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wakeup01 · 3 months

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The Shorts, Like, Maketh The Man

The black shorts were just laying there, hanging off the empty bench. I know, I know. But I wasn’t usually the type to pick up sweaty used clothing in the street, but there was something drawing me to them. Calling out to me. They weren’t really my style even, clearly gym shorts for the sort of person who spends at least an hour a day looking in the mirror. I’d never even set foot in a gym. But still, they were…nice. The polyester material felt good in my hand. Silky. There was clearly some text on the back of them but I was too excited to bother reading it. Maybe I could have them? It didn’t seem like the owner wanted them anymore anyway. I look around for any onlookers and quietly take them, stuffing them away in my pocket.

I wanted to try them on. Needed to. Finding a secluded area, I remove my trousers and pull the smooth fabric up my unimpressive legs. They felt incredibly good around my waist, like they were made for me. There was a warmth radiating from them. Mmff. They seem to press against…all the right places. Clinging to my skin. I catch myself letting out a soft moan, my face blushing red at hearing the sound. Maybe I should take them off, it would be weird to walk home in someone else’s—someone…some..one. Mine. They were my shorts. I leave the baggy trousers behind and step out into the street, an extra boost of confidence in my step.

While I’m walking my body feels slightly off, as if my weight distribution had shifted. Each foot forward felt heavier, stronger. People start to turn and gaze at me. I catch a glimpse of my chunky arms; were they always that veiny? Huh. I see my reflection strutting in a shop window and freeze on the spot. What on earth? There was a completely different person staring back at me. He was sexy as all hell. I looked like a utter gymrat. I touch my sharp, smooth jaw and run my fingers over my harsh buzzed hair. The visage in the reflection copies my exact movements, a large, self assured smirk set on their face. Curious, I lift the hem of my t-shirt. Woah! I was completely jacked! You could sharpen a blade on these abs.

Somehow I had gained pounds of lean muscle in a matter of minutes and my skin had been tanned a luscious golden hue. Certainly, I wasn’t about to complain about this turn of events. Maybe I should pick up discarded clothes more often!

Fuck, my body was li—like, fit. Just check it out. I pull out my phone and take a selfie. Okay. Maybe several selfies. Fine, maybe it was a couple dozen. Who gives a fuck when you look this hot. I didn’t even care about the pedestrians walking past and staring. They SHOULD stare. Admire this prize. This TROPHY. I was in peak form from head to toe. The shiny shorts accentuated my thick, meaty legs perfectly.

My eyes suddenly catch the time on my phone, pulling me out of my shameless self obsession. Damn, at this rate I was gonna be late for Daddy. Wait. Daddy? That’s not right, I wasn’t…

Ugh. My mind felt all jumbled up, like a finished jigsaw puzzle suddenly dropped to the floor. Pieces scattered. It was…I needed to…Daddy! Like, of course. After all, I was just a trophy boy. HIS trophy. An accessory for him to show off. Sculpting my body just how daddy likes it; my muscles existed for his enjoyment. Not that I didn’t enjoy them too…hmm.

My head hurt. Fuck. Was that right? No, I couldn’t be just some brainless boy toy. Now it made sense why the owner abandoned these damn shorts. Shit, It was altering my mind. I was becoming…I needed to remove these—mmff. But right then I feel the shorts squeeze on my bulge. It felt incredible! I shouldn’t, but I never, like, you know, wanted it to stop. My sensitive cock pulsed, thickening while stretching across the fabric. Ahhh! I grin inanely as pre drips down my leg. Like, yeah. Da—daddy loved his boy all hard. He loved when I did as he instructed. A pretty plastic toy to pose and play with. I was so proud to be his. Yes, I was his; body and mind. Like, how did I forget? I can be such an air-headed ditz sometimes. It’s a good thing Daddy also likes his twunky boys dumb; dumb, vapid and full of cum. I was good at those things. Huhuhuh.

I turn around - biting my lip - and look at my tight rear. The shorts thin fabric was digging between the two round globes. ‘Daddy’s Trophy’ was emblazoned on the back, across my cheeks. Mmff. I give my butt a light slap and watch it jiggle. I happily let out a pleasurable moan; it made me feel nice that everyone would know what I am. Explaining it was like, soo difficult and stuff. Daddy says I shouldn’t stress my pretty little head over such complex things. Uhhh. Anyway, these shorts were his favourite, all his boys wore them. He loved watching me dutifully clean the house in them. Or working out in them. Or obediently fucking him in them. Or being fucked…bouncing on his lap.

Oh right! I just remembered! I was supposed to meet him. Sir wanted to finalise our arrangement, there was one last thing to change before I could sign that dull agreement. His trophy boys were always blond. Blond and basic. Huhu. Just like I was about to be.

#brainwashing #transformation #gay #twunk

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coralinnii · 5 months

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✧ Who’s your vibe: Heartslabyul edition ✧

How to play: out of the 20 traits I think of about the TWST guys, bold or highlight the traits you associate or vibe with. No competition, no challenge, just fun.

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia

Riddle

8/20

collared outfits \ academically driven \ watching documentaries for fun \ pocket watches \ feeding stray animals \ rose-infused smells \ actions speak louder than words \ crossword puzzles \ reread books \ is always perfectly on time \ anxious cook \ socially awkward \ tea over coffee \ sweet tooth \ valedictorian \ photographic memory \ perfectionist \ horseback rides \ manners maketh man \ ironed shirts \

Trey

9/20

freshly baked bread \ mint scents \ big sibling energy \ hats \ friend who plans everything \ safety first \ casual clothes \ supreme baker \ loves kids \ writes neatly \ loves to spoil others \ secretly mischievous \ doesn’t want to stand out \ green clovers \ beware the nice ones \ dental care is best care \ loyal to the end \ hidden muscles \ easily embarrassed \ simple and chill \ cool tone colours

Cater

5/20

social media presence \ keeps a lot of secrets \ social expert \ spicy food lover \ exhausted little sibling \ cute little fangs \ flirty \ skateboards \ guitars \ so many selfies \ band tees or hoodies \ trendy accessories \ fortune telling \ cute cafes \ pompadour \ winky face \ go with the flow \ cute nicknames \ peace signs pose \ rock n’ roll vibes \

Ace

6/20

jerk with soft spot \ shortcuts are best cuts \ angry worry wart \ brutally honest \ cheeky hearts \ prostratinator \ tsundere \ magic tricks \ sore loser \ playfully insults friends \ talks to friends during class \ messy hair \ accidentally very dramatic \ secretly sappy \ stepping around the rules \ idolizes big siblings \ visits friends without warning \ trouble magnet \ cocky smirk \ brings playing cards everywhere \

Deuce

6/20

book dumb \ changing for the better \ grease monkey \ bad rep \ momma’s kid \ ride-or-die \ super gullible \ fights back \ two-toned varsity jackets \ bikes are cool \ single parent child \ delinquent days \ works on honor code \ musclehead \ good with chores \ can’t go wrong with adding eggs \ won’t know till you try \ one-track mind \ do shit, get hit \ hardworking \

#of course there’s more traits to add #but let’s stick to 20 haha #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst scenarios #riddle rosehearts #twst ace trappola #ace trappola #deuce space #trey clover #cater diamond #heartslabyul

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cherubispunk · 3 months

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NEPHILIM: BAMBI - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: when does a human stop being regarded as a human…and, instead, seen as something different entirely?

a note from Lucy: No smut? Huh? Someone check my temperature please. I liked writing Nephilim so much that I decided to do a small Drabble of the exact moment Bambi got her name. Think of it as a prequel of sorts. Takes place soon after Bambi recovers from sepsis. Enjoy!

playlist | moodboard

wc: 1563

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n but reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, no physical description of reader apart from ‘long lashes’, brief descriptions of injury and blood, religious imagery, use of guns/ being taught to shoot, me not remembering how to shoot even though I was taught how to so there may be inaccuracies lolsies, Joel is a little bit of a dick but it’s only because he cares!

series masterlist | m.list

Psalm 18:33 He maketh my feet like hinds' feet, and setteth me upon my high places.

When does the man become the monster? Is it his first kill? Or maybe his first thought of pulling the trigger? It might be the moment he picks up the gun. When the metal is cold in calloused palm. A human would find it heavy and unwelcoming. A monster might find it a comforting thing though. To know he is protected at his own hand. Are they even entirely separate? A person may be both at once. Monster. Human. Who is the righteous one, the wise one, who draws the line. Is it God? The people? And how thin of a line is it?

Joel could be both. In the Venn Diagram, the spectrum of Monster and Man, he resided in the very middle. That’s what they told you anyway. You took it with a pinch of salt. Thought it a rather hypocritical comment to make for no one in this world was truly pure of sin. Even the lamb grazes the grass that the foal could have. Though Joel thought you came damn close to purity. He now associated the colour of your eyes with innocence. Conditioned to the thought whenever he saw it in nature, or in a person's clothing. Slaved away to keep it. Protect it. Was a man that protected truly a monster? Because the things he did, the sin he committed, the blood on his hands, was all in the name of protection in one way or another.

He quite liked being alone before. But the more time he spent engaging in the odd conversation with you, the more he realised how dull it was to talk to himself. He and himself were only acquaintances. You felt more like a friend. His first real friend since Tess.

So maybe the question is this; When does a human stop being regarded as a human…and, instead, seen as something different entirely?

—

“I can’t do it.” You huffed, looking back at him and dropping your arms. In your hands was Joel’s rifle. The weight of it foreign and uncomfortable. The trigger cold, and your fingertip not calloused enough for it to feel like it belonged. The metal bit back. It said ‘you don’t belong here’. It commanded you: ‘Give me back’. The weight of it was unsettling. In your hand was the weight of a life taken. Or a life spared. And yet he stood behind you with his arms crossed, his brow set in stone, furrowed together in a frown akin to the busts of Caracalla. Narrowed hawk eye on your poor form. Unsteady on your feet and uncertain with your trigger finger.

“You can.” He replied, voice clipped and snippy. Not giving you a choice. “And you will.” He spoke in such a grating edge it seemed he was frustrated merely through your apprehension. “Eject the cartridge.” So you sighed, abiding his words, pressing the butt of the rifle into the crook of your shoulder and staring down the barrel at the tree you hadn’t landed even a graze on once. “Feet shoulder width apart, girl.” He reprimanded. Joel had repeated that one point about five times now in the past hour. And each time you’d forgotten. Something as simple as the planting of your feet on the snow blanketed ground. Your mind was in disarray and a disconnect with your body.You looked down at your feet and shuffled them wider apart.

You felt his strict grip find temporary and telling purchase on your hips, jerking you side on so the foot the side of your non-trigger hand pointed towards the target. Even through layers of winter clothing his touch made you shiver far more than any biting winter wind could. “Like this.” That tone again. It was windburn on your cheeks. It was pins and needles in your feet. Unpleasant, painful, and long enduring.

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.” And he stepped back to observe once more.

He didn’t do it to be mean. He didn’t say it to be curt, and rude. He did it for your benefit. Because one day your loose tongue would very well find you without it entirely. Still, it hurt. To know he was so willing with criticism and so restrained with compliments. He must bite his tongue so often that it grows back sharp. It felt like lashes from the cat of nine tails upon your back; Your skin now lacerated and tender from each blow. Regardless, you swallowed the lump in your throat whole. It could suffer and scorn and burn in your churning stomach. You inhaled, and on the exhale you pulled the trigger.

Miss.

You huffed again, utterly defeated. Your heart seemed to sink lower when you looked at him. His face still set with the same Caracalla frown.

“Again.”

“What’s the point, Joel?” You protested for the second time. Desperate to go back to town and wallow. To not have to face that grimace. You felt like a child, waiting for that fateful ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ speech. “I’m not a violent person. I’m not like you. I’m not—“ the words faltered as you tried to find them. You stopped yourself before you could blurt the first that came to mind. But he knew. Joel always knew. He didn’t need to say anything for you to admit it. Merely raise a brow and dare you, urge you further.

“Y’should think before y’speak.” You nodded at his words, eyes trained on his boots. “Again.”

Too ashamed to fight any further, already treading on thin ice and skidding miserable on wobbly doe legs. Too soon would you thud to the floor and plunge into the icy waters below. You must find your footing again.

It was in this very shame you obeyed, picking up the weapon again with bated breath and aiming. But your mind was elsewhere. It scattered like the spray of a shotgun's fire. Your form was off. You’d lost that stance from before. And you were too busy in your own head to even think about paying attention to the tree trunk down the other end of the barrel. You fired without the inhale before as well as the beat of your exhale. The recoil was strong, the butt of the rifle ricocheting into your shoulder causing an ache to dissolve through flesh and sink to bone. The sound was jarring, it rang in your ears, rattled in your head. And you lost your footing, stumbling back with the force towards the snow.

Joel saw it coming. He expected you to right your footwork. To breathe in and fire on the exhale. But the sound of the bullet leaving the chamber came before any of the aforementioned. A simple stride in haste and he was behind you, stopping you before you fell to the floor.

“Jesus, Bambi!” Joel gritted through his teeth when you collided. The sound was becoming less jarring. But the name. The name was new. It was fresh. And ripe. A fruit that would never rot. Be eternally sweet. He had thought about it before; You had these wide eyes that looked up at him through thick lashes. You were tentative with your footing. And uneasy on your feet when it was cold. He remembered when he found you in the snow; Curled up on your side with the flesh wound under your trembling palm, bleeding through your shirt and gaps between frail fingers. He thought of a doe just born. Fresh and pure. So vulnerable it ached to not reach out and nurture it. When he looked into those eyes, the eyes of the woman in his arms, he saw it all again. A picture that was printed on the backs of his eyelids when he slept. Or where he blinked for that matter. In waking and in sleep, it haunted him. Whispered in his ear with a warm breath that paralleled the alive and beating. He felt a sharp sting in his heart. He didn't know it then, but it was Eros’ arrow. He would know soon enough.

You shared the time between the words and the writhing of your feet. Shared it with a stare in imperturbable silence. A simmering, deep stare. It wasn’t deep in the sense of a gaping void. More like a watering hole. Something that promised plentiful supply and the chance of survival. The satiation of the unquenchable.

You would learn one day that his love for you can quench any thirst, satiate any hunger and rest any fatigue. All this and he would still be left thirsty, starving and exhausted. Accept him for what he is. Heavy handed, colossal, brutal. Loving, nurturing, tender. Just a man. Give him on chance — one meagre, single moment in time — and he’d decay at the swipe of his tongue across the bottom of your lip alone; Finding a homage for him between them. A feeling he would wish to indulge in selfishly cradling his beating chest. And maybe, just this once, he will let himself be selfish with something that wasn't just for the purpose of survival.

So I beg of you, contemplate: if a man deemed a monster can still love, if a man named the devil can see innocence, grace, beauty, and nurture it— is the man still a monster? Something else entirely? Or is he just human?

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #the last of us #joel miller tlou #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #nephilim #pedro pascal #joel miller smut

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ilvero-love · 9 months

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Clothes Maketh the (Wo)Man (or the colour coding of the Iron Trio)

I saw a post recently wondering about the significance, if any, of the colours our Iron Trio wears💙🖤🧡. It prompted me to go looking. Like everything Complete Fiction seems to do in regard to this show, the choices are careful and deliberate.

Lockwood is black and white🖤🤍 He has a business to run and his suited appearance declares that he is prepared to do just that. He’s business like because he has to be. The success of this company rides on his back and the choices he makes. He is ambitious certainly, seen in his constant striving to take Lockwood and Co to the top and in his drive to put them into the public eye, often at the expense of other’s wishes. But it’s understandable. He has bills to pay and people (George and Lucy) that rely on him. Even after they successfully square away their debts, Lockwood remains conscious that there are still other bills to pay.

Lockwood presents an adult façade to the world. Even Lucy (in the book) is surprised to realise he is scarcely older than her upon first meeting him. But, whilst he may appear an adult, he’s still very much a teenager navigating his way through a world where children are dispensable and adults, despite their general uselessness, still call the shots. It’s Lockwood’s sneakers and pink socks that give him away and reveal the teenage boy behind the façade. This was such a clever choice on the part of Complete Fiction 👏 They remind us that whilst Lockwood has been forced to grow up too quickly, at heart he is still a teen.

So, black and white. Very simple and clear cut. Except life isn’t like that, is it?Only Lucy has insight into how tenuous his grip on control can be, and we see this in the delightful stairwell scene 💖💖💖

😍Take a moment everyone- right, where were we?

Ah yes, Lucy and her blue persona (colour not mood). Lucy’s blue is a nice foil to the green of the ghostly world they inhabit. Both blue and green are heavily associated with nature. I don’t know what that means here, but it’s interesting to ponder.

Blue is traditionally seen as a colour of constancy, loyalty and reliability. She certainly provides this for Lockwood. But it’s also a strong colour, hence its traditional association with boys. A practical colour, heavily associated with working, it feeds into Lucy’s active strength.

(Some of these ideas came after reading the interesting article https://www.allure.com/story/beauty-and-the-beast-blue-dresses-in-female-centric-films . Not sure I agree with all of it but certainly food for thought).

Finally, George 🧡 Orange radiates warmth. George is the only from a stable family background, only leaving because of a burning desire to solve the Problem.

Orange can represent physical comfort, which, when you add it to his cooking prowess completes the picture. Despite taking a while to warm to Lucy (understandable when it’s just been him and Lockwood for a year) once he’s in, he’s all in 💯

Orange can represent physical comfort, which, when you add it to his cooking prowess completes the picture. He’s homely-he embodies home. As Lucy says to Lockwood, “Portland Row is my home-You and George”. And despite having taken a while to warm to Lucy (understandable when it’s just been him and Lockwood for a year) once he’s in, he’s all in 💯

It is interesting too that orange is also a complementary colour to blue, meaning that you can argue that George balances Lucy, providing stability for Lockwood.

So, there you have it, my thoughts, nonsensical or not, on the colour coding of our three heroes 🧡💙🖤

Maybe, just maybe, they were completely random colour choices based on what CF could source. But knowing Complete Fiction, I somehow think not 😉

⚔👻💕

#save lockwood and co #lockwood and co #locklyle #lockwood x lucy #lockwood & co #renew lockwood and co #george karim #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood

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tavyliasin · 4 months

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Clothes Maketh The Wizard - Drabble

Dom!Gale x Reader 2nd person drabble, another little warmup while I am working on Secret Event pieces. There will be longer fics and chapters in the next week or so, I promise you that much, so do enjoy these little bites for now to keep you going~ Smut below the cut~

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You felt his breath hot on the back of your neck as he leaned over you, the weight of his body holding your arms crossed behind your back even as you playfully struggled against him, one of his hands cupping your chin and lifting your ear towards his lips. You had made one too many little remarks about the Wizard of Waterdeep and his choice of party attire. “You’re wearing your pyjamas? To a celebration?” Gale’s expression had darkened, but only for a moment before the genial mannerisms returned. That moment though…you felt a shiver down your spine that had been far too enticing. “Well?” You snapped back to the present, bare body pressed hard against the cold desk in his tent as his voice growled into your ear. He was ironically still fully dressed, despite demanding you strip the moment he had invited you inside his tent with a devilish look in his eye. A look you could tell was still very much present as he pushed you for a response. “I asked if you wanted to see some real magic earlier. Have you changed your mind already?” “What-” your voice was hoarse from the angle your head was held, “what kind of magic do you mean? More paltry parlour tricks?” “Oh you are a wicked little thing aren’t you.” His voice dropped lower, the hand that wasn’t holding your chin moving in front of your eyes where you could see the crackling lightning dance between his fingertips. Magic has more uses than entertaining at a party, and I will thank you to remember that not all of us feel the need to dress so provocatively to enjoy an evening of socialising with friends. Although,” he whispered the next part directly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spin, “I, for one, did not mind the view.” His arm moved behind you and out of sight, sparks still audible on the edge of your hearing. The next thing you felt was the sting of the magic along your outer thigh. His fingers danced a vicious waltz up towards your hip. “Parlour tricks,” he grazed his teeth along the top of your ear, “are for apprentices and sorcerers, of which I am neither. So, dearest, do allow me to show you what a fully fledged wizard is truly capable of. You will soon realise that the clothes do not make the man.”

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #dom gale #gale x reader #2nd person fic #his camp outfit really is just comfy pyjamas compared to literally everyone else #and he's still hot #bless that man he knows what he wants and how to live his life

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stuckyfingers · 4 months

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Idk what I'm even writing but here is a What If extension fic about Rogers Hood singing. The whole fic is there just for the song.

“Who are you?” Strange drawled, looking at the blue-green clad mercenary looking guy.

He had been stuck in Earth-1602, successfully evading capture by the Sherriff for only so long. T'Challa from Earth-527 was supposed to get him sometime soon, but the wait had stretched into days.

He was in the Sherriff's carriage being grandly arrested by the familiar looking official and his following army of guards, when a gang of tree swinging bandits had surrounded them, forcing them to dismount. A carriage up ahead with a man in a pentagonal hat standing outside, told them that the Bishop was also undergoing a robbery.

The man in the green and blue clothes chuckled. “I’m known far and wide as a legendary outlaw, Strange Wizard!” He dropped his hood with flair, revealing his face. “I am Steven Rogers, or Rogers Hood as people have come to call me.”

“Rogers Hood?” Strange scoffed. “Not surprising though… you do tend to do illegal things in every universe.”

“’Tis the powerful that maketh legality immoral, my friend. To abide thy morals, thou must break the law.” Steve replied unfazed at the mention of universes. His gaze turned rather cold when he looked at the other people from the carriage. "Sherriff Thaddeus Ross. Pleasant morn it is, but for thy presence."

The Sheriff growled. “Thy speech of morals shield not thine acts of disgrace! Thou hast lain with men as thou would with a maiden: it is frowned upon, verily!"

The guy close beside Rogers Hood shed his own hood to raise a haughty eyebrow. The manicured beard was confusing, but it was undoubtedly Bucky Barnes.

Rogers Hood did not seem perturbed at being accused of sodomy but rather, leaned sideways to kiss Bucky on the cheek, smirking at the Sherriff. “So be it! ’Twould be thine own visage that is marred!”

“ 'Tis God’s visage that you mar!” The Bishop cried from a few yards away, rather bravely for someone being searched for coin.

“How little must thou think of Him, that a poor outlaw can change His divine skin!” Rogers cried louder, throwing his hands up like he was on Broadway. “A Bishop, indeed, thy Bishop clothes don’t hide the doubt within!”

“Uhm, Rogers Hood, could you-?” Strange started.

“Interrupt him not!” Another Merry Man with a bow- who looked like Clint Barton- who was Clint Barton, shushed him. Rogers really began singing like he was in a musical- even jumping onto a sunlit tree stump as the Sherriff watched in agony.

“How little must thou believe in thine own self to bring an army: When Merry Men are armed with naught but bows”

“But bows!” The Merry Men added.

“How little must thou find it in thy heart to be more charming: When Merry Men, we zest while in the throes!”

“The Throes!”

"Well, maidens go to Church no more, for we have larger bells!"

"AYE!"

"But we insisted they must trust the Lord!"

"The Lord!"

"And maidens who skipped Synagogues for the reasons much the same, we led them back to their fine carven doors!"

"Doors!"

The Merry Men began chanting as Rogers turned to Strange with a flourish.

"Now this fine old Wizard doth seek to know us well, what ways of ours shall we queintein him with?"

"We spend our days with parties gay under the sunny glades," Sang Bucky Barnes.

"We give the poor what we steal from the rich!" Sang the Leonardo da Vinci looking version of Sam Wilson.

"We hate the King of England and the Sheriff we hate more, the travelers of Egypt* are our kith!" sang Clint Barton.

The trees around them rang with song:

"And maidens go to Church no more, for we have larger bells- hey! But we insisted they must trust the Lord! And maidens who skipped Synagogues for the reasons much the same, we led them back to their fine carven doors!"

The Bishop grew increasingly purple with every reprise of the chorus, like he was going to explode. They actually repeated it three times before Rogers took the stage again-

"And now my sweet Bishop thou seemst burdened with thy gold-"

"Let us free thy shoulders of this weight!" Scott Lang joined in.

"For, O wretched Bishop sitting in thy Bishop clothes, you've become the very thing He hates!" Steve finished with a laugh.

The guards waited for some command from the Sherriff, but the Sherriff was far too occupied with being gagged. Dr. Strange alone was not subject to such treatment.

"Go, now!" Barnes boomed, waving a crossbow at the army. "You don't want to be caught here with us! Return to thy wives before you get arrows up thy arses!"

The guards scattered nervously casting glances at the Sherriff. They couldn't all be punished if they left together, could they?

Dr. Strange started again: "So, er- Rogers Wood, I mean, Hood uhm-"

Steve nodded at him while rounding up the valuables. "I have heard of ye, Strange Wizard... I doth not doubt we are in f'r a delightful conversation!"

"Neither do I." A voice came from across the road. The calm, regal consonance of-

"T'Challa!" Strange cried, half relieved, half really annoyed.

The space pirate revealed himself- not bothering to hide his bootstrap jet boosters from the medieval folk. He was dressed like a Golden Age pirate but with a punk metal twist that was probably lost on the people present there.

"Fie! Fie!" The Bishop wailed, "'Tis the devil! 'Tis the- ack!"

Clint Barton gagged the Clergyman for good and stared at the new arrival. "And who may that be! He flies with fire on his feet, like Hermes himself!"

"And yet his name is T'Challa." Rogers Hood mused, signaling his men to lower their arms. "I know of only one T'Challa- and he is the King of Wakanda. Art thou he?"

Star Lord T'Challa's eyes glimmered with mirth. "Oh well, I'm not him. I just share a name with him, Captain Hood. I'm from another universe, and I am here to collect Dr. Strange."

"Thou art free to take him, if he doth not wish for our protection against you." Rogers smiled.

"How about... we sit down for a drink with them?" Strange sighed. "I don't want your protection, but I do want to get back at this asshole."

"Oh Bast, what slander!" T'Challa gasped mockingly. "Weren't you trying to leave this place as fast as you could?"

"I'm not leaving now that I've found the best part?" Strange shrugged.

T'Challa hopped down merrily to the ground. "Well, one outlaw to another, I would love the company!"

"Outlaw!?" Roger Hood perked up.

"Outlaw." Strange groaned.

#Rogers Hood #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 6 days

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The Poor Man's Morning Portion

by Robert Hawker

"Who was delivered for our offences, and was raised again for our justification." – Romans 4:25

My soul, thou must not yet dismiss—no, nor ever dismiss, the sweet and precious subject of thy Lord’s resurrection. One part of it thou hast not yet scarce glanced at; and yet it is such a one as thine everlasting safety, and thy justification before God depends upon. "For," as the Holy Ghost hath said, by the mouth of his servant the apostle," if Christ be not risen, then are believers yet in their sins. "1 Corinthians 15:17. See to it then, my soul, that what this sweet scripture of the morning saith be true, that Jesus was delivered for thine offences, and was raised again for thy justification. While Jesus was on the cross, and when Jesus was taken down and laid in the grave, the payment and the ransom for sin was then discharging. Jesus was then truly delivered for our offences. And when he arose from the dead, then the poor sinner, for whom he was delivered, and for whom he died, was truly justified before God; for thereby proof was made that the debt was paid, the receipt given, and God, in confirmation of it, styled himself by a new name, even the God of Peace, in bringing again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, as the great Shepherd of his sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant. Hence the resurrection of Jesus was like going into the presence of God to cancel the bond, the hand-writing of ordinances, that was against us. It was as if Jesus gave this testimony in his glorious resurrection, that both sin and death had now lost their retaining power; the dominion of both were for ever done away, and all true believers in Christ might join the apostle’s song—"Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth; who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us. "My soul, be sure to keep this in constant view, when, at any time, thou art meditating on the death and resurrection of Jesus: and let both be thy daily meditation. Think how truly blessed, how truly happy, how present and everlastingly secure, must those souls be who are interested in the death and in the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. By the one he hath purchased their pardon, and by the other he hath justified their persons; so that, when law and justice present their charge against them, this is the unanswerable plea—Jesus "was delivered for our offences, and raised again for our justification. "Oh dearest Lord, grant me daily and hourly to be bringing into all my spiritual enjoyments the sweet sense and consciousness of being thus interested, justified, and se, cared. Give me a present right and title, that I may live upon it; and by and by, when thou shalt call me home,, then, Oh Lord, present me finally and fully, once for all, as made comely in thy comeliness, clothed in thy righteousness, and fully prepared, both in soul and body, for everlasting happiness and glory among them that are sanctified.

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river-of-wine · 11 months

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The clothes maketh the man and the clothes maketh the Colm O’Driscoll look like Rattlesnake Jake

#rdr2 #colm o'driscoll #the second I saw him it was all I could think about

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rawlinacademia · 11 months

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Dark Academia Habits to adopt

i might as well just add, HEALTHY dark academia habits to adopt easily and fit right into your schedule if you have one. This beautiful aesthetic has a lot (not all) of creators promoting things solely on the basis of defined aesthetics from media which are tremendously injurious to one's health. Please, please please...don't hurt yourself trying to follow an aesthetic, in the short or long term , we have a ton of examples for demonstartion. And please don't hurt others.

Dark Academia Habits to adopt-

romanticize your eyes and the way you say things. No writers writing about your raven eyes? write a haiku for yourself. Be your own muse!

Read. Read. Read. Don't let the DA community pressurise you into reading just the classics. Read what your heart desires? Fantasy? hell yeah!…thinking of changing your life? Self Help books? Brilliant!

Dark Academia is the aesthetic for people who crave knowledge , for people who would analyse , who want to learn, with head full of philosophies , full of passion for what they do , who are ready to do anything to achive their goals…and most of all for people who wish to be all the things above and more.

Channel your Hermione or Rory or Neil Perry or any fav fictional character into yourself and get to work.. Okay but if someone is channeling Henry Winter …please in a limit guys okay?..

Why scroll on social media sites in your free time. Start a language learning journey..So many apps that give you a game like language learning option to do that! Work on your scrolling addiction and get to work!…

Analyze a snippet of poetry in your free time..not for anyone to show..but purely for your satisfaction.

Get educated, my bro. Learn about philosphers and their qoutes and just drop them in the middle of your convos…I bet you will sound mysterious and learned if not educated, smart and elite.

Drink water out of wine glasses, or coffee mugs or weird things you normally wouldnt. But drink water, keep your skin nice and healthy

Eat good food. meal prep or not but see what is going in you body. That will be responsible for your energy levels.

If you have a plain journal around, WRITE WRITE WRITE…i dont care what you write. poems , letters to your 1945's darling , or to your fictional character or telling your beloved (which you have met or not met) about your day. Dear diary is outdated ha ha… Dear Beloved xyz…who is stopping you from doing this shit?

Pretend you are the main character till you become the main character. Get the desired personality you want your main character to have. Good at public speaking? Hell yeah i will practice in the mirror for hours till i laugh seeing my stupid face mess up. Makes friends easily? For sure, imma hit my colleagues and/or classmates for a chat…or Looks mysterious to strangers? Practice makes things betters …DO IT..

Manners maketh man. Talk politely. Refrain from using crude language.

You dont need expensive clothes to feel dark academic. (who even started that!! )Choose your style, the one which you are more comfortable in and carry yourself gracefully. Walk long halls with your thrifted jacket and torn jeans… there are so many sub genres and division of dark academia… find your type AND AGAIN… healthy ones please

Oh romanticise your major. Who cares if all the posts are about english and languages and literature and philosophies.. STEM dark academia hello!!?! Writing equations and working hard for yourself , to get to that position you wish to be… the only mountain you gotta climb is you…

Be the friend you wish to have. You want a DA friend group in your university . Start doing all the things you wish your friend group did, who knows maybe... Well...we all know your vibe attracts yours tribe..hehe

Watch Dark Academia movies.. Movies that take you to your goal or are you trying to take a break? watch what you wish . Mona Lisa Smile, Dead poets Society , Pride and Prejudice (2005 or any), Little Woman, The Da vinci Code, The Imitation Game, The theory of Everything, SHERLOCK HOLMES oh god.., Sherlock BBC, Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean THE AGE OF ADALINE, Hamlet etc etc etc

Stay fit, read your fav book while taking stairs instead of the elevator/lift. listen to your fav spotify playlist while having a walk. I personaly like to listen to classical workout songs, i dont know which genius decided to compile upbeat classical pieces like that.

They make me feel like the main character while i am cycling or walking around. Whatever gets the work done right?

Decode. Research topics in cryptography, invent your own language and write things in it..leave sticky notes full fo symbols or different letters here and there..

Write Futureme letters to yourself. They are a window for your future self to look back to the time you are in. I usually write letters for myself and post them to my future self in 2024 or 2025 or 2030 or more.. i write in a world war fashion or somedays in my own style. I write to my friends and family members. They are also sorta snippets of my will..idk.. like if you are reading this , and i am dead in your time...then do this this etc . Nice way to look past Death, isn't it?

Utilise your full potential.Don't let your mind even think for a second that i could have done more…Do more.. over learning never hurts, add the Extra to the ordinary.

Stop comparing yourself to others. Others dont have the same life as yours,nor have they had the same circumstances, So focus on your self… let people talk… Focus on yourself, and focus on your progress.

and please rest…Give your body time to heal, soak up your desired light… moonlight is better for me, i despise sun light. Sit in the moonlight , in a park or in your room and just sit.. Relax for god's sake.

Be proud of who you are and never terminate your progress…Be Better! better than who you were last summer or few years back…

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prettymelissatgirlextraordinaire · 2 years

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I’m a huge fan of ANDRES SARDA, a Barcelona-based lingerie design house which had been in business since the 1950s. Jackie Kennedy was also a fan in her day. They use premium fabrics, pretty colour palettes and their bras, slips and chemises are edged in handmade lace. Their products are BEAUTIFUL to look at and EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL to wear.

The saying “clothes maketh the man” is even more true for WOMEN. When I’m wearing something soft and sensual as part of my outfit, I feel ready to take on the world 💖🌸⭐️👗

Love, Melissa, xox

#feminine beauty #where your eyes linger #traditional femininity #romantic #trans and proud #mtf positivity #transwomenarewomen #pretty melissa

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siren-serenity · 4 months

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✧ Who’s your vibe: Heartslabyul edition ✧

How to play: out of the 20 traits I think of about the TWST guys, bold or highlight the traits you associate or vibe with. No competition, no challenge, just fun. inspired by @coralinnii!!!

Riddle

10/20

Trey

10/20

Cater

5/20

Ace

7/20

Deuce

5/20

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst scenarios #riddle rosehearts #twst ace trappola #ace trappola #deuce space #trey clover #cater diamond #heartslabyul #not surprising that trey and riddle would have the most lol #trey resonates with me ahahaha

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dramioneasks · 6 months

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Any fics where they make each other laugh a lot and act kind of silly/playful with each other? Thanks!!

Fifty Shades of Granger by winterwells - E, 7 chapters - Draco Malfoy finds himself reentering society after having been on house arrest for the past five years. The Wizengamot has graciously given him the opportunity to leave the manor provided he gets a job at the Ministry. What could go wrong? Dramione, post-war AU

Swear Jar by CosmicCthulhu - T, one-shot - Draco likes to swear. A lot. And Hermione might have just found the perfect way to make him stop swearing like a sailor. (Or so she hopes). Excerpt: “What’s this?” Draco lifted a brow, taking the jar to his hands and trying to inspect it with his eyes – There was nothing particularly noteworthy about it to warrant a smile so smug coming from her. It was just some random muggle mason jar. Interestingly, his name was written on the glass, in big, bold letters and a rough dragon shape next to it that he could only imagine was drawn by his son. “This, my dear Fleabag,” she purred. “Is your newest Swear Jar.” “And what in Salazar’s ballsack is a ‘swear jar’ supposed to be?” “If you used a little bit of your brain you’d be able to figure out,” she laughed, taking her wand and summoning a shiny galleon out of his pocket to place it inside the blasted thing. “Whenever you cuss, no matter the reason, you’re going to place a galleon in the jar.” “A whole bloody galleon?” He scoffed, just as his wife pulled another golden coin out of his auror robes. “Our vaults won’t last even a month!”

Clothes Maketh the Man by riane_b13 - M, 26 chapters - They Say Clothes Maketh the Man but this Reporter says that Clothes Maketh the Witch as well. Pansy Parkinson has outdone herself with this fashion line. However, sources say that the mastermind behind this overnight sensation is Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Wizard of the Summer, Draco Malfoy. He was spotted making waves in the fashion house and he is doing it in style. Everyone seems to be wearing the clothes Miss Parkinson designs. We even have seen our favorite Golden Girl in the new summer line. Is our favorite bad boy behind more than just what this Gryffindor wears into the boardroom? You heard it here first there's more than just fabric in the Parkinson's Fashion House. There is a steamy summer romance afoot! Will these two celebrities be like white after Labor Day and die out are they a forever couple like a little black dress? Catch all this and more with your favorite reporter Rita Skeeter!

The Malfoy Theory by katehathaway - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have been at each other's throats for the entirety of their professional career. This is to be expected – They are rivals in mixed doubles. Yet, what the rest of the world doesn't know, is that their argumentativeness extended to the bedroom as well. Sporty Muggle AU.

Yours in Books by LiloLilyAnn - K+, one-shot - Sir/Madam, I am writing to inquire about books on frogs. Perhaps toads. I am not sure which. Please send a list with all titles you have in relation to both, please. Respectfully, Mr. D. Malfoy ***** That time poor Draco was being tormented by a frog outside his window. When he enlists the help of a local librarian, his life ... and the life of the frog ... is changed forever.

Sunset Paradise Surf and Crooked advice by LadyBlack3 - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy faced an insurmountable task - getting on with monstrous muggle technology and moving the wet clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. Crookshanks is thankfully on hand to help. Or is he?

Seven Drinks Hermione by LightofEvolution - M, 3 chapters - This weekend should belong to the team alone, but Auror Malfoy just has to bring the Head Auror along. Meanwhile, Hermione is challenged to have one or six drinks. Will they all make it out alive?

On Fire by Frumpologist - M, one-shot - Hermione is arrested and forced to share a prison cell with Malfoy for the weekend. It’s the worst possibly scenario with the best possible outcome.

The Morning After What?! by SunshineSundae - T, one-shot - Hermione wakes up, hungover and tied to a stranger’s bed, with no recollection of how she got there. “I know you’re not asleep,” he said. “Because if you were, you’d still be snoring like a troll with a head cold.”

-Lisa

#anonymous #fluff #romance #humour

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