#fancy the shopkeep

[bcneheaded]

eagerly awaiting the day artemis gets to accidentally or otherwise go absolutely ham in front of one of his friends, acquaintances, or apprentice(s) (your muse) and scares the ever-loving hell outta them

#( ooc ) #( tbd ) #was just thinkin ! thats all #hes outwardly this rlly calm n collected amiable shopkeeper - if not a little playfully sarcastic at times #but he does still struggle with that like... idk.. anger ig - its not at all like how it used to be and yet ?? is still somehow #exactly how it used to be if that makes any sense #if i had to choose any one sin to relate him to it would be wrath! tbh! ! hes a very wrathful entity at his core unfortunately jgjfdjg #possibly the most important difference between the old him and the Now him though is that he is /trying/ so much not to be What he Was ykn #hes too tired to be so angry (and seemingly aimlessly so) all the time jgjdfg hes mostly just melancholy now #BUT YEA RAMBLING ASIDE... gimve me..... angry artemis. difficult to reign in difficult to control wrathful demon momentz #give me.... So Angry that his tar heats so hot that it soaks through his fancy clothes and seeps ot of the orifices of his skull-- #fdgdfgfd tfw they find out why nobody bothers him HGFDJGD

[floorpancakes]

the theme of the 2024 met gala is clamp official art noone is allowed to not serve plain suits have been banned everyone has to be sparkly and magical now

#i had a serious post to make abt clamp outfits that are giving met gala and how many of them there are but #im really really tired and i have a cold so my head is all fuzzy so i cannot be doing all of that today #the shopkeeper mother son combi art with the sun theming in my avi is peak met gala i dream of wearing it #if i ever got invited to the met gala itd b over for everyone if i simply wore the watanuki sun costume #scratch that just invite watanuki in the sun costume stick him on a billboard and wheel him arojnd #like vtubers at the streamer awards #give his cutout a fancy steak dinner #and give him a doggy bag so he can take some home to his tall hungry hamster husband idk #he wouldnt eat that shit as is but watanuki would painstakingly remake it into some sort of luxury bento #idk where im going w this im tired and i have a head cold please let me think about gay people its all i can do rn #other than log into #FUCK I FORGOT TO LOG INTO GENSHIN BAIZHU LANDED HOURS AGO #iVE BEEN UP HERE FOR A BUNCH OF HOURS AJD FORGOT TO EAT TOO #fuKc

[orionsangel86]

The fact that Good Omens S2 was SO QUEER.

Not Just Maggie and Nina (and Lindsey)

Not just Aziraphale and Crowley

Not even just Gabriel and Beelzebub (who is NB)

But the magician shopkeeper and his trans/NB spouse who wore a fancy early 19th century dress to the ball.

Job's son who was flirting with Aziraphale (hilariously played by Ty Tennant giving Michael Sheen heart eyes in front of his dad lmao)

Even the tough macho man in Scotland that Aziraphale borrows the phone from - using it for "Grindr".

Plus of course Michael, Uriel, Muriel, and Dagon also all being non binary/gender queer characters.

With all this, there was no homophobia, no one batted an eyelid at any characters sexualities, sexuality wasn't even brought up, characters just are who they are and like who they like. Its a non issue in the GO universe.

AKA my favourite type of queer representation. The same type found in The Sandman (show not comic).

And whilst there was plenty of drama and not everyone gets a happy queer ending (YET) there was no queer trauma to be seen. No hate crimes, no "bury your gays", no stupid discussions about how HARD it is to be out of the closet in a bigoted world, because the GO world isn't bigoted.

Its SUCH a BREATH OF FRESH AIR.

I know we have similar experiences in The Sandman, In OFMD, and even in WWDITS, but each time a new show takes this very new approach towards queer representation I feel like I'm once again sinking into a comforting hug from someone I love, who loves me back.

Its just really fucking wonderful to see. I hope we keep seeing it more and more often.

#good omens #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens s2 spoilers #gos2 #gos2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #ineffable beurocracy #maggie x nina #queer representation #representation matters #lgbtg #lgbtq representation #neil gaiman

[seat-safety-switch]

When people come to my town, they seem to assume that the Great Magnet is a metaphor, or a tourist trap at worst. I can assure you, dear reader, that it is neither. For reasons unknown to me, our town forefathers – and one foremother who tried to pull out of the project when she figured out which way the wind was blowing – built a really big electromagnet in the centre of town. And then they realized that there was no way to power it on.

For hundreds of years, it has sat immobile as Town Hall was built around it, just daring someone to devise a power supply stronger than those they had available in 1802. Sure, a lot of fancy-pants industrial designers tried to get the eight-storey-tall electromagnet removed. It clashed with their vision for the productive space. Thing is, the town's founding laws say "no touchy the magnet," so they couldn't do much about the magnet. The magnet, that is, and its massive copper lugs sticking out the back, begging for a little bit of hot sauce.

Now, even without electricity, a chunk of ferrous material this large has some strange effects. The weather around it is really cold, and occasionally seagulls will loop infinitely around it until they drop from exhaustion, their internal sense of navigation disrupted by some passing force that has coupled into the magnet and gently charged its field. During the town Egg Festival, you could occasionally hear the AM radio Community Events Cruiser's broadcast through its surface, until Shopkeeper Ted drunkenly touched the surface of the Great Magnet and was instantly reduced to ash.

We'll switch it on one day, we tell each other. Big nuclear plant just opened a few towns over, that's got enough beef to spin it up. And then we look around at all the cool shit we own that's made out of metal, more than there ever was over 200 years ago. We think about all the things we have to lose.

Sometimes, on the Magnet's annual anniversary night speech, The Mayor will sometimes try to scare us with the size of the power bill, the magnitude of our tax dollars, that it would take to let 'er rip, just this once, as if the spectre of a few bucks a month extra would discourage us further from turning on a machine that would cleave the world in half.

[writing-mlm]

jason todd x reader please 😔

The ShopKeep and the Hobbyist [J.T]

Summary: Jason's been going to this bookstore for long enough that he's developed a bit of a reputation with them. If only the cute cashier would understand he's trying to flirt but as fate would have it, one knife chase later, and maybe they're more than worker and costumer. Pairing: Jason Todd x Male!Reader WC: 7.3k TW: use of fag but its a quote

Jason traveled out of Gotham once a week, always on a Sunday, always to the same location for three entire hours. Everyone knew that Sunday from noon to four— accounting for traffic and eating out that might happen, that Jason was absolutely unavailable. Unless you physically went to track him down. 

But that’s yet to happen. 

It’s Sunday and Jason arrived at the normal spot earlier than usual. Traffic was amazing, no accidents on the way out of Gotham, and the highway was thankfully void. He parked his bike in his normal spot, right in front of the store, and lifted the visor to the helmet before heading inside. 

The Open Book had always welcomed Jason, even when the shop was closed in the middle of a blizzard. And he helped where he could (Wayne Enterprises always made a large monthly donation to the shop and for some odd reason, someone had gifted the shop a fake bird that is able to stop any thefts(odd)). 

“New shipment came in today,” The store owner's grandson greeted him, leaning across the counter to grab at the basket of free candies the shop offered. “Snagged this vintage-looking book collection for ya.” Ever since word that a Wayne kid visits the bookshop, sales have grown so it’s hard keeping certain items in stock. Especially the fancy-looking titles. 

“Do tell,” He grabs a bite-sized chocolate and rips the packet open while you set your lollipop wrapper into your apron pocket before ducking under the counter. 

   “Shits heavy,” You grunt, slamming the box onto the table and read the label. “Uhh, ‘William Shakespeare, Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. Published According to the True Originall Copies, 1623.’ Original is spelled wrong, though,” You look up at him and pause at his wide-eyed, clearly shocked expression. 

“Shakespeare fan?” You ask, opening the flap to the box. “There’s a bunch of them in here. I think this was someone’s collection.” 

“Do you know how much it’s worth?” Jason laughs, peering into the box, and then whistles. 

   “Probably a hundred at the most,” You shrug and he slaps the table with a loud Ha! that makes you look at him, crossing his arms. “Fifty?” 

“Try nine mil,” The lollipop falls from your mouth as you look from Jason to the book collection. 

   “For all of it?” You gape. 

   “For the top book,” He corrects. “Thank god you snagged it before someone who cared did.” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, staring at the book and taking in all of the details. That’s more than you’ll ever make in a lifetime. “What should I do? Do you want it?”

“Want it like I need air,” He admits, handing you another lollipop. “But you should probably auction it, get a stack and whatnot.”

“Grams would get pissed,” You shake your head and slide the box towards him. “Believes books should be read, not stored as an artifact, yknow? Think she marked this box as a hundred, want me to ring it up?” He looks at you and takes his helmet off so you can fully see his are you stupid? look that’s plastered on his face. 

   “(Y/n),” Jason slides the box back. “This is worth more than every single book in here!” And as much as he pained Jason to say that, he knew it was true. With over two entire floors filled with books, they were but a drop in the bucket compared to that singular box sitting between the two of you. 

“It’s just paper and ink,” You shrug, staring at the box. “Besides, she’d get mad if I did and I can’t exactly hide nine million dollars!” Sighing through his nose, he agrees to buy the box and has you set it aside while he goes about shopping.

“You’re staring,” Someone tells him as they walk past and his head spins around to see who it is. It’s one of your younger sisters, around twelve or thirteen, if he remembers right. 

   “Wasn’t,” He tells her and picks up a book. “I was looking at this book!” She turns back to him and raises her eyebrows at the title before grinning. 

   “Didn’t take you as an Ice Breaker fan,” She chides and walks away while Jason stares at the book. It could’ve been basically any other book. Putting the book back, Jason returns to his actual book shopping which only takes ten or so minutes. He knows his bag is going to be heavy with the Shakeseapre books so he can’t get too many other books this week. 

“Light load,” You comment, scanning the books. “You bought this one a month ago, too.” You note, holding off on scanning A Good Girls Guide to Murder. 

   “My sister wants to read it,” He explains, flipping through the pages. “And she likes to dogear pages.” Cringing, you scan the book and read him his total before leaning against the counter. It’s a large enough counter that most of your body can rest against it while he pays while you use your phone to order some lunch. 

“That place sucks ass,” Jason comments as he’s putting his card away. You roll your eyes and look up at him. 

   “I’m hungry as shit and there’s no good places around within a reasonable price, this place has decent grilled cheeses.” You justify and he finishes paying. 

   “What would you have gotten?” He muses, leaning against the counter so the two of you are face to face. Staring at the sad picture of a grilled cheese you huff. 

“Five guys,” You admit, looking back at him. He nods, silently urging you to continue while looking you up and down, his eyes slowly moving. You also don’t notice it or the small smile on his face when you don’t move away from him. “Strawberry milkshake and grilled cheeseburger.” You finished. 

   “No fries?” He asks and you shake your head. 

   “I don’t really eat fries from there,” You admit, fiddling with the skin around your nails. 

“Sounds good,” He tilts his head a bit, grinning so his canines are showing. He watches as your eyes dip once and then twice to his lips before they finally stay on his face. 

   “It’s fucking good. An arm and a leg, but still,” Standing up, you groan and stretch. He stands up too and puts on his helmet. You watch and wait for him to dip his head down before giving his head two pats. For good luck, of course. 

When he leaves, you return to your seat and look over the shop. There’s a dozen or so people inside, some people who are clearly not there for books as they’re recording those random interviews with the tiny microphones and such. You should really stop them, maybe put up a sign or something. But they’re leaving anyway. So it doesn’t really matter. 

“Did you kiss?” Your sister asks, walking over to grab one of the candies.  

   “Girl,” Your face scrunches and she tosses the wrapper at you but it falls short. 

    “Just saying, seemed awfully close.” She shrugs. “I would’ve made a move on him a long time ago.”

“You’re ten.” Huffing, she huffs back and puts her hands on her hips. 

   “Nineteen,” She corrects. Making a talking motion with your hand, she smacks it away and throws a fireball candy at you. “That’s why you’re forty and a virgin!” 

“Neither of those are true,” You stress, tossing the candy back into the bowl. “And didn’t you just get dumped by some loser who said he’d absolutely eat a turducken covered in chocolate?” She rolls her eyes and walks behind the counter to sign into work. 

   “I dumped him,” She corrects. “Unlike your failed relationship with the guy who wanted you to pretend to be a woman.” 

“Too low,” You sigh, shaking your head. “Too low.” 

—

With your lunch break in full swing, you’re upstairs in the break room watching some crappy straight-to-DVD movie your father had bought years back while eating the very sad grilled cheese when the door opens. Half expecting it to be another family member, you don’t look away from the TV and give a small hey but when no one replies you look towards the door and hum surprised to see Jason there. Even more so on who let him in 

“Missed me?” You grin, watching as he closes the door behind him and rolls his eyes. 

   “Little delivery,” He corrects and motions for you to turn back to the movie. You do, albeit a bit hesitant to do so, but you try not to look back when you hear him getting closer. “Close your eyes, too.” He adds when you look as far back as you can without turning your head. Groaning, you cover your eyes with your hand just to prove you’re not peeking and hear him set something down on the spot next to you. 

“See you next week!” He pats your back before snatching the half-eaten grilled cheese from your hand and you take it as a sign you can open your eyes. You’re not even upset he’s eating your lunch, it wasn’t good. Looking at what he had set down, you see the familiar white and red bag and crack a smile. 

   “You got me Five Guys?” Your head whips to the door but it’s already shutting and you can hear his heavy boots quickly running down the stairs. Turning back to the bag, you pull your phone out and scroll to find his contact. 

Thank you

we feast tonight 

The two of you don’t text much, mostly if he had forgotten something in the shop or given him a heads-up that the bookstore was closed for the day. Hell, his contact name is still Jason (bookstore fav). But he reads it immediately and thumbs up the last text. 

This grilled cheese sucks by the way

It feels like plastic

Probably is lol

While Jason is very much a regular at the shop, you don’t really remember when he first started to frequent the shop. Just that one Sunday, you had seen the time and noticed he was late to the shop. He’d come in almost three hours later than he normally did and watched as you sighed, tossing his favorite candy at him before ushering him to the counter. He listened as you told him that next time he is late he needs to text or you’d send out an amber alert yourself. 

He truly hadn’t thought anyone had noticed the change in his routine. Especially someone he only saw once a week. It had been a really shitty night for him and an ever-shitter morning, feeling like a ghost wandering through Gotham, living in a life he never should have. 

He apologized with a grin and gave you his number. He also spent a little extra time in the shop, loving the familiar smell around him. He loves the bookstore more than he loves his guns, more than he loves most things really. It’s the only normal thing in his life and truly, Jason doesn’t know what he’d do without it. Without you, honestly. He’s only ever there when you are and a place is only as welcoming as the people inhabiting it. 

Which is why he’d picked up the 2 am phone call so fast. 

“Jason?” You whisper shout into the phone. He can hear some harsh wind and some distant shouts in the background, but it took much less than that for him to abandon his patrol and start over to you. “Shit— I’m sorry but I don’t know who else to call.” You add, the clarity hitting that during an emergency you called the guy who lived nearly half an hour away on a good day.

   “It’s okay, doll,” He replies and you dare to glance behind you. Maybe they’d given up by now, but no. “What’s wrong?” He asks as you round a corner. “Where are you?” He quickly adds and you glance at the road signs. 

“Uhh, heading towards Second Ave and Belcher Street. My friend's boyfriend thinks she’s cheating with me and him and his friends are chasing me,” You explain.

   “Guns?” He asks, already leaving the Gotham border. 

   “No,” You huff, the strain of running heavy on your chest. “Just knives.” 

That’s good, he tells himself. Distance is what you should be focusing on. But he knows that the regular person cannot run for nearly as long as he can and realistically, you’re bound to get tired much sooner than multiple people. 

   “Is there a crowd nearby?” You can hear some muffling to his voice but that’s honestly the least of your issues. “Maybe a club or hospital.” He adds when you don’t respond fast enough. 

   “No,” You strain. “Just apartments and shit. God, fuck! Do you think I should climb the fire escape?” There are several ahead of you, and one of them is low enough for you to grab. 

“Can you?” He asks. 

   “Yeah— yeah,” Jumping up, you pull yourself up and start climbing up to the roof. “Shit, I’m really high up,” You pant, daring to look over the edge and see the guys climbing up. “They’re climbing up,” You tell him, quickly backing away and trying to find an exit. What type of roof doesn’t have a fucking exit? 

“I’ve seen people jump from roof to roof,” You're thinking out loud at this point, trying to find some type of solution to your stupid idea. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

“Depends on the distance,” He truthfully tells you and you look at the two nearby roofs. 

   “Definitely too far. I’m fucked.” 

“Still on Second and Blecher?” He asks and you mutter a yeah when you see them reach the roof. 

   “They’re up,” You mumble. “I could jump and live, yeah?” Glancing to your left, you see a dumpster and reassure yourself that you’d be fine. 

   “Do you think you can come back down the fire escape?” He asks. “Is there one behind the building?” Looking behind you, you let out a loud sigh.    

“Yeah— yes, heading down.” Rushing down as fast as you can, you reach the ground as they’re in the middle and run back into the main road. 

“Head back down the way you came,” Jason instructs. He’s only five minutes away at this point, maybe three if he tries hard enough. He just needs you to buy five more minutes. 

   “Okay,” 

Running for what felt like an eternity, your legs are burning and your chest is tight. Maybe that one time you lied during your physical exam was coming back to bite you. 

But they’re still chasing you and Jason is still guiding you. You’re sure you’re about to pass out when a motorcycle drifts in front of you. 

“Red Hood?” You gape, panting. The fuck? 

   “Come on,” You hear him and Jason say. You’ll worry about that once you’re away from those absolute track-and-field freaks chasing you. Getting on the motorcycle, he holds your thigh with one hand before pulling off. 

The ride is silent as you’re catching your breath and just making sure you’re okay in general. Aside from the insane burn in your calves, you’re fine. The ride does a lot to calm you down, by the time he reaches the shop your head is pressed to his back and you’re holding him not as tight as you were before. 

“I don’t know your address,” He admits and you laugh into his back. After all that happened it’s a little humorous that your biggest issue is Jason getting your address. You give it to him and it takes him a second but he has the route mapped out before he pulls back onto the street. 

“I’m staying the night.” He tells you as you get off of the bike. You don’t protest, not in the slightest. You’re far too tired to do so anyway. Instead, you wave him over and head upstairs. He tries to hide his helmet from the camera view but you tell him they don’t work. 

“This guy got robbed two days ago; whole building found out the cameras are fake,” You explain while leaning against the elevator wall.

   “And you feel safe?” He incredulously asks, looking you over. Even buildings in Gotham have working cameras.  

    “I have a gun,” You shrug while he looks at you with more of an analyzing gaze, a little surprised you’d have a gun. “And no valuables. My electronics are all secondhand for that exact reason.”

“So, steal the couch?” He jokes. 

   “If it can fit through the door, it’s yours!” Patting his arm, you exit the elevator and fish out your keys. Thankfully you hadn’t dropped them during the chase. 

“What happened?” He asks as soon as you close and double lock the door. Looking at him, you drop your phone and keys onto the kitchen island before heading back to the door. 

   “My friend, Gina,” You start with a sigh, kicking your shoes off. “She used to be my beard in high school. But we never officially broke up, I guess because she posted a story saying happy six-year anniversary. With a bunch of pictures of us together. Her boyfriend saw and he’s always been…” Rolling your hand, you open your closet and grab a new outfit. “He thinks I’m lying ‘bout being gay. Because I’m too… I dunno what he thinks. But he says I don’t look gay and he’s never seen me with a guy before.” You explain with a huff. “Not my fault I’ve been single for two years, y'know. I got school and work and whatever!” Slamming the closet shut, you sigh and apologize. 

“I’m gonna take a shower, feel free to snoop and prod. And take the boots off, I just moped.” 

“Course,” He doesn’t move an inch as he unties his boots and walks to the shoe rack to set them down. You thank him and head into the bathroom. 

“If you gotta piss or shit, go ahead. I got a curtain and a strong scent blaster plugged in.” You tell him at the doorway to the bathroom. 

  “Noted.” He laughs but it drops once the door closes. 

He finds himself making sure the windows are locked and the curtains are properly drawn. He grabs his phone and saves your address into his personal map before he goes to check to see what type of security measures you have. And there’s not many, just a gun that’s badly hidden in your bedside table and the extra lock on the door. 

But there’s not much to the apartment, the decor is extremely minimal but he remembers you talking about saving to buy a house in the countryside. Or at least outside of a city. Own land and all that. 

He can’t decide if that’s good or not, there’s nothing to steal for sure, but it’s also really sad. There’s no personal touch to your apartment, it reminds him of one of his safe houses. 

He settles himself into the couch once he’s checked over everything, listening to the sounds of the shower and eventually, he hears the shower turn off. 

When you return to the living room in a pair of shorts, you’re a little surprised that Jason is still there. 

“Bruce Wayne as Batman makes a lotta sense,” Opening the fridge, you pull out two water bottles before setting them on the counter. 

“(Y/n),” Jason stops that conversation. “You should file a police report.”

“Fuck is that gonna do?” You huff, closing the fridge and opening the freezer to grab a popsicle. “Gina will hate me, cops will just forget to file it, and then I get harassed.” 

“They tried to kill you,” He stresses, blocking you from moving away from the fridge. You stare at him, a little upset that he’s caring so much. You feel bad for even calling him and sending him out of his way. And now he’s staying for who knows how long. Not to mention now you know his biggest secret— a family secret at that, one that you can tell one person, and suddenly the whole world knows. 

   “Happens every day,” You shrug but honestly, yeah, that shit scared you. His face drops and he snatches the popsicle from your hand before tossing it on the counter to your left. 

“No. Not to you. Not to most people. So what if Gina hates you afterward? Do you want a friend that’s known you since high school who would rather side with her crazy boyfriend?” 

“Of course not!” You groan. “But it’s Gina. She’s always been there and— and this is a one-time thing,”

“You sound ridiculous,” He tells you as he walks out of the small kitchen and into the living room. “Trying to kill someone isn’t a fucking one-off. It’s a crime, a legit crime. Has Gina even checked if you’re okay?” He points to the phone that’s still on the counter; the same phone he knows for a fact hasn’t buzzed once. 

   “No.” There's no need to check your phone, you already know there’s nothing from her. She’d never text you first. He nods as if to say there’s your answer. 

“Look, Jason. It was scary as fuck,” You admit. “But I’m good. And I thank you, but you should go home. I just…” Looking off to the wall. “I don’t know why I called you, I feel like shit for dragging you away from your home.”

“I was spending my night watching Harley and Ivy dry hump in front of a newly exploded power plant. You didn’t take me away from shit.” He blinks before heading to the couch. “Besides, it’s too late to drive back. I’m beat,”

“You’re lying,” You deadpan, tossing a water bottle between your hands. 

   “Am I?” He fake yawns, leaning back on the couch. “Can I get a blanket?” Clearly, he’s not going to leave, and it would be bad as a host to not make him comfortable. Asshole. 

   “Fine,” He grins as you walk away. 

“Oh and Jason, Gram’s told me about the payment plan you set up. Taking advantage of a woman who can’t speak English is rude. She thinks you’re paying five dollars a week for some back dues you owe.” It was actually five hundred thousand dollars a week, which was absurd but hey, if he insists. 

   “It’s just nine million,” He calls back. “Not even my money and B won’t notice it’s gone.” 

Just nine million, you repeat to yourself as you find a suitable blanket. It’s one of those thick fur blankets with a tiger on the front. 

“The couch is a pull-out, by the way.” Heading back into the living room, you tuck the blanket under your arm. “I’ve used it like once. It’s pretty comfortable unless you want the bed.” You add, setting the blanket on the edge of the couch. There’s no coffee table, you don’t see a reason for one. 

   “I can sleep on gravel, doll. I’m fine, thank you.” For some reason, his eyes are having a hard time staying on your face but you’re busy walking back into the kitchen to notice. 

“If you’re hungry make anything, I’m going grocery shopping in two days anyway.” Tossing the popsicle back into the freezer, you lean against the counter and watch him. It’s a little staring contest you have going on. His eyelashes are nice, real pretty boy-esque. 

The silence and tension in the apartment is broken by four rapid knocks to the front door followed by a worried: “(Y/n)?”

“Gina,” You tell Jason as he’s already off of the couch and halfway to the front door by the time you stand up straight. When you walk up behind him you pause, when did he have time to grab a gun? But he’s looking through the peephole before looking back to you and holding up two fingers. You almost laugh, this isn’t some military operation; just a… friend? at your door. 

“Please,” Gina says through the door. “We just— K wants to apologize,” Huffing, you look at Jason who’s standing behind the door, one hand on the top lock. He truly doesn’t want to unlock it, but it’s your apartment. Your call. 

   “Says who?” K snaps, his voice a lot more muffled than hers is. 

   “You’re going to fucking apologize.” She snaps right back. 

He raises an eyebrow and you nod to the door against your better judgment. He unlocks the door and stands in front of them, really standing over them with his damn height, the arm holding the gun hidden behind the door. You can basically hear Gina pause when she sees him. 

“Who are you?” Gina asks, looking him up and down. 

   “A friend.” He answers simply and then looks over to you. “Your friend is here.” 

“Thanks, Jay.” You smile and usher him into your bedroom with two quick glances. “Gina,” You greet a little harshly as you stand at the door. “Kyle.” You look at him for only a second. 

   “It’s K.” He corrects. 

“Can we come in?” She asks, stepping forward. “I explained everything to K and he’s sorry.” She looks back at him and he’s just standing there with this stupid look on his face. 

   “Is he?” You ask, looking at Kyle. “Because when he was screaming: I knew you weren’t a fag; I’m gonna cut your dick off; stop running bitch; and since you wanna pretend you’re a fag come and taste our dicks he just didn’t seem real sorry.” She cringes, he hadn’t said that part through the yelling they were doing. 

“I don’t wanna lose you,” She places a hand on the door, not that you were planning on closing it just yet. “Let us in and he’ll apologize.” Sighing, you look at her and frown. Between not even texting to see if you’re okay and then coming over with the audacity to think that a fucking apology would smooth things over, you were peeved. 

   “You’re losing one of us tonight. Him or me.” She takes a step back and frowns, her eyebrows knitting as your words settle in her. But at that moment, you knew the friendship was over. It shouldn’t ever take that long for an answer like that. 

“(Y/n), he’s sorry!” She almost shouts, shouting as if you had given her this impossible task. You want to reply, you want to yell, and to get into it then and there. But it’s no use. Your neighbors are sleeping, you’re tired, and far from a mood where you want to interact with them. As such, you close the door and put the locks back on. 

She shouts some things from the other side but you’re not listening as you enter your bedroom. 

Jason was standing right next to the door, startling you. If he hadn’t been so close you wouldn’t have seen him in the darkness. 

“Is that a requirement for vigilantes?” You ask, clutching your chest in an exaggeration. “Y’all are fucking spooky,” Tossing yourself onto your bed, you stare up at him. 

“She’s still at the door,” He ignores the comment on his family business once again. Instead, his eyes trained on your front door, watching and waiting to see what their next move is going to be. You hope for their sake it’s leaving because his hand is still on the safety of his gun. 

   “Not like they can get in,” You shrug, laying flat on your back. “I never give my key to anyone and it takes a full round of bullets to break the door.” 

“You know that how?” He asks, setting his gun down on the dresser. 

   “Last year my neighbor's crazy ex tried to break in but the door didn’t budge.” 

“Of course,” His head dips back into the bedroom, watching you. “Sleep, I’ll be in the living room.” 

“Okay,” Turning your head to look at him, you grin. “If you get nightmares, the bed is free.” Patting the empty space, Jason rolls his eyes with a grin and leaves the room. “Your gun?” You call after him, staring at the handgun still on your dresser. 

   “I have two more!” He calls back. 

“How the fuck?” But he doesn’t answer. 

—

The next morning you wake up to the sound of the front door closing. It stirs you, really, but you’re lucid enough to realize that hey, either Jason treated you like a one-night stand or someone had broken in. 

Sitting up in the bed, you collect yourself for a moment and grab his gun on your way out. While you’re surely not as keen as Jason is, you like to think you’re observant enough. The door is locked again, so you figure he didn’t leave and someone didn’t break in. 

“Jason?” You turn the corner to the kitchen and see him standing with a bag of Ihop, staring at you as if he’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

   “Good morning,” His eyes flicker to the gun as you set it on the counter. A part of him is proud that you were hesitant enough to bring the gun with you. “I got breakfast.” 

“Aw,” You grin. “Post hate crime meal!” 

“That’s an insane sentence,” He tells you, unpacking what he had gotten. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you blueberry pancakes, french toast, eggs, and bacon. And the orange juice,” He places two boxes and a large cup of orange juice in front of you, then the straw. But you’re just focused on the fact that you know for a fact that wasn’t a random order. You’d posted about that exact order once before. Maybe a month or so ago. 

   “Oh,” You hum, looking at the food and then at him. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” He hums back, dropping the bag down to the floor, and takes his food. He’d gotten strawberry pancakes, hash browns, an omelet, and a coffee. 

Now you feel bad for not having a coffee table. 

“Wanna watch something while we eat?” You point your thumb toward the living room and he nods. 

While in the middle of watching Breaking Bad, you get up to set the empty containers in the sink and the cup in the trash while Jason watches. He doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to sleep, having stayed up the entire night in case anything happened but he’s enjoying his time with you. Even if the circumstances were… less than ideal. 

“Do you work today?” He asks when you’re walking back. 

   “Depends if my sister calls out,” Sitting, you turn your body to look at him. “I work Wednesday through Sunday, most weeks, at least.” 

“Are you going to make the report?” He also turns his body to you, watching as you toss your head back and sigh. 

   “Probably not,” You admit, looking back at him. “It’s more effort than I care to do,” He blinks, clearly disappointed but he’s not going to push. 

   “You should carry a weapon.” Jason’s not really asking, he’s telling you. “How good are you with a gun?” 

“Not sure,” 

“You bought a gun without training for it?” He asks, slowly as if he’s waiting for you to correct him and tell him that you actually go to the gun range in your free time. 

   “My dad got me it when I moved out.” You shrug, feeling a little ashamed because now he’s looking at you like you’re insane. “He said I needed protection and he doesn’t believe in mace or tasers.” 

“Clearly you do!” He throws his hand up towards the door. “We’re going to the gun range today.” 

“Jay!” You groan, nudging his leg with your foot. He grabs it and slides you down the couch. “I’m fine.” He just hums and leans over you, it doesn’t do much. Aside from shutting you up. 

He’s staring at you, his eyes unwavering from yours while you can’t seem to settle on where to look. It’s making you nervous— he’s making you nervous. The proximity isn’t the biggest issue, no the issue is the fact that you don’t mind that he’s above you, his hand right next to your head, and for fucks sake his breathing is even. 

“You’re going.” 

“Yup,”

—

Weirdly enough, the shooting range wasn’t in some building. No, Jason had decided to drive the hour's ride to a private lot. While normally you don’t agree to be in the middle of butt fuck nowhere without your own means of leaving, you were willing to bend your rules this one time. 

He has you help with setting up the cans and the body dummies, which are incredibly lifelike. A little creepy, but whatever floats his boat, you guess. He also puts up a new target sheet on a metal wall before he returns to hand you a handgun and ear mufflers. 

“Don’t hold it like that,” He blinks as you’re pointing the gun directly at your foot. You’re not a fool, you’ve played a couple of shooter games before. 

   “The safety is on,” You justify but point it toward the ground instead. Just to keep him happy. He just sighs and grabs his own gun, pointing it toward the dummy. 

“Stand like this,” He watches you from the corner of his eye as you mimic his stance. It’s a little uncomfortable but very technical. “A little straighter.” Fixing your posture he nods and drops his stance to adjust your grip on the gun. He takes your hands and adjusts them appropriately. “It’s not accurate for beginners, but I learned this way.” He explains as he steps behind you and lowers himself to your height. It’s hard when you’re not the same six foot-five that he is, but that’s neither here nor there. 

With his line of sight that is the same as yours, he raises your hands a little higher and a little to the left. You trust his judgment, you’re no fool on how accurate Red Hood is with his guns. 

It's silent, so silent that you can hear him breathing even through the heavy earmuffs. Whether you like it or not, you start to stop focusing on the task at hand and on him. He smells like your soap, too. It’s a little too domestic for the setting you’re in. 

“Take it off of safety,” He instructs, taking two steps away. Doing as he says, you want to roll your shoulders back but you’re worried you’d lose the position. “Go ahead.” His arms cross as he stares ahead at the dummy and you catch the flex of muscle under his shirt. 

Adjusting yourself as lowkey as you can, you close one eye and press the trigger. It's harder than you would’ve thought, giving you only a moment to back out. Following through, you let the recoil push you back a little before looking at the dummy. It didn’t hit the center of the head, instead grazing over the ear. 

“Close,” Jason looks over at you as you’re rubbing your shoulder but stops when you catch him looking at you. “Again?”

—

“I mean,” One of your friends, Tasha, takes a long sip of her drink. “None of us wanted to say anything but Gina is a bitch.” Frowning, you push around your food with the back of your fork. What was supposed to be your friend group's monthly putting ended up becoming a major therapy session when they noticed that Gina wasn’t there. 

   “Yeah,” Dante gives you a sort of frown sort of smile. “But you’d been friends with her for longer than us, so it wasn’t really our place.” 

“It’s crazy that it took her boyfriend trying to kill me to realize that, though.” It felt a bit weird, she’d always been in your life, and before the whole incident, you never would’ve thought you’d be without her. But life was the same, if not better with her gone. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t need her until now and honestly, you’re just upset it didn’t happen sooner.

Especially considering all of your other friends didn’t like her. 

“Speaking of,” Alex cranes her neck to look at you. “Who’s Jason?” She grins as your eyes narrow. You’re not one to divulge about your life, especially over text. 

   “How do you know about him?” Setting your fork down, she snorts before digging back into her meal. 

   “Girl, I was the Uber Eats driver.” She explains and looks to the others who are clearly out of the loop. “My first order of the day, some guy named Jason with a blank profile. Whatever, right? I pick up the Ihop order— he knows your taste, cute.” She quickly adds. “And then, I get the address. I’m just thinking (Y/n) created a fake profile. Nah, bro!” She covers her mouth to stop her laughing and to stop any potential food from flying out of her mouth. 

“I knock and this tall guy with this hot face scar opens the door. If he would’ve asked I would’ve taken the tip,” And she didn’t mean money. 

“Clearly he already did!” Dante cackles, watching as you drown yourself in the soda you’d ordered. The others laugh while you have to do damage control. 

“Jay’s a friend who happened to be in the neighborhood when Kyle was chasing me,” The three look at each other, ever aware of the fact that you’re staring at your plate while talking. They just assume the friend part is a lie. “And he spent the night. On the couch.” You add, looking at each of them to make sure that they understand. 

  “And ordered you breakfast in bed. And he left a hundred-dollar tip,” Alex swirls her pasta around her fork while the others gape at the news. 

   “Oh girl,” Tasha looks over at you. “He got a sister?” 

“Too young for your old ass!” You laugh while she pretends to be offended. “His sisters are nineteen and eighteen.” You wondered if you should add Barbra to his list of family. But you think she’s more of an acquaintance than family. But you could be wrong. 

   “You know his family?” Tasha’s eyebrows furrow. 

   “I know of his family. Never met that before.”

“Ah, waiting for the one-year mark?” Alex nods as if she had caught the drift you are trying to get at. 

   “Oh my god,” Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat. 

“What? You’re acting like you’re not attracted to that man. He’s fine as hell!” Alex pushes her hair behind her ear as she talks. “Might have to revoke your gay card.” 

“I never said that, it’s just…” Rubbing your hands on your pants, your face scrunches. “He could be straight.” Now, you weren’t going to deny the fact that Jason was attractive. He was the embodiment of your personal preferences, but you were a chronic overthinker with these sorts of things. To the point where it needs to be spelled out for you to get any hints. 

“He got you breakfast in bed.” Dante sounds out each word, putting an equal amount of extra emphasis on it. Just to make sure it really sinks in. 

   “I did that for you guys before!” You defend. 

    “Fine— fine, how do you know him?” Tasha asks and the others nod, happily awaiting your response. 

“He comes into the shop every Sunday. He’s been coming for about four years, give or take.” You shrug and they blink at each other. This is why you’re still single. 

    “Isn’t he the one that bought you Five Guys last month?” Dante is now physically turned to you, his eyes wide and you grumble. You never told them about that. 

   “You’re lying,” Alex cackles. “That’s your man and you don’t wanna admit it. Five guys is expensive.” 

“How about this?” Dante rolls his hand before you can even reply to Alex. “If one of Tasha’s friends got her an expensive lunch without asking, showed up to her job every single shift for four years, stayed with her after a traumatic night, got her breakfast, and didn’t leave until she was truly safe; how much platonic energy does that give you?” 

“Not a lot, but—“

“Nah,” Dante holds your hands as he speaks. “I love you, so don’t take this the wrong way but you’re stupid as fuck. He wants you.”

“He wants the books I sell. And my friendship.”

“He wants to spread something other than pages.” He shakes his head and you snort. “Ask him out, if he says no. Then I owe you a grand.”

“You don’t have a grand.” You deadpan and he nods. 

   “I’m so sure he’ll say yes that I’m making that bet.”

“Fine,” You huff. “But if this ruins my friendship you all owe me lunch for a month.” Surprisingly, they all agree and you settle on asking him on the upcoming Sunday. So, the very next day. 

—

“Why are your friends watching you?” Your sister asks as she walks behind you to grab one of the display books and swap it for a different one. 

   “Don’t worry about them,” You mutter, too busy watching the window; waiting for the motorcycle to stop in front of the store. She notices, of course, and stands behind you before deciding it was time to take her break and join your friends upstairs. 

Eventually, you see his motorcycle pull up and sigh, fixing your apron but stop when you hear them snickering. This whole situation was stupid, that’s what you’ve decided. But you’ve made your bed, it was time to lie in it. 

Jason walks in, his eyes immediately finding yours but you’re busy ringing someone up. He grabs the basket from the front of the shop and walks around the shop until he sees the line is gone. 

“Jay,” You grin, holding onto the counter. 

   “(Y/n),” His eyes focus on your hands for a second before he grabs a chocolate from the basket. Glancing at your friends, you fix your posture and reassure yourself. “Anything new?” Typically, you’d already be talking about what’s new but there’s just this hanging silence. 

“Nah,” You shake your head but still double-check the inventory log. “But we’re getting some um… science fiction stuff next week.” He’s not too big on those, maybe once in a blue moon he’ll actually buy one. He goes to talk but your phone dings before he can open his mouth. Watching as you grab your phone, your eyes scan over a text before you huff and silence it. 

“I heard about…” You trail into a whisper. “The Riddler kidnapping, you okay?” Not the best way to lead into asking someone out, but hey. Could’ve been worse. 

   “I’m fine,” He nods. “Arms a little sore but I’ll live.” 

“Long enough to go on a date with me?” You ask, a bit quicker than you intended but thankfully your words haven’t jumped up. He laughs, his eyes closing and you falter, glancing up at your friends for some type of support. 

   “That was a bold transition,” He settles himself down. “When are you free?”

“Oh shit, for real?” You grin. “I’m free Monday. Or whenever you are, really. My shifts are pretty flexible,” 

“I’ll pick you up Monday,” 

“I asked you on the date,” You huff. “I’m picking you up.” He crosses his arms and his eyes lower into a sort of unamused expression. 

   “You’ll pick me up, from Gotham?” He asks, just to make sure you know what you’d be signing up for. Truthfully, you hadn’t. And as such, you weigh your options— you don’t even have a car to offer to pick him up in. Damn. 

    “Fine, Monday at eight.” Giving in, he nods and glances around the shop. 

   “I don’t need a book today, see you tomorrow.” He looks you up and down, this time you watch as his eyes slowly drag down and tilt your head. 

“Looking like you already wanna kiss me, Jay.” You joke as his eyes reach yours again. 

   “Since you offered.” He grins and sneaks one single kiss that lasts less than a second. 

“I get off in thirty,”

#x male reader #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x male reader

[those-late-night-feels]

To Kill a God

Summary: The mission – Assassination of Loki Laufeyson.

Warnings: Light control and dominance, loathing, spanking, smut.

A/N: We're just gonna pretend the events takes a different route after the Battle of New York.

Personal A/N: Apologies for how long it's been. Was dealing with some personal things, including a pretty bad injury that I'm now recovering from. I also tend to write really slow. Please enjoy! Comments/feedback & reblogs are always much appreciated! 💚

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Nights like these were the best time to work. Silent, still, dark. A hunter on a mission for the next prey. But this one was new; you'd never hunted a god before. Breaths were drawn slow, methodical, focused. Keep your heart rate down, keep your steps in check.

You had been kept in the shadows of the Avengers, not fitting in with the pretty boy heros, genius doctors, or sexy vixens. You were a wallflower, a nightcrawler.

Sure, Black Widow, she was cute with her fancy moves and killer body. But you? They never even hear you coming.

With grace and stealth, you had slipped into Asgard undetected when the portal opened up to take Thor and Loki home after the Battle of New York. The rush to this new world had been nauseating, but with breaths through your nose to compose yourself, you slipped into the shadows.

The streets of Asgard were crowded and foreign, vendors shouting to grab your attention, new smells, twinkling lights and glimmering colors. A fine silk robe was lifted from a distracted shopkeeper, promising yourself that you'd return it once the mission was complete.

In only a few hours, you had worked your so-called magic to obtain the intel needed and now stood in the main hall of the Asgard royal prison. It had taken a bit of eavesdropping on a table of drunken guards and the power of persuasion with another to allow you entry into the palace's main gates. A small amount of combat and you had forced your way into the prison compound.

Adrenaline pulsed through your veins, knowing you were close. Turning the corner, the prisoners were found fast asleep in their glass panel prison cells. And then, you stopped in your tracks and held your breath. The raven haired terror, that pathetic excuse for a god, slept only a few meters from you. He looked peaceful, almost gentle, but looks were deceiving. You reminded yourself that he was ruthless and cruel, but not for long.

Knowing there were only minutes before a slew of Asgardian guards would come rushing in, you worked diligently to shut down the currents running through the security system. Loki stirred in his bed, but didn't awaken. The dagger was heavy, but it was all that was needed to finish the mission.

Hand firmly on the hilt, you took quiet, determined steps to his bed, taking one last look at the god in front of you, then bared your weight as you went for his heart. But there was no impact as his body faded away to nothing.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

How peculiar it was, these small other worldly creatures who thought they could defeat a god. In the shadows, he tsked at the young thing in front of him. So impatient, so immature. Who did they think he was? He emerged slowly, a sinister smile dancing on his face. You turned abruptly, eyes going wide knowing your advantage was lost…or had never been there to begin with.

"Did you really think you could slay me?" He chuckled to himself, very amused by this predicament. "I assure you, girl, it will take more than a knife and leather leggings to take down the god of mischief."

With a futile attempt, you lunged at him. He grabbed you like a rag doll, twisting your arm in an awkward angle until the metal clanged on the floor. A whimper escaped and he let go before it dislocated, only to wrap his hands around your throat and bring you to eye level with him. He watched in satisfaction as you struggled, choking and clawing at his hands.

"Don't worry pet," he leaned in closely to whisper in your ear. "I won't kill you, not yet. There'd be no fun in that."

He drew a finger down the side of your face, relishing in the thoughts of all the things he could do to his new captive, when a booming voice echoed through the prison corridor. "LOKI?!"

He sighed to himself in annoyance, always the killjoy to his fun. "Here, brother."

Thor stood in front of the prison cell, taking in the scene before him: Loki standing calm and poised, a small girl held at arm's length from the neck, face turning red, toes dragging on the ground. "What's going on here?"

"Well, dear brother, it appears our security is not what it once was. I caught this one lurking around." Your eyes darted to his. Why did he withhold the truth?

Thor squinted, cocking his head to the side to get a better look at you. And then, your name left his lips like an incredulous question.

Loki's face went from a look of surprise at his brother's recognition of you to amusement at what this meant. "You're Midgardian," he mused.

"Loki, release her," Thor demanded, hearing you struggle in his grip.

"I'll tell you what. Allow me to go back to my chambers freely, and this little minx will be handed over to your care."

"Loki…" Thor gave a gutteral warning. He was treading on thin ice, but they both knew who had the upper hand.

"It's a fair trade. It's clear she is important to you." Loki's eyes locked on yours. "Release me…or I crush her windpipe."

You flailed uselessly in a panic, his grip growing tighter, causing your eyes to water, face slowly turning to shades of purple.

"Fine, Loki! Go back to your chambers."

A look of satisfaction as he dropped you to the floor. You collapsed and breathed in deeply, rubbing the sensitive skin around your neck. Thor called the guards: two to escort you back to his personal chambers and another two to allow Loki free access to his wing.

Loki stepped over you as he left, clearly pleased with how his evening was ending. This wasn't over, but it was for now.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Thor had given you free reign of his chambers for the time being, instructing a few maidens to assist with your care, tending to any wounds, assisting with bathing and dress, although you insisted on doing the majority yourself. He found you the next morning after some rest, fully pampered and lounging on a chaise, feet and shoulders massaged by maidens.

"I could get used to the life of a prince," you teased when he came into the chambers. He ignored your jest and sat down looking troubled.

"Leave us," he ordered the maidens, watching until they filed out of the room. When the door shut, he turned to face you. "I have spent the last few hours trying to comprehend why you would come to Asgard without my knowing, and have yet to come up with a reason that doesn't involve violence." Your arms folded as he looked for any admission of guilt.

"It's classified, Thor." Your voice stayed steady and strong, and his jaw tightened. He grabbed a goblet from a nearby table and threw it against the wall, making it shatter, but you didn't flinch.

"I will remind you," he said slowly, "that right now you are on my planet, and not under Tony's protection."

You blinked at the mention of your employer and ally's name.

"You know I won't break, Thor. If I were a threat, wouldn't Loki have requested to have me locked up in one of your prison cells?" Thor considered your words. "In any case, I will leave you in peace and return to Midgard. I'm sure you have enough to deal with right now."

"No…. I think you'll stay as our guest for a while. We have some chambers available on the east wing." Your stomach twisted at what his words really meant. A guest, disguised as a prisoner. Thor stared you down.

"And, if I refuse?"

Now Thor crossed his arms, leaning back on the chaise. "You've seen our prison cells. They can be quite accommodating as well."

You smiled at his offer. "The east wing will be fine."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The maidens took lead to the east wing; you attempted to map the halls to memory, but after the twelfth turn, considered it was futile. You'd be lucky to find your way to freedom, let alone finding your primary target.

A brunette opened the door to the chambers, a hand held out to guide you in. "If you need anything, we will be right outside to assist."

Great, I have watchdogs.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the adjoining apartments, studying from the open window the trimmed gardens, the various exits, the guards that roamed the outer courts and how often they changed. When your stomach started to rumble with hunger, like clockwork there was a light knock on the door, followed by a maiden poking her head in.

"Excuse me, my lady. Your presence is requested in the dining hall."

As you followed the silent maidens, you tried speaking as casually as possible. "Is Loki's chambers in the east wing?"

"No, my lady."

You frowned. "I would assume he has a full wing to himself?"

"If the prince wishes for you to know where his chambers are, he will show you the way."

The other maiden giggled quietly, then pulled herself together quickly before being seen. No doubt they assumed you were looking to bed the prince, not that you would correct them if it took focus off the real reason to be here.

The dining hall was as elaborate as it was giant; high backed velvet chairs, a table that went on forever it seemed, vaulted ceilings adored with golden arches and cherubs, servants stationed every few meters. It was hard not to feel completely out of place, but Thor made you feel welcomed enough, having plate after plate of the most decadent food placed in front of you. You had to hand it to Thor, he had learned to become more sly, perhaps by watching how others on the team worked. He made small talk about Midgard and the team, but would casually add a question here and there about why you were in Asgard.

You were tight lipped; it would take more than being wined and dined to make something slip. Mid-conversation, the door creaked and the guards and servants straightened up. Footsteps clicked on the marble floor around the corner out of view, but you already knew who was approaching.

When he appeared, his eyes darted from Thor to you but his face was like a stone, unreadable. He tilted his head to consider you, no doubt admiring the marks he'd left on your neck the night before. "Have we lowered ourselves to now dine with common criminals?"

He watched as your jaw set and heard Thor's booming laugh. "Loki, I'd like you to formally meet my friend–"

At the mention of your name, he scoffed. "We met. Might I advise that you be more particular in who you acquaint yourself with, brother."

"Like you?" Arms crossed, you leaned in the chair in defense. He was as annoying as he was cocky.

He watched the pulsing of the vein in your neck, the slight reddening of your face; he was getting under your skin. Good.

"My dear, I have more greatness in the tip of my finger than you in your entire being."

You scoffed. "Greatness, huh? Seems like that greatness delusion is what brought you back up here in chains."

"And yet," he said, holding out his arms, "no chains. Although, I guess I have you to thank for that."

Internally, you were screaming. Fantasies of diving across the table to gouge out his eyes and claw his face played in your mind. He was insufferable. Agitating. Annoying.

You needed to finish this mission and escape Asgard. The sooner this world was rid of Loki Laueyson, the better.

You stood, your plate of food unfinished, turning to Thor with a plastered smile. "Thank you for the lovely meal, Thor. Please, excuse me."

You wouldn't dare look at Loki, but you could feel his eyes on you, causing the hairs to raise on the back of your neck.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The halls had been quiet for hours and the only light in your room came from the glow of the moon and candlelight. You'd waited until it was almost inevitable that the maidens would have fallen asleep at their posting. Slipping by them was easy.

The occasional guard roamed the halls, but as you expected, was not as sharp. You slipped by two undetected, a third was put into a sleep hold and dragged into the shadows before anyone could be alerted.

The North Wing was far more rich in decor and aesthetics, with golden pillars and chandeliers. Loki's chambers were here, you were sure of it.

A sparkle of green in the shadows caught your eye. Was it a trick? Maybe, but he wouldn't take you by surprise this time.

The door was heavy and your steps were light as you entered the room. It was dark and smelled of cedar and leather. He was nowhere in sight, but you still kept to the walls.

A faint flicker of light in the next room caught your attention, a crackling fireplace, and there he appeared, reading in an oversized plush chair.

"You know, you're not as subtle as you think." He flipped the page, not even giving you the courtesy of looking up. "Thor had mentioned you were stealthy like a cat or something, but my oaf of a brother has about as much stealth as you do."

Your cheeks reddened in spite of yourself. He was absolutely infuriating. "Why did you lie?"

He finally looked up from his book, sliding a bookmark into the crease, a smirk playing on his lips. "You do realize that I'm the god of lies, don't you?"

"You could have told Thor why I was there, what I tried to do, and have me locked up. Why didn't you tell him?"

He made you feel so small when he stood, setting the book on a nearby coffee table. "Now where would the fun in that be?"

Taken aback, you blinked in response. "This…. This isn't a game."

He tsked and long daggers were revealed in his hands. "Darling, it's the best game there is."

He came forward at a fast pace. Your own weapons were drawn from your belt, ready to attack. Metal clashed in the middle of his study. He was impressed by your speed and agility, but he caused the first cut, a minor wound on your bicep. You responded by kicking him off his feet to pin him to the ground for only a moment before he flipped you over your head, losing one of your daggers in the process. With your hand free and he distracted, your fist made contact with his face.

A slur of curses were emitted. "You'll pay for that."

"We'll see." You smiled cockily, coming at him, but he was ready and provoked. One minute you had attacked him, a swipe of your blade and another punch blocked. The next minute, you were bent over and pinned to his desk. One of his hands had grasped your wrist, still gripping the dagger, the other hand on the back of your head. His body pressed into yours as you writhed and struggled, bucking your hips, kicking your leg out, but he was much too heavy.

"Let me know when you're ready to yield." He was very amused.

"Fuck you."

He laughed in a huff. The grip on your wrist went tighter. "Drop it," he demanded.

Any attempt at freeing yourself was proved useless. The dagger clattered on the desk and he tossed it aside, his own going back into his invisible pocket.

"Good girl. Now tell me you yield."

Silence. You'd rather die than give him the satisfaction.

"Suit yourself," he said. "It seems to me like you Midgardians need to be taught some manners." And slowly, his hand was brought to your back, running down the length of your spine. Teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut, you tried to remove yourself from the moment, knowing more than likely what was coming from the dominant, power-hungry male. But then, smack!

Your eyes shot open, the sting of your ass cheek startling you. Another hard spank, the sting almost making you yelp as your body went forward.

"Now," he said calmly, evenly in your ear as you looked straight ahead. "You have two options." Smack! "One, you stop being stubborn and admit your defeat." Smack! "Or two, you stay on this desk until I decide you've learned that lesson." Smack!

Your legs trembled as you held onto the edge of the desk. You hated him, hated this… and yet, a warm ache started to slowly whisper within. No, you couldn't… With every ounce of strength, you tried to block it out. "What… what are you gonna do to me?"

He chuckled and you couldn't quite tell if it was out of amusement or something darker. "Not to worry, my pet. I only bed willing participants."

His hand rested on the small of your back and he leaned forward. "Now, tell me. Have you learned your lesson?"

He caught your eye and you struggled to answer. How did you reply without letting him win? Maybe, if you said yes, he would lower his defenses and then you'd— Another spank caught you by surprise and a yelp escaped in spite of yourself. "I asked you a question and do not enjoy repeating myself."

You took a shaky breath, he had you so off guard and you hated how it was making you feel.

Looking up, you gave him the best innocent look you could muster and nodded slowly. He reached for the back of your head, gripping your hair to tilt your head up towards him with a jerk. "Have you?"

"Yes," you choked out. You hated him! You hated him! You hated him!

He considered you, bent over his desk, head bent back violently so, breathing heavily and shaking, and then, he just let you go. You stood after a beat, confused and feeling embarrassed.

"Leave," he demanded, walking out of the study to another room. Red-faced, your stomach churned. Did he seriously just…

"Hey!" you shouted, following his path to the other room, but when you got there, he was gone. Searching room by room, your anger built as you found each one empty.

A rage burned through your veins as you stormed down the hall toward Thor's chambers. You were done with this mission, with these stupid mind games, with the princes of Asgard. You wanted to go home and call the mission what it was–a failure.

Done with courtesy and manners, you barged into his chambers without warning. "Thor, I need to talk to you–"

The words caught in your throat as you stopped in your tracks, finding Loki already there. Thor said your name like a pleasant surprise. "You look an absolute wreck! Are you alright?"

"Wha–" the words caught in your throat as you looked down at your shifted top, feeling your face redden, hair a mess.

"Well, no matter," Thor continued. "Your ears must be ringing, we were just discussing your return to Midgard."

"You… you were?"

Loki's lack of eye contact was not lost on you.

"Indeed," Thor continued. "My brother believes that we have no use of you here and should send you back immediately. His words, not mine." Thor laughed, caused by your startled expression and Loki's uncharacteristic silence. "But, as neither of you are willing to speak freely on what matters are going on, I reject this request."

Both you and Loki raised your voices, you taking a step forward. How long did he plan to keep you here against your will?

Thor raised his hand. "You both think me a fool, but until I know why you are here, I will not change my mind. Classified or not."

Your jaw clenched, fists tightened, and you stormed out of his chambers, slamming the door behind you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Loki winced as the door slammed. "I don't believe she was happy with your decision."

"No, I think not. Anything you care to tell me?"

Loki shook his head. "There is nothing to tell. She's a nuisance and Asgard should be rid of her."

Thor placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Loki, you may be the god of lies, but even I can see through this one."

Loki left the chambers deep in thought. He absolutely despised Midgardians–mortals who risked their lives every day, absolute fools they were. Pompous, annoying little gremlins.

And yet, he had enjoyed the little game he was playing with you. You were a challenge for him and getting under your skin was pure pleasure. But, there was something in the look you gave him as he held your head up that he knew. It made him realize he was playing with fire, and this game was getting too dangerous. He needed to rid himself of you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Almost a week had passed and he hadn't reappeared. You'd toured the gardens, the library, the royal throne room, dined in their mess hall and terrace multiple times; it was clear by day three that he was actively avoiding you, and somehow that was even more irksome. It should have been a relief to be rid of his annoying presence, but you were equally on edge. What if he caught you off guard? The possibilities of what would happen were endless with that twisted mind of his. Torture you? Strangle you at night? The nights were restless, with every creak and whistle of wind making you jump.

By day five, enough was enough. If Thor wouldn't budge in sending you home and Loki wouldn't show himself, you would take matters into your own hands.

The nightly strolls through the halls were becoming commonplace, and it wasn't long before the familiar chamber doors stood before you again. The rooms were illuminated by moonlight. He was deep asleep in his bed, bare-chested with only a sheet to cover him at the hips. Your dagger was unsheathed and slowly you pressed it to his neck. His eyes opened and he took a sharp breath inward.

"Don't move," you whispered.

"Alright." His voice was steady.

"You're going to help me leave this planet."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Am I?"

"Yes."

"And…what if I refuse?"

You pressed the dagger harder to his neck. He could see the desperation on your face. "I don't think you are in a position to refuse."

He smirked at you, like he understood a joke you weren't in on. "Didn't you come to Asgard to kill me?"

He was absolutely the most abhorrent person you'd ever met. Why would he bring this up? Should you kill him? He was right there, the knife pressed to his neck. One swipe and…

He grabbed onto your arms, taking you out of your thoughts and pulling you closer to him. "Do it."

You blinked and froze. Something in your stomach twisted. "I… I can't. Why can't I kill you?"

In a quick motion, he rolled you onto your back, his weight heavy. Your hand shook and he leaned in, pressing down on the dagger, further and further, until his lips met yours. Your breath was lost and the dagger slipped between the two of you to clatter onto the floor. He gripped onto your clothes, pulling and tearing and breaking.

He wasn't gentle, wasn't kind. There was no room for romance or making love. It was carnal, rough. A desire that neither wanted to admit to themselves.

Pain in the most pleasurable form, as his lips pressed hard onto yours. As clothing was torn in desperation. As your undergarments were stretched and discarded until you were just as naked as he. His eyes and mouth and fingers explored the areas only meant for a lover.

His long digits played with your silky folds before delving into the warm wet center, causing you to shiver in delight. You reached down between your bodies to grasp on an already stiff cock, making it throb, a moan emitting from him like an ache that hadn't been relieved in years, before he took your hand from beneath him and placed it above your head. In a swiftness, he sheathed himself inside you, causing your eyes to grow large, your head to come forward, your teeth to sink into his skin. He shifted, looking down at you, the minx who had wanted him dead, and thought how beautiful and fragile you were. He could have snapped you in two like a twig if he had wished it. Instead, he'd punish you until you came, over and over again; tattooing his existence on your soul for the rest of your eternity.

The angle of his cock rubbed in a way you'd never felt before by any Midgardian man, and soon your body was convulsing below him. He let you ride out your high before flipping you onto your stomach and penetrating from behind. A shaky high-pitched moan emitted from you, making him smile in satisfaction. He wrapped his hands around your throat, bringing your head up higher to whisper with a smile, "I think you've admitted your defeat."

"You never shut up, do you?"

"Never."

With a smack of your bottom, he thrust into you until he was spent and you were ruined. The silky sheets of his bed melted into your skin as you lay quiet in thought after. You didn't fail missions. You also didn't fuck them. Contemplating what you'd write on your report, Loki emerged from the other room, dressed and ready to take you back to Midgard. He handed you the clothes you first arrived on this planet in.

As you dressed, preparing for your arrival back home, you studied him. He was, without a doubt, the most abhorrent, irritating person you'd ever met. And yet, something drew you to him that you didn't understand.

"Alright," he said when he saw you were dressed. "Let's get you back to where you belong." You nodded, wondering if you'd ever see him again, hoping you wouldn't…but not for the reason you'd expect.

#loki x reader #loki #loki smut #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #fic recs #fics #loki and reader #loki and thor #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki fic recs #loki fandom #marvel fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #loki oneshot #loki reader smut #loki roleplay #loki reader insert #loki rp #loki mcu #loki marvel #loki god of mischief #fic: loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson fanfic

[ok-sims]

Things in Good Omens 2 I still find weird after maaaaany rewatches

Yep, brace yourselves, it's exactly what's in the title:

Maggie making the spelling mistake ("urgrency") in one of the very first scenes of S2.

It is in the very first scene set in the present day. It is the first time we are presented to Maggie. And the spelling mistakes being very much connected to demons all through the season (specially in The Ball episode, with the note about the "angles" and Shax spelling "T-O-S-T-E", not to mention Furfur mispelling Aziraphale's name in 1941).

It is stands out so much because Maggie's mispelling is never brought up again, but the demons' is. And again, it was the audience's first contact with Maggie (even if she is offscreen). It might be just a callback joke (which does not make much sense to me, to be honest), it might be just red herring, or it might be to reinforce the "Maggie is a mirror to Crowley" theory (which does not make much sense to me either, because while Crowley is/was demon, we never see him making spelling mistakes himself).

I'm honestly at loss about what was the intention here. Seens to specific to be just random, given the demons do it many times. My best guess is that it is pure and intentional red herring, to mess with us. But then again, what for?

Miss Cheng (specially in E5S2, "The Ball")

Since my first watch, the brief scene when Miss Cheng is entering the Bookshop for Aziraphale's thinly disguised excuse to have a Jane Austen ball, she has a very... particular look in her face. It is when the weather is getting darkier e gloomier, resembling Michael Jackson's "Thriller" videoclip, because Shax and her "legion" of demons are arriving. The thing is, Miss Cheng does not look afraid at all, or even like she is suspecting something is going on. Miss Cheng looks suspicious herself! I feel like this scene is off in so many levels. First of all, it did not need to be included at all. So why add this scene to the final cut? Miss Cheng does not have a very clear role in the narrative, while all the other shopkeepers have at least something that not only sets them apart from everyone else, but adds something to the narrative and/or callbacks something else in the series.

Beside the obvious Nina and Maggie, Ms Sandwich brings to the table the comical relief, Mr Brown is there to set the excuse for the Jane Austen ball, Mr Arnold provides the fancy classical music for the ball AND the Doctor Who jokes, Justine is an excuse to bring up Aziraphale's bad French again, and give us a callback to the Bastille scene in S1, and Mutt is a callback to the magic shop shown in the zombie minisode.

But Miss Cheng on the other hand brings none of those things. We don't even get to see what is her bussiness. Of course, her scene discussing Ms Sandwich's work is a delight, but honestly, it could have been any other character asking about Ms Sandwich's job. And opportunity to have Ms Sandwich ask what Miss Cheng's work was there, but it was not taken.

Now, the only other scene Miss Cheng is in focus is in the very end of E6S2, when Maggie and Nina decide to sit down with Crowley to have The Talk. Nina asks Miss Cheng to look after the coffeeshop for a few minutes. Again, seens kinda random to have Miss Cheng there, and I really think this specific scene, by itself, might not have any further meaning. But when viewed along her other scenes (and specific lack of better fleshing out, which was given to all other shopkeepers), it just seens weird. Again, might just be a red herring to mess with us, but Miss Cheng is presented in a very sus way.

Aziraphale not having a replacement

Odd phrasing, I know, but I could not find better words to describe it. We are presented very early on to Shax, who is replacing Crowley in his former job in Hell. Shax is an important character all through the season, yet we never get a hint at who is replacing Aziraphale's job vacancy. We don't even get a hint if there is a replacement, or if it was decided Heaven would not be replacing him. We just get radio silence about who is Heaven's representative in London now, or if something happed to that position and why. Maybe if Shax simply did not exist, it wouldn't have bothered me. But since she does, and it is made clear many times that she has Crowley's former job, it stands out to me that nothing is ever said or even alluded about Aziraphale's former job position.

There are some other things that stand out to me, but these are the more obvious ones to me. I would be delighted to hear other people's takes on these matters, as I might have missed something. Oh well, I guess here is my first piece of Good Omens meta.

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #miss cheng

[holdupjack]

Just Put On The Fleece

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

Warning: sexual suggestions

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

7th Year

Y/n strolled towards Hogsmeade with a smile as snow fell all around her. The lake was completely iced, she could see a few students skating atop its surface.

Snowflakes fell onto her bare arms as some students gave her strange looks at her choice of clothing. She wore just her white button-up and pants, which wasn’t up to most people’s standards when it came to this type of weather.

She didn’t pay them any kind though, instead continuing her peaceful walk to Pippins Potions to stalk up on some ingredients for her next class.

As much as Y/n didn’t feel all the nervous about catching a cold, she did however look over her shoulder every once in a while.

Before she had left to start her walk towards the Village, she had run into Ginny. Now this wasn’t unusual, since they were good friends, but she was even better friends with Y/n’s girlfriend.

Hermione Granger.

The two have been dating for a little over two years now, and to say the least, Hermione was not a huge fan of Y/n’s disregard for winter wear.

They have gotten into fights about it, but they were never huge or harmful. They were just little spits the couple had from time to time around the holidays.

Now Ginny was a little instigator, she loved to get Y/n in trouble with Hermione, and Y/n knew it. Granted, she would never say something to harm their relationship, but Y/n with no coat? Going out into freezing temperatures?

Fair game.

So now Y/n had eyes in the back of her head, almost like she was waiting for her girlfriend to appear out of thin air like a horror movie.

Y/n couldn't help but smile fondly as Hermione's concerns echoed in her mind. Always the protective one, her bushy-haired bookworm. Not that Y/n minded - it was just one more way she knew she was loved.

Reaching Hogsmeade at last, she hurried inside Pippin's Potions to escape the icy kisses peppering her skin. The familiar jingle of bells greeted her, along with friendly shopkeeper Irma Pippin herself.

"Afternoon dear! Back for more fluxweed I see. Winter rolling in already?" The old witch chuckled, taking note of Y/n's sparse attire as she gathered the ingredients into a small pouch.

"You know me Irma, a little chill never bothered me much." Y/n chuckled, exchanging a few knuts for her purchases, placing the pouch into her pocket.

"Though my darling Hermione might avow otherwise..."

Just then, the bells jangled loudly once more. Speak of the devil and so she shall appear, it seemed! Y/n turned with a smile to greet her favorite furious witch.

"Hello, love! Fancy running into you here..." Y/n chuckled nervously as she backed up slightly, almost bumping into Irma as Hermione stepped closer with a stern glare.

“Don’t you ‘hello love’ me! What are you doing out in the snow with no protective clothing!” She says with gritted teeth as the older witch just chuckled as she walked to the back of her shop, muttering ‘if you break it, you buy it’.

“Uh…” Y/n said nervously as Hermione stepped even closer.

Y/n flashes her best disarming smile, hoping to soothe her darling's ruffled feathers. "Now now love, you know a little chill doesn't bother m- oof!"

She's cut off as Hermione shoves a giant fleece throw into her arms. It's garishly orange and covered in little purple cauldrons.

"Here, now you have no excuse. Put this on at once before you catch hypothermia," Hermione huffs, fussing over Y/n until the monstrosity is wrapped snugly around her frame. Only her scowling face remains uncovered.

"There! Don't you look cozy?" Hermione states with a smirk, obviously loving the form of punishment she had procured for their way back to the school.

“I’m not wearing this.” Y/n declared as she playfully glared back at Hermione, who was not happy to hear the defiance.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” Hermione says as she grasps Y/n’s face and squishes her cheeks together.

“You’re going to make me swallow my tongue” Y/n muttered as Hermione gave her lips a quick peck and let the girl's face go.

“Now, will you be a listener today, or will I have to ‘accio’ you all the way back to my dorm?” Hermione asks as Y/n crosses her arms and grumbles to herself.

“But I don’t wanna wear this atrocious thing” Y/n whined, which made her girlfriend roll her eyes and sigh, placing her hands on her hips.

“Seriously, Y/n-“

That was all she could get out before the garment was tossed back at her, and the jingling of bells was her only indicator that Y/n had just made a break for it,

“What the- Y/N!” Hermione yelled angrily as she pulled the clothing away from her face and dashed back out into the village. Her eyes darted from left to right, soon landing on Y/n, who was standing at the end of the block with a shit-eating grin.

Y/n's mischievous antics would be the death of her, Hermione swears it. With a steely gaze, she marches purposefully down the street, fleece trailing menacingly behind like a wrathful cape.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she calls as she closes the distance. But Y/n only grins wider, dancing nimbly out of reach.

"Now now love, can't we discuss this civilly over butterbeers? I'm parched from all this invigorating exercise!" Y/n teases as she continues to back away.

"The only thing you'll be drinking is that foul lake water if you don't surrender yourself this instant!" She stays with a scowl as she watches the snow fall onto her lover's hair and bare skin.

But when has a threat ever stalled this rogue?

With a cheeky blow of a kiss, Y/n pivots on her heel and bolts down a side alley.

“Y/n Y/l/n!”

Hermione gives pursuit, weaving deftly through the village streets. She tries her best not to bump into anyone as she chases Y/n down alleyways and stairways to different streets. At last, she corners her favorite miscreant in a dead end.

"Gotcha!" she crows, triumphantly diving forward to wrap Y/n in her fleecy fate. But the rogue is too swift, spinning nimbly aside with a peal of laughter.

"Is that the best you've got, bookworm?" Y/n taunts, dancing just out of reach again. Her playful grin mocks Hermione's frustration to new heights.

"Why you impertinent—" Lunging again, Hermione feints one way then tackles the other, taking her willful partner by surprise. They tumble headlong into a snowbank, wrestling fiercely as the flakes fall upon their flushed faces.

"Yield, you beautiful scoundrel!" Hermione growls between giggles, wrestling the fleece around Y/n's struggling form at long last.

"Now take your medicine like a good girl." She smirks, pinning her captive beneath triumphant hips, Hermione then leans down to deliver a punishing kiss.

Well, as punishing as a kiss between two love birds can be.

"Let that be a lesson to cross me again, my darling rogue." She whispers when she pulls away, affection softens her stern eyes, and melting away Y/n's resistance completely.

"Oh very well, you've bested me, Granger. Have your victory - this time." Y/n sighs dramatically as she grins up at her girlfriend, and finally accepts her fleecy prison.

"I believe you have an apology to make, you hoodlum." Hermione chuckles, securing Y/n firmly in place as they stand up from the snowbank.

“How about another kiss instead?” Y/n asks with a smirk as she wraps the fleece around their heads and gives another peck to her girlfriend's lips. Hermione just chuckled and happily accepted this form of apology.

So deciding to be a little daring as well, and since they were hidden in a small alleyway, Hermione jumped into her girlfriend's arms. Y/n fell back into the snow, holding onto Hermione tightly as she pressed kisses onto Y/n’s face and lips repeatedly.

Hermione wasn’t this affectionate usually, at least not in public, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love these moments. Where Y/n would do something idiotic, like refusing to wear proper winter clothing, and then make Hermione chase her around Hogsmeade like they’re thirteen again.

A tender smile curves Y/n's lips as her darling bookworm showers her with affection. Moments like this make all their spirited misadventures worthwhile, reminding her anew why she fell for this fiery soul.

"I love you, you know," she murmurs between caresses, gazing up at Hermione with open adoration. It still amazes her sometimes - that such a brilliant witch could love a roguelike her in return.

But love Hermione does, with a passion to match even Y/n's flame. And so their game of chase leads ever onward, whatever obstacles life sends their way.

For now, lost in each other's arms amidst the falling snow, the world beyond fades away. No cares nor duties intrude on this perfect moment, shared alone between two hearts entwined as one.

“Do you mean it?” Hermione whispered as she stared at Y/n with a curious expression, but the tugging smile at the corner of her lips told Y/n that she just wanted to hear her say it again.

“Awe my lovely Gryffindor, I love you more than the ocean loves the shore” Y/n chuckled as she kissed her once more, earning a happy hum from Hermione.

“Aren’t you poetic today?” Hermione whispers as she kisses down Y/n’s jaw, earning a soft purr as the snow melts against her back. Y/n blushes under Hermione's teasing, always rendered bashful by her beloved's quiet charms.

"Only for you, my love. You inspire the poet in me unlike any."

Her touch sends thrills cascading through Y/n's form, setting her aflame despite the chill. How fortunate she was to have found not only a partner to match wits with, but one so generous with passion as well.

"I fear if we linger longer entwined, my good intentions may go out the window," Y/n chuckles, making Hermione snicker and throw the fleece off of their faces. She sits up, straddling Y/n’s hips as she shakes out the snowflakes from her hair.

“You are always so eager to rip my clothes off” Hermione snickers as Y/n shamelessly nods her head in quick succession.

“What do you say we retire to the Three Broomsticks for warmth and nourishment, before reckless passions overtake your mind?" Hermione teases as she stands up and hoists Y/n up to her feet. Pressing one last ardent kiss to perfect lips, Hermione dusts the clinging snow from supple curves. Offering an arm with a rakish smile, she leads them from the alley and back to the bustling thoroughfare.

“So…how about later?” Y/n asked with a smirk as they walked towards the small pub.

“Promise to start wearing your coat?” Hermione asks, looking at her with a grin of her own.

“Fine…” Y/n mumbles in defeat as her girlfriend proudly pulls her quickly into the building.

“Then maybe…you can see what’s under mine tonight”

#harry potter #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #lesbian #fanfic #fluff

[avocado-writing]

Hello there, I saw your requests were open c:

I Hope I'm doing It right, I never really request something (more of a silent Reader haha) but I would Love to See more of Astarion x Male(or GN)!RogueTav HC's. Some cute mischiefs or angsty situations, whatever comes to your mind :) Tysm for the opportunity !

VERY cute! I will keep them gender neutral for you 😊

Seeing as you’re both rogues, the two of you speak thieves’ cant. Catch the two of you in the corner of camp bitching about everyone and they can’t understand you lmfao.

In a city like Baldur’s gate, why buy when you can steal? When you’re in an upper city store one of you will distract the shopkeeper and the other will pilfer whatever you fancy. Or just steal for the sake of stealing and fence it later!

He can’t eat, but does encourage you to dine and dash when you’re out together. Cut to the two of you giggling as you run away from waiters trying to call you back…

Then you cast disguise self and go and do the exact same thing the next day.

The. Scams. You. Pull. Are. Numerous. Rich people make such easy targets and it’s so easy to scheme money out of them. Loaded dice, counting cards: you name it, you & Astarion are running it in a high class gambling den.

If the two of you are feeling generous you will use your ill-gotten gains to get the party a treat, like a nice meal or some enchanted weapons. “Where in all the realms did you get the funds for this?” “Don’t even worry about it Wyll”

The two of you set up a rapport which grows into fondness which grows into… more. One day the two of you getting chased down by Flaming Fists, he pulls you into an alleyway, suddenly you’re very close and he can feel how fast you’re breathing, and his eyes drop to where you lick your lips, and you nod and whisper “yes,” and then he leans in —

“Oi! There you two are! Get back here!”

…And you’re running again.

You only get caught once. The two of you are manacled up in a cell, Astarion murmuring in annoyance because he never gets caught and he feels awful that you’re stuck here now too… how he’d never want you to get hurt or in trouble, at least not because he was being sloppy… actually, he doesn’t want to see you get hurt at all. He realises you’re quite unlike anyone he’s ever met and oh shit. He’s fallen in love hasnt he.

As these thoughts are racing through his mind you’re busy spitting out the hairpin you stashed in your cheek earlier and using it to pick the locks and free your hands before moving on to do the same for him — but not before you laugh at his wide-eyed surprise and give him a long anticipated kiss.

“Come on. We’ll be all romantic when we’re out of jail, alright?”

He grins. He can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.

#astarion fic #astarion x you #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x reader

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I loooove your Minotaur!Konig, mythological AUs are my favorite ❤️

Asterion is such a sweetheart with his love, but I can only imagine how he gets when he's jealous/protective. I see Asterion settling into domestic life as a husband and a sailor relatively easily because it's all he's ever wanted (more than what he wanted/thought possible if he's being honest), but all it takes is one man making aggressive advances on his wife and he's the dreaded Minotaur of Crete who cut through hundreds of soldiers to get through the palace and slaughter the king himself. All those feral, animalistic traits come rushing back tenfold when it comes to her, the center of his universe and the only goddess he'll ever worship. So it doesn't matter if it's a simple fisherman, a famed warrior, a prince from foreign lands, or the son of Zeus himself. Asterion had slit the throat of a demigod before; Theseus, a rival who he disposed of bitterly before he had even met his wife, the unfamiliar poisonous feel of envy trickling through the Minotaur's veins as Theseus mentioned a woman he'd come to the labyrinth with, a woman who would change his fate and make him different from the other heroes who had tried and failed to kill the Minotaur and escape that infamous maze. Yet the divine hero fell as easily as the others, and she ended up changing Asterion's fate instead, guiding him through the hell that had imprisoned him since he was a child, holding out her hand to him and bringing him out of the darkness of the Labrinyth and into the light. Asterion would kill a thousand heroes and kings for his love, become Death itself and burn down the world and the heavens alike just to keep her safe, keep her with him.

Anon you depicted him & his devotion so beautifully…

He has a lot to learn when it comes to society and living among people: the first time they were at the marketplace and she started to barter with some shopkeeper, he thought the bargaining male was insulting his woman. So he marched forward, grabbed him by his clothes and raised him to the chalked wall until she ran to him and explained the situation – amused while the poor shopkeeper almost pissed himself. She got a very good price after that!

And he will absolutely turn into a demigod, this chthonic warrior whenever he feels his beloved is under a threat or if someone tries to take her away from him. It’s not even about him being jealous (although he is that too): he just sees himself as the most able protector she could choose, and anyone who dares to challenge that will get stomped to the ground.

Clearly, she favors him between the furs as well, so it’s no use to try and snatch her away with perfumed beards, shallow promises or playful charms… She always runs her fingers through his hair, chest, head or thigh, looks at him with stars in her eyes. She obviously doesn’t need some shaved “hero” with an eloquent tongue when she has a bull like him.

Bulls don’t have time for philosophy and neither does she: his goddess prefers a strong man who can carry heavy loads and make her moan in bed. And whenever he does talk, he says what he thinks. It always makes her either gasp or smile so at least he doesn’t bore her to death like those oiled, fancy men… She likes his comments in bed, too, he can tell. To him, it’s nothing earth shatteringly special to wake her up in the middle of the night and announce that he’s hard. The thing between his legs was made for her pleasure after all, so why should he keep it to himself?

She always acts as if he has both done something wrong and extremely right because it always ends in her saying that perhaps he should fuck her then. Soon enough she's begging under him, clawing his back like a cat, sighing that she loves him.

He always tells her that he loves her back, as many times as he has to to make her shatter in his arms.

#minotaur!könig #könig fluff #long post #tw: long post

[humansofnewyork]

(20/54) “Dr. Ameli helped me open a party office. He was an established man by then. But he took the time to come to Nahavand, and I’ll never forget the speech that he gave. He said: ‘Now it is winter, the rivers are frozen, the trees are all dead. But soon green sprouts will burst from the soil. The air will fill with the songs of nightingales. And together we will say: 'Spring has arrived.'” There were over one hundred villages in Nahavand, and I made the decision to visit every single one. My father loaned me his jeep, and I would spend all day on the road. Most villages had a central square, and that is where I would speak. I was a practicing Muslim; I knew the Koran front-to-back. But I never spoke about religion. I spoke about what needed to be done: better roads, better schools, fresh water. I spoke about justice. Daad. About an Iran where every person got their fair share. And I spoke about freedom. Azadi. I told them: ‘The king should not choose your candidates. All of Iran should be your candidates.’ In the first few villages only a handful of people came to my speeches. It was not customary for candidates to speak directly to the voters. My two opponents stayed in their homes and held fancy parties with their friends. But as I continued to speak, word began to spread. More people came, and then those people would go tell others. I’d always give my speeches around 6 pm. Some of the stores began to close early, so that the shopkeepers could attend. At first it was just a few. But by the end of my campaign, every single shop would close. The moment my jeep pulled into town, it would be met by cheering crowds. Hundreds of people would gather around to hear me. People as far as the eye could see. On the day of the vote I took the jeep for one final trip around Nahavand. I remember seeing young women, with babies on their breast, going to cast their vote. Later that night the results were announced on television. Early in the day people began to gather around my father’s house. When the vote was announced, the crowd erupted into cheers. Each of my opponents had gotten two thousand votes. I received over twenty thousand.”

 دکتر عاملی برای گشایش دفتر حزب به نهاوند آمد. او بزرگمردی ستودنی بود. سخنرانی او را فراموش نکرده‌ام.‌ گفت: «اکنون زمستان است، آب‌ها یخ بسته‌اند، درختان مرده‌اند. پرندگان رفته‌اند، برگ و باری و نغمه و آهنگی نیست ولی به زودی جوانه‌های سبز درفش‌هایشان را از دل خاک برخواهند افراشت. آوای بلبلان آسمان را پر خواهد کرد. و همه با هم خواهیم گفت: بهار آمد!» بر آن شدم تا با مردمانی از بیش از یک‌سد روستای نهاوند گفت‌وگو کنم. پدرم جیپش را در اختیارم نهاد و من روزها را در راه و روستا می‌گذراندم. درمیدان روستا با من آشنا می‌شدند و سخنانم را می‌شنیدند. با آنکه مسلمانی باورمند بودم هرگز درباره‌ی دین سخن نگفتم. سخن من تنها در زمینه‌ی کارهایی بود که باید انجام می‌گرفت: راه‌های بهتر، دبستان‌های بهتر، آب آشامیدنی پاکیزه و دیگر بایسته‌های ویژه‌ی هر روستا. درباره‌ی عدالت سخن می‌گفتم. درباره‌ی ایرانی که در آن همه به حق خود برسند و درباره‌ی آزادی. به آنها می‌گفتم: «دولت نباید نامزدهای شما را انتخاب کند. هر ایرانی باید بتواند خود را نامزد کند، رأی شماست که او را برمی‌گزیند!» در نخستین روزها تنها تنی چند برای شنیدن سخنانم می‌آمدند. گفت‌وگوی رو در رو با رأی‌دهندگان امری نا‌آشنا بود. رقیبانم در خانه‌های خود می‌ماندند و با دوستانشان مهمانی‌هایی برگزار می‌کردند. من به دیدار‌هایم ادامه دادم و خبر در میان مردم پخش می‌شد. هر روز که می گذشت، مردم بیشتری می‌آمدند و دیگران را باخبر می‌کردند. همیشه سخنرانی‌هایم را در میدان شهر حدود ساعت ۶ عصر برگزار می‌کردم. کاسبان فروشگاه‌ها‌یشان را زودتر می‌بستند تا بتوانند در سخنرانی‌هایم باشند. نخست شمارشان اندک بود ولی در روزهای پایانی کارزار انتخاباتی من، فروشگاه‌هایشان را زودتر می‌بستند. هنگامی که جیپ من وارد شهر می‌شد، جمعیتی هوراکشان به پیشباز می‌آمدند. کسانی از راه های دورتر می‌رسیدند تا سخنانم را بشنوند. تا جایی که چشمم کار می‌کرد مردم ایستاده بودند. در روز انتخابات با جیپ پدرم به چندین روستا سرکشیدم. به یاد دارم که زنان جوان با کودکی در آغوش به سوی صندوق های رأی در راهند. در واپسین ساعت‌های آن شب نتیجه‌ از تلویزیون پخش می‌شد. مردم کم کم پیرامون فرمانداری که به خانه‌ی پدرم هم نزدیک بود گرد می‌آمدند. هنگامی که نتیجه اعلام شد همه از شادی فریاد کشیدند. هر یک از رقیبان من دو هزار رأی آورده بودند. من بیش از بیست‌ هزار

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Isle landmarks

Port - divided in between three crews, heavily regarded as a very unpleasant area by, well. Almost everyone else. (Important to note: this goes for every single area of the Isle.) Lives at night a lot.

Jolly Roger of Captain James Hook

Scattered Hope of Captain Harriet Hook. Comparatively safer to be around, you might find some goods "accidentally left out" if the Captain's feeling it.

Lost Revenge of Captain Uma Triskelion. Safest of the pirate ships unless you are allied to Mal or insult Uma. (...You know what, I take that back.) Also, it's a cult.

Chipp Shoppe. Firmly under the rule of Lost Revenge.

Hook's inlet. That's a fancy name for a building that port adults go to pass out in by the morning at that brings substantial money to Captain Hook. (His kids are not allowed to work there. They kept stealing from the counter more than they sold.)

Serpents prep, aka the school Captain Hook was forced to fund after dr F refused to deal with two if his children at once. They've got sea ponies and surprisingly good curriculum.

The centre. Counts as, well, semi-neutral territory?

Tremaine salon. The only actual neutral territory on the Isle. You see, if you fight by the Tremaines, you won't get your hair done. (this works because the Villains and their kids are vain as fuck and value their style over their lives. Literally.) Also, Tremaines treat most of their customers as particularly annoying cats.

Mad Maddy's Apothecary. This could count as neutral territory but Mim's are playing favourites. One rule: Do NOT make out in the Apothecary.

Rose Garden of the Queen of Hearts. Yeah no. Do not go near if you like your life.

Dragon Hall, AKA the school Dr Facilier funded for very innocent and inconspicuous reasons that have nothing to do with the other Villains owing him for babysitting their brats and molding the young minds to his picture, how dare you even suggest that.

The Arcade. Funded by Dr F too and operated mostly by his daughters. Also no ulterior motives on this one. (If little kids don't come to school, they're at Arcade. It's always good to know where the kids you're paid to keep alive are.)

Storm Hall. A mostly abandoned building slightly off-the-centre that Isle kids use for official gang meetings.

Frollo's church. Later, it's ruins. The building has suffered from entirely natural structural instability ever since the first Isle kids learned what matches are. While Frollo's alive, it's unsafe to be around if you're a girl, person of colour, or of magical heritage.

Yes, there is a problem of Frollo's being entirely too close to Dragon Hall. Dr F had it under control! Really!

The Market. Yeah. Market. With very reasonable prices that are not theft at all.

Maleficent's Bargain Castle overlooks the market and her goblins provide security for shopkeepers who are willing to pay a steep price. No one's sure why Maleficent tolerates the market so close, she hates people.

Jafar's Junk Shop. If you lost something, there's like seventy percent chance it'll end up there. I've got nothing else to add.

Gaston's Duels Without Rules, slightly off the main market. And yes. It is without rules. Do not ask about the blood under the dumpsters please.

Hell Hall. Few streets down but still close enough, you'll know by the screaming. Close enough for Cruella and her minions to get the finest fabrics whenever she wishes.

Witches Academy. Yes, it is entirely too close to the market for how flammable the stands are. However, the Mims are doing what they do best and being bitches on main.

Landmarks

The End Of The World. Steep cliff on the off-side of Auradon, favourite hang-out spot for Isle kids. Who says they hadn't spent hours there looking into the waves and contemplating life, they're lying.

The Skull Rock. On the Isle for Reasons. Y'know, a generation of kids robbed off their childhood? Magic banned off? (The Isle of the Lost is Neverland and it's your problem now.)

The Jungle. No. Do NOT. You do realise that's where all the tigers and snakes and lions and wolves dwell. Also called the Zoo by kids who like dark humour and/or have a deathwish.

The Caves. There's an entrance to Hades' cave somewhere. Do not try to find it (unless you are Celia Facilier), he's on vacation and doesn't wish to be disturbed.

Other

Castle Across the Way. Is not close to the centre or the market to be counted as such. That's because the Evil Queen refused to interact with the commoners and looked substantially scarrier than Lady Tremaine while communicating that.

The Hun camp. Do NOT attempt to find it.

#disney descendants

[transrevolutions]

welcome to the french revolution. we've got catty bitch of a journalist who got executed for being a catty bitch, even cattier bitch journalist who somehow didn't get executed but wrote from his bathtub, big loud guy who cheats on his wife and cheats in his financial reports, fancy dressed lawyer who takes his dog on two hour walks, broke 26 year old goth genius, a few women who burn down buildings and kill shopkeepers, another woman who suicide baited the dog walking lawyer, failed playwright who commits white collar crime, hot bisexual with an orgy cave, another journalist whose paper is primarily expletives, two guys who blew up civilians for no good reason, guy who brings a knife to the government to threaten his fellow officials, guy who thought he got paralyzed from having too much sex, asshole mathematician whose grandson became president of france, and a guy everyone calls bonbon.

#in order: #desmoulins #marat #danton #robespierre #saint just #the srrc #olympe de gouges #fabre #herault #hebert #fouche and collot #tallien #couthon #carnot #augustin #french revolution #frev #shitpost #pigeon.txt

[panlight]

What IS the significance of the French locket? It always felt so random to me. Like sure, Bella found it in an antique store or whatever, she didn't custom-order it, so she didn't choose for it to be in French, but SM as the author did. Why?

I guess 'Renee' and 'Esme' are both French names, so in that sense Renesmee is a French name but it's, you know, not actually a name of French origin because SM/Bella made it up. Bella can't read French; the shopkeeper told her what it said, and Edward confirmed it. So the language itself has no special meaning to her, or to Renesmee. So why not just have the locket be engraved in English?!?

To me it always just felt like, "well French is 'classy' and 'fancy,' so the engraving being in French is classy and fancy!" just another weird little fantasy indulgence, like Alice dressing Bella in a cocktail dress and stilettos for her first hunt. Why?

"Because it's cool!!"

(Also giving a baby a locket instead of a toy or something for Christmas is A Choice but then again Renesmee was never really a baby and Bella half-thinks they're all gonna die in a few weeks and locket with a picture of her in it might be all Nessie will have of her so like, I get it in that sense, but I also never believed for a single second that anything was actually going to happen to Edward, Bella or Nessie--we're 3.5 books into it at this point, I know who has Plot Armor by now--so it didn't resonate for me in the way it was perhaps meant to).

Any theories as to why French?

[vpgoldenrod]

Crowley: “Making it rain is one thing, but…”

But what? It’s bad to brainwash all of the shopkeepers on Whickber Street and force them to forget all of their negative emotions and obligations and put them in fancy clothes to make them dance like marionettes and be fancy wallpaper while Nina does the love thing with Maggie? Or while Crowley dances with Aziraphale?

That line happens so fast because they’re literally under siege by demons but man, Crowley also thought the ball was unsettling. And yeah, he danced, but it must’ve felt almost as weird and wrong as when he kissed Aziraphale.

#I’ve watched this so many times and I never caught this #the show that keeps on giving #good omens 2 #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #amazon prime video #neil gaiman #good omens analysis #live tumbling

[roxannepolice]

I was going to write an in-depth analysis of how The Giggle approached the Toymaker's yellow face past/origin by neither brushing it aside nor going for a lecture in intercultural relations, but instead recontextualising it by having him cosplay a handful of other doll-like national stereotypes (the German shopkeeper, the French mime, the napoleonic era English soldier, the American pioneer pilot), thus going even deeper into the concept of play-element of culture, essentially presenting nationalities (or all other distinctions used as ways of discriminating against others) as fancy chesspieces, which goes along with the Spice up your life scene being about the "fun" of fighting others because you're the only one who's right, and there might have even been a tangent on how the Doctor's strategy of dealing with the Toymaker was to use a game's rules against itself, while the Master's was to tip either result in their favour-

But my brain said, nah, you're going to spend the rest of the evening incapable of thinking of anything else than Neil Patrick Harris and a series of Neil Patrick Harrislings dressed as stereotypical babushka matryoshkas

#thx brain you're always so cooperative #doctor who #doctor who meta #dw meta #because my point still stands #the giggle #the toymaker #neil patrick harris #the doctor #the master #the picture source in the alt text