with every beer.”

His megawatt smile appeared. “The drawl is how I draw ya in.” He winked and knocked my knee with his.

Damn, he was charming.

If I hadn’t been sitting at the bar with him for the last couple hours, I’d find it hard to believe this funny, affable human was the same cocky asshole shit-talking his friends and sharking their cash in darts earlier in the evening.

Last call crept up on us. We stayed in our seats as we closed our tabs—a true gentleman, Hangman insisted he pick up my drinks.

“Nightcap at my place?” He offered as he finished his signature with a gallows stick figure. A chuckle escaped me as I nodded in response. “What?” he inquired, cocking his head a little.

My eyes still on the receipt, I subtly gestured my chin in the same direction. “You’re really into your call sign.” He smirked, his deep dimples making an appearance as we vacated our seats.

“Only here,” he responded. “Makes the bartenders smile—I like to leave this place in good humor.” His hand slipped to the small of my back as we walked out.

He insisted he drive my car to his place, so I could leave at my leisure. He’d get his from the bar in the morning.

“I’m surprised you live here.” I initiated conversation as he drove. I watched a smile tug his features.

“Well, I wasn’t completely honest.” He stole a quick glance at me before putting his eyes back on the road. “I’m staying at a buddy’s house. He’s out of town while I’m in town, so he lent me his place. Allows me to avoid the barracks, and I return the favor when he’s in my neck of the woods.” He paused. “Have you ever been?”

It was the politest way I’d ever been asked if I were a tag chaser. “To the barracks? I have not had pleasure,” I responded. Sarcasm coloring my tone.

“You’re not missing anything,” he quipped with a wink. I smiled mostly to myself. The rest of the ride was silent between us but not awkward. The radio was our soundtrack until he cut the engine in the driveway of a quaint little bungalow.

As I exited, Hangman came around to shut the door and take my hand. We walked to the house, and once inside he left me to my own devices while he snagged some beers from the fridge.

Hangman handed me a longneck as we settled into the couch, me tucked into his side. After some small talk, our beers almost empty, he was leaning toward me. His eyes locked on my lips. “You know,” I said as he continued to close the gap between us. “You’re much more of a gentleman that I was expecting.”

His signature smirk appeared. “There’s still time for me to not be a gentleman.” He pressed his lips to mine. Eagerly, I forced him back so I could climb into his lap. One palm rested on his chest, while the other tugged his locks.

He groaned as I rolled my pelvis into his and roughly pulled on his lower lip. Playfully, I sat back, biting my own lip and batting my lashes. Hangman’s hands settled into the back pockets of my jeans and kneaded my backside. “Something tells me you're trouble.”

Our smirks mirrored one another. “Aren’t you lucky, you get to find out firsthand.” I leaned in for one more kiss, before slipping off his lap. Zero hesitation, he popped up, grabbed my hand and led me to his room.

We barely crossed the threshold, and Hangman was peeling his shirt over his head. I mimicked his action, and we slipped our pants off at the same time. He watched as I slowly stood to my full height. His eyes wandered the length of my legs and then studied the tiny swathe of fabric covering my apex.

As he looked, I turned so his eyes followed the curve of my thighs to my buttocks and then up my back. I was looking over my shoulder at him as he realized my bra was dangling from my index finger. My smile widened as the garment hit the floor, and then I sashayed to the bed.

He watched me sink onto the mattress. Knees wide, I let my legs dangle over the side and leaned back on one palm. The other was busy kneading my nipples to taut peaks.

Even in the dim light of the room, I could see his pupils were completely blown. He sauntered over and stood between my knees. Tilting my head up, I met his gaze. Staring down at me, he tangled a hand in my hair. My eyes fluttered closed, waiting for his next command.

Instead, he untangled his hand from my trusses. Eyes open with curiosity, I kept his gaze as he sank to his knees, resting his palms on the tops of my thighs. We never broke eye contact as he kissed each of my kneecaps.

My breath hitched as his calloused fingers ghosted up my legs and curled around the sides of my panties. Almost involuntarily, my hips lifted so he could slip the garment down. Hangman took his time sliding them off, letting his fingers trail the entire length of my legs. Settling himself, he looped one of my legs over each shoulder. The position forced me to lie further back and prop myself on my elbows.

I chewed my lip as he nosed and kissed along my inner thighs. His smirk appeared as he got closer to where I really wanted him. “As a gentleman, I’ll make you come first.” A wet, hot kiss punctuated his statement.

Before I could retort, he spread me with his fingers and suctioned his lips around my bundle of nerves. If it weren’t for his hand anchoring my hip, my entire body would've come off the bed. “Oh, fuck!” I nearly shouted as his fingers slipped down to my soaking hole.

He pulled away, tugging my clit before letting it go, to watch his thick fingers languidly sink into me. Every come-hither motion had me seeing stars and the band in my lower stomach pulling tighter. Coupled with him lapping my core, I was nearly over the edge. The final push was a string of phrases, including ‘just like that’ and ‘good girl’ leaving his mouth.

I sat up and squeezed my eyes shut as my orgasm rippled through me. Hangman slipped from beneath my legs and settled beside me on the bed, ushering me to lay back down. Prolonging my peak, he scissored his fingers and enjoyed my walls tightening around his digits.

Finally through my high, Hangman removed his fingers. That disappointingly empty feeling washing over me, I opened my eyes to see him cleaning my arousal from his hand. “You’re sweet,” he said as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and looked down at me.

My hand went to the back of his head to pull him down for a kiss. Sloppily, I licked his mouth and sucked his lips to taste myself. We broke apart. “Mhmmm, needed to confirm,” I explained. His smile appeared as he pushed his lips back to mine.

Hangman growled as I sank my teeth into his bottom lip. Breaking the kiss, he slipped off the bed to grab a condom, rolling it on as he came back. He grabbed my ankle to position me at the edge of the bed so his length was resting against my throbbing apex.

The backs of my thighs rested against the front of his. He still had a hold on my ankle, while my other leg hooked around his hip. I watched as Hangman laid my leg against his chest. Then he toured the length of it until his hand came to rest on my hip.

We kept eye contact as he leaned forward. “It’s my turn.” His hand slipped between us to guide his length into me. A hissed deflated my lungs as he seated himself. Girthier than his fingers, he gave me a few seconds to adjust.

Every couple of thrusts, his pace increased. Now verging on brutal, he hooked my legs around his arms as he planted his palms on the bed for more leverage. I couldn’t help the moans that escaped my lips as he relentlessly drove into me.

“Taking me so well,” he complimented. “That’s a good girl, Lex.”

Lex?

Who the fuck was Lex?!

My body reacted before my mind, and my open palm connected with his cheekbone. Hangman’s hips stuttered, but only for a moment. “What was that for?” he asked between thrusts.

Fuck.

I’m Lex.

I forgot…

Fortunately, Hangman seemed none the wiser. “I need to know so I can do it again,” he clarified, smirking.

“Shut up,” I ignored his question. “Put your hand around my neck.”

“Choke you?” he rephrased.

Whining, I clawed at his wrist. “Yes, please!”

He obliged, placing his palm over the column of my throat. His thumb, fore and middle fingers applied pressure to the sides of my neck. A hum buzzed up my throat and my bottom lip disappeared between my teeth as he applied pressure.

The only sounds in the room were both of us panting and skin against skin. His hand had since left my neck and was cradling my head, fingers curled in my hair, while the other was planted beside me on the bed.

One of my hands reached between us to draw tight circles on my engorged nerves. Occasionally, I’d slip my fingers into a V around his base. “Yes, keep your hand there,” he instructed. I obeyed, squeezing rhythmically. A drawn out ‘fuck’ left his lips as his hips stuttered while he came.

Hangman buried his face in the crook of my neck, but kept his pace to encourage my second orgasm. His hand replaced mine between us. The calluses of his thumb added just enough sensation to push me into my next pleasure wave. “Fuck, I love when you squeeze me.” His pace slowed at the same rate as my aftershocks.

Hangman uncurled himself from me, and I whined at the loss of heat and sat up. He threw me his discarded t-shirt before wandering to the bathroom. A minute or two later, he came back with a warm washcloth and, kneeling in front of me, gently cleaned me up.

Offering his hand, he pulled me to standing. Then, before returning to the ensuite bathroom, he turned down the blankets and motioned for me to climb in.

Jokingly poking a finger to my chest, I looked over my shoulder and then back at him. “You want me to stay?”

His signature smirk reappeared as he walked over to me, standing close enough I had to look up at him. “Can I tell you a secret?” I nodded, waiting. He bent down so his lips met my ear. “I’m a cuddler.” He whispered, and then placed a chaste kiss at the top of my jaw, before dipping past me to the bathroom.

By the time Hangman came back, I was nestled into his bed, postcoital sleepiness settling in. He draped himself over me, wrapping an arm around my waist and slipping his leg between mine. The last thing I remembered was him pressing kisses to the back of my neck.

A few hours later, I stirred to find myself tucked into Hangman’s side, him on his back. My head and hand on his chest, and my leg looped over his. His arm was slack in the valley between my hip and ribs.

I wanted to stay there with Hangman. Kiss him awake and then convince him to go to breakfast, but that wasn’t part of the game.

Begrudgingly, I slipped from his grasp. However, I had decided I was keeping his t-shirt. Collecting my clothing, I slipped on some pants. Then, I crept over to the bathroom to make sure I was somewhat presentable. Gathering the rest of my belongings, I hopped into my vehicle and headed home.

Keeping up the facade, I left the longing details out of my story as I wrapped it up. Jane and Skye were both ready to jump on me with a million questions.

However, instead, their attention was drawn behind me. Confused, I swiveled in my seat to find Hangman leaning against the counter, looking right at me.

“Hey, stranger.” My heart definitely skipped a beat.

His gorgeous grin appeared as he stood to his full height and leaned closer to me. “Hey, stranger,” he repeated. “Left without a trace on Saturday.”

“Is that not what you wanted?” His gaze was intense, yet I couldn’t look away.

“Not at all.” A drink arrived for him, and he winked at the bartender. “I was hoping we would go out for breakfast.” He sipped his beer. “Exchange phone numbers.” He paused again. “Real names.”

I’d been had.

He smiled at my silent confirmation.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked in a lower voice.

Hangman leaned further in to whisper into my ear. “And ruin such a hot moment?” We pulled just far enough apart to look each other in the eye. “I was sad when you weren’t there for Round 2 in the morning.”

I couldn’t help but grin. Heat filled my cheeks, as I looked at my shoes for a moment.

“Instead of you toying with another flyboy’s heart tonight, I’m going to buy your drinks and get to know you…” he trailed off. I finished his sentence with my name, which he repeated with a grin.

“I knew you weren’t a Lex.” He winked. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

“Hi, Jake. Nice to meet you.” I winked back before taking a sip of my drink.

Jake let out a hearty laugh that squinted his eyes.

Skye’s hand brushed my shoulder as she and Jane vacated the area. They both gave Jake little waves. In exchange, he relayed soft thank yous.

He pulled my stool as close to his as possible and looped his arm around the back. “Well,” he looked down at me, “now that I know your name, I want to know everything else.”

“Good thing we have all night.”

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#jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin #jake hangman #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman x you #hangman #hangman smut #the drone ranger #thedroneranger

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carolmunson · 11 months

Text

eddie munson x fem!reader | steve harrington x fem!reader

COMING SOON TO THEATERS. A FANFICTION ADAPTION OF ACADEMY AWARD WINNING FILM 'TITANIC' WRITTEN BY:

@loveshotzz @newlips and @carolmunson

ORIGINAL SCREEN PLAY + FILM WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY JAMES CAMERON. ALL OF THOSE ICONIC SCENES AND LINES ARE, OF COURSE, CREDITED TO WHOM CREDIT IS DUE: JAMES CAMERON

PREVIEW:

Wednesday, April 10th, 1912 Southampton, London

The blare of the fog horn is unmissable, rattling the conversations in a small pub off the White Star Dock. Even through the dusty windows she was clear as day, big as anything anyone had ever seen. Large black body met with a red base, multiple decks, and four large smoke stacks. The ship seemed to go on forever, her beauty unmatched to anyone who had seen it – a behemoth on the seas. A glory – a masterpiece.

The doors of the pub fluttered open and closed all morning as it edged closer and closer to noon. Pints poured by the dozens, the hundreds – half the country coming to the piers to see off the Ship of Dreams and its passengers. The bar was alight with chatter, mixing in with the roar of people from outside — hundreds of people halfway to boarding, waving and kissing goodbye. Beer glasses clinked and people cheered while they watched a long line of high end cars gleam in the spring sun as they rolled down the dock. Precious cargo full of Europe and America’s elite.

Reporters and bellhops alike flock to them like flies, pub patrons ogling through the dusty windows while they exit their buggies.

Among the commotion, the endless chatter and screeching of pub seats, sat four men oblivious to the spectacle. They’re sitting around a small table with sweat on their brows as the April sun pours golden over them. Eyes burning over their cards as cigarette smoke wafts over their heads — the players lost in the fog during an intense round of poker.

The pot was mostly meager — a few pounds and swaths of change, a pocket watch, a penknife. But in the center was the crown jewel, a prize that would change the winner’s life forever. Two pieces of pressed parchment reading:

The men leer over their hands, not a friendly face between them — the tickets were not the dealer’s, but two of the players who had bet the wrong guys. Guys who had been beyond the break and back again, meeting in Morocco, then Paris, and traveling together back to London — guys who had never lost a game of poker.

Eddie places his bet, pulling a small silver ring off of his right ring finger and tossing it in the center.

“Are you kidding?” Jeff asks from his left, “That’s everything we have.”

Eddie grins at him, taking a drag of his cigarette. The sun dances in his big brown eyes like he knows something the rest of them don’t, “When you got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose.”

The two other players speak to each other heatedly in Swedish after one of them hits for a new card. The outburst makes it clear that things aren’t looking good for the Swedes — it makes Eddie’s heart leap. Maybe this is it, maybe he’s finally gonna get back to the states. “Sven?” he asks the man next to him. “Hit,” he replies, putting down a card and taking another. Eddie follows suit, furrowing his brow while his bangs meet his eyelashes. Sweat collects on the nape of his neck where his dark curls are twisted up in a graphite drawing pencil – a trick he picked up from women he met in France. He puffs the smoke from his mouth, eyes meeting the Swede across from him who looks like he couldn’t be having a worse day.

“Alright,” he says, putting his cigarette down on the ashtray between then, “Moment of truth. Somebody’s life’s about to change.”

He leans back in his chair and looks at his friend, sweat beading at the edge of his hairline and glinting off of his deep skin, “Jefferey?”

Jeff throws his cards down with a roll of his eyes. “Nothing,” Eddie nods.

“Nothing,” Jeff says curtly through a grit in his teeth. His heart pounds in his chest while he looks at the last of their money on the table – they can’t afford to lose.

“Olaf?” Eddie asks, the Swede throws down his cards in a huff, “Nothin’.”

“Sven?”

Sven puts down his cards and Eddie frowns, “Oh…two pair.”

His shoulders droop while he looks at his own cards, eyes lingering on the silver ring in the middle of the table, “I’m sorry, Jeff.”

“What do you mean ‘sorry’?” You idiot! You bet all of our bloody money! You imbecile, you–”

“I’m sorry, you’re not going to be able to visit your cousins in Paris again for a long time,” Eddie says with a serious edge. Jeff quirks his brow, triggering Eddie’s winning smile behind plush pink lips.

“‘Cause we’re goin’ to America!” he exclaims, slamming his cards down on the table, “FULL HOUSE, BOYS!”

Jeff leaps from his chair in the back of the pub, reaching for the tickets on the on the table, “WE’RE GOIN’ TO BACK TO AMERICA!”

“I’m goin’ home!” Ed exclaims while the boys hug tightly. The pub cheers for them, pints still flowing — men and women with red cheeks having no idea what they’re cheering for until a fight breaks out between the Swedes.

Eddie laughs, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder and Jeff does the same — their white shirts dirtied with the stains of the day before.

“I can’t believe it,” Jeff says, teeth shining in a grin across his face, “Goin’ back to America!”

“Titanic’s going back to America, boys,” the barkeep says, pointing at the clock, “In five minutes!”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #titanic au #stranger things au #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #steve x reader

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7077070707 · 8 months

Note

Hey!if you do headcanons can you do platonic relationship headcanons for Mikasa and Reiner and maybe a parental relationship with Levi?also you don’t have to do all of them lolol (and I would prefer a fem reader please!)

aot platonic relationship headcannons

ft — levi ackerman, mikasa ackerman, reiner braun.

warnings — none, which is surprising for something aot related

a/n — MY FIRST REQUEST! I’M SO HAPPY!

LEVI ACKERMAN

you and all the rest of the gang lowkey viewed levi as a father figure of some sorts.

it makes sense since you were orphaned and young, craving for parental affection and stuff.

you all had been through a lot together, and levi’s dealt with a lot of loss in his lifetime.

he would let the beast titan chuck him like a baseball before ever admitting he held any amount of care for you (but we all know it’s in there somewhere).

he’s a great mentor and parental figure, despite being harsh.

i definitely feel like you could just go and vent to him about whatever, and he’d either just sit there and listen silently or give a few words of advice.

DEFINITELY the type to scold you. you and the crew would be doing all kinds of shit (obv spurred on by hange) and he’d be on the verge of losing his shit.

“for god’s sake, would you all just FUCK O–”

but usually when he’s annoyed by your antics, he’d just glare at you or say “tch..” under his breath.

a great hand to hand combat teacher, but you’d get absolutely shitted on whenever you’d fight him.

he’d blankly state where you went wrong, what you could’ve done, or if you missed a blind spot as he’s throwing out punches and sidestepping.

after the sessions, you’d always leave with a bunch of muscle pain and bruises.

calls you brat so frequently to the point it was a bit of a shocker whenever he’d call you by your actual name.

you and the squad have accidentally called him ‘dad’ on MANY occasions and usually he’d just side eye you.

gets so MAD whenever a place is unclean or if you’ve made a mess.

“y/n.. get over here. clean this mess you’ve made.

“on it dad!” you’d salute and he’d threaten to throw you into a titans mouth if you didn’t hurry the fuck up.

overall, a traumatised man makes an elite parental figure for a bunch of equally traumatised teenagers.

MIKASA ACKERMAN

you guys met in the cadet corps, and you were basically in awe with how she seemed to do everything so effortlessly.

you noticed how she hung around with eren and armin a lot, but stayed alone whenever all the girls stayed in the barracks.

it wasn’t that she was hostile, she was just quiet and probably passed the eyes of a lot of people.

you decided to make your way up to her and strike up a conversation. at first, you could tell she was quite reserved, but overtime as your friendship blossomed you grew fond of her dry humour and passive expression.

through mikasa, you also grew quite close to eren and armin.

through you, mikasa got closer to the rest of the squad.

DEFINITELY the mother hen of the group.

constantly badgering you over injuries you suffered, or telling you to eat or to get some rest.

would probably slam you during training sessions, but would try her best to help you with technique and forms.

i feel like she’s the type of person to ominously hover behind you as you’re talking to someone else and kinda just stare at them until they get uncomfortable and leave.

it wouldn’t even be on purpose, she just wanted to hang around you silently.

HOWEVER, could definitely scare off someone who’s visibly pissing you off with a silent death stare.

the best person to tell secrets to, she would never tell a soul.

late night talks where you’d just talk about everything and anything under the stars.

she’d open up to you about eren and the mixed feelings she felt about him.

you’d also open up to her about whatever, and she’d be the best listener.

gives very straightforward advice but it’s oddly comforting.

overall, a 10/10 friend in whether you want someone to confide in, or someone to beat a dude’s ass.

REINER BRAUN (before the armoured titan reveal)

best older brother figure!!!!!

for some reason, it felt easy to trust him.

he was just a dude everyone liked and respected, since he was so good natured and down to earth.

he’d also give crazy bear hugs.

you’d widen your arms for a casual hug and he’d absolutely engulf you.

it may or may not seem like it, but he’s got a great sense of humour.

i feel like he’d be scarily good at card games.

he’d teach you how to shuffle and how to play loads of random games.

the only time you were ever able to beat him was in a game of snap, but that was only because he sneezed the moment the cards were matched up and you slapped your hands on top of them.

you cheer and celebrate, and he just lets you have it despite the unfair circumstances.

but don’t think he’ll ever let you win again.

has really good vibes and is just a guy you can’t hate.

overall, a very great and supportive buddy.

179 notes · View notes

in1-nutshell · 3 months

Note

Hello, how are you?

Can I get a TFA request?

A gender neutral bot Buddy who is Bumblebee's twin sibling and who ends up dating Prowl later on?

Bumblebee and his twin look exactly the same, same body-type, same paint job, they even have the same alt mode.

However, you can tell who is who by watching how they act, Bumblebee is loud and outgoing while Buddy is quiet and introverted around anyone who isn't Bumblebee or Bulkhead.

"Buddy" is not their original designation, their designation used to be "2.0", they changed it to Buddy because Sari called them that one time and they ended up loving it so much that they urged the rest of the team to start calling them that.

Also, when Buddy Bumblebee and Bulkhead met prowl, Buddy slowly approached him kinda like-

Buddy: Hey.

Prowl: …

Buddy: Are you… okay?

Prowl: Do you mind?

Buddy: Oh! You are alive!

Buddy thinks that Prowl is very cool and has a tiny crush on him.

Prowl didn't mind Buddy that much in the beginning, he just saw them as the calmer twin.

However, the more he got to know them, the more he wanted get closer to them.

Yeah, Prowl also has a tiny crush on Buddy.

I think this become too long so I'm gonna cut the request here.

I will the send you the second part soon!

I can just see Buddy explaining to people and bots on the daily that they aren't Bumblebee. They are exhausted.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy who's Bumblebee's twin

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Hinted romance, Cybertronian reader

TFA

It was hard having a twin like Bumblebee.

It’s not that they didn’t love him, they loved him to bits.

It’s the problems that always seemed to follow him around.

Being from the same protoform mold, same horn, and even the same paintjob; mix ups were bound to happen.

The best way to figure out which twin was which was to listen to them.

Their twin was loud, extroverted, and much more sociable.

They on the other hand were much quieter, calmer, and less of a chatter box.

Thankfully their twin took responsibility for most of his mistakes.

Most of his mistakes.

How their twin managed to rope them into coming to the Autobot bootcamp was beyond them.

They knew they weren’t going to end up in the Elite Guard or even in the bootcamps.

They didn’t even want to be in the Elite Guard, that was their twins’ dream, not theirs.

But being too loyal twin they were, they followed.

They ended up getting recruited to being one of the maintenance bots for the bootcamps.

It wasn’t the ideal job or position, but at least they would be a bit closer to their twin. The job mainly required them to clean around and occasionally fix ships that would head out for space bridge repairs. If they were lucky enough, they would head out to space with the repair crew in case something went wrong.

Their twin didn’t like being away from him, but he managed to convince himself that this could be a good thing.

He was going to make top marks, letting him have some more freedom to roam around and then have more time to spend with them.

Full proof.

His twin slapped him upside down his helm when they heard his logic.

Everything was going great for him until he met Bulkhead and got his name.

It’s not like he didn’t like him, it was just that he didn’t want to associate himself with the guy so he wouldn’t look bad.

Sentinel was already bad enough; he didn’t want to add to the list.

He did end up meeting his twin a couple of times for cleaning duty though.

That’s where they got to meet Bulkhead.

Bumblebee’s twin waves nervously as the larger green mech waves enthusiastically.

“Woah! Bumblebee look it’s another you!”--Bulkhead

“That’s not another me Bulkhead! That’s my twin!”--Bumblebee

“Bumblebee?”

Bumblebee flinched a bit but quickly covers it up with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s my new name now. Hey, weren’t you going to get named today?”--Bumblebee

His twin nods a bit.

“Oh, cool what’s your name?”--Bumblebee

“…2.0”—2.0

“What?”--Bumblebee

“That’s my new name now. 2.0”—2.0

“Oh… but it could be worse right?”--Bumblebee

2.0 huffs a bit.

“I guess it can.”—2.0

Bulkhead reaches their servo and shakes it.

“Well nice to meet you then 2.0! I hope we can be best friends like me and Bumblebee!”--Bulkhead

2.0 smiles at him and shakes back.

“I hope that we can be friends too—”—2.0

“2.0! I thought you were going to clean my office! Or do I have to name you Maintenance bot!”--Sentinel

2.0 flinches at the loud noise.

“Was that…”--Bulkhead

“Sentinel Prime? Yep…”—2.0

“He named you? But I thought your boss was supposed to do that.”--Bumblebee

“He was but after a little ‘discussion with Sentinel Prime… he got the rights to name me…”—2.0

Bumblebee’s servos clenched.

2.0 quickly holds his servo.

“Please don’t do anything dumb for me? Please?”-2.0

He looks angry but eventually lets it go.

For his twin’s sake.

After that talk, 2.0 wouldn’t see Bumblebee again for the rest of the month due to their schedules being more demanding on cleaning and repairs.

Soon enough 2.0 was going to be sent out on their very first field repair with their new team.

Imagine their surprise when they saw Bumblebee and Bulkhead’s names on the roster.

“Bumblebee! Bulkhead!”—2.0

Both bots turn around to see 2.0 come towards them.

Bulkhead happily waves at them.

Bumblebee shrinks a bit seeing some fore behind though soft optics.

Optimus and Ratchet look at the two smaller yellow bots.

“…What?”--Optimus

2.0 looks at the newer bots and quickly goes over to them.

“Hello there. I’m 2.0 and I’ll be your maintainer and ships repair bot.”—2.0

Ratchet looks at them and Bumblebee.

“Definitely a lot quieter than the other one.”--Ratchet

“Hey!”--Bumblebee

The older pair quickly found the difference between the twins, much to their relief.

They didn’t know if they could handle two Bumblebee’s.

The day they met Prowl was memorable.

It was 2.0 and Bee who got the cyberninja’s attention and had convinced him to come with them.

2.0 found themselves gravitating more to Prowl than anyone else on the ship.

Not that they didn’t like their team.

2.0 already hung out a lot with their twin and Bulkhead whether on duty or not, much to some of the team’s dismay.

But didn’t mean that they would join the two in their shenanigans.

2.0 looking at their twin and Bulkhead with arm’s crossed.

Prowl is right next to them mirroring the same stance.

Both of them had somehow gotten intangled in Bulkhead’s wreckingball wires.

“…”—2.0 and Prowl

“I know this may look bad—”--Bumblebee

“Understatement of the year.”--Prowl

“—But wouldn’t you like to hear how we got into this and get us out?”--Bumblebee

2.0 raising an optic.

Bumblebee doing his best puppy dog eyes.

“That won’t work on me Bumblebee. Try again.”2.0

“Please 2.0?”—Bulkhead

2.0 looks at Prowl and sighs tiredly.

“…Fine. But I’m doing this for Bulkhead.”—2.0

2.0 starts getting their tools out to fix this mess.

“Wait why just him? I’m your twin!”--Bumblebee

“Yeah you are, but I also know that he got literally roped into this mess because of you. Prowl, mind holding this wire for me?”—2.0

Prowl sighs but holds the wire as 2.0 starts loosening the pair.

“I hate you.”--Bumblebee

“Love you too Bee.”—2.0

2.0 got along well with Optimus.

Being the default leader of the group, 2.0 did have to report to him a lot of the time.

They often saw the poor bot looking stress and they made it their mission to help him with that invisible weight on his chassis.

“Hey Prime.”—2.0

Optimus looking up from his history videos.

“2.0. Is there something wrong?”--Optimus

2.0 just takes a seat next to him.

“Nope, well not yet at least, you seemed a little lonely and looked like you could use a friend.”—2.0

“I’m perfectly fine 2.0.”--Optimus

2.0 raises their optic at him.

“No one is ‘perfectly fine’. But I do get it if you don’t want to talk about it. I just want to be there for my friends, even if its as small as a conversation.”—2.0

“We aren’t having a conversation.”--Optimus

“We are talking back and forth. This is a conversation, checkmate Prime.”—2.0

Optimus sighs a bit, but a little smile does peak out.

“You’re usually hanging out with Prowl by this time, something show up?”—Optimus

2.0 shrugs a bit.

“He thought I was Bumblebee and kicked me out. I’m just waiting till he realizes his mistake.”—2.0

“Really?”--Optimus

“Give him a few minutes, that’s how long it usually takes him to realize.”—2.0

Ratchet and 2.0 had grown a special type of bond.

It had formed while looking through the ships wires making sure that everything was running smoothly.

Some things were some hidden stories that popped up, but never explored more in depth.

2.0 under one of the panels as Ratchet was in charge of handing them the tools.

“These circuit breakers need some replacing soon. These are as old as the war.”—2.0

Ratchet huffs a bit.

“It’s not that old.”--Ratchet

Buddy raises their optic at this comment but ignores it.

“Pass me the wrench, I need to bust some of these—”—2.0

“You will be doing now such thing to him!”--Ratchet

“…”—2.0 and Ratchet

2.0 rolls out from the panel and gives him a sad smile.

“This isn’t your first time on this ship, isn’t it?”—2.0

Ratchet huffs but doesn’t answer.

“If it makes you feel any better, I just the wrench to hold a screen in place while I run some diagnostics. Nothing major, just want to make sure the ship doesn’t stop on us while we’re outside the ports.”—2.0

“…Fine, but be careful with him.”--Ratchet

2.0 smiles and gives him a thumbs up before going back into the panel.

Ratchet smiles when they go back into the panel.

Prowl comes into the room.

“Ratchet have you seen 2.0?”--Prowl

2.0 pops out of the panels.

“Hi Prowl! What can I do for ya?”—2.0

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for kicking you out of my room.”--Prowl

Ratchet raising an optic to the both of them.

2.0 takes time to clarify.

“He thought I was Bumblebee and kicked me out.”—2.0

Ratchet nods.

“The kid can get annoying.”--Ratchet

“Yeah, and I forgive you Prowl. It’s a common mistake.”—2.0

Prowl was different from the rest.

He was one of the quieter and calmer souls on the ship.

Prowl did find 2.0 annoying at first.

Mainly because he thought that Bumblebee had come over to mess around.

It took a while for him to finally tell apart which twin was which from a glance.

Their personalities were like night and day, but physically that was the challenge.

2.0 and Bumblebee standing side by side in front of Prowl.

“What are they doing?”--Optimus

“The kid is trying to see if Prowl can figure out which twin is which after being blindfolded.”--Ratchet

“Good luck with that. Unless one of them talks, there’s no telling—”--Bulkhead

Prowl points at 2.0

“2.0.”--Prowl

“How?!”--Bulkhead

“Lucky guess, next time we’ll get you!”--Bumblebee

Timeskip to after Starscream’s attack and Optimus reviving again

To everyone’s surprise, Sari was the first person to tell the twins apart after the first mistake.

Of course, no one had ever got it the first time, but second time was a first.

“So, your name is 2.0?”--Sari

“Yep. I’m Bumblebee’s twin.”—2.0

“2.0 doesn’t suit you.”--Sari

2.0’s shoulder sag a bit.

“Yeah, but that’s the name they gave me.”—2.0

“But what if we gave you a new name?”--Sari

“A new name?”—2.0

“Yeah!”--Bumblebee

Bumblebee throws an enthusiastic arm around his twin’s shoulder.

“That sounds great! What do you think?”--Bumblebee

“Let’s give it a shot.”—2.0

“Oh how about—“--Bumblebee

“Buddy!”--Sari

All the bots look at Sari.

“What? They are super friendly, and they look like they would be nicknamed Buddy. So why not Buddy.”--Sari

“That has to be the—”--Bumblebee

2.0 carefully holds Sari up smiling.

“—The greatest thing ever! Everyone! My new name is now Buddy!”--Buddy

“But—”--Bumblebee

“Buddy! I like the sound of it.”--Buddy

The team was fine with the change in the end.

Sure, there were a few hiccups here and there but the name 2.0 soon left everyone’s minds when they thought about them.

Sari was also thinking about giving Buddy a new paint job in the future.

Maybe something Prowl might like…

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfa x reader #tfa x platonic reader #tfa optimus prime #tfa bumblebee #tfa ratchet #tfa bulkhead #tfa prowl

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odinsblog · 1 year

Text

If you're a white guy and you have good scores and good grades, you can absolutely get in to school.

You see, white people are acting like it's a zero sum game, like there's one spot and 18 people are fighting for it, and only the Black people get in. No, that's not at all how it happens.

You can, of course, get into school regardless of your race, color, or creed.

What Affirmative Action does is that it allows the universities to look at their class as a whole, alright?

And you think about it.

Universities do this all the time, right?

The universities will say, okay, we've got 18 kids from New York. We should probably get one kid from Iowa in there, right?

And so if you're kind of choosing between kind of the 19th kid from New York or the first kid from Iowa, maybe you give the kid from Iowa a shot because you don't have a lot of people from Iowa in your class already, right? Nobody seems to have a problem with that. The Supreme Court certainly doesn't have a problem with that.

We see this all the time with gender admissions, right?

If you have a class that's like 60/40 men, historically, white women have been the biggest beneficiaries of Affirmative Action when schools say, you know what? We don't want a sausage fest, and so we're going to throw in some women, right? Right.

Now, if you look at the elite universities, they're given that bump to male applicants because in the modern context, it's men whose grades and test scores and standardized tests or whatever haven't kept pace with women, right?

So now if you're looking at a class that would otherwise be 60/40 women, you're like, you know what? We're going to throw in some extra guys here to make sure the class balances out. That's all Affirmative Action is.

And what the Supreme Court is saying, all of those other things to get somebody in from the Midwest when there's nobody in the mix, or to get somebody in to have a better gender balance is okay, but not race.

Race is the only thing that they can't look at.

So the schools can look at gender, geography, and wealth. They can look at legacy admissions. They can look at athletic accomplishments. They can look at whether or not you're good at chess. They can look at whether or not you're good at playing in the piano, but they can't look at whether or not you're a minority.

That is the incongruity and the hypocrisy of today's Supreme Court ruling.

—Elie Mystal

#scotus #affirmative action #politics #white supremacy #republicans #gop hypocrisy #john roberts #roberts court #colorblind racism #aversive racism

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harley-sunday · 1 year

Text

Champagne Supernova

Summary: You literally stumble into Charles Leclerc one evening and somehow end up with custody over his tuxedo jacket? Weird. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader [f] Warnings: None Word count: 2.7k AN: Sometimes an idea just *mimics explosion with hand* pops up all of a sudden and won't go away until you write it down (I mean, I was literally in bed already but…). So here we are Also, written on mobile (eL, don't @ me) so apologies in advance for shitty formatting and for not editing. Also², I live for validation so comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! That is, if you like it, of course :)

It’s warm inside the ballroom of the hotel you’re in and so you’re trying to fan yourself with a copy of tonight’s program because now that the formal part of the evening is over it really doesn’t serve any use anymore other than to help you cool down. You’re standing in the corner of the room, close to the bar, observing the crowd - Monaco’s elite; a strange mix of old money and self made millionaires that have come together for tonight’s fundraiser.

You don’t belong to either of those groups but instead are here because the PR agency you work for somehow got selected to promote the event. It meant a lot of overtime in the past two months for the entire team and so your bosses - Olivier and Claire, a happily married couple with two kids, a dog, and a perfect work-life balance (of course) - promised you and your colleagues a seat at one of the tables and thus an open bar for the evening very early on in the process to make up for all the early mornings and late nights.

Dinner was a drawn out affair with seven small courses, entirely too much red wine, and a slightly boring silent auction reveal that took way too long for your liking. The promise of an after-party kept you from leaving early but it’s Monaco, it’s rich people, and so you could and should have known that their idea of an after-party is more champagne, bragging about who paid what despite it being a silent auction, and a guy with a comb-over and an ill-fitting tuxedo playing the piano, dragging out “Les Lacs du Connemara” way beyond the six minutes the song usually takes.

Next to you, Olivier and Claire are having a small domestic because Claire, slightly intoxicated, wants to stay but Olivier, scarily sober, has promised the babysitter they’d be back before one. Your other two colleagues are trying to persuade (read: threaten) the piano guy into playing “Sweet Caroline”, and you are feeling more miserable by the minute - one of your shoulder straps keeps sliding down, there’s a headache coming on, and your feet hurt like crazy in the stilettos you had no time to break in, so to say you are over it and ready to go home would be an understatement.

You wait for a lul in Olivier and Claire’s argument before you turn to them and tell them, “I’m heading out, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Olivier nods but Claire starts to protest and grabs your wrist, “Babe. Stay.”

You shake your head and try to free your hand but Claire doesn’t let go. Looking at Olivier for help you tug again but her fingers remain deadlocked around your wrist and you know it’s because she’s drunk and wants someone in her corner when Olivier decides to stand his ground and make her go home in about five minutes or so, but it is annoying as fuck and so you pull a little harder and start to walk away. “Claire,” you warn her, “let go.”

She still doesn’t.

Until all of a sudden she does and it makes you stumble forward and bump into someone and then everything seems to happen at once - you flail your arms trying not to topple over, reaching out for something- Anything you can hold onto. It’s the arm of the guy you bumped into but as you steady yourself against him he loses control of the drink he’s holding, a quiet, “Oh, merde,” your only warning before-

“Holy shit, that’s cold!” You jump backwards in shock, fingers plucking at the fabric of your dress as you try to stop the liquid from dripping down in between your boobs while quietly cursing your best friend who made you wear this stupid dress with its stupid plunging neckline in the first place. The fabric is already clinging to your skin, your chest and stomach absolutely soaked and you look around for an easy exit, first to the toilets maybe, to save yourself from the horrified looks around you and any further embarrassment but then you see a stack of white napkins appear in your field of vision and before you know it you are being pat down by the man who’s drink you’re now wearing.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbles while trying to dry your dress but the napkins are white and your dress is black and so all it does is leave a trace of little pieces of fluff all over your stomach but before you have a chance to say anything he’s grabbed a new stack of napkins and goes for your chest-

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” You shake your head and take the napkins from him, gently pushing his hands back with a smile, “I got this.”

“Shit, sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair and is blushing like crazy, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him as you’re blotting yourself now. “I mean, I’m the one who bumped into you, right?” The napkins really aren’t helping and so you give up with a frustrated sigh, looking up for the first time then, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” when you see the man standing in front of you. Jesus Christ, he’s hot. And apparently still upset because he stares at you with his beautiful green eyes as if he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Even though you’re the one who could enter, and maybe even win, a wet t-shirt contest this very second which you think is ten times more embarrassing.

“Let me at least do something to help,” he tries, reaching out his hands to you again but then thinking better of it. “Really. Anything. I mean, I will pay for the dress of course, but-”

He seems so flustered that you can’t help yourself, “Well, considering you almost went to second base just now-” you say with a wide smile and a pointed look between his hands and your chest, “-it would be nice to at least know your name.”

This makes him chuckle and earns you a smile in return, “I’m Charles.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles,” you say, meaning every word of it, and then introduce yourself. When you lick your lips you taste the champagne he spilled on you and can’t help but laugh, “What a waste of that Veuve Clicquot, though, huh?”

“I’m more worried about your dress, to be honest,” he counters with a grin.

“What? This old thing?” You motion for him to come forward and when he does you put your mouth close to his ear and whisper, “Between you and me, I think the champagne was more expensive.”

He chuckles again when you pull back and you can’t help but fall for him a little, the way he scrunches his nose something so- Adorable? Hot? You’re not sure. Either way, you want to see more of it, you decide. Charles still looks as if he’s ready to go into purgatory and so somehow you’re not really surprised when he tries again, “I mean it though. Anything I can do to make up for this.”

You look around then and even though most of the crowd has gone back to their smalltalk there are still some curious onlookers that seem way too invested in this, making you feel very exposed all of a sudden, and so, well, if he insists… “Maybe you could lend me your jacket for a hot sec and escort me out of here?”

“Of course,” he replies, already taking his tuxedo jacket off. He hesitates for a second but then drapes it over your shoulders anyway, “There.”

Instead of a ‘thank you’, a distracted, “Uhu,” comes out because it’s only now, when you see the way the white dress shirt is stretched across his arms and chest, that you see how muscular he is. He’s- Not broad but definitely athletic and you wonder what kind of sport he’s into. Before you have a chance to ask though he’s absentmindedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and you can feel your mouth go a little dry at the sight of his tanned, veiny forearms and hands. A fleeting thought of just how much you could make him apologize with those long fingers gets quickly pushed back when he holds out his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Come on,” he says and nods towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here.” He guides you through the room with ease and doesn’t stop when you reach the foyer, instead making you follow him outside where he nods at the valet.

“I didn’t drive here,” you start, because somehow you figured it’s your car he wants them to get.

“I know. Well-” he chuckles then, “-I don’t actually, but I’m making him get my car so I can drive you home. Or your hotel. I mean, I don’t want to assume-”

“Home,” you quickly reassure him. This time you remember your words and your manners, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He leads you down the front steps when the valet pulls up with his car, a black Ferrari Pista Spider that you can’t help but silently admire, and doesn’t let go of you until you’ve reached the car and he’s opened the door for you.

You try to keep the wet part of your dress from touching anything inside the car as best as you can, offering a quiet, “Sorry,” when Charles slides into his seat.

He tuts, “Don’t worry about the car, ma chérie."

And, oh- That’s- Nice. And a complete one eighty from how flustered he was mere minutes ago. Huh. Interesting.

If he does notice you clearing your throat to distract yourself, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Instead he starts the car, the engine absolutely purring to life, and turns to you with a grin, "Where am I taking you?”

Right here and right now please, you almost say, but you don’t think that’s what he meant and so instead you tell him, “Take a left at the stoplights and then a right at the next.”

As you guide him through the streets of Monaco you find out he’s an F1 driver with Ferrari who was actually born and raised in Monaco. He tells you how he’s on a three-week summer break until the end of August when the second half of the season starts with a race in Belgium. In return you tell him how you moved here three years ago when, after college, you got offered a job by Claire and Olivier.

All too soon, because sometimes Monaco really is nothing more than just a small town on the French Riviera, he pulls up in front of your house with an almost apologetic smile, “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” you echo with a nod. It’s silent for a moment before you decide to just put yourself out there, something about doing it now or forever wishing you had, “Would you like to come in? I could get changed and give you your jacket back? You might want to wash it though, I think there’s some wine- It probably needs to go to the dry cleaner’s, right? I don’t think it can go in the washing machine-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you close your eyes for a second and try again, “What I meant was: Would you like to come in for a drink?”

“I would love to but- I can’t,” he says and there’s something about him that makes you believe he’s telling the truth and that he’s sorry about it. “I have some auctioned pieces I still need to sign and I have to take a photo with the highest bidder in-” he looks at his watch and lets out a humorless laugh, “-ten minutes.”

“That sucks,” you tell him because apparently you’re now just speaking your mind without being eloquent about it.

He nods slowly, “It kind of does.”

Oh. Ok.

“Take the jacket,” he says then, “I can come pick it up later.”

Wait. What?

“Later tonight, or?”

He shakes his head, “No. Later as in, next week or something.”

“Oh, ok, yeah, that’s- Yeah, makes sense.” No need to stumble over your words, you think, you took your chances and it didn’t work out. It’s fine. It’s just that the 'or something’ kind of hurts.

He must see the disappointment on your face because he quickly adds, “I mean, so I can see you again. Later. When I’m not in a rush and you’re not covered in champagne.”

You can’t help but laugh, your mind once again too quick for your own good, “Who says I won’t be?” You let the words hang in the air with a raised eyebrow and it takes a few heartbeats but then Charles laughs as well, a burst of laughter that you want to hear again and again. You grin at him, “What?”

“You are something else,” he says, shaking his head. He reaches for his phone then, unlocks it, and hands it to you, “If you add your number I could maybe call or text you?” There’s a shy smile playing on his lips then, “About the jacket, I mean.”

“Are you sure you don’t want it back now?”

“No, that’s ok. My brothers are at the party as well. I can just take one of theirs.”

“Sure?” You try one last time.

“Sure.”

“Ok.” Your fingers fly over his screen then, adding yourself to his contacts before you hand him the phone back. Locked. A wicked grin on your lips, “Let’s see if you remember my name- Later.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.” You lean over the center console then and press a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“You will,” he says with a bad attempt at a wink, which so far seems his only flaw.

“Thank you for driving me home,” you say as you climb out of the car while trying not to flash anyone even though there’s no one around. A kind smile then as you close the door, “Drive safe.”

“Always.” He gives you a quick wave and then he’s off, the rumble of the engine echoing through the almost empty streets of the city.

***

He doesn’t call. Or text. And so his jacket moves from your living room, where it was draped over a chair for the first three weeks, to the guest bedroom slash your home office, this time draped over your office chair. Every now and then you catch a hint of his cologne and so you still aren’t able to really forget about him.

At the beginning of November you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ll probably won’t see him again, that you probably made a bigger deal out of it than it was, that he probably doesn’t even remember you - your name just another girl added to his contacts because he was simply trying to be nice - and so at some point you move the jacket to inside the closet in the guest bedroom, telling yourself that the only reason you won’t throw it away is because it’s Armani and expensive as fuck.

You’d like to say you’ve forgotten about both the jacket and Charles once December rolls around but that would be a lie. You’ve actually started to follow the remainder of the F1 season and saw him come second in the World Driver Championship. A warm feeling settling somewhere inside your chest whenever you see him getting doused in champagne by his teammates or rivals, taking you back to the night you met.

He’s been on your mind more than ever and when your phone rings one night, an unknown, private number calling you, you somehow know it’s him and so you answer with a cheeky, “The jacket you are trying to reach is no longer available. Please try again later.”

He lets out a laugh, that same laugh you drew from him in his car all those months ago, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “Salut, ma chérie, I’m sorry for not calling any sooner but-”

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way back into our lives, Leclerc,” you say as you take another bite of the apple you were eating.

“Our?”

“The jacket’s and mine,” you reply. “We are doing quite well for ourselves.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Is that so?”

You nod even though he can’t see you, “Yeah.”

“I’d like to come see that for myself.”

“Hmmm,” you draw out. “We might be able to arrange a supervised visit. When would you-”

Your doorbell rings then and you hear it both in your house and echo through your phone and- Oh. Shit.

Charles chuckles in your ear, “Now?”

===

AN: I am so sorry for this very unsatisfying open ending. It was the best I could do for now... *sends hugs to those affected*

#F1 Fanfic #Charles Leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc imagine #Charles Leclerc x you #CL16 #Harley Sunday x Charles Leclerc

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lvrdrafts · 9 months

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Rescued by Love Epilogue

★ Summary: Your brother Steve always hated you after your mother's death and when he finally gets the family's empire he is ready to sell you off to some toxic marriage but will the knight and shining armor save you or make it worse?

★ Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

★ Warnings: Arranged Marriage

★ Genre: Angst/ Fluff

Masterlist

The grand gala was the talk of the town, a glittering affair held in one of New York's most luxurious ballrooms. The city's elite had gathered there, draped in opulent gowns and tailored suits, to witness the unveiling of the mysterious newcomer in the South's burgeoning mafia world. Rumors had swirled for weeks about this enigmatic figure, someone who was rapidly amassing power and influence, even threatening the established crime families.

As the anticipation built in the lead-up to the gala, Bucky found himself standing with Steve in a quiet corner of the ballroom, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

"You sure about this, Steve?" Bucky asked, his gaze scanning the elegantly dressed crowd. "You really think this new guy gonna show up here?"

Steve nodded, his eyes focused on the entrance. "Yeah, Buck, I'm pretty sure. My sources are usually spot-on about these things. Whoever this guy is, he's been making waves down South. The word is, he's looking to expand his reach, and he's already got some of the old families nervous."

Bucky's brow furrowed. "Any idea who he might be?"

Steve shrugged. "Not much to go on, really. The details are pretty scarce. But the way I hear it, he's strategic, smart, and ruthless. He's got people willing to follow him without question, and that's how he's been able to rise so quickly."

Bucky crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. "But why would he come all the way up here? And why would they even consider teaming up with us?"

Steve leaned in, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "It's about strength, Bucky. This new guy wants to expand their reach, and allying with us would give them the backing they need. And in return, we'd gain access to their resources and connections."

Bucky's skepticism was evident. "Steve, I get the whole strength in numbers thing, but we don't even know who this guy is. He could be some hotshot rookie who's in over his head."

Steve nodded, acknowledging Bucky's concerns. "I know it's a risk, but sometimes you gotta take chances to come out on top. The potential rewards are too big to ignore."

Bucky let out a sigh, his uncertainty still lingering. "I just hope this guy shows up. I mean, what if he's got cold feet or something? We're all here waiting, and he might not even come through."

Steve gave Bucky a reassuring pat on the back. "Look, we'll know soon enough. And if he's half as smart as we think he is, he'll understand the benefits of this alliance. We just need to stay patient and keep our eyes open."

As the grand gala unfolded, the tension in the air seemed to thicken. Bucky and Steve continued to scan the crowd, their curiosity about the new mafia leader heightening with every passing moment. The anticipation reached a crescendo as the room fell into an expectant hush, all eyes locked onto the entrance.

And then, you walked in.

The room erupted into a mixture of gasps, whispers, and stunned silence. Bucky's eyes widened, his heart racing, as he watched you glide through the entrance with a confidence that commanded attention. He couldn't believe what he was seeing – you, his ex-wife, the last person he expected to be connected to the dangerous underworld they navigated.

As the shock spread through the crowd, Steve turned to Bucky, his own surprise evident in his expression. "Buck... is that...?"

Bucky's voice was barely a whisper as he confirmed the truth, his disbelief clear. "What she-she's been gone for so long it can't"

"Buck, I'm telling you, she's probably just the wife," Steve asserted, his tone condescending. "I mean, look at her. She's not exactly radiating power and authority. This whole setup screams 'arm candy' more than anything else."

Bucky's brows furrowed as he looked at Steve, his own doubts mixing with a growing frustration. He had kept his silence thus far, grappling with his own shock and uncertainty, but he couldn't let Steve's dismissive words go unanswered.

As Bucky approached you, his heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. He felt a rush of emotions seeing you again, especially in such unexpected circumstances.

Meanwhile, Steve's rant continued behind him, his words trailing off as he noticed Bucky's departure. "Buck, where are you going? You can't seriously be buying into this—"

But Bucky had already reached you, his gaze locking onto yours as he tried to read the truth in your expression. The chatter of the gala around them seemed to fade into the background as he stood before you, the weight of their shared history heavy in the air.

"Hey," Bucky began, his voice soft and uncertain. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Your silence seemed to stretch on for a moment before you finally spoke, your words cutting through the air with a chilling precision. "Bucky," you said, your tone icy. "It's not a crime to attend a gala, last time I checked."

Bucky felt his heart sink at your tone, the distance between you tangible. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Your gaze remained fixed on him, the coldness in your expression unwavering. "I have business," you replied simply, your tone leaving no room for further questions.

Bucky couldn't help but blurt out the question that had been nagging at him. "You joined the crime business? I thought you hated it." Bucky says with a growing smile on his face as a way to lighten the mood.

Your lips curved into a cold smile, and your response was laced with a sharpness that took him aback. "Noo who told you that." you said chuckling at his question "I just hated the way you and Steve acted the second you joined it, thinking you were big shit." you say still smiling knowing that the remark was gonna struck a nerve.

Before Bucky can respond, a man walks up to you whispering something into your ear and then guides you to a room, full of some of the biggest bosses the West has to offer.

As the night wore on, Bucky found himself watching you from a distance, unable to shake the unease that had settled in his chest. He knew he needed to make amends, to bridge the gap that had grown between you. And so, as the gala drew to a close and you seemed ready to leave, he made a decision.

He approached you with a determined stride, his words rushed and heartfelt. "Wait, I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry I was the reason you left"

Your expression remained guarded, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes. Before you could respond, however, Steve appeared beside Bucky, his glare directed at you.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of regret. "I needed space, time to figure things out."

Bucky sighed, his eyes filled with understanding. "I'm so sorry. I should've been a better husband. I neglected you when you needed me the most."

His words hung in the air, heavy with remorse. The memories of your turbulent marriage and the pain it had brought resurfaced, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it touched a chord within you.

"I've moved on, Bucky," you said, your voice tinged with compassion. "I've learned to be independent."

Bucky nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. "You've done well for yourself."

You acknowledged his words with a nod, your gaze lingering on him for a moment before you turned to leave once more.

"Take care" Bucky called after you, his voice filled with a mix of longing and acceptance.

As you walked away, Steve couldn't resist adding a remark. "You know, there was a time when life was simpler, happier, before you came into it. You just got to ruin it by coming back"

Bucky snapped his head at Steve but before he could respond you turned to him to speak to Steve instead.

"Well, Steve," you retorted with a touch of irony, "I guess life's full of surprises, isn't it?."

With that parting shot, you left Steve behind, striding away from the gala without looking back. The night was filled with possibilities, and the outcome of your journey remained uncertain. In this world of shadows and secrets, you had no time for sentimental reflections on the past. You were determined to thrive, no matter the cost, leaving the complicated relationships of your history in your wake.

fin

@cjand10 @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @hereticdance @kentokaze @bruher @tupperwarefullofdirt @unaxv @learisa @emerald-writes @aya-fay @stinkerbelle007 @scifinerd1818 @paarthurnax59 @vickie5446 @almosttoopizza @kandis-mom @kittimbo @blackhawkfanatic @diannana @scuzmunkie @

#winter soldier x reader angst #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst

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tyrantisterror · 1 year

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Still Buzzing About Beelzebub

I wanted to leave this at vague blogging but fuck, man, I can't leave it be. I have a special fondness for Beelzebub as a folkloric figure, and I can't help having very intense personal feelings about how he's adapted. So I'm going to blather about the Lord of the Flies for a moment, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Ok, so, extremely oversimplified spark notes version of Beelzebub's history as a demon concept: there was a god named Ba'al who was worshipped by a rival religion to the Israelites, with "Ba'al" meaning "lord." It's theorized the full name of the god was "Ba'al-zebul," which would roughly mean "Lord of the Heavenly Place." Like many other demons, Beelzebub began as a satirical take on a rival religion's god - in this case, Ba'al-zebul becomes Ba'al-zebub, which means "lord of flies." It's a pun, and, like, a grade school playground level taunt. "Haha, your god's not the god of heaven, he's the god of shit-eating bugs!" basically.

Ba'al-zebub eventually evolves through translation into Beelzebub, and by the point it does it's gone from a petty mockery of another god to a major figure of Biblical apocrypha. In fact, when it comes to figuring out the "real" name of The Devil, Beelzebub has probably the second best claim to it, being not only one of the first devils ever named, but also one of the first ones to be listed (by apocryphal sources) to being the leader of the fallen angels - his only real competition is Belial, who might beat him out in terms of seniority on these points, but with folklore this old it's kind of hard to say someone's a clear winner in this sort of thing.

While other devils would later gain more popularity for the position of The Devil (Lucifer and Satan being the frontrunners despite the former being a result of a translation error and the later being more akin to a title than a name proper - "Satan" isn't too far from "Prosecuting Attorney" in its original usage), Beelzebub has always remained pretty damn prominent, often being The Devil's close second in command or at least in his inner circle, such as in works like Paradise Lost and Marlowe's Faust.

Perhaps his biggest claim to demonic fame, especially in recent years, is his position as one of the Seven Princes of Hell, being one of the elite demons to not only rule Hell, but also represent one of the seven deadly sins. Beelzebub is generally placed as the ruler/representative of Gluttony, though occasionally he's repurposed as the demon of Envy instead.

Ok, cool, so why do I have my hackles up? Well, there's an internet cartoon that's set in Hell with a great deal of buzz about it in animated circles, and they've been dipping their toes into demonology now and then. And apparently this is their take on Beelzebub:

youtube

It's... it's a fucking fox. It's just a fucking fox. I mean, ok, it's got fairy wings and second set of arms and, like, a tail made of honey, but still... it's just a fucking fox.

Here's the thing about Beelzebub: the name "lord of the flies" is fucking unique as demons go. It's descriptive, it's different. Most stories that make Beelzebub distinct from The Devil take the opportunity to make his title very literal, because by doing so they make him distinct from his fellow devils - and as a result, Beelzebub tends to be really fucking memorable.

Like, here, look at some of his peers in the Infernal Dictionary;

They're all beautifully illustrated, but most (not all) of them are pretty much what you expect when you hear about a classical demon: hairy goat guys with some dragon features mixed in. But then you get the guys like Beelzebub:

And that hell-fly stand out. He still fits with his peers - the antenna evoke horns, he's got subtle reptilian features like scales and just a bit of a serpentine quality to his abdomen/tail, but in a sea of goat men, he stands out as the only big ass fucking bug guy.

Because that's his thing! He's the bug guy!

Now, this isn't a question of mythic accuracy, because that's a fucking laughable concept, because assuming there's one version of a myth that can be held above all others as "canon" is such a foolish notion in of itself, especially for a character who started as just a satirical nickname for another character and only evolved into his own entity later. Plus there's the fact that, historically, portraying Beelzebub as something other than a big buy monster has been done a lot of times. One early description of Beelzebub goes as follows:

"...a swollen face and chest, huge nostrils, horns, bat wings, duck feet, a lion's tail, and a covering of thick black hair."

Which might look something like this:

And you know, that's not unworkable. A lot of demons have similar depictions - hell, just look back at those Infernal Dictionary depictions. A guy like this wouldn't be out of place with them. But, like, he also wouldn't stand out. It's not that being a big bug is the "accurate" take on Beelzebub - it's that it's the interesting one.

Look at that video again. This is a setting that already has a metric fuckton of canine demons in it. That song and dance number is mostly filled with hellhounds. Why make Beelzebub yet another canine? What's the reason for it, other than laziness or, like, artistic cowardice? 'Cause, like, not to be judgmental of a subculture I'm not a part of, but there seem to be a prominent number of furry artists who, as creature designers, just cannot come up with good designs for non-canine creatures for the life of them. It just feels like a person who looked at the myths, wondered "how on earth can I turn that into an early 2000's deviant art OC covered in hot topic paraphernalia?" gave up after half an attempt and just drew a rail thin emo raver fox girl because that comes to them like swimming does to a duck.

But I think if "emo raver scene party girl circa 2003 Beelzebub" is your character design pitch, you can do that AND make the Lord of Flies look like a big fucking bug. Maybe even work in some body diversity into your series full of rail-thin Johnny the Homicidal Maniac knockoff fursonas. It's Beelzebub, dammit, she has a right to stand out a little!

...

Ok, all this said, one criticism I've heard leveled at the Lord of the Honey-Fox-Fairies here is that the representative of Gluttony should be fat, which a lot of people rightfully pushed back against as being fatphobic. Which, to be fair, it is. But it's also a misunderstanding of Gluttony as a sin, which this take on Beelzebub is ironically also guilty of.

Gluttony is not simply eating a lot of food. Gluttony is the waste of resources that others could use. A person who orders a shitload of food, takes one bite, and throws it all away so no one else can eat it is just as gluttonous as a person who eats every last morsel - perhaps even moreso, since even they don't get use out of the food in question. In recent years the Catholic church classified pollution as part of the sin of Gluttony - because by fouling rivers and bleeding farmland dry with fertilizers, you are wasting valuable resources the world needs. Gluttony is less about what you consume and more about what you keep others - specifically others in need - from having access to.

What's depicted in this song isn't gluttony, because no one in this song is starving. Nothing is being wasted, no one is kept hungry for the sake of the selfish. There's a scene where Beelzebub actually gives a person MORE food, which is... it's literally the opposite of what gluttony is! Gluttony does not feed the hungry - gluttony keeps them starving! That's why it's evil!

In many ways this song is more a depiction of the sin of Lust, which is similarly misunderstood. A lot of people reduce it to "wanting sex," but lust is specifically about pursuing pleasure so selfishly that you neglect your duties to yourself and others. Drinking to self-destructive excess is not gluttonous, it's lustful. Eating sugary candy that has no nutritional value and makes you less healthy is lustful. This whole display of gratuitous self indulgence that the song focuses on - and that fact that said self indulgence hurts the people choosing to partake of it - is the definition of lust.

It's all a very shallow and poorly thought out take on the seven deadly sins and Beelzebub himself, and that's pretty disappointing from a piece of media about Hell that's so strangely popular. But hey, at least Good Omens got the Lord of Flies right.

#Beelzebub #Demonology #The Seven Deadly Sins #Gluttony

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midwestmade29 · 1 month

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Jealousy 💚

Why is a jealous Jay White so hot? 😂 Thank you @coleskingdom for always sharing your extensive knowledge on King Switch with me and letting me pick your brain all the time 🥰 This story is for everyone that participated in my recent poll and voted for Jay. Enjoy 🖤

Word count: 2.4k Divider by: Me GIF by me 🙂

Disclaimers: Jealousy, cursing, unprotected sex. Read at your own discretion.

When Jay sees you talking to your ex, he lets his jealousy get the best of him…

You, Will and Jay go back a long time. In Japan, Will and Jay often wrestled each other, had corresponding storylines, and even belonged to the same faction for a period of time. Outside of the ring, they were friends until you got thrown into the mix. After being introduced to Will one night, the two of you hit it off immediately and ended up in an official relationship!

Things with the two of you were going well, but Jay sort of became background noise the more time you and Will spent together. He often excused himself from conversations and social events that you guys were at. You enjoyed your friendship with Jay, but you could always tell something bothered him about holding that title.

Unfortunately, everything changed between you and Will when you got the opportunity to move back to the United States. The two of you had several long, difficult conversations about your relationship and if it could withstand that kind of distance. Both of you ultimately decided to end things with the breakup being amicable with nothing but love and respect for each other. Will and Jay stayed behind and went on to have extreme success in NJPW while you found your own in AEW.

-> 2023 <- A couple years later, you and Jay rekindled your friendship, and in no time your friendship blossomed into a full-blown relationship. The two of you were inseparable! When Jay signed his AEW contract, you were with him every step of the way, from the decision making, negotiating, and signing his name on the dotted line. His new deal opened up so many opportunities for him and allowed the two of you to live in the same country after being apart for so long. AEW was lucky to have him on their roster, but you felt like you were the lucky one finally having him by your side.

-> 2024 <- A lot can change in a year, that’s for sure! Never in your wildest dreams did you think your current boyfriend and your ex would end up signed to the same wrestling company again, but here they are. Sure, Will had done things with AEW before, but now he was officially All Elite! The two of you had fallen out of touch over time, chalking it up to having thriving careers, living in different time zones, and simply growing a part. Will had since moved on and found a new love just like you did with Jay. You weren’t worried about seeing him, you were more worried what Jay would say or do to him! His jealous side wasn’t pretty.

You and Will ran into each other one night after Dynamite. You were walking to your locker room and spotted him leaning up against a wall on his phone. As soon as he noticed you too, he put his phone away and smiled! “Well, if it isn’t the prettiest bird this side of the Atlantic,” Will said kindly while opening his arms to you. “How are you love?” Halfway through your conversation with him, you couldn’t help but notice how often his eyes would drift between looking at you and looking past you. When you heard footsteps coming from behind you, you turned around and saw Jay staring daggers at Will. “Well, well, well if it isn’t the Golden Boy himself blessing us all with his presence,” Jay called out sarcastically.

He stood next to you and draped his arm over your shoulder before making it a point to kiss you long and hard. Your cheeks were flushed when he pulled away, mostly from embarrassment but also from the possessiveness of the kiss. Will being Will extended his hand politely to Jay while offering his best “Ello’ mate” only to have the tip of a gold bat placed in his hand. “You’re breathing with the Switchblade now, Golden Boy. AEW belongs to me, this is still my era. I’d watch yourself around these parts if I were you,” Jay’s tone was low and thick with disdain while he waved his bat in Will’s face. “Well, Bruv, while I appreciate your advice, I don’t think I’m the one that needs to have my head on a swivel. You never know when a hidden blade might get ya,” he warned as he took a step towards Jay. “Put that fuckin bat in my face again and I’ll show you who’s era it really is,” Jay become rigid with anger as he stood next to you. He was about to step forward when you placed your hand on his chest, silently begging him not to take things further. When he saw the nervous look on your face, he backed down. “Consider Y/N convincing me to spare you today your official welcoming present. Stay in your lane or next time I won’t be so nice,” Jay threatened. With his arm still draped over your shoulder, he guided the both of you around Will and walked away. You peered back at him and mouthed “sorry,” earning a nod in return.

Tony Kahn had big plans for this week’s Dynamite at Daily’s Place! From start to finish, the show was jammed packed with some of AEW’s biggest stars, including a Casino Gauntlet match that both Jay and Will would be a part of. Your anxiety instantly grew as you listened to Jay telling Austin and Colten about it, the wickedness in his voice completely evident. You stopped him before he went on his way and tried to reason with him, “Please, Jay. Promise me you’ll be on your best behavior when you and Will are in the ring together. Please, for me?” “You drive a hard bargain, love. But what would the others think if I took it easy on ol’ Golden Boy? You’re dating King Switch sweetheart, not King Bitch. While I might not be on my best behavior, I’ll try not to send him to the hospital, deal?” Jay said with a wink. He kissed you on the forehead on his way out of the room, twirling his golden bat and whistling a cheerful tune.

Will’s music blasted through the venue making the crowd go wild at his surprise entrance! He first squared up with Kyle O’Reilly before taking down Penta and Dante Martin. His small celebration was cut short when Jay snuck up behind him, putting him in a headlock and trying to land a Blade Runner on him! Will managed to counter the signature move, stopping Jay in his tracks and forcing him to back away. To the rest of the world, the smile they shared seemed genuine, but you knew better! After giving Will a fist bump, Jay made sure he had the upper hand when he immediately started to gouge his eyes and backed him into a corner. He landed several chops on his chest, Will making sure to return the favor before Jay rolled out of the ring. Around the 14-minute mark, the ref gave the final 3 count signifying Will as the winner! You knew once you were reunited with Jay backstage, you weren’t going to hear the end of how the “Golden Boy” took the W away from him.

It felt like the entire company was attending the party Tony Kahn was throwing at his house! His home was immaculate and so incredibly large. There were decorations all throughout the inside and around the backyard. The open bars located inside the house and by the pool were the main attractions for most while the delicious hors d’oeuvres were a close second. Somewhere down the line you had lost track of Jay and found yourself standing at an empty cocktail table outside all by your lonesome. “Did the Switchblade cut you loose for the night?” Will jested as he sat his drink down. “I’m surprised the bloke left you all alone knowing I was lurking around,” “Ha ha, very funny. He’s mingling around here somewhere, I’m sure. Not really my thing,” you winked. “He doesn’t own me, you know. I’m free to talk to whomever I want,”

It was obvious Will wanted to say something else on the matter, but he let it go and tried to make small talk instead. “So, are all of Tony’s parties like this? Extravagant and crowded? I don’t think the lad spared any cost,” “Definitely! He just wants everyone to enjoy themselves and have a good time. You’d be crazy to turn down an invitation to one of his events,” you chuckled. The conversation with you and Will was light and fun, but he eventually got pulled away to talk with some of the other guests. Almost right on cue, Jay walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you flush against his chest. “Having a good time chatting it up with Golden Boy?” his voice was honey in your ear, even though you knew there was more behind his question than sweetness.

You turned around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and speaking softly, “I would’ve been having a better time if I was chatting it up with you. Where have you been? I missed you,” “Trying to keep the boys out of trouble. It’s a full-time job as you know. I’m here now love, I’m all yours,” “Good,” you smiled. “Right now, I think I’d like to be anywhere else but out here. It’s too peopely, if you know what I mean,” Jay picked up on what you were suggesting and grabbed your hand. He led you towards the pool house, checking every room once you were inside. When the coast was clear, he crashed his lips against yours, devouring your mouth hungrily and greedily. Your tongues danced together in perfect unison, your breathing becoming more ragged the longer your lips remained connected. His hands roamed freely all over your body, grabbing handfuls of his favorite parts while your own were tangled in his hair. His strong arms picked you up effortlessly, carrying you over to the bar top and sitting you down on it.

You wrapped your legs around Jay’s hips, bringing him as close to you as possible. He had your dress bunched up around your waist, nearly ripping off your panties in his haste to get you bare before him. The groan he let out when he discovered you weren’t wearing a bra was low and throaty, but the moan you let out when he took your nipple in his mouth was anything but quiet. “Usually, I’d tell you to keep it down, but I don’t think I will this time. Let it all out sweet girl, let me hear those beautiful noises you make,” Jay growled against your chest. He was enjoying this way too much.

It took everything in you not to rip his shirt wide open and make the buttons on it go flying everywhere! As you undid every one of them, you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself at the thought of Jay walking around the rest of the night with his shirt wide open. You knew no one would even bat an eye at it because he was always putting his goods on display! The man was proud of his abs, and he had every right to be. “Are you going to continue to eye fuck me, or can we move on to the real deal sweetheart?” he jested. “I’d prefer the latter,”

His white linen pants were down around his ankles now, his underwear quickly joining them when you yanked them down in a hurry. “So eager for me, aren’t you sweet girl? I bet you thought about this all night, didn’t you?” The look on Jay’s face as he inched himself inside your wet folds was incredibly sexy, filled with pure lust and need. No matter how many times you are intimate together, it never gets old. The two of you were undeniably and completely love drunk off one another.

Every thrust of Jay’s hips echoed through the room as they slapped against you, each one purposeful and deep. His face was buried in your neck, your arms wrapped around his with your fingers laced in his hair. His firm chest was pressed against yours, barely an inch of room in between them. You could’ve sworn you heard a door open, but Jay encouraged you to brush it off. “Someone probably got lost, don’t worry about it. Eyes on me, love. Don’t look away,” he whispered. You felt the tip of his hard length brush up against your sweet spot, instantly bringing your focus back on your bliss. You tried to stifle your moans and whimpers by biting Jay’s shoulder, but it was no use. You were too far gone, more than ready to topple over the edge and take your man with you. “Jay, I’m so close! So, fucking close!” you cried out. You thought the sudden grin that covered his face was from your declaration, but little did you know the real reason. You had been right about hearing someone moments ago because Will had suddenly walked by the room you and Jay were in! Your back was facing the door, so there was no way to know about the events taking place behind you. The two men locked eyes with each other, but Jay never lost his stride. “Tell them sweet girl, tell them who makes you feel so good. Let the whole party know who is the only one who can make you unravel like this,” he encouraged breathlessly. “Y-you Jay! Only you!” He increased his speed as he gave the middle finger to a mortified Will, making the poor guy run away in a hurry! When he returned his attention to you, Jay picked up on the signs your body was giving him, making sure to capitalize on every cue. “That’s it, love. Cum for me! God you’re so beautiful like this,” And just like that, your entire body began to tremble, every hair standing on end as you fell apart around Jay. The inferno that had been building up inside you had spread like an unruly wildfire through every fiber of your being, burning hot and completely consuming you. Every nerve ending had come alive, firing on all cylinders, making you feel every sensation, every wave of pleasure that much more. Jay’s erratic movements gave himself away, his grunts and whimpers becoming more frequent just moments before he came inside you. He filled you with his hot seed, making a complete mess of you.

Once you and the bar top were cleaned up, the two of you reemerged at the party. Will was nowhere to be found the rest of the night, but who could blame him? Your mind wasn’t focused on the missing Kingpin though. You were more interested in your King Switch and when you could get him alone again.

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mnemosyne-nyx · 1 year

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✨ Bruce Wayne Headcanons that haunt me but I refuse to elaborate on even if they're utterly wrong Pt. 2✨

Going feral over this man

Hal and Bruce almost share a birthday and it fucking infuriates Bruce for no reason.

My guy was a rebellious teenager growing up, you know, trauma baby tings but also wanting to distance himself from the elite society (I mean rich Gotham really is a different cesspool of evilness lmao who can blame the poor guy.) Not to get deep but the beginning of his crusade was him wanting to seek a life and identity beyond the Wayne name right and witness Gotham from all angles. However, after realising he can both honour and build upon his legacy, Bruce destroyed any proof of this phase as he associates it with his turbulent and troubled coming of age. Little does he know there's a box filled with Polaroids within the 73288199 attics of Wayne Manor ready for his kids to find plus his detailed knowledge about the punk scene of Gotham makes them suspicious anyway.

Bruce learns a lot from his children. He may be their mentor but he's definitely learnt acrobatic tricks from Dick Grayson, combat and body language from Cass etc etc. Black Canary one day complimenting an acrobatic move of Bruce's only for him to have learnt it from one 11 year old Dick Grayson.

Bruce knows every nook and cranny of the watchtower. This guy designed, funded and helped build this fucking thing. Superman can hear him fuckin scurrying in the hundreds of boiler rooms, hidden corridors and storage rooms like a human rat. Flash doesn't understand how this man just teleports from one end of the tower to the other not knowing Bruce built trapdoors, hidden passageways, fake walls in this place. Bruce has a hiding spot in the upper levels of the watchtower where a small window gives view to Earth. J'onn is the only leaguer who can rival Batman in his watchtower knowledge.

He is the unofficial caretaker of the justice league. He makes sure all catering and quarters are fully equipped to people's needs. Overhears a leaguer saying there aren't enough vegetarian options? Bam, fully renewed menu. Barry complaining he can't sleep because his quarter is too cold? Bam, temperature risen. Small things like office supplies, medical equipment - he's always taking mental notes of. He knows what leaguer is allergic to what too. Lad keeps the watchtower STOCKED

The League never fails to wish a member a happy birthday. Somehow word always gets out and no one really knows how the date gets around. It's Bruce. He knows everyone's birthdays. Sometimes photogenic memory doesn't work in his favour. When it comes to respect, compassion and love - Bruce isn't the verbal type. He prefers to show it through action - I mean he crusades around Gotham to show his need to protect people for God's sake. Therefore, he sets like a reminder anonymously on the watchtower monitor for some random hero to find.

My guy HATES Asmr.

Bruce's hair is naturally thick and actually pretty darn curly. Superman is renowned for having the curls, but Bruce - with dirty, grown out hair - can give him a run for his money. His curls never show though as he keeps his hair very short and often has it sleeked back in public (as Thomas and Alfred always told him it was neater and more proper that way.)

He is a PERFECT mix between Thomas and Martha. Everyone who ever meets Brucie Wayne for the first time tells him he's the spitting image of both of them.

My man was a heartthrob in the 90s. Dick and Tim frequently Google "Bruce Wayne 90s" and bust a gut laughing at how their old man is like in every fuckin teenage magazine published in that decade.

#batfam #bruce wayne #batman #justice league #brucie wayne #jla #dc comics #dc headcanon #WHY IS THERE LITERALLY NO ADOLESCENT BRUCE LORE WTF??#Me pondering with my pipe as I reinvent the entirety of the DC universe in my cobwebbed study #Sometimes I like giving batman human emotions so I can imagine Andrew tate fans getting angry at it just to feel something

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factual-fantasy · 2 months

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Heya Factual! Just saw the Pokemon post- and while obviously the art is amazing as always- it's even cooler seeing you do some on paper art! I've always just doodled on paper myself, so it's sweet seeing you making some art the ol'fashioned way- and despite you claiming to be rusty, it came out great regardless! I especially like that haunter- a haunter named Grimace is the best thing I've seen all week!

And Thanks a million for answering my last Ask regarding goombas despite your cold- and I greatly appreciated you letting us know how much you appreciate our Asks- even if I can get a bit long winded at times... And staying on the theme of Koopa Troop related questions, another thing I wonder is what place the hammer bros and their variants have in the main Mario AU?

I imagine if they were included, they would maintain their status as elite soldiers- but function more like their original cartoon interpretations rather than the modern ones- as its suggested the modern variants use power ups- and magic- which the average Koopa in the AU simply cannot do- so they'd probably just be unique sub species with perhaps specialized gear and training- but what do you imagine that would include? And would all the variants be included- such as fire, ice, boomerang, and sledge- or none at all?

Oh, and just a goofy little side question- you mentioned the quadrupedal, more animalistic Koopa breeds such as the Spineys and Buzzy Beetles would be kept and treated as pets by their more intelligent relatives- how do you think one would go about taking care of such a creature? Would they be more like dogs or cats? Would they perhaps still be used for battle like in the movie- where Bowser took advantage of the buzzy beetles great strength by mounting bullet bill blasters upon their shells? And, most importantly- would your AU perhaps include the long held fan head cannon that cross breeding of Spineys and Buzzy Beetles eventually lead to the creation of the most powerful, fire proof, spike bearing, and creatively named beast of all time- the Spike Top!?

(Pokemon post in question)

:DD Thank you so much! I'm glad that you like my traditional art! :}} The hardest part about it is trying to take a nice picture of the drawing with my phone- 😅

I'm also happy to hear that people like the name Grimace! I was inspired by the McDonalds guy- XDD

As for the hammer bros, you got a lot right. They can't use power ups so the fire and ice bros gotta go. I also don't intend for them to use magic so the hammer bros endless supply of hammers also has to go-

I pictured the hammer and boomerang bros being regular koopas that just happen to be big and brawny. They were probably selected based on their body type and given special training. The B-bros still have their usual boomerangs, but the H-bros would get one giant hammer. As opposed to a million tiny ones-

Their status is nowhere near blue shells. They're probably above standard koopas but below parakoopas. :0

As for the more "animal like" Koopa relatives.. I'm not sure what would go into taking care of them.. I assume a good diet, scrubbing their shells.. stuff like that? I also imagined them ranging in size. Some of the spiny breeds growing big enough to be used as cattle/worker/farm animals. :0 not so much dogs and cats- I pictured them being a bit grumpy and slow. Not really a great pet-

Also I don't know if mixing a Buzzy beetles with a spiny would make a spike top- at least in my au.. but I can see where the headcanon comes from!

Speaking of spike top, they could be the same as spinys. But perhaps they don't grow that big- These little cranky turtles that could be taken in as a pet. And perhaps some Koopa families have! Though most koopas aren't interested in adopting a grumpy spike top- 😅😅

Also thank you for the ask! Bringing stuff like this to my attention and really getting me to think my AU through more! :}}✨💞✨

#my response #super mario bros

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inbabylontheywept · 1 year

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Kevin vs. Quantum Mechanics

This is an autobiographical piece. Names have been changed for anonymity, but it's otherwise left be. ---

The class's first suspicion of Kevin was that he had, somehow, cheated his way up to this course. He just seemed perpetually confused, and strangely antagonistic of the professor. The weirdest example of this was when he asked what an ion was (in a third year EE class?), and was informed that it referred to any positively or negatively charged particle. It would have been strange enough to ask, but his reply of "Either? That doesn't sound right" sealed him in as a well known character in the class of 19 people.

The real tipping point in our perception of him during a lecture where the professor mentioned practical uses for a neutron beam, and Kevin asked if a beam could be made out of some other neutral material. When asked "Like what?", he replied "An atom with all of its electrons removed." When we pointed out that the protons would make that abomination extremely positively charged, he just replied with "So what if we removed those too?" and then was baffled when we informed him that would just be neutrons.

That's high school level chemistry. Not knowing it was so incredibly strange that I felt like something was off, so I asked him if he'd like to grab lunch. He accepted, we chatted, and I finally began to get a sense of his origin story.

See, Kevin wasn't a junior/senior electrical engineer like the rest of us. Kevin was, in fact, three notable things: A business major, a sophomore, and a hardcore Catholic. All three of those are essential to understanding his scenario.

What had begun all of this was actually a conflict with Kevin and his roommate. Kevin frequently had his fundamental belief in Absolute Good, Absolute Bad, and Absolute Anything pushed back on by his roommate, who was in STEM. Said roommate kept invoking quantum mechanics as his proof against Absolute Knowledge. Kevin was tired of having something that he didn't understand thrown at his convictions, so he decided to take a quantum course to settle things once and for all.

Despite not having any of the pre-reqs.

He'd actually tried to take quantum for physicists first, but the school's physics department wouldn't let him. It's actually pretty strictly regulated, because it is a mandatory class for physics majors. However, because quantum is not mandatory for electrical engineers, there aren't really any built in requirements for the class. It's just assumed that nobody would actually try to take it until their third year because doing so would the be the mental equivalent to slamming your nuts in the car door. Just, pure suffering for no good reason.

Apparently, the counselors had tried to talk him out of it, but if Kevin was one thing, it was stubborn. He'd actually had to sign some papers basically saying "I was warned that this is incredibly stupid, but I refused to listen" in order to take the class.

He was actually pretty nice, if currently unaware of how bad he'd just fucked up. I paid for the lunch, wished him the best, and reported back to the class discord. We'd all been curious about this guy's story, but now that I had the truth, I could share it with the world.

Feelings were mixed. Some people thought he was going to drop out any minute now. Others thought that he wouldn't, be also that convincing him to drop now, while he still could, was the only ethical thing. Others figured that a policy of non-interference was best: The counselors couldn't dissuade him, and if we tried to do the same, he'd probably just think it was STEM elitism trying to guard its little clubhouse. He'd figure out how hard things were, or he'd fail. Either way, it would help him learn more about the world.

We wound up taking the approach of non-interference. If nothing else, understanding his origins gave us more patience when he asked bizarre questions. He wasn't trying to waste our time, he was just trying to cram three years of pre-reqs into a one semester course. He did get a little bit combative sometimes, and we could tell that he was really wracking his brain to try and find some sort of contradiction or error that he could use to bring the whole thing down, but he never could.

First test came by, and he bombed it. Completely unprepared. He'd taken Calc I, but he didn't know how to do integrals yet (that was Calc II). Worse, he was far past the drop date. I imagine most people in his shoes would've stopped struggling. They'd realize they were fucked and just let themselves fail, at least salvaging their other classes grades in the process. Why waste resources on an unwinnable battle?

Kevin never asked questions like that. If he was stupid enough to try it, he was stupid enough to finish it. God bless him.

He invited me to lunch after the test and said that the class was more fascinating than he'd ever imagined, but he didn't know if he'd be able to pass it. He asked if I could help, and I said...maybe. I brought the request to the discord, and from the eight people there I got three volunteers who admired this dork's tenacity. He was in over his head, miles beneath the surface, but his fighting spirit was fucking glorious. If he was willing to go down swinging, we were willing to bust our asses trying to get him caught up.

Some of the stuff was just extra homework we gave to the guy. We told him he needed to learn integrals, stat. We sent him some copies of basic software that can be used to teach the basics of linear circuit equations, and he practiced that game like it was HALO. Just, hours sunk into it. Absolutely godlike.

He was still scrabbling for air at just the surface level of the class, but he'd gone from abysmal failure to lingering on the boundary between life and death. Other people in the class started to learn about Kevin's origin story, and our little circle of four volunteer tutors grew to six. Every day, he had someone trying to help him either catch up in some way, or finish that week's homework. He'd gone from being seen as a nuisance that wasted class time to the underdog mascot.

He was getting twelve hours of personal tutoring a week, on top of three hours of classes, on top of six hours of office hours, on top of the coursework. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that this kid was doing 40 hours a week just trying to pass this one single class.

Second test comes around and he gets a 60. He's ecstatic. We're ecstatic. Kid's too young to take out drinking so we just order a pizza and cheer like he just won gold at the Olympics.

After that second test, things hit another tipping point. With so much catch-up under his belt, he was able to focus a lot more on the actual material for the class. A borderline cinematic moment happened when I was trying to get ahead on the homework so that I could put more hours in on my senior project. Nobody else had finished it yet because it wasn't due for another week, so the specifics of the problem I was working on were still a mystery. I went to the professor's office hours and get some pointers, but he wasn't willing to give good hints when the HW wasn't due for another week or so. He said I still had time to think about it, which was true, but I wanted to be able to think about other things. Kevin had watched the whole conversation, waiting for his turn to ask the professor more simple questions, but when I left I got a text from him telling me to hop on zoom.

Kevin had finished it earlier, because Kevin started all of his homework the moment it was assigned. He needed to, in order to make sure that he could get it done on time. He'd finished it the day before, and was able to walk me through it.

From student, to teacher. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he probably saved me eight hours on that assignment. I could've kissed him.

A month or two later, we took the final. As soon as we were done, we six asked Kevin how he did. He was nervous, there was so much new material for him in this class that his retention hadn't been great. Us six were also a little stressed: We were going to pass the class, but the final was hard.

We waited for the results.

And waited. And waited.

Finally, the scores were posted as a table, curve included. From our class of 19 people, 4 withdrew within the deadline, 4 failed, 1 got a C, 8 got B's, and 2 got A's. We could see that the curve for a C was set at 59.2% overall.

We called Kevin. He was crying. End score, 59.2%. Teacher curved the C exactly to his score.

It was a week into winter break so we couldn't gather the forces around for a party like last time, but we were all losing our shit. Kevin was losing his shit. He couldn't believe how stupid he was to try this course, he couldn't believe that six people busted their ass just to make sure he didn't die, and he couldn't believe that the professor basically just passed him out of sheer effort alone.

He said it was the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and while I doubt that, it was outrageously stupid. And yet, I've never been so invested in a fellow student before. I'm prouder of Kevin's C than I am of my own B. I was walking on sunshine for weeks after that. In theory, my senior project was building a functioning washing machine, but in practice, in my heart, it was helping Kevin pass Intro to Quantum for Electrical Engineers.

(And as an epilogue: No, he did not renounce Catholicism and become an atheist like his roommate had hoped. He did walk out changed. I think that being that wrong about something, and realizing it, was a pivotal moment for him. It's hard to be dogmatic once you realize that a lifetime of being wrong feels exactly like a lifetime of being right, right up until the last two seconds of it.)

#writing #Kevin #electrical engineering #college #memoir #biography #college stories #group project #quantum physics #senior project #people are awesome

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