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bibluebutterfly · 3 months

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Hoo boy. Now I've made it known multiple times on my blog that I LOATHE the whoobiefication of Vox, but lets get into why/how Vox is NOT a good person nor a baby that needs protecting and why he's all the better for it. Buckle up ladies and gentlemen, this will be long.

Now, why isn't Vox a good person? Easy. Because he (along with the other Vees) is supposed to be the bad guy of the story. Shocking, I know. Vox was NEVER intended to be a good person, and some of y'all just need to accept that.

Now for the long part: HOW is he not a good person?

Well, first of all, his literal introduction is an ad selling drones HE DESIGNED specifically for stalking,"peeping on the neighbors has never been more stylish"

Right off the bat, this tells us he doesn't care about people unless he can profit off them.

Which is also backed up by the point that he ADVERTISES Val and Vels "love potions" which are basically just roofies.

Again. This man ONLY cares about profit first and foremost, screw the people who can get hurt/SA'd by his products.

Next, he has a power of hypnosis which he is NOT hesitant to use. He can take away someones free will at a glance and uses that to his full advantage.

He's also very willing to give Val his lowest earners to shoot. Notice that he does so with no hesitance and no regret.

Also, (and most significantly) he's a huge, HUGE enabler. This guy has cameras EVERYWHERE, ESPECIALLY when Valentino is involved. He's got cameras in Val's room, Angels old room, at Vals corner of the club (which moves when Val does), there's NO WAY he DOESN'T know that Val is a r@pist.

And DESPITE that, he still sleeps with the man, is very likely in love with him, and oh yeah, FUNDS HIS WHOLE DEAL. The cameras Val uses are Voxtech cameras.

Val may be the one who does the dirty work but Vox willingly and knowingly makes a profit off of that. He doesn’t just know and do nothing, he actively HELPS Val out and obviously has no second thoughts nor regrets about it.

This is not a look of disgust or discontent, this is fondness. Genuine fondness. For Valentino. As a PERSON. Let that sink in.

There’s also the implications that Vox is jealous of the attention Angel gets from Val. Angel gets abused constantly by Val, Vox KNOWS, and still hates Angel because of the sheer fact that he takes up so much of Vals attention.

Not to mention the HEAVY implications that he gets off on watching people suffer.

“Well Vox can still do better than Val!!”

While I’m at it, I guess I should bring up the fact that BOTH Vox and Val are MASSIVE red flags.

With Val, aside from the obvious, he’s also a huge attention whore for Vox and isn’t afraid to break Vox’s property if Vox doesn’t pay attention to him. Yeah Vox gets frustrated with him, who wouldn’t be when their lover is throwing temper tantrums every other day?

With Vox, again, aside from the obvious, isn’t afraid to handle Val roughly when he’s mad, and literally screams about how watching his arch nemesis/obsession get the crap beat out of him is better than sex. Right in front of Val by the way. In regular circumstances, 9.98/10 that’s gonna get your ass dumped in a second.

Not to mention the mutual condescension ation towards each other.

And as much as fans (including myself admittedly) like to shit on Val for being a man child, Vox is literally no better.

Plus the explosive tempers.

Seriously. Vox LITERALLY cannot do better than Val. Vox is the only one who can put up with Vals BS and vice versa.

OH YEAH and lets not forget one last thing: VOX ALSO ABUSES HIS OWN EMPLOYEES.

This dude is scared of him, and it’s NOT because he’s worried about getting fired.

So yes. Vox is not nor HAS EVER been a good person.

And for me personally, I love that. I love that he’s entertaining yet awful. I love his dynamic with Alastor, and I love his relationship with Val even more.

If you’re wondering why I personally love Staticmoth, it’s because basic couple rules do not apply to them. They’re both toxic narcissistic red flags and therefore they can be as awful as they want to each other, and the other will simply shake it off. Yet there’s still heavy trust between the two (never being scared of each other) and they still have little moments together where they’re genuinely happy. It’s unique, and something I’ve never seen in media before.

Basically, if you liked Vox better when you thought he was a poor little baby being abused by Val, read a fan fiction. There’s a lot of them out there.

But people really just need to accept the fact that he’s an awful person. Always has been. He’s not better than Val by ANY means. He and Val are both evil pricks who deserve each other.

And guess what? LIKING AN EVIL CHARACTER DOES NOT MEAN YOU SUPPORT THEIR CHOICES. IT’S OKAY TO LIKE VOX EVEN IF HE IS EVIL.

But don’t go on saying that Vox was “ruined” as a character when all signs have always pointed to him being terrible.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #voxval #staticmoth #character analysis #long post

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catfern · 6 months

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1 MILLION SUBSCRIBERS SPECIAL

pairing: ghost hunter!ellie x afab!reader (feminine pronouns used)

music: eyes without a face - billy idol

word count: 2.3k

summary: ghost hunter!ellie needs a new assistant to help film her 1 million subscribers special in a supposedly 'haunted house'. good thing you'll do anything she says.

warnings: SEXTAPE, oral (r!receiving) fingering (r!receiving), ghosts? spooky business, ellie is a shitty clickbait youtuber

an: heyyy this came to me in a dream. nothing much else to say. get ready to fuck dirty while ghosts watch idk. this is probably gonna be my only halloween fic while we're still in october. got some other ideas tho so get ready for a spooky november

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“come on! come on! it’ll be fun! something memorable on halloween.”

“jesus, ellie, you know I don’t believe in that shit.”

it’s a coy laugh. your fingers dance over your phone, unsure what to do. you didn’t believe her when she jumped and screamed, bolstering about her 1 millionth subscriber.

‘The Ghost Detective.’ her youtube profile was almost as shoddy as her Mr. Beast-esque clickbait video titles.

“then it doesn’t matter!” she had a hold on your forearm, intermittent squeezing begging you to fold, “please? the last girl I had thought her dead mom was talking to her and ran off.”

she had an almost pitiful look in her eyes, her eyebrows screwed together as she pleaded.

fucking hell. you were convinced if you hadn’t met ellie, hadn’t started falling behind her like an obedient dog, you’d actually submit most of your assignments on time.

“fine.”

it wasn’t that your tiny town was particularly superstitious, or religious, or any other ‘-itious’, but it was in unspoken agreement that there was something inexplicable here, on the hill that looked over the lights of the suburbs. a decaying prairie protrusion built god-knows-when, the moon shone high in its fullness through the rotting foundations, casting its shadows over the dead grass, falling at your feet with the cool of the wind.

the whisper in her voice ran up your spine, “gettin’ scared yet?”

ellie seemed all too giddy to be here, a wicked smile and a laugh in her throat. her hair was pulled back from her face, and you could lightly see the ghost of freckles across her cheek in the night.

“what? no, no. i’m just tired.”

“right,” she was poking fun, the words dripping from her lips like electricity. she dumped her arms-full of equipment in your arms with a huff, before digging around in her backpack. “here,” cold metal in your hand as she took back her stuff. redbull, “we’re gonna be here all night.”

you don’t know how she did it. even as a certified non-believer, the engulfing emptiness of the house, the darkness that settled in the cracks and corners caught up with you, something unsettling pricking the hairs on the back of your neck.

but here she was. she brought a lawn chair from home, said it was her dad’s. equipped with the built-in beer holder and everything, she was relaxed. her elbows settled on her knees, her hands fallen limp in the space between her legs. she had something in her eyes, a glint. something determined, charming as she stared you down. well, the camera.

but you were staring at her right back. memorising what little detail echoed through the lens of the shitty 2008 sony camcorder.

she said it was for the ‘found footage look’. you know it’s just because she’s broke.

“now, legend has it, ladies and gentlemen, that the last owners of this iconic hillside property were satan .. worshippers. and that this house, this very house that i’m sitting in right now, is actually an active portal. to. hell.”

you’ve gotta give it to her. she had a talent for drama.

“i’ll just point to you when i need you to do like, i dunno, a little camera pan or something, yeah?”

ellie was explaining it to you like you hadn’t just been at home binge-watching her channel for the past few days, meticulous research, you called it. to make sure you did a good job as her assistant. not like the blur of her messy hair and her face in the ghoulish green light of the night vision camera did anything to you.

you knew her video structure. front room first, then five minutes in a spooky hallway, then some time left to freak out in one of the bedrooms, find an old haunted toy that definitely wasn’t planted, and then a quick exit with a lot of swearing, screaming and camera shaking.

“right, you ready?”

you nod.

the front room was, unsurprisingly, boring, although ellie put on her best shiver-me-timbers face, as she calls it. something for the fans.

but when you got back into the hallway, something in the air had changed. you looked to ellie, and you couldn’t tell if what she felt was real, or fake. she just kept looking at you through the camera, the same dramatised ‘concern’ written all over her face.

everything ellie does is scripted. fake.

if there was something wrong, truly wrong, here, you would leave, right?

the feeling was violently oppressive, pushing down on you. run, run, run. a gush of something ran across the back of your neck.

“fuck! what was that? did you feel that?”

“hey, hey,” the sudden normalness of her voice felt misplaced, “just keep the camera on me, okay? eyes on me.”

you could barely see her fucking eyes. the imposing and suffocating darkness of the house seemed to wrap around you horribly tight, the only thing keeping you tethered to your sense of sanity was the sound of ellie’s breath, so close you could feel it wisp around your cheekbone, warm and inviting. the only comfort fighting the cold in the air.

slowly, your sight adjusts to the dark, and you could barely make out the outline of her face in the dim light of the moon. she was watching you, her eyes lidded, flickering over the shadow of your body. your own breath was quick, adrenaline laced, something sore and deep. you feel a slight graze against your arm and you jump, ellie catching your shoulders in her arms, pushing you upright,

“careful, it’s just me,”

there’s a closeness now, a beat. her grip is strong as it soothes the shaking, the fear, the absolute buzz that you’re convinced is the only thing keeping you alive. you quickly become obsessed with the design of her, you’ve never been this close. suddenly, you recognise the way her hair falls on her face, the look in her eyes, the shine as she looks at you. she clears her throat, and her hands drop, coarsely, from your shoulders,

“come on, you’re alright. let’s keep going.”

yeah, yeah. you fumble your hand back through the strap of the camera, a slight twitch in your hand as you press record,

“fucking hell,” her voice was raspy, deep, a soft but commanding whisper, “the spirits sure are stirred up here… i wonder what happened.”

stay close to me. it’s barely a breath, something not meant to be heard, but her voice is luring, and you nod.

your footsteps were a heavy echo against the aging wood floor, the creaks spreading through the house like a warning. to you, or to others, you don’t know.

the bedroom wasn’t far. you had to hike up a flight of decaying steps, but as ellie talked to the camera, she held a hand firm on your back. she wouldn’t let you fall.

the room obviously belonged to some kids, however long ago. abandoned toys and rotted posters littered the floor, and it almost felt painful to see the life that was once in this house. but why did they leave everything here? kids drawings, toys, a closet full of half-eaten, moth-ridden clothes.

what made them just get up and leave?

wind rattled against the window, it felt like it was rocking the house. something was uneasy here, unnerving. you tried to focus your thoughts on ellie, her dramatic storytelling and perfectly practiced ‘scared’ body language, but there was something here. and it was watching.

one final gust of wind surged against the rocky foundations of the house, and the closet doors flung open, an old wooden puppet flying out to your feet.

you were never a screamer, never. which is why, when you heard a blood-curdling shriek rush through the house, it felt like an out of body experience. something foreign. you fell back and tripped over your own feet, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever was in this house as possible.

luckily, ellie’s fear is fabricated. she’s quick to respond, stepping in to steady you with kind hands and a charming smile. your heart rate was so intense, it rocked the both of you, chest to back, intertwined something fierce. your breath settles against her chest, and you meet her eye,

“thought you didn’t get scared,” she was being a tease. her hands ghosting over your body gently, carefully, thinly veiled under the guise of simply holding you, caring for you, she was keeping you safe. it was a little self-indulgent.

“i’m not,” you steel yourself, stubborn girl, although a soft laugh bubbles in your throat. there’s something unreal about the steady feeling of ellie’s hands, the roughness of her palms pushing through your clothing. you turn, and she’s smiling, the glint of her teeth in the soft light, mischief an echo on her face. her voice was low as she leaned in, tickles of her hair just brushing the apple of your cheekbone,

“really, baby? i don’t think you would even still be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“you think i’m here for you?” she’s so close you can feel your breath swirl with hers, heat brushing down your jaw and dripping onto your neck. her grip on your waist anchors, and you feel her settle in the crooks of your body, the corners of your skin, like she’s home. she’s looking at you, something jokingly fierce, but unsure, and her gaze falls on your lips,

“mhm,”

you’d think she’d been starved. restless, choked breaths fall between you in gaps as she pulls you in, heavy, her lips on yours in fervour. her hands are everywhere, tracing themselves in your hair, down your neck, feeling their way blindly along the softness of your skin. god.

her lips draw from yours, dragging a mix of spit and lip gloss down your chin, along the ridge of your neck, a trail glistening in the edging darkness.

“fuck, ellie.”

you barely register the weight lifting from your hand, only a visceral whine as she pulls from you, walking a safe distance to gently place the camera down, out of the way.

ellie finds herself back in the crook of her neck, dragging your skin through her teeth, soft groans rumbling from her throat as her hands pull their way down to the waistband of your skirt,

a skirt? really?

had you planned this?

“come on, sweetheart,” she’s barely audible against your skin, vibrations dripping down your torso as her hands dive under your shirt, lifting it to bounce above your tits, “that’s it.”

her palm cups the base of your tit, dragging soft moans from your pretty lips as she squeezes.

under her breath, she’s praying. vulgar, tenacious, she can’t control herself, lost in the dream of your body as she presses you against a wall she hopes won’t collapse.

fuck-god, fuck, jesus, baby.

if you’re who she’s praying to, it falls on deaf ears. you’re no god, you can’t help her, but fuck, she feels like she could worship you. properly, forever, falling to her knees and cupping her palms behind your thighs, it’s like she’s pleading,

“can i?” she’s soft, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, you’re her altar, “god, say yes.”

her nose just graces the wetness of your underwear and you flinch, “yes! ellie, f-fuck-please.”

she loops her pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs, almost too rough. she loses herself in the heat, the slick dripping from your pussy.

heat poured over your body like molten gold, the feeling of her tongue inside you, raw, animalistic, sending pulses sliding up the ridges of your skin. she hums against your clit, her hand coming down to pull your velvet slick from the rim of her lips.

you convulse, clenching around the encroaching absence of a feeling, of something you didn’t know you needed.

her.

“fucking hell, sweet girl,” deep, ragged breaths shadow your thighs. she needs air, but its not like she wants it. fuck, she wants you, she needs you. your taste on her tongue is metallic, a memory she’s chasing like a quick withdrawal. her tongue finds your clit and presses, a murmur leaving her drowning lips and echoing through your veins as you moan, desperation clawing through your hands and in ellie’s hair, binding.

“please, el-f-shit, i need you. i need to feel you, fuck!”

you didn’t need to ask twice.

fuck, you wrapped around her like you were made for her, godsent, a gift for her devotion. she stretched you, opening you with her fingers and you nearly melted, ellie’s arm wrapped around your thigh the only stability offered for your spent body. your head threw back, digging into the old, rotting wood of the wall, and if ellie looked up, pulled away from her firm spot between your legs, she would have seen you and completely unravelled.

she wasn’t gentle, the way her fingers moved inside you. desperate and completely unforgiving, she needed everything that you were willing to give her, her pace rough, fast, world-destroying.

and there she was, a lazy grin bearing her teeth against your clit, pussydrunk and delirious, tasting you and content enough to die.

she supposed she wouldn’t mind haunting this house, if you came to visit her.

low warbles against your cunt, you couldn’t hear her, even if you were listening. drowning in the push and pull of her touch, in the warmth of her, your head felt like molasses, your body something soft, mouldable to her design. ellie laughed against your walls, sweet and desiring, and you collapsed.

your vision bleary, you could just feel the tips of ellie’s fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing your slick across your skin. your head fell against hers, and you could just make out something blinking in the foggy distance,

the camera,

“hey, el,”

she sighed, heat in the crook of your neck, “yeah?”

“does the red light mean it’s on?”

A few days later, the thoughts of ghosthunting weighing heavy on your mind, ellie texts you,

thought you might want a copy <3

my subscribers will love you

attachment: hauntedhouse.mov

taglist; @whore4abby

dm me to join my sad lil list <3

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

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m1ssunderstanding · 2 months

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Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.1

So disclaimer: I took screenshots instead of photographing my screen this time, but the quality of footage is a thousand times worse so the images are still mostly shit. But anyway, here we go :)

We're going to have to keep a tally on how many times they refer to their relationship in romantic terms. Less than a minute in, Paul has used the description, “great love affair.”

And John's right on his heels with “the sexual equivalent of . . . People in love.” So there's 2 already. Oh boy.

That opening montage of John and Paul just living for the light in each other's eyes should actually be the official music video for “I wanna hold your hand.”

Also I wonder how many songs they have about hiding. Someone's got to have a list somewhere right?

I adore the absolute lack of reaction to John manhandling Paul.

And then This Look. He's in love with him, ladies and gentlemen.

I remember seeing somewhere that this footage was literally right after they'd finished “she loves you.” Which was pretty recently after Bob Wooler, which was right after Barcelona. And if you're like me and you think that song is secretly about their relationship? If Paul's just been singing “she said you hurt her so, she almost lost her mind, but now she says she knows you're not the hurting kind. She said she loves you” at you, after all of that? Of course John's acting like a fucking puppy dog.

Poor George tally number 1

Excuse me??? John wants to live in the Beatle apartment instead of with his actual literal wife until Paul decides to move in with his girlfriend? What? He's so insane. Cynthia, you're lucky Paul's a fucking social climber.

I think it's indicative of two things that Paul said “screw secret girlfriends” while John happily went along with secret wives. One: different levels of security in masculinity (John doesn't have gay eyebrows etc) and two: different relationships. Jane and Paul's relationship was a smart career move for both of them and I think, being upper-class, and having her own career, and not being a mother, Jane was in more of a position to have a say.

Every time I watch that footage of Ken Dodd asking about their parents I physically cringe. Poor poor babies. Do your research you idiot! I don't think that ever happened again. I wonder if Brian made sure of that.

Paul literally talks like such a husband here. “We've thought about it, and probably the thing that John and I will do . . .”

Obsessed with Paul shouldering himself between George and John after George's little joke shove. It's so protective and yet so subtle. Exactly the same strong posture and easy smile as when he stepped between John and that interviewer during the Jesus scandal.

Poor George tally number 2 (you can't quite tell from the pic but John is shoving him out of the way because how dare he put his suitcase by Paul's?! That's John's suitcase's spot!!)

All the Beatles were cuddly with each other. It's one of the cutest bits about them, the puppies in a basket aspect. But I think we'll need a “noticable spacing difference” tally for this rewatch, too, and here's the first.

Paul wearing John's hat for attention and it fully and completely doing the job? They're so embarrassing!

I actually love that John's imitation of his upper-class Scottish family (which Paul can't do) is actually much more convincing than his broad Liverpudlian (which Paul nails in two variations, one based off his own family) I'm obsessed with the class dynamics between them.

Poor George tally three. He shares this one with Ringo. That moment when Paul's pretending to interview them about their purple hearts and cuts them both off with, “thank you. Mi-mister Lennon,” and John and Paul proceed to completely forget the other two exist for who knows how long – certainly longer than the videographer was willing to record.

I find John sliding into Paul's raspy “tiiight yeeeah” with his very turned on “mmmMM it's been a hard” extremely suggestive. I'm sorry but I do.

It's like he thinks if he looks away for too long he's going to disappear or something. Which. Now that I said that. Yeah. That is what it is. Poor separation-issues baby.

Ringo: Paul, you wrote a beautiful song and you sing it great. John: yeah and you're SEXY! Let's not forget that, everyone.

Am I crazy to obsess over every little musical similarity in their songs? Yes. Can I help it? No. The little “oh-oh ohoho” in the If I Fell demo is exactly the same as in Imagine and (frothing and writhing) it means something I can feel it! I just have no idea what.

I also find the lyric change from “i hope that she won't cry” to “i hope that she will cry” extremely interesting. There's always a heterosexual explanation. Trust me, the straights are the Simone Biles of mental gymnastics. But while the published lyric can be read as a man bitter toward his ex girlfriend hoping to hurt her by flaunting his new relationship, the demo version is trickier. Could it be that he doesn't want to hurt his wife's feelings by letting her know he's in love with someone else? But who else could John Lennon possibly have been in love with at the time?

“Too too much in love. Woah, too too much in love with you.” My heart

#I'm sad because I really wanted to make a post about y'all's excellent tags on get back especially some that were such good points but I got #So if you want more discussion on those get back posts or if you want to laugh check out the tags on them #I think I'll just highlight and comment on tags as we go with ULM #ringo starr #george harrison #ulm #understanding lennon mccartney #mclennon #the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon

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imisscherryboy-blog · 7 months

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running back 2 u

enemies to lovers — football player! ajax x sports med! gn reader

part 2 part 3

spotify playlist ★

story: you and ajax have known each other since elementary school. those years haven’t been always the best, as you both parted ways due to your differences in personality. that is, until one hot august night, where the stadium lights illuminate the turf, you find yourself running back to him again.

notes: enemies to lovers, modern au, gender neutral reader, childe is referred to as ajax, last name tartaglia, american football, all characters are 18+ as seniors, highschool setting, use of american education system, reader is in a sports medicine class (if you don’t know what that is it’s basically students that help out at school games, usually water girls/boys/people, assist with injuries) i wrote this with the pov of the reader being a POC but if you’re not just disregard when i say white and stuff lmao + part 1/?, title is an nct reference, debating eventual smut, kaveh and alhaitham are gay

side characters featured: kaveh, alhaitham (alhaitham x kaveh)

warnings: swearing, vivid depiction/description of injury

★ part 1 of an ongoing series ★

you hated ajax and ajax hated you. that much was safe to say. ever since that incident in 9th grade, you never talked to him, let alone acknowledged him. before that, you both had known each other since elementary school. everybody loved ajax, his teachers, his peers, and even you. he just had that personality that made everyone love him; but you knew him underneath that persona. you knew his flaws and he knew yours. he’d tell you things he’d never tell anyone, he trusted you. but, all good things come to an end. in the summer going into your first year at highschool, you found yourself never wanting to speak to him again. he ultimately became the person you two would make fun of together in prior years. a typical, white, football player. but damn was he a good running back. he used to be so charming, but now he was just a playboy that had a new girl in his bed every week. you hated him for it, you hated the person he became, but you mostly hated how he’d plague your mind like a disease.

the day of the game finally came. you and kaveh both wore your school’s varsity jackets and jeans. you guys trudged the god foresaken orange gatorade cooler out to the field for the junior varsity and freshman team. the jv game had just finished, and you began setting up for the varsity game.

“y/n, i can tell you’re scared about ajax.”

“wow kaveh, you’re sooo observant.” you said sarcastically as you both were now in the utility room, filling the water bottles for the players.

“listen, you probably won’t even have to talk to him. as much as he likes to talk behind your back, he’s scared of you. you literally know EVERYTHING about him, you could ruin his reputation in milliseconds.” kaveh had a point. you knew his deepest and darkest secrets, but he unfortunately knew yours as well. you screwed the last lid of the water bottle on tighter than usual as you responded.

“thanks kaveh, but promise me you’ll be the one giving him his water, not me.” kaveh laughed as you said this.

“i’d actually be more than happy too! he’s pretty fine anyways…”

“kaveh— please.” you sighed as kaveh only laughed louder. you walked out to the field, the sky a pretty hue of pink as the jv players left and students filed in the bleachers for the real game. you made your way to the bench, right next to the field and placed the water bottle trays down, as cheering filled the stadium, you both looked behind you.

“ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, our undefeated, five-time league winners, the varsity football team!” the announcer said as the cheers only got louder. the varsity boys ran onto the field, ajax leading the team. you rolled your eyes. you’d admit, he looked good in the navy blue and white jersey, adorning the number 11. ajax was the captain and star of the team, his stats practically outdid any other running back in the county. he ranked first for almost every category, he was a good running back, you’d give him that at least. but at that moment, a feeling came over you. you felt jealous. jealous of the new cheerleader girl he was seeing, jealous of his success, you irrevocably hated him.

“god alhaitham looks good.” kaveh said, very much distracted when they began to sing the national anthem.

“you’re shameless, kaveh.”

“well, the national anthem definitely did not include gay people so…”

the game began, and the annoying and repetitive chants from the cheerleaders almost got stuck in your head. they even had a special one for their glorious star boy tartaglia! you could give zero fucks about him and his stupid chant, but you couldn’t help but notice him staring you down as the rival team took a time out. he gulped his water, sweat dripping from his slicked-back hair, before returning back to the field. as promised, it was kaveh’s job to offer him water, not yours. when one team scored, the other followed suit, the game was neck and neck. watching ajax skillfully receive alhaitham’s (the quarterback) throws and run it was something you could watch all day. but you hated him, so you pretended to look busy every time the home team ran a point. it was halftime now, and you and kaveh hung around the bench. they were up by only two points, it was practically anyone’s game, but that’s what makes the epic highs and lows of highschool football, right?

“swear to god, ajax keeps looking at you.” kaveh whispered to you as you refilled the green water bottles. the boys went into the team room as you and kaveh stayed outside. ajax’s fan girls in the stands had finally calmed down. you just looked at him and looked away as you continued to fill up the water. “like, every time he scores a touch down, he’ll do his stupid little celebration and he’ll glance over here—and then i’d look at you, and of course—‘oh, she’s trying to look distracted and pretend to not care again!’.” kaveh rolled his eyes at you, looking at you for an answer. “you still care about him, don’t you?” this time, you didn’t look at him and just stared at the bottle.

“yeah, like i’d give two shits about the school fuck boy. it’s just, i can’t help but remember how he used to be, that’s all.” it was a blatant lie, and kaveh knew. but he decided to stop pressing where it hurts. and just like that, half time was over and the team looked spent, but they still had 30 minutes to clutch. the cheers started up again. another touchdown, and chants of his name were the only things heard in the stadium. you felt surrounded. you just wanted to go home.

finally, the seventh minute began. the scoreboard emitting a soft glow displayed both home and away teams tied. everyone on the bleachers were all sat for these final minutes. including you. you watched intently with kaveh and your sports med teacher on the bench as they hiked the ball.

“alhaitham, number 9 is going for a throw,” the commentator’s voice reverberated through the field. alhaitham spots ajax, right on the 30 yard line, centered on the field. alhaitham takes a couple steps back and throws, the ball spins with accuracy. the crowd and kaveh all cheer.

“a dot! per usual from quarter back alhaitham, how many yards can their star running back score for the team!” ajax grabbed the ball and went for a right hook, swiftly dodging the defenders. he only got faster and faster as the cheers grew louder. he hooked right, and made his way for that touch down line.

“ajax! ajax! ajax!” the crowd chanted as kaveh and your teacher were now standing. you watched him closely, all of a sudden remembering back to when the two of you competed in your middle school’s flag football tournament. he had signed you up without you knowing, and you both somehow cinched first place.

“oh my god—” kaveh’s gasp snapped you out of your thoughts, as you looked onto the field.

the bleachers were silent now. ajax laid on his side, clutching his knee. the ball was long forgotten now.

“it appears number 11 is down.” the commentator remarked. your heart sank to your ass. you knew that knee injuries could fuck up anyone’s career in seconds. especially a running back’s. before you knew it, you were standing, your teacher yelled something to kaveh as he began running toward him to see what happened, you stood frozen. the cries of his fan girls behind you were the only things you could hear, kaveh was trying to tell you something, but you kept looking at ajax’s writhing body and back to kaveh, and back to ajax, and now at the rival team, and back to kaveh.

“y/n! are you listening? this is serious!” kaveh’s voice was almost a yell.

“i-i’m sorry, what do you need me to do?” you blinked a couple times.

“get the ice pack!” he yelled as kaveh made his way to the scene, the rival team went back to their bench as they were in small groups, most likely talking about what happened. you grabbed the ice pack from the cooler and ran over. his eyes were screwed shut as he cursed loudly, your teacher asking where it hurt.

“ah fuck, my knee! motherfu—” ajax bit back his curses with the back of his hand. your teacher radioed for a golf cart, which made you confused because you’d think someone would be calling 911.

“shouldn’t we be calling an ambulance..?” alhaitham asked, kneeling next to kaveh and ajax’s head. kaveh visibly looked flustered.

“y-yeah. we should! as a matter of fact, why don’t i just call them right—” your teacher cut kaveh off as he interjected.

“it’s a torn acl, if we call an ambulance right now, all they’ll do is give him some ice and painkillers which we very much have. we’re not spending 6k for an ice pack. save that money for the surgery.” your teacher remarked.

“the what..?” ajax looked at him with wide eyes as a campus supervisor came with a golf cart, the crowd was at a stand still.

“kaveh, stay here and take over for me. y/n, come with me.” you knew ajax’s injury was nothing life threatening, but you couldn’t help but worry for his future. you nodded your head as you and your teacher got into the front seat of the golf cart, cursing kaveh in your head, wishing it was him to take your place. ajax’s teammates carefully laid him on the golf cart and he cursed at them to be more careful. you rolled your eyes.

“ajax, we’re gonna need you to talk to us, we can’t have you passing out.” your teacher drove the golf cart to the recovery room, making sure to drive slowly over any bumps.

“you want me to talk? well, a torn acl is gonna ruin my goddamn career—fuck!” the golf cart jerked forward a little, making him curse.

“it’s probably not completely torn, ajax. you’ll recover in no time.” your teacher said.

“you’ll probably be out for the season.” you added, you couldn’t help but add a little salt in the wound.

“you’ll be out for the fucking year if you don’t shut the fuck up.” ajax snapped back at you.

“you need some ice dipshit?” you turned around with the ice pack and tossed it onto his knee, making him yell out in pain.

“what the FUCK is wrong with you—” he yelped in pain again, you just rolled your eyes.

“y/n! cut it out! you too, ajax. we’re here.” the teacher took the key out of the golf cart and looked at you. “i need to call his parents and file a report for the insurance, i’m trusting you to patch any cuts and tape his knee for the time being. keep the ice on it—and please don’t assault him.” your teacher was already on their way as they headed towards the office. you didn’t even get a minute to protest.

“no fucking way they just left me with this loser.” ajax scoffed from the back seat of the golf cart.

“at least my knee still works.” you grabbed the key and unlocked the recovery room, it had a couple of medical beds and cabinets filled with all kinds of medical equipment. you turned the lights on as you heard ajax outside yell.

“now you’re just leaving me? jesus, i couldn’t have asked for someone better to help me.” you ignored him as that was not what you were doing. you went to the smaller room in the back to get a wheelchair to get him onto one of the beds. you walked back outside, ajax’s face turned from one of pain to an angered look the minute you stepped outside. you wheeled the wheel chair to him.

“get on.” you said with little to no remorse.

“yeah let me just fly onto the fucking wheel chair why not. can you help me?” ajax yelled as he tried to sit up straight on the back seat. you scoffed and somehow got him onto the wheel chair. you both were silent, but you knew when ajax went quiet, he was overthinking. you knew he was thinking about what he’d do with his injury. you decided to give him something else to think about.

“it’s not that bad ajax. you survived skateboarding into a brick wall, i’m sure you’ll be fine.” you brought up an old memory the both of you shared.

“everyone saw. even the fucking scouters—i’m done for.” your words seemed to fly past his head. almost like he forgot about you and his’ history. you helped him onto the medical bed and made him sit straight so you could tape his knee. you went into the back room to get more ice. from the main room, you heard him start talking again.

“when i ran into that brick wall, you were the only one there. i didn’t have scouters that could get me d1 scholarships.” he remarked. he did remember at least. you came back with a roll of medical tape and some ice.

“you need to roll you pants up past your knee.” you went for the straight forward route as anything else would’ve gotten too awkward.

“yeah no fucking way that’s happening, cut it off for all i care.” you figured getting the leg of the pants over his injury wouldn’t be the most best of things, so you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his pants just above his thigh. he hissed in pain even though you didn’t even touch it. he was always this dramatic, you thought to yourself. you unrolled the pieces of tape and got to work. if ajax was good at football, you were the best at sports medicine. you knew how to wrap an ankle like second nature—a big part of the reason why your teacher asked you to assist, not kaveh. he went quiet again, and you’d much rather have him yelling at you than overthinking the situation after all this.

“how’s teucer?” you asked as he hissed whenever you’d place a piece of tape on his knee.

“w-why do you care? can you be any more gentle?” you looked up at him and kept working. you weren’t any gentler, you just worked slower to make it look like you were. he fell for it easily.

“he’s fine. he just graduated elementary—ow, school.” he responded after a minute passed.

“that’s good.” you said in quieter-than-usual tone. you couldn’t deny it was still awkward between you two. you hadn’t had a conversation like this in practically years, and you never thought you would have to. “so what exactly happened out there? you trip or something?” you knew he didn’t trip. you also knew that ajax had a tendency to overestimate himself, overall causing him more harm than good.

“the turf must’ve been off.” he said looking away. ajax was well aware he let himself get cocky. it was the final minutes of the game and he wanted to end it off strong. in doing so, he got himself a torn acl. good going ajax.

“mhm..”

“what? don’t believe me?” before you could answer the question, your teacher walked in. the first thing ajax asked was if they won the game or not. his “half touchdown” didn’t count, leaving them still tied.

“we won. but it was still a close call.”

ajax looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. he was already upset with his injury, and a loss especially with their title as undefeated would be 10x worse. you tried to look normal, but in truth, you were a little happy for the team. after all, you had some sense of school pride.

“your mom is outside. i’ve talked to her already and explained the injury in length. please focus on resting, then let’s talk about your next games.” with that, your teacher left you both alone again.

“can you walk?” you asked.

“i’ll try.” he said wincing as he got up. you went to his side and put his arm around you. it was silent. you helped him to the parking lot, occasional swears were heard from him. you said his mom waiting outside of the car.

“oh sweetie!” ajax’s mom held him tightly.

“hi mom, i’m fine.” his words were muffled into her shoulder.

“oh goodness, let’s get you in the car!” she helped him into the passanger seat. they spoke to each other in russian, it sounded like he was getting scolded. it was none of your business anyway. after doing so, she came back out.

“y/n? i remember you!” she said, giving you a hug.

“hi mrs tartaglia.” ajax’s mom had a soft spot for you. she’d always pack you extra food, and would never fail to treat you like one of her own, it made you happy. due to the circumstances, you hadn’t seen her in what felt like years.

“how’ve you been? we’ve missed you!” her hand stayed on your shoulder, her voice was genuine. but who exactly did she mean by “we”?

“i’ve been alright, thanks for asking.”

“ajax still talks about you, you should come over some time! teucer and tonia miss you!”

huh?

did you hear that right?

maybe it she didn’t actually mean it like that, why would ajax still be talking about you?

ajax rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

“mom i’m hurting let’s go.” he half shouted.

“alright, alright. i’ll see you soon hopefully, y/n! thank you for looking after ajax!” she said with a warm smile as she got back in the car before you could say a word. you simply waved and smiled back at her. you glanced over for a second, seeing ajax on his phone. you didn’t understand. did ajax really stil talk about you? you’d have a lot to tell kaveh..

the two of them left the parking lot in their black tahoe suv. you just stood and watched. you cursed to yourself. you couldn’t understand why ajax’s words pulled at your heartstrings a little. you were confused. and things would only get more confusing from there.

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theemporium · 1 year

Note

hiii lovie was wondering if you could write a ceo!james potter staring at assistants breasts, and getting caught daydreaming

thank you xxx

thank you for requesting!🖤

He knew it was wrong.

Was it the worst crime in the world? Of course not.

Did it still make him feel like a creep? Yeah. Yeah it did.

James Potter had the life that anybody would want. He was more than well off financially, he had one of the biggest companies in the business world at this current moment. He had a loving family, he had even more loving friends. He even had a plethora of ladies and gentlemen who would drop what they were doing for him at the drop of a hat.

He was loved, beloved and worshipped in more ways than one.

But James craved the one thing he couldn’t have, the one thing he shouldn’t even crave in the first place—you.

You were his assistant, one that had signed on less than two years ago with a very impressive resume despite your young age. You weren’t much younger than him, no more than five years but the thought alone added with the fact James had been downright obsessed with you the second you walked through his door made him wince on more than one occasion.

It wasn’t even just the fact that James was pretty sure you were the prettiest girl he had ever laid his eyes on in his whole entire life, it was everything about you. The way you held yourself when you walked into a room, the way you weren’t afraid to serve back what people dished out. The way you were far too smart for the job you were currently in but insisted you wanted the years of experience before climbing to a higher—and more deserving—job.

The way that was pretty sure you were perfect, and selfishly he didn’t want you to leave anytime soon.

But it had also been two years since this warped obsession of his began and it had done nothing but haunt him and his thoughts—usually the ones that accompanied him late in the night with his hand wrapped around his cock—every single day.

“Mr Potter?”

James blinked.

“Mr Potter, are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed.”

He let out a choked cough, his fingers digging into the fabric of his leather seat as he resisted the urge to pull at his shirt collar. His eyes quickly fell down to the countless contracts spread around his desk, pretending that he could process the words his eyes scanned over.

“Yes, sorry, I was—” he cleared his throat once again and took a deep breath. “I was just lost in thought about the recent call from the building company.”

“Oh, is everything okay?” you asked sincerely, standing less than a foot away from where he sat on his desk, leaning over his shoulder to look through the contracts—the same ones you were supposed to look over, just as well as you had done.

And here he was unable to even keep himself in line.

“Yes, yes,” he waved it off, a strained smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it, love.” The name slipped past his tongue before he could help himself because he was far too warm and his collar was itching his neck and he could feel his cock straining in his slacks, his mind still whirling with the thoughts of having you kneel in front of him with your tits wrapped around his cock as you—

No. No, you’re her fucking boss, he grumbled to himself.

“Right,” you murmured, the apples of your cheek tinted pink as you took a step back, clearing your throat. “Well, that’s all the contracts from the Williams deal. I, uh, let me know if you need anything else, sir.”

James’ head fell back with a groan as he watched you scramble out of his office, heels clicking against the floor as his eyes fell to your ass in your tight skirt as you did.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shifted in his seat and tried to resist the urge to sneak off to the toilets in his own goddamn office because he was too worked up by just a hint of your cleavage.

Yeah. He was fucking screwed in the head.

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jamneuromain · 6 months

Text

Wild Child Chapter. 1

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board Flight CM80072 from London to Ancetol. This is your Captain speaking. My name is…”

The broadcast started as you stuffed your ears with your earbuds. The screeching static along with the horrible noise whenever the captain chewed the mic in his lips and popped every consonant as if he couldn’t speak otherwise.

You should have brought your earplugs.

Or fly your private plane.

Correction: Fly your family’s private plane.

But you guessed they were still mad at you, which was probably the reason why the bodyguard they sent simply handed you an envelope with an airplane ticket inside.

“Would you like to see the menu?” The stewardess asked you with a kind smile, handing you the thick book of menu, “We have foie gras, smoked salmon, or veal rolls for the main course. Of course, you can also choose the vegan meal. All the ingredients are listed below the dishes.”

“I’ll have the veal roll.” You took a sip of the lemon-flavored soda she gave you earlier, “First course - the shrimp, and dessert would be the … ice cream, with extra berry toppings?”

“Excellent choice, Miss Y/L/N.” The stewardess nodded, taking notes of your demands, the impeccable smile still on her lips, “Any drinks?”

The bodyguard to your back coughed. Very loudly. Very spontaneously. As if he would be dead if someone didn’t hand him a glass of water or ship him off to the chemotherapy very soon.

“Cappu…” you changed your mind as soon as you were “reminded” that you were not allowed to drink alcohol, "Screw it, apple cider please.”

“Miss -” The bodyguard in the full black suit tried to warn you, “His Lordship won’t be pleased.”

“His Lordship,” you sniggered, “desperate measure to demonstrate his control over me, huh? Plus, I don’t think I recall our King has issued any announcement on the succession of the title. So, Lord him all you like. Pathetic man. I’m not respecting someone who participated perhaps even less than a minute in creating me.” You muttered the last few words under your breath.

You could practically imagine what “His Lordship” would do when he hears the report from the bodyguard, word for word.

He might throw some crystal ornaments to the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs, as if that would reinforce his authority.

A man to your right chuckled. Like you, he was just approached by the stewardess regarding his meal choice, now sipping scotch on the rocks. You glared at him. He looks like a man in his 30s. Terribly well dressed. The suit fitted his tailoring right up to his cufflinks. Golden cufflinks, you might add. White shirt without a tie. Long hair with a full-grown beard.

“Sorry, can’t help but overhear.” He raised his hands and folded them on his knees, “I’m Guy. Guy Thomas.”

“Mr. Thomas,” you shared your given name with him, but left out your family name, offering to shake his hand.

“Guy.” He stressed, “You’re from Ancetol?”

You were born in the outskirts of Ancetol, the capital of your home country, Ballenia, one of the few countries that are still ruled by a monarch. Your mother was relieved that you were blessed with a quick birth. But your father wanted nothing more than a boy. A boy that could take the family title and carry the family honor. Probably why he didn’t make an appearance until the second day of your birth. Reluctantly. You might add.

You spent the next couple of years of your life in a small town in Ballenia, growing up with your mother who thought innocently that your father would miraculously love you and accept you both as family.

You stopped believing in “a happy marriage” a long time ago. No. You stopped believing in “marriage”. And the fairy tales. And the lovely stories that told you one day, Prince Charming would come to rescue you riding his big white horse and ask you to be his wife, and some happily ever after bullshit.

No.

The reality was, fairly close to the story of your family, where the “Cinderella”, your mother, was abandoned by the prince, who is your father, and he had a couple of mistresses when Cinderella was only allowed to be presented during formal circumstances.

Ah yes, after all, a divorce would destroy the reputation of His Lordship. Making them look bad if they kick a civilian woman out of the door. The press would go frenzy about it, spreading the news that the “Cinderella” had been divorced by the cold-hearted heir of the Duke.

Luckily, or, unlucky for your father, it was your grandfather who carried the Duke title. Your grandfather who was equally displeased with you, a useless girl. Your grandfather, who passed away quite recently. Three days ago.

Hence, your urgent return. And some pretenses for the reputation of your family.

So, sunglasses it is then. During the funeral. With a white handkerchief. No one will see your dry eyes incapable of producing tears, not for that old bastard anyway. You thought to yourself, eyeing the huge bulk of a man next to you.

Did you forget to mention that the late Duke did the same trick as your father? Marrying a civilian woman and keeping a dozen mistresses in the same mansion they live in?

“You sound local.” You commented on the way he speaks English, “Are you from Ancetol as well?”

“Aww, what gave it away?” The man switched to fluent Ballenian, the language you haven’t heard of for years, and asked you, sounding sincere, “Is it the ‘r’? I always mess up the ‘r’.”

“Your name doesn’t sound local though,” you buckled your seatbelt as the stewardess stepped close to inform you the plane was ready to depart, lowering your eyes to fumble with the metal link, “Guy Thomas. Very American.”

Ari, no, Guy, pushed a little smile on his lips.

Of course, this name sounded American. You would freak out if he told you his true name.

“My mother is American and my father is Ballenian.” Which was 75% true because his mother was half American. The other half Danish.

He went by “Guy Thomas” when he was having fun among people and didn’t want to spoil everything by announcing he was Ari. The fucking prince of Ballenia.

Total mood killer.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” You joked, “Or visiting your family?”

“Mostly business.” Ari fabricated a lie out of nowhere, “I work as a manager of my family business.” Technically that’s not a lie. He even slipped in some details for credibility.

Family business, the kingdom.

Manager, well sort of, since his dad owned the country.

“And I’m back in Ballenia to secure a deal.”

You lacked interest in business and all that, waving your hand as if dismissal, but allowing the stewardess to come and take away the food and drink in front of you, “hard to do business nowadays, especially when the Minister of Foreign Trade is a jackass.”

“You speak as if you know him.”

“Please, he’s been in that position for fifteen years.” You rolled your eyes.

The minister tried to get you to marry his hideous, lazy, pig-like son who knows nothing more than eating, smoking, and partying. Promising your father to “sweeten the deal” by favoring the company your mother owned but your father controlled.

Your father really would have said yes if it weren’t for the deal years ago, promising you to another man already. A man more powerful than the minister or his son will ever be.

“Of course, he is a jackass. If not now, then somewhere in his 15 years of gripping the foreign trade.” But you were not telling a total stranger about you being promised around like a Ming-Dynasty Vase. “Just look at the new announcement he made with the U.S. What deal did he make? None! Claiming that ‘further efforts are needed’. Further my ass. The Ambassador from the States could barely keep the smile on his face for Christ’s sake.”

Ari took a mental note to look into this “jackass” Minister.

“What about you?” He asked, “Visiting your family? Plan on staying here long?”

You pursed your lips on hearing the question.

Visit your family? How about dead family?

You were here to attend your grandfather, the late Duke’s funeral.

Staying long?

You wouldn’t curse yourself like that.

The longer you stay, the more probable your father and your mother will talk you into marriage.

You loved your mother, but for Christ’s sake, “I hope not.”

Ari didn’t respond to your reply. He simply hummed, making you confused about whether he agreed with you or not.

The plane did not wait for a minute more before departing into the air. A short while of gravity shift brought you 30,000 feet up in the sky. You pulled down the blind as the annoying sunlight burned your eyes, getting up for a bit more leg room and heading to the bathroom.

In the blink of an eye, a violent turbulence threw you off your own feet.

The soft ring of the safety belt sign turned the orange light on, while you slowly came to your senses that you weren’t embraced by the ground, but rather a firm body wrapping around you. One arm on your back, holding your upper body, another hung – rather awkwardly – in the air. You were sitting on his thick thighs sideways. Your ankle hurting. You were pretty much sure you twisted it with your damn heels.

“Miss Y/L/N!” The bodyguard hurried towards you, completely disregarding the tremble of the plane, rushing to your side. “Miss, I need you to try and stand up.” He held out an arm, leaning towards you to help you up.

Seeing him trying to assess how hurt your ankle was, you were very touched that he was concerned and reacted quickly. Maybe a small pay rise for him if you get back to your home?

Your bodyguard sighs, shaking his head with a disapproving look, “If this is your way of trying to escape the deal, his lordship won’t be pleased.”

Oh yes, the deal. The deal that simply packed you like a FedEx item and threw you to the palace door. The deal that promised you to the prince, right after you were born. The deal that you were told by your parents to honor for as long as you can remember. The deal lurking in the corner and bit you in the ass whenever you had done something to displease your father, reminding you over and over again that the only reason that you were alive was the fucking deal.

Apparently, your father had left out a most important piece of detail when instructing this bodyguard to “guard” you from running away.

You hardly ever do as you’re told.

“I think my ankle is broken.” You said dryly, pointing at your feet, not even trying to pretend that you can convince no one with your bland facial expression, “Can’t get up.”

Ari bit his lips so that he wouldn’t laugh.

You were sure as hell an interesting soul.

If he had any doubt or concerns regarding marrying you, a complete stranger in a matter of weeks, he now had none.

He thought you were the kind of girl who was a black sheep in the family, a wild child, with tattoos on your eyeballs or something. But you were nothing like his imagination.

Wild? Sure.

Black sheep? Compared to your father, the to-be-Duke, who seemed more like what the term was describing.

Ari raised his eyebrows, “Although I wouldn’t oppose you sitting on my thighs,” he nodded towards the stewardess who lurked behind the thin veil of curtain, “I’m afraid she would be unable to do her job properly if this continues.”

You clenched your jaw. Ignoring the extended hand from your bodyguard, you stood up, feeling instantly a sharp pain stinging your bones.

Bathroom was long forgotten, not that you have a chance to reach there on your own, you slumped down the seat and made sure you pushed the seat back until you could almost lie down like on a gurney. Lifting the hurting ankle on your other ankle, you closed your eyes.

Fuck his lordship.

The pain throbbing on your ankle. Your body dipped in both the coolness of the AC and the heat from your spine and the back of your head.

The few hours on the plane became more and more unbearable.

The veal roll didn’t lift your spirit in any way when it was brought to you.

The meat itself was fine. Only that it tasted like wax to you. You let out a long exhale as you outstretched your leg to ease the stress. Finishing the meal barely, you pushed the plate away, not even looking at the cider that you were thrilled to piss your father off with, and asked the stewardess for some paper. Empty sheets for writing.

She was clearly dumb-founded by your request, but hurried to carry your idea out.

You thanked her when she brought you some sheets, torn from some notepad as there were jigsaw razor edges on the side of the paper.

If the pain and the fact that every second you were closer to Ballenia was bothering you, you only needed something more bothering to take your mind off.

Ari narrowed his eyes when he cast a glimpse that you pulled out a pen from your bag from the overhead compartment and started writing on the empty sheets of paper.

Call him nosey but he wanted to know what you were writing.

Too inconvenient for him, your letters scribbled too small for his eyes to see. Occasional glimpses couldn’t help him read your writing. Nor that the content on your phone was clear enough for him to read either.

He did know that should be a text of some kind.

What text though? That was the real question.

…not some kind of text that could curse the royal family of the Ballenia, right?

Ari was almost amused by his own thoughts, before a shiver ran down his body and stuck an idea in his mind that this was totally and perfectly possible.

…you wouldn’t, would you?

Hard to tell. You weren’t exactly obeying the orders to marry him. Delaying it a couple of times in the past three years. And now, hearing that you had just called a minister “asshole” … or was it “butt ass” (?), anyway, something about ass, behind his back, and that you could mull a long face over your own bodyguard? Ari couldn’t figure out your temper and your actions all of a sudden.

The adjectives, that your father and his father used when they were talking about you, didn’t even come close to you.

“Kind” “Warm” “Considerate” “Perfect Princess”.

“Exceptional”. Maybe this was the right word.

Definitely different and strong-minded.

He could almost imagine the changes you would bring to his family and the kingdom.

He could discuss politics with you. You had your own thoughts and ideas, which was a good sign. Talk about foreign policies. Speaking of, he should really have someone fetch your dissertation from your university to understand where lies your interests. He’d allow gossip on the table too, if that’s what you like.

Ari hated gossip.

And there he was, imagining the future with you, before you were willing to marry him.

“If you want the book, I can lend it to you.” Your voice snapped him out of his fantasies. You had stopped scribing and rubbing your knuckles with your other hand. Pursing your lips together, you had, obviously, found out that he had his eyes glued to you.

“I’m sorry?”

“The History and Nature of International Relations.” You shrugged, twirling your wrist and your shoulder for writing too long, “I gotta warn you though, it’s pretty boring.”

Ari knew the correct answer to his question, but he asked either way, “You are studying it?”

“No. Yes. Hmpf,” You pouted at your change of words, “I did. I was. I was studying International Relations.” Something blipped in your mind, “Did you know this book?”

Ari smiled, “Took a course in International Relations years ago. I’m surprised they are still using it as an example of a textbook – where did you study?”

“NYU.” That’s a plain fat lie. You had a friend studying at NYU, but you were not planning on giving all your personal information away to a complete stranger, “You?”

Ari cocked his eyebrows. You were studying in Cambridge. He read that from your file.

“University of Ancetol.” Because studying there demonstrated the confidence of the Royal family in their country’s educational system. From there, the lies weaved themselves from his lips, “Got an undergrad degree and started to take over the family business. I visited New York last year,” along with his father, the King, but they travelled as quietly as they could, initiating a state visit without disturbing the press, “I miss school, now that I’m thinking of it.” Ari sighed deeply, “Wanted to get a grad degree but work’s too busy.”

“A manager in your family business?” You teased him light-heartedly, “Surely you can spare the time and study for a grad degree.”

Ari chose to evade this question. Reaching for his suit pocket, he fished out a business card with his name (Guy Thomas) and phone number on it, handing it to you, “Grad school doesn’t exactly tolerate me flying all over the world for … my family business.” He pushed his soft brown hair behind his ears, his eyes sparkling with a hint of joy that he had successfully fooled you, “Jewelry, my specialty. Diamonds, pearls, gemstones … call me if you need anything.”

“Oh, and she got her Master’s degree two months ago.” Ari casually dropped this to his parents in the middle of having dinner, he almost felt proud of his future wife, “Majoring in Political Science and International Relations. With a merit… no, distinction. The top 10% of her class.”

“We want a princess, not a college professor.” His father looked rather disappointed, “We were promised a princess.”

Ari didn’t understand.

If it were to be a marriage without love, he’d rather his spouse would be clever than bimbos who need help spelling “distinction”. Clever would mean he has a handful to deal with, yes, but what’s the fun in talking with someone who only cares about mani-pedi and the latest fashion magazines when he would be running the country?

Why wouldn’t they want someone smart as his wife?

“Your father is right, Ari,” his mother, Queen Olivia, reminded him with a softer tone, “we don’t need someone academically outstanding. We only want her to care for your home, you, and your future children.” She then turned to Ari’s father, King Victor, with blame framing her tone, “Told you should’ve just kept her with us when she was born. I knew Y/L/Ns were incompetent in raising our son’s future wife.”

Ari nearly spat out his food, “HOUSEWIFE?” Earning the “Shhh” from the Queen, he ignored the palace rules and the rules of being a prince altogether, “You want a HOUSEWIFE as the future queen?”

“For the moment.” Olivia waved her hand as if all this was not important, “Only temporal. After you get acquainted with the Upper House, you could divorce her and we’ll find you a proper wife.”

Taglist: @irishhappiness @patzammit

Find the Wild Child Masterlist here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fluff #prince!ari levinson #royalty au

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randomyuu · 6 months

Text

there's a lover in the story, but the story's still the same

Ahh, don’t you love it when fear motivates your drawing mood? (not really)

That’s what I felt reading the scene that is drawn below. It’s fear for Yuuji but also feeling excited picturing an emotionless teen!Gojou so here I am. Always down bad for Vox’s Goyuu fics, aren’t I? *sighs*

Welp, here we go.

Title: there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Author: @voxofthevoid

Second fic of the series there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Pairing YuuGo, NSFW, please read the tags carefully before giving it a read... the usual drill ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

!!! SPOILER FOR THE FIC !!!

Highly recommend you guys to read them first. Or not, it’s up to you honestly :v

Usually I would gush about the fic but I’ve already done that under the fic itself so I just want you to know this comic is solely carried by me wanting to draw the ticking time bomb called teen!Gojou-post-discussion-with-adult!Ieiri. You could probably guess what they’re talking about :”)

The fear for Yuuji’s well-being started this, but Satoru’s cold eyes kept me going. I can’t get rid of it from my mind lmao

You can say drawing these kind of expressions is my jam (￣▽￣)

I hope I did Satoru’s emotions justice haha

A bit of my thoughts and doodle below. Unhinged maybe, it’s midnight, I got more work to do after this, and my brain cells are barely hanging on. Haha I'm living the life-

I AM STILL REELING FROM THE FACT I MANAGED TO GET THIS DONE.

There are so many things I want to talk about in the process of making this. But after I typed it out, most of them sounded so unnecessary so I rewrote it a few times. I tried to make this as short as possible lmao

Typesetting and sketching are the roughest parts of this project. During these stages, I kept feeling everything I did wasn’t doing the scene enough justice, and it was frustrating. As I planned this project, I read a few doujins and noticed the font types scanlation teams use. There are so many of them, and each helped convey the tone of each image. Felt like crying when I realised I’m not knowledgeable enough to apply good typesetting, ngl. And then the interior design. Fuck, the frustration is so real. I am absolutely clueless about this kind of thing. Tracing lots of references because I have no perception of space makes me feel even worse. I knew first times rarely create a masterpiece, but I was not satisfied with my accomplishment and the feeling of failing to fulfil my own expectations hurt.

BUT.

Thank goodness most of the things I need to draw are Shouko, Yuuji and Satoru. Because dear g o d drawing them healed me. I found so much comfort in drawing Shouko’s long hair and Satoru’s eyes and drowning Yuuji in an oversized hoodie. The comfort zone of character drawing never feels so real lmaooo

Drawing them was so effective that I can look back at the backgrounds with acceptance. Hey, I did it! Not perfect just yet, but I did it!

Haha I feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know if it’s in a good way or a bad way. Guess I do have one or two screws loose.

Only for Yuuji lmao

(nah I just need sleep, or cooling down from the rush of having finished this)

It might come off as a surprise if you’ve only seen my art on Tumblr, but I’ve always preferred to draw feminine-leaning ladies. I’ve always loved drawing their curves, whether it’s the figure, the clothes, or the (long) hair. But I’ve grown to like drawing masculine gentlemen as well with their sharp edges and straight lines, and now my ladies start to look more androgynous lmao

Anyway, I was pretty stoked to be able to draw adult!Ieiri! I… I kind of miss drawing long hair so here have some more before you go on your day ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

#yuu's art #jjk-fic-fanart #jjk-ship #五悠 #goyuu #goyu #5u #gojou x yuuji #I'll see you sometime later #if real life lets me haha #:")

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unmotivatedwrit3r · 10 months

Text

One in Eleven Million (ch. 2)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): so uh it's been more than a week...my apologies. But I hope you all enjoy! Ch. 1 is linked here.

wc: ~1300

warnings: planes, mild cursing

You made it to the Ks before the loudspeaker crackled again.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot once again. It’s looking like we will require more time than expected to resolve the maintenance issue. There will be a further 50 minute delay. Passengers are welcome to step off the plane and return if desired. Thank you again for your patience.”

Around you, whispers and rustling picked up. Flight attendants repeated the pilot’s message and you sighed, slumping back against your seat.

When you looked down at your phone screen it was black. Tapping it gave you the time: already 45 minutes past the already delayed departure time. The sky was dark when you looked out the windows now. Beside you, Jon and Damian conversed quietly and you made an effort to not eavesdrop. Whatever they decided, you needed to focus more on deciding whether or not you wanted to get off the plane.

“Do you need me to let you guys out?” You asked them. You directed the comment to Jon, but technically you were speaking towards both of them. Damian’s book had been closed, resting on an open tray table. He was instead typing rapidly on his phone. Jon turned from where he was watching his friend.

“Not worth it,” Damian muttered, pulling on a jacket. You caught a glimpse of a white bandage on his bicep surrounded by a deep bruise before it disappeared underneath.

Jon shrugged. “I don’t really like airports any more than I like airplanes so I don’t really care. Are you leaving?”

You shook your head.

“Not sure it’s worth it. I don’t want to have to remember to come back for whatever obscure time they give us or be stuck if the time changes.”

“So we’re all staying then?” Jon asked. You nodded. He pulled his phone back out, opening the app again. “Movie?”

You smiled. A flutter of excitement bloomed in your chest.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

By the time you were at the Ts, you’d switched to using Jon’s phone to search the database and yours to write down titles that piqued your interest. Outside, the steady beeping sound that had been your background noise for the last indeterminate amount of time was joined by a drilling noise. You forcibly untensed your shoulders. It was unpleasant but tolerable. Next to you, though, Jon’s face was screwed up in discomfort.

“Jon? You okay?” Jon looked up from his lap, face pinched tightly.

“Yeah it’s just loud.” On Jon’s other side, Damian retrieved something from his bag and handed it to Jon. Earbuds, you realized as he put them in. The tension in Jon’s face lessened.

“Thanks,” he told Damian. “I thought I’d forgotten those. I didn’t think I’d need them.”

One side of Damian’s lips quirked up.

“You did forget them. But I assumed you’d want them eventually.”

“Yeah I didn’t exactly plan for—you know.”

“No one plans for multiple hour delays,” you added sympathetically.

Jon looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened.

“Oh, planes, yeah.”

Behind him, Damian let out an amused huff and re-opened his book. You just laughed, turning back to the movies.

“Up for the rest?”

Jon unlocked his phone.

“If we agree that The Last Jedi does not belong on the list, then yes.” You met his teasing grin with one of your own.

“Oh we do. But I’m still not putting Titanic on it.”

Jon sighed dramatically.

“Fine. At least you have a decent taste in Star Wars movies.”

You still hadn’t made it to the end of the movies list—the conversation had morphed into a debate over the best Clone Wars episodes—by the time the loudspeaker rang again.

“Okay, that’s true,” Jon conceded. “But the lost episodes rewrite a lot of–”

You checked your phone for the time as soon as the pilot’s voice—familiar now, unfortunately—clicked on. Despite the promised 50 minute wait time, it had been over an hour since the last announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we will not be able to take off tonight. We won’t have the part needed to replace the one in this plane for a few hours, so we’ll get you folks out of here once we can taxi back to a gate. Check your emails for your complimentary hotel stay and your boarding passes for updated flight times. We apologize again for the inconvenience.”

For a moment, the plane was silent. Then it was anything but. People stood quickly, pulling carry-on suitcases from the overhead containers. For a moment, you had to process the announcement. And then it hit you.

“Wait I have no clothes with me, are you fucking kidding?” You realized. You might as well have been talking to thin air for all the answers you got. At least your daily medication was in your bag.

Your phone, long off of airplane mode, stayed stubbornly email free. Beside you, a couple you guessed was a little older than you was conversing about their own hotel reservation, already sent to their phones.

Jon leaned to his left, watching as Damian read through what you assumed was his own hotel email.

“Does it say what time we need to be back?” You asked, refreshing your boarding pass. The departure time changed once more, this time to 3:46am. You sighed. Great. “Never mind. I guess we need to be back by 3:20. Except—wait if we leave we need to go through security again. So 2:30 I guess.”

“There must be a nicer hotel closer to us that we can get a room for,” Damian said. Beside him, Jon shrugged.

“I don’t know much about hotels. Is there a company hotel around?”

“No. But a hotel of the quality they’re sending us to should barely be considered quality at all.”

Your phone finally binged with an email notification. A google search revealed your hotel to be 30 minutes away and pretty mediocre. The email also gave information about shuttles to get passengers to and from the hotels. You skimmed it quickly. The shuttle that would get you back to the airport by 2:30 left at 1:30 am.

“Six hundred for tonight isn’t bad at all,” Damian continued behind you.

“Six hundred dollars for half a night in a hotel?” you blurted without thinking, incredulous. “Why would you do that?”

Damian looked at you, eyes sharp in the dim light of the cabin.

“I mean, there’s no way you get quality sleep tonight either way,” you defended, “so why not take the crappy provided room with transportation? We have to be back in like five hours anyway.”

You could see Damian weighing your words even as you regretted them. Who were you to tell them what to do? You liked Jon. You did not know Damian.

“The terrible hotel is more efficient, you’re right,” Damian said with a sigh. “There’s little difference to me in the actual beds. I’ve slept on worse.”

You sighed a silent sigh of relief. Beside you, the line of departing passengers finally started moving.

Jon leaned over Damian’s phone and opened the email up again.

“It says we’re at the Bluiett.” He looked up. “Where are you?”

You rescanned your email. Your lips quirked up as you scanned through the provided information.

“Me too.”

Jon leaned back in his chair.

“Oh thank god. Neither of us know how to get out of here. And I’ve never taken a shuttle before.”

You laughed, tugging your coat on and pulling your bag onto your lap. The line shifted forwards again and you stepped out of your seat, slinging one strap over your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t call myself a frequent flier but I do know enough for that. Follow me.”

“Tt,” you heard Damian mutter behind you. “We could easily figure it out.”

Jon chuckled as he stepped out behind you, pulling a red carry-on from the overhead storage. Your smile widened.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent #damian wayne x reader x jon kent #damian wayne x gender neutral reader #jonathan kent imagine #jon kent imagine #jonathan kent #emerson writes sometimes

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octuscle · 9 months

Note

Suitcase Alert! I've a Symposium in New York for tax law. Yes, it's really annoying and I'd like to do something more interesting than that in my life and career. The airport lost my suitcase. I really need it because my notes for my speech are in it. They promise to send it soon. Now I get one but that's not mine! I'll sue them!

Yeah, there's really little you can do with this suitcase. the owner pretty obviously doesn't work in a white-collar job. Fuck, this is really hard now. At least you got the hotel to clean your suit and shirt. Even if the laundry in the suitcase looks old, worn and cheap, at least it's obviously freshly laundered. No one will notice. At the most, there is a risk that someone will see the socks. You have to stand if possible, then no one will see it. What sucks is your lecture. You spend the night before the symposium in the hotel and reconstruct everything from memory. You can't do anything anyway. You sit in your dirty underwear in your hotel room and wait for your suit to come back from the cleaners.

The next morning everything looks perfect. You have finished your presentation and can probably deliver it quite freely now. Suit and shirt are cleaned and ironed. Underwear and deodorant are fortunately in the suitcase. Old Spice. Not quite your style. But it will do for today.

To the congress centre you take the metro - faster than a taxi. And more sustainable. After all, your lecture is about the fiscal valuation of carbon dioxide emission papers. You should be credible there. A quick glance at the clock. Yes, everything is running like clockwork. But your balls are itching like crazy. And crazy things are going through your head. Now keep a clear head, you're the opening speaker. Show what you've got.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, dear friends, sustainability is one of the most important issues facing our society today and in the foreseeable future…" You have to pause for a moment… "The stuff ya're doin' with fuckin taxes is like proper difficult." Breathe in, Breathe out. "it's just like on the farm, if ya screw up, ya havta clean it up. N' if someone else does it, the one who did the shit has to pay. N' if the guy who did the shit is like smart, he'll get the money 'ack from uncle sam." Something is not going right. Not right at all. Whispering in the auditorium. You look down at your feet for a moment. No one will see the socks that don't match your suit. Because your feet are in dirty cowboy boots. "Um, ladies n' gentlemen, when ya emit carbon shit like that, that is like, when ya bla that stuff out, that's shit. That's what the people in Washington say. I dinnit give a shit about that shit. Hav any of ya ever seen this like? let the Chinese n' the fuckin' Europeans take care of it. After all, us are the fuckin' world police for the louses ova ther. USA! USA! USA!" A lady from the congress organisation comes on stage, thanks you for your original views and pulls you off the lectern.

"Dudes, thank yawl very much an havuh great day ," you say as a farewell. The lady asks you if she should call a doctor. "Naw, ma'am, Ahm fahn" you reply. You pull a tin of chewing tobacco out of the back pocket of your jeans. "Can Ah go now, or do yawl still need help hare? Ah don't lahk thuh big city thet much. Hif it's okay, Ahl make mah way home ." The lady asks if you have anything left in the cloakroom. "Nah, it's all in mah pickup truck, ma'am ".

You breathe a sigh of relief as you drive out of the underground car park and even more so when you cross the bridge. Open the windows, turn up the radio. The big city is impressive. But you really feel at home working in the oil field and with your buddies in the workers' barracks.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #tank top #hairy pits #redneck tf #male transformation #muscle transformation

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 5 months

Text

Eyes

Written for @hinnymicrofic December 2023 - Prompt 6

Bringing a bit of Hinny Muggle AU into your day!

He seems surprised to see her, when he slouches into the classroom for Thursday evening detention. His tie is loosened, his jumper’s hanging around his shoulders, and his black hair is as dishevelled as always. He notices her straight away, already sitting near the back, exercise book out and pen at the ready, and she’s pleased about that. He looks her straight in the eye, brows raised, and smirks a bit. She looks right back, enjoying the excuse to gaze into those gorgeous green eyes, tries to play it cool and not smile back, but fails dismally.

He’s her brother’s best friend, and, from what she can tell, doesn’t have the best home life, so he’s always at her house, after school, at the weekends and in the holidays. Mum and Dad have practically adopted him.

She’s fancied him for ages. Literally years. At first, it was all very innocent, just a childish thing. Her friends couldn’t really understand, he was such a scrawny little thing back then. Everyone was so sure she’d grow out of it, but what actually happened was that he grew into it - when he was 16, and shot up about a foot overnight, shoulders broadening, jaw squaring. Then her friends (and, it seemed, half the other girls at school) got it, just fine.

By then, she was pretending that she was over it - even to herself. It wasn’t like he ever even looked at her anyway, not like that - but there were other boys who did, and they were just the distraction she needed. Right up until the day when she had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps he was looking at her like that after all. She isn’t absolutely sure, but sometimes, just sometimes, when he’s been at their house, maybe eating dinner, or playing cards or something, she thinks that perhaps she caught him staring. Once, she thought he even blushed. Ever since then, it seems like he’s the only thing she can think about.

Now, one thing she really doesn’t like is ambiguity. She’s a straightforward sort of person, she just wants to know. But she also isn’t stupid, and she’d quite like to retain at least a shred of dignity. So, she’s on a quest to see if she can’t… make something happen. One way or another. That, however, rests on being able to get him on his own, which is easier said than done, given how inseparable he and her brother are.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how she comes to find herself in detention this fine Thursday evening, having overheard her brother commiserate with him about having to attend on the school bus earlier in the week.

She’s delighted when he slopes to the back of the room and drops down into the seat next to her, just as the teacher announces they’ll be writing lines, chalking the text to copy onto the board at the front.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi, yourself,” she replies.

“No talking!” commands the teacher. “This is detention, not a social club!”

She shoots him a regretful look, and picks up her pen. He does likewise. Moments later, he nudges her softly with his elbow and angles his exercise book towards her. Instead of the lines he’s meant to be writing, there’s a message for her, in his scrawly, spidery handwriting.

What are you here for?

Now that is a very good question indeed, because detention is generally something that she (unlike him) is very good at avoiding. But, being certain that he would be here, and being equally certain that her brother would not, was enough to overcome her natural inclination towards good behaviour. Or at least, her natural inclination towards not getting caught being bad.

Messing about in History, she writes back. Which is true. Surprisingly, it took quite a lot of effort - her History teacher paid so little attention to the class, she actually had to chuck a screwed up ball of paper at him to earn herself the detention.

He laughs softly. We can be reprobates together then.

She stills for a moment, twisting a strand of her red hair around her fingers, wondering if she dares actually flirt with him. Thinks to herself, Ah, fuck it.

I like the sound of that, she writes, catching his eye, and sending him a look that she hopes is suitably alluring.

He shoots her an interested glance, which she thinks is promising. Do you? he asks.

She bites her lip. Yeah. I do.

For a few minutes, he doesn’t write anything. Chews his pen, like he’s thinking some particularly deep thought. Then he nudges her again, making sure he has her attention. She looks at him curiously. Those gorgeous green eyes are sparkling, and she thinks she could actually drown in them. He meets her gaze intently, like he’s searching for something in her expression. Then, he takes a deep breath, and starts writing again.

I’m going to grab a bag of chips on the way home afterwards. Want to join me? We could eat them in the park?

Her heart leaps in her chest, and has to clamp her lips together to stop herself yelping in a very un-cool way. She looks sidelong at him, and he’s staring at her, not even trying to hide it. He is, she thinks, holding his breath.

With salt and vinegar? she asks, with a smirk.

He relaxes a bit, laughs silently. Of course!

Oh well, in that case, yeah, she writes. Sounds like fun.

And you know what? She’s right - it is.

#hinny microfic #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny #harry x ginny #fanfic #muggle au #microfiction

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lokislittlemidgardian · 2 years

Note

Oooo I have been looking everywhere for some daddy!eddie and you wrote him so good!!

If I may, how about little!reader coming with Eds to a hellfire meeting? 😊

dnd and colouring in

Content- hell fire club, very poorly written dnd, little!reader, dummy use, Dustin vibing with reader, soft toys, dnd scene from stranger things, canon swearing, mentions of bigspace.

Summary- Eddie has a hellfire meeting, you don't have a clue what's going on but you like watching how serious your daddy gets.

Authors note- this is such a lovely concept, I will be honest I don’t know anything about dnd so I just copied the scene in season 4 lmao, so sorry it took so long,it's not proofread, hope you enjoy♡

You didn’t know much about the game your daddy was playing but you enjoyed seeing him so passionate about something, besides you of course.

you were sitting a little bit away from the table with a colouring book in front of you and your black rabbit in your arms, Eddie was setting up with his 3 of his friends “Hey Y/N” said the one with the tartan red shirt on “hiii” you elongated the word colouring in your last bit on green.

about 30 minutes later two boys you knew as Dustin and Mike walked into the room with a shorter girl with an American flag draped over her like a cape. You liked Dustin, he would always have conversations with you regardless of weather you were big or little.

“Absolutely not” Eddie said sitting on his throne with his hands clasped together “you asked for a sub, we delivered” Dustin said pointing to the girl “this is Hell fire club, not babysitters club” that resulted in a grunt and a death stare from you “not you baby, not you” he whispered reassuringly as he walked towards the trio.

as you listened to the back and forth between the two of them your little side was a bit intimidated by the 11 year old but at the back of your mind your big side grew a liking towards her.

eventually Eddie backed down and they were all sat down at the table beginning the final part of the campaign.

Eddie described the monster to the club with very distinct detail, now normally it would scare you however he had already told you what it looked like so hearing it for the second time it didn’t really bother you. “do you flee Vecna and his cultists, or do stand your ground and fight?” Eddie questions the members around the table. “I say we fight, to the death” Dustin replied “to the death” “to the death” “to da death” you mumbled under your breath making Eddie chuckle.

at this point your colouring in was discarded and you started to feel the suspense of the campaign, watching carefully as everyone rolled the dice and had very intense reactions you started to really enjoy yourself. the best part was when your daddy started doing weird movements and jumped up onto his throne causing you to cackle.

the club huddled together after a while and your daddy quickly came to check on you, “hey princess, you ok?” he asked giving the top of your head a kiss “yeah daddy I'm ok, this is fun” you giggled into the fur of your bunny “yeah, you enjoying it” he smirked at you “yep.”

after he walked back he got their attention “Hey!, if I may interject gentlemen, lady applejack, whilst I respect the passion you’d be wise to take Gareth the Greats concern to heart. there is no shame in running. Don’t try to be hero’s, not today kay?” he said spreading his arms out “ one sec.”

“Screw it, lets kill the son of a bitch.” “the chances of success are 20 - 1″ “never give me the odds” Dustin said in a sassy way making you giggle. “Give me the D20″ he said Eddie throwing the dice at him. Dustin missed, you made a mental note to remember that for when you were big again. watching as Erica took the last roll you held on tightly to the cuddly rabbit in your arms.

Erica had rolled a twenty.

it took you a few minute to realise that it was over and they had won and when you did you shot up and made you way over to them. everyone was screaming including you, giving Dustin a hug you both jumped up and down together him shouting and you squealing. looking at Erica you gave her a small smile gave her a quick side hug “well done” “thanks Y/N” she said with a smile, she obviously knew Dustin would have told her, add that to the list of things to berate him about when your big.

Running over to Eddie you jumped into his arms, he spinning you around making you giggle hysterically.

if this was how all god campaigns ended, you’d have to come to more.

#daddy!eddie #little!reader #caregiver #sfw age regression #age regression reader #little reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader

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saltygilmores · 4 months

Text

THOUGHTS WHILE WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS: S3/EP5/8 O CLOCK AT THE OASIS (PART 3) Aka SweaterPaws, Fake Fish, The Best Okuh Ever, And Jess Mariano Is A Waterlogged Infant Kitten

Parts 1 & 2 and all other episodes can be found in my pinned post.

This scene of Rory overhearing an answering maching message from Dwight's irate wife combines two of AmyShermanPalladino favorite things: answering machines and (the voice of) Alex Borstein (Celine & Drella on GG, Suzie on Mrs Maisel. Also Lois on Family Guy). Gilmore Girls Producer: Attention, Gilmore Girls crew! It has come to my attention that our budget will not cover both Outdoor Landscaping Scenes and Fishtanks. Sacrifices will have to be made.

Finally she admits to herself that Dean is a serial killer. And casual swearing from Rory? Wow, what a delight to hear.

!!!SWEATER PAWS ALERT!!!!

What do the kids say? Unbothered. Moisturized. Flourishing? In my lane? Something like that. It's clearly a school day (since Rory is in her uniform) while it appears to be a rare day where Jess hasn't been scheduled to work in the Coffee Mines before school. Speaking of school, he's walking away from school instead of towards it and is not carrying any school supplies or a backpack. He looks happy. Just vibing in his ugly oversized clothing. Hopefully he looks up every so often so he doesn't walk face first into a lamp post.

Or that.

Blue Crush was a 2002 movie about a girl who surfs starring Kate Bosworth. Get it? Cause Rory is covered in water?

Hey. Eyes up top, Pal.

The floofy hair. The prominent draggy lip. The five o'clock shadow. Salty enjoys naming things she can see.

How many of Jess' books have been ruined with water? 2 so far. The answer is 2.

And now...ladies and Gentlemen...I present the greatest Milo Okuh Ever Okuh'D:

Get you a man who will risk soaking himself and pretend he didn't assist you with turning off a sprinkler so your boyfriend Dean won't fly into a jealous rage over it. It brings a tear to ol Salty’s eye. The episode wraps up with Lorelai attempting to end the Peyton Sanders nonsense by apologizing to Emily and taking the blame for the entire incident. Silly Lorelai, she didn't consider "What would Emily Gilmore think?" first and foremost before agreeing to go on one date with a random guy. I mean, Lorelai declining a second date with Peyton could have caused Emily to lose rank in her Tea Party Circle with Peyton's mother or some nonsense like that, according to a ridiculous story Richard just told Lorelai earlier in the episode. Let me be clear here, in case the message got a little lost- I am 100% siding with Lorelai here. She should not have to grovel like this over something so meaningless.

HOGWASH. Stop this right now Lorelai. Emily is standing just a few feet away and you're in a kitchen filled with many sharp knives and cooking implements. I'll look the other way. She even agrees to go on a second date with Peyton just to pacify Emily even though she just made it painfully clear how miserable it would make her to see this dude again. Emily is quite pleased seeing Lorelai's state of misery. Well, like I said earlier, you do only have a very small window of time before David Bowie stops performing forever, so go for it I guess. Take the tickets, then drop Hamm. Drop him like Rory dropped out of Yale. I have a final comment: Although by the end of this episode we don't see Rory at school, one would have to presume that after the sprinkler incident she either had to get on the bus and go to school sopping wet or go home and change and blowdry her hair and risk being very late to class. Either she gets reprimanded for showing up to school late or she gets reprimanded for the wet uniform and hair so she's screwed no matter what. If he didn't take an ounce of pity on Rory for her Hit By A Deer story, do you think Headmaster Charleston would buy some fantastical tale from Rory about her tardiness being due to a sprinkler, sweater paws, a neighbor with a board game fetish, and Dean the unabomber?

#8OCATO #gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 3 #rory gilmore #literati #jess mariano #soaking wet puppy #sweater paws #denise rewatches gilmore girls #No Dean in this episode!#No wonder it was so easy breezy

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