#in an anime where like over half the cast has weird as fuck hair and it's not an issue for anyone else except zenitsu

[malscare]

she's fat. to ME

#haaaate the 'her muscles just rly inhumanly dense so she's still skinny and cute ^-^' cop out sooo bad for her. #& like i guess it's another thing to like have one of her main character traits being Eats A Ton would be worse if she was fat #but at least something that cliche could be offset by like how attractive across the board ppl in the show find her regardless #and like it's so much more powerful and real than like strange hair color insecurity (also allegedly caused by eating a ton of sweets) -_- #in an anime where like over half the cast has weird as fuck hair and it's not an issue for anyone else except zenitsu #AGH it's infuriating. just make her big and give her the same treatment

[libraryofbabel-postlocator]

find this:

God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's movie, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

It's over 3200 characters so it's split up but the first half is on page 194 of volume 24 on shelf 5 of wall 4 of hexagon (below cut) (second part is also below the cut)

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

the second part is on page 227 of volume 17 on shelf 4 of wall 2 of hexagon 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

#post located #requests

[minnowtank]

God I fucking hate Sidon the Zora so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every cutscene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid shark face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking leg fin skirt? Who the hell makes a fish guy with leg fins like that. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard hammerhead-head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking PINK “NOSE” that no anthropomorphic fish has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Sidon or a Sidon gif or a shitty goddamn TikTok edit, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Sidon the fuckshit fish fucker, I love my empty no-homo void of a wife". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Bruce from Finding Nemo summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking fishtail hair makes your whole shitty head look like an anvil with a tumour. I hate your dumb fucking nonexistent pink nose and your stupid, half-hidden eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's video game, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is altogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of sexy character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the shark dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless fuckable video game side character fandom wank distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking tail head. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional fish.

#copypasta #🐟 #totk #botw #loz #LMAO sorry for tagging #totk salt #totk critical

[swordgayist]

cultural appropriation in ATLA (hinduism edition)

i’m sure there’s already a ton of posts about this, but whatever, i’m still making one idc. 

ATLA’s cultural appropriation, everyone knows about it, the white people don’t speak about it, and the asian and indigenous people get ignored. we know the cycle. but i wanted to come here and highlight some of the most prominent examples of ATLA abusing hinduism, as i am kinda sorta hindu (i was raised in a hindu household, i go to chinmaya mission, that kinda shit). i might forget some things so keep that in mind.

this is gonna be divided into 3 main sections, since there are different ways that they disrespect hinduism that i don’t wanna lump together.

and i’d say i know a lot about hinduism but that doesn’t make me an expert, obviously, so if other hindus have anything to add and/or correct then please do !! and if anyone else wants to share how their cultures were appropriated then please do that as well !!

so let’s get started shall we?

appropriating hinduism

1) the avatar

we’ll start with the most obvious example: the avatar itself

i know that there are parts of the avatar mythos that are taken from other cultures as well but the idea of the avatar itself is primarily from hinduism.

basically in hinduism, the term dashavatara refers to the 10 reincarnations of lord vishnu (the god of preservation), with avatar(a) meaning form or incarnation in sanskrit, and das(a) meaning ten. it was said that whenever the world was out of balance, lord vishnu would come down to earth in a certain form to restore balance. Each reincarnation is considered a different life with a different story. the avatars of lord vishnu are often considered the saviors of the world.

so basically, the central idea of the show and the actual name of the show is largely based on hinduism.

2) chakras

many different indian religions have a concept of chakras (chakra meaning wheel or circle in sanskrit), but hinduism is the one that primarily preaches the system of seven chakras, the version used in ATLA.

chakras connect the physical body to the ‘subtle’ body (referring more to the spirit and the psyche) by connecting parts of the body to aspects of the mind. the idea is that through different forms of steady meditation you can manipulate the different chakras and allow the pure flow of energy through the body.

the whole idea of chakras on ATLA is that aang has to unblock them all to let the cosmic energy flow through him so that he can go into the avatar state at will. so yeah, pretty much that whole idea was taken from hinduism.

3) terminologies

these are just a few terms that were taken from hinduism. i’m pretty sure there are more that i can’t think of right now but yeah.

“agni” kai 

i’ll be honest i don’t know where the ‘kai’ part is from, i don’t think it’s from hinduism but if it is well fuck me i guess.  ‘agni’ in hinduism is the god of fire, so the creators used it in ‘agni kai’, the name for a firebending duel.

“bumi”

this is in reference to the hindu word for ‘earth’, which is bhoomi. this is also in reference to our goddess of earth, bhoomi devi. also this doesn’t really bother me but i wonder if the creators knew that bhoomi is a name typically used for women (as are most hindi names ending in ‘i’/‘ee’).

in general, concepts like having multiple complex gods (the spirits) who are capable of good and evil and the reincarnation cycle are prominent in a lot of asian cultures, including (and arguably primarily) hinduism.

mocking hinduism

now we get into the mockery of hinduism in ATLA, because it is very much there.

1) whoever the fuck that baboon guy in the spirit world was

now what the fuck was this.

i mean i wouldn’t say this is the most egregious example of them making fun of brown people but lord why did this even need to be there? this random guy from the spirit world has an indian accent ? and is fervently chanting ‘om’ for some reason, and it’s clearly meant to be seen as comical. also portraying brown people as monkeys....... really.

2) combustion man/sparky sparky boom man

when rewatching ATLA in 2019 i actually had no idea that this was a thing, because the last time i had watched it was as a kid and i didn’t finish it.

so lord was i in for a surprise when i saw...

now... now what.

if you didn’t know, combustion man’s ‘third eye’ is designed to replicate the hindu god of destruction, lord shiva. right down to the vibhuti on his forehead (referring to the three line markings around the third eye).

in hinduism, lord shiva’s third eye is used to reduce people to ashes, though as far as i can recall, not very frequently. the primary significance of the third eye is that it represents the ability of higher spiritual thought and higher consciousness.

the ATLA writers take the ACTUAL significance of the third eye, throw it out the window, and then take its destructive abilities to make a super duper cool and dangerous new firebending technique.

and if that wasn’t bad enough, the actual person who uses this technique, and is meant to emulate a GOD who is PRAISED, is a scary, burly, half metal man who is a villain and an assassin. not to mention the design of his facial hair replicates that super duper scary “terrorist” depiction of brown people, particularly of muslims, that white people are so thoroughly terrified of for no reason. 

this is a parody of a god, and they portrayed him as this terrifying, maniacal fucking assassin who, along with p’li, the combustion bender from LOK, is constantly referred to as a “third-eyed freak”. i’ve made this analogy before and i’ll do it again, this is like making jesus into a hitman.

now onto my favorite example...

3) guru pathik

ah, this motherfucker.

i don’t really have any problems with him as a character, i mean hell, must’ve taken a fuck ton of patience to handle aang’s “why would choose cosmic energy over katara” bullshit.

but we all know it, we see it plain as day, don’t even try to deny it.

“guru” literally just means teacher or guide, so i don’t really know why pathik needed to be referred to as “guru” so distinctively from aang’s other teachers and guides, but that’s just extremely trivial compared to all the other issues with this character.

first of all what is this character design? what is he even wearing? if they’re trying to replicate the clothes of swamis and priests and stuff this is already wrong, realized people don’t dress like this. and why the fuck does he have an indian accent? and why was this indian accent done by a non indian (brian george)?

once again, the poor but extremely heavy indian accent is clearly meant to be mocking, if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t’ve gone out of their way to get a non indian person to DO an indian accent, and instead they would’ve just gotten an actual indian person to play the role. 

and oh yeah, the onion and banana juice. because hindus just eat weird shit right.

whether it’s actually weird or not, the show certainly portrays it as weird. and as far as i know no hindu actually fucking drinks onion and banana juice.

ironic because brown people can absolutely destroy white people in cooking. but i digress.

i know what you’re all waiting for. because the guru apparently didn’t have enough fun with guru pathik, so they just had to come back to him in book 3:

where do i begin.

so this is obviously john o’bryan’s super funny and hilarious depiction of pathik as a hindu god.

usually when a god has multiple arms it’s to carry an array of things, from flowers to weapons to instruments, and one hand is typically free to bless devotees (ie. goddess durga and lord vishnu respectively):

but of course white people see this as weird and so they make fun of it, hence guru pathik having multiple arms just flailing about aimlessly (save for the two that are being used to carry the aforementioned onion and banana juice).

then there’s the whole light behind pathik’s head which is usually depicted in drawings of hindu gods to show that they are celestial.

also what the fuck is he holding? is that supposed to be a veena? because this is what a veena looks like:

and i assume the reason this was added was to mock the design of goddess saraswathi, who carries a veena:

but that right there in the picture of pathik looks more like a tambura than a veena. 

and it also just kinda looks like a banjo?

but i guess the animators just searched up “long indian instrument” and slapped it on there. actually no, that’s giving them too much credit, they probably didn’t search it up at all. 

and then the actual scene is pathik singing crazily about chakras tasting good or something while playing the non-veena and it’s all supposed to be some funky crazy hallucination that aang is having due to sleep deprivation. just some crazy dream, just as crazy as talking appa and momo sparring with swords or tree-ozai coming to life.

our gurus and swamis and sadhus and generally realized people are very respected in hinduism, they’re people we look up to and honor very much. and our GODS are beings that we literally worship. and the writers just take both and make caricatures out of them for other white people to laugh at.

4) other shit

before we move to the next portion i just wanna mention there are also smaller backhanded jabs that i can’t really remember now, but one example was when zuko was all “we’ll be sure to remember that, guru goody goody”. or when a character would meditate and say “om” only when the meditation is supposed to be portrayed as comical or pointless. or in bitter work when sokka was rambling on about karma. small things like that. but moving on.

south asian representation, or lack thereof

now i finally get to the “losing” hinduism part. by this i mean the lack of actual representation there is of south asians (the region where hinduism is primarily practiced) despite the fact that hinduism plays such a big role in the show’s world design.

i think it’s safe to say that broadly the main cast consists of aang, katara, sokka, zuko, toph, azula, iroh, mai, ty lee, and suki. 

a grand total of none of these characters are south asian. the writers don’t even attempt to add any south asian main characters. 

there are characters with dark skin, like haru and jet, but a) they’re not confirmed to be south asian and don’t have any south asian features or south asian names, b) they’re side characters, so they don’t count as representation, and c) even if they were south asian and main characters, jet wouldn’t even count because he’s portrayed as a terrorist.

the ONLY truly south asian character we get is fucking guru pathik. so yeah. not representation.

i don’t get how the creators of this show rip off of hinduism (among many other south asian cultures they rip off of), mock indians, and then don’t even have the decency to HAVE a main character who is south asian.

i’ve never gotten a chance to compile all this, and this definitely isn’t all the creators have done, but i hope this was somewhat informative.

#atla #cultural appropriation #hinduism #guru pathik #combustion man #chakras #avatar

[seiyasabi]

Momma’s Boy

(This is a Yandere Severus Snape x Hufflepuff! Female Reader story :)) Sorry if this is too OOC!

TW: Bullying!, unhealthy feelings!, manipulation!, Mommy kink!, face sitting!, creampie!, Femdom!, consensual sex!, etc..

Please proceed with caution!)

A wide hand smacks his books from his hands, casting everything onto the cobblestone floor. A soft sigh leaves the blach haired man’s mouth, as he slowly looks up from his belongings, to see a smirking Sirius Black. 

“Watch where you’re going, Snape-boy,” The four males let out ugly laughs, eyes filled with mockery. Severus says nothing, moving to pick up his things, only to be stopped by James. 

“Don’t think that we’ll let you off the hook that easily,” The brunet’s glasses gleam with a dark delight, making the bullied boy gulp in fear, “We’ve seen you creep around that cute hufflepuff- what was her name again?” He pretends to think, allowing a grinning Peter to take over. 

“Yeah, you’ve been creeping around that cutie, (Your Name), for far too long. We’ve noticed you following her like a kicked puppy,” Remus shoves Severus into the wall, causing the 6’1 (1.85 m) man to hit it harshly. 

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed you telling her lies about us,” Confusion is clear on the tall man’s face, causing all four of them to scoff, “She refuses to hang out with us, because she claims we harass you! That’s not true, is it, Snape-boy?” 

“I-well, uhm-”

“I-well, uhm,” James mocks, a knowing grin on his devilish features, “Don’t be nervous, we won’t hurt you.”

“Well, you lot haven’t been too kind to me these past few years,” More scoffs echo off the cobblestone walls, making the tall man feel small. 

“That’s not true, and you know it. We’ve been joking around with you, because we’re friends, aren’t we?” Remus reassures condescendingly, “Plus, friends tell friends when they’re wrong. You’re wrong for pursuing (Your Name), because Remus, here,” He slaps the dirty blond man on the back good-naturedly, “Liked her first. So, having you around, writing in your creepy notebooks about her, will no longer be appreciated.” 

An angry flush covers Snape’s pale cheeks, “It-it’s not like that! (Your Name) is my friend, please don’t make me-”

“Make you? We never make you do anything. We’re just suggesting you leave her alone, unless you want us to take matters into our own hands.” 

Sweat beads on the brow of the black haired man, as he tried to look around for anyone willing to help. No one besides the five of them are in the hall. 

“No,” The four raise a collective eyebrow at his disobedience, “No, I won’t stop being friends with (Your Name). I don’t care what you do to me.”

“That’s sweet, really, but I’m going to have to change your mind,” Remus snarls, his hands balling into fists. In a swift motion, the dirty blond man starts to punch at Severus’ face and chest. The tall man doesn’t have time to put his hands up, getting wailed in the head and torso multiple times. 

The blond’s friends jump in as well, quickly bringing their victim to the floor. Their kicks and hits are rapid paced, disorienting him relatively quickly. He curls into the fetus position, trying to protect his head, luckily stopping their punches. 

His assault continues for a few moments more, before he’s dragged to his feet, and held against the wall by the collar of his shirt, “Are you going to leave her alone now?” 

Snape shakes his head, blood dripping down his face, entire body aching, “No, I won’t. I let you lot walk all over me for far too long. We’re in our last year, why are you acting as if we’re first years?” 

Remus tightens his grip around his collar, teeth bared like an animal, “That’s the wrong answer.”

The blond raises a fist to punch him once more, only to be stopped by a familiar voice. 

“What are you doing?” Your concerned voice rings through the hall, along with your running footsteps. Hurrying up to the group of boys, you start to shove at Remus, trying to break his hold on your close friend (crush), “Let him go! Are you crazy?” 

Your friends are seen down the hall, looking at you in both surprise and slight disdain, “(Your Name), stay out of their business. Once they settle it, everything will be fine-”

“You can’t honestly think that I’ll let them hurt Severus! He’s our friend, and-”

“Stop standing up for him, he’s a total creep. The Marauders are doing you a favour-” You block out what your friends are saying, continuing to push at the blond’s hands. 

“Stop it, Remus! Just leave him alone!” He quickly pulls away, causing you to sigh in relief, only for you to be the one pinned against the wall. Your friend is being held by the blond’s lackeys, holding him back from helping you. Your other friends watch on in horror.

“Why must you always get in my way, Love? I’m trying to teach him a lesson,” You wrinkle your nose in disgust, trying to wriggle out of his grip. 

“Don’t call me that. Just leave Severus and I alone. I understand that you have taken a liking towards me, but that doesn’t excuse your horrid behaviour. If anything, it makes me dislike you! You’re nasty, big headed, crude, and mean for virtually no reason! I don’t understand why you and your friends act this way-”

“He doesn’t deserve your affection!” He blurts out without thinking, his grip on your wrists tightening, “He hangs around you like a dark shadow, he makes everyone around him uncomfortable-”

“I think he’s cute,” You snap out uncharacteristically, “In fact, him following me around is harmless; you following me around, on the other hand, is very harmful. People are afraid to talk to me because of you, and he’s one of the only people who stayed being my friend. I don’t want to hear you talk badly about him, when he has made my life better than it was before.”

Remus releases you after a long moment of silence, a hurt look on his handsome features, “Fine. Stay with the freak if you want to, just don’t come crying to me-”

“I won’t. I won’t seek you out, ever,” The blond motions towards his friends, prompting them to release your friend. You hurry to the dark haired man, cupping his face with soft hands, “Are you alright, Severus? They didn’t hurt you too badly did they?” His lip trembles, signaling oncoming tears, prompting you to turn towards your friends and wave off their concern, “It’s alright, you guys go to class, I’ll take him to the nurse.”

They stalked off, Remus constantly looking back at you. Unfortunately for him, all of your attention is on a certain tall man. 

“Come along, Sev, let’s go to the nurse,” He shakes his head as he sobs uncontrollably, “No? Well, I can’t let you stay battered… Do you want to go to my dormitory? I’ll heal you there,” He nods, allowing you to half-drag-half-pull him towards the Hufflepuff dorm. You’d picked up his things and set them in your satchel, before heading off. Many cast the Slytherin man questioning looks, but quickly realised who was helping him. You’re known as one of the kindest souls at Hogwarts, so it’s not too unlike you to help the freaks of the school. 

Once in your room, you help him sit on your full size mattress. You share the room with only one other girl, leaving two empty beds between the both of you. Luckily, she’s out of the room, most likely at her boyfriend’s dorm room. 

Sitting beside him, you quickly pull out your wand, “This might feel a bit weird, but I promise I’m helping,” You murmur a healing spell to yourself, watching as his skin becomes smooth and even toned once more, “There we go! Good as-oh no, why are you crying again? Did it hurt?” 

Hearing your distraught voice, he tries to comfort you whilst bawling his eyes out, “Nu-no, no, you du-did nothing wu-wrong,” He throws his arms around you, bringing you into a tight hug, “It-it’s just… You treat me so well, and-and I love you so much-” He cuts himself off to hide his face in your neck. Oh no, he just accidentally confessed!

You giggle to yourself at his shy behaviour, and run a hand through his messy hair, “It’s because I love you too, silly,” When you say that, Severus practically feels his soul leave his body. His Darling loves him?

“You-you love me too?” Nodding against him, you cuddle him sweetly. You rub his back reassuringly, rocking him slightly. 

“Yep! I’ve liked you for the past few years, but I never had the courage to confess,” He raises his head, looking at you with watery eyes. 

“Really?” When you nod, he can’t help himself, “Can I- Can I please have a kiss?” 

“Of course!” You lean forward, giving him a sweet peck. Severus practically creams his pants at the feeling of your lips on his. Seeing his bright red face, you frown a bit, moving his hair out of his face, “Are you alright? Did I make you feel uncomfortable?” 

“No! No, it was nice,” A dreamy smile crosses his handsome features, as he leans in again, “Can I please have another one?” Smiling, you nod, smooching him softly once more. 

This, in turn, turns into a whole makeout session. You slide onto his lap, making it easier for you to reach his mouth. Your new seating arrangements allow you to feel his hard cock under your ass, a small smile quirking its way onto your lips, “Are you excited, Sevvy?” You hear a small whimper in response, causing you to giggle, “Do you want me to help you?”

“Please?” Instead of responding, you start to grind against his clothed cock. Your panty clad cunny is directly against his fly, your skirt just barely covering your ass. Grabbing his hands, you place them on your hips, their massive size making you feel secure. Severus whines at your grinding movement, hips bucking into your own. To silence him, you give him an open mouthed kiss, your tongue dominating his own. 

Drawing away from his mouth, there’s a long string of saliva connecting you both together. Using a manicured finger, you break it, and bring it to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, licking your shared spit off seductively, “Do you want me to fuck you, Sevvy? Wanna be inside of me?” 

“Yes! Yes, please!” You run a hand over his clothing clad chest, kissing him on the cheek. 

“Okay, Baby. Do you want me to suck your cock? Or do you wanna eat me out?” His hands grip at the fat of your hips, drool practically dripping from his gaping mouth. 

“Let me eat you, please,” Snape begs, bucking slightly into you. You cup his face with both hands and grin, pinching his cheeks teasingly. 

“Okie dokie, Sevvy. Lay back for me,” He drops back like a corpse, flopping haphazardly on your, surprisingly comfortable, mattress. Unzipping your uniform skirt, you slide it down your legs, tossing it on the other side of your bed. Your cute boyfriend gasps at the sight of your thong, never seeing one before. Chuckling at his shocked reaction, you quickly strip yourself of your blazer and dress shirt, exposing your lace bralette, “Do you like what you see?” 

His head practically snaps off his neck with how fast he nods, “You look so… so beautiful, (Your Name). I feel so lucky to see you this way,” A dark blush coats your (skin colour) cheeks, as you look away a bit shyly. 

“Thank you. Will you let me see you undressed?” He squeaks out a ‘yes,’ prompting you to practically rip off his slacks, dress shirt, and blazer. Only in his drawers, your heart jumps into your throat. His broad shoulder and lightly muscled abdomen look wonderfully full, and the very apparent bulge in his boxers make you lick your lips hungrily, “Are you ready to eat my pussy, Sev?”

“Yes, please sit on my face,” You gawk at his out-of-character words, but do as he asks. Slipping your panties off, you scoot forward, placing your bare cunny on his awaiting maw. He helps you settle on him by wrapping his arms around your (Size) thighs, relishing the feeling of your fat being squished between his forearm and bicep. 

Because he wrapped his arms over your legs, he is able to part your pussy lips, giving him easy access to your throbbing core. He gives an experimental lick to your slit, making your legs tremble. Now knowing that he’s doing something right, he dives in like  a man starved. His teeth lightly nip at your engorged clit, all whilst his tongue dips into your dripping hole. A squeal leaves your lips, signaling the pleasure you’re currently feeling. 

Gripping his head by his hair, you throw your head back in pleasure, “Ye-yes! You’re doing so well for me!” He keens at your praise, increasing the speed of his ministrations. Though you can tell that he’s a virgin, he’s exceeding your expectations by a long shot. Lightly grinding against his face, more moans and whimpers leave your throat, your entire body becoming rigid as your orgasm approaches. With one last well placed suck, you’re cumming into his open mouth. Your juices run down his chin and splash against his cheekbones, causing Snape’s heart to practically beat out of his chest. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Moving off of his face, you pat him on the head affectionately, “Did I do good?” He wipes some of your juices off of his mug, before slurping them down. 

“You were amazing, Sevvy. Have you done this before?” He shakes his head no, making you coo softly, “You’re a natural! Such a good boy.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” It’s like his entire body took a screenshot, with how still he became. He must have thought you’d be disgusted… but you aren’t. Instead, a small moan leaves your lips, before you bring him up into a hug. 

“My Baby Boy likes calling me Mommy? You’re so adorable,” You reach down to his cock, pulling him out with a tender touch. His tip is a dark pink, his precum dripping down his thick length. A large vein runs up the underside of his circumcised prick, and you can’t wait to sit on it, “Is it ok for Mommy to sit on your pretty cock, Sevvy?” You slip him between your cunny lips, grinding down on his length, and mixing your liquids together. 

“Ye-yes, Mommy! Please, please fuck me!” Taking him in one hand, you guide him to your opening, before pushing his tip inside teasingly. His whimper causes a gush of your slick to coat his length, helping you ease down him, until your pelvises touch. You can feel his dark, trimmed pubic hair rub against your cunny, making you squeeze down experimentally, “You-you’re so tight!” 

Smiling at him coyly, you reach behind you, and unclasp your bra, letting your perfect tits jiggle enticingly. You toss it aside, before grasping Severus’ hands, and guiding them to your breasts. He immediately squeezes, loving the feeling of them in his hands. You let out a small whimper, moving your hips in a circular motion, ultimately grinding him against your cervix. 

“Can I move, Pretty Boy?” Groans of pleasure rattle his chest, as you start to suck dark hickies onto his pristine skin. 

“Yes! Yes!” Giggling, you quickly lift your hips almost off of his cock, before slamming down harshly. Both of you groan in pleasure, signaling you to increase your pace. Moving at lightning speed, you start to bounce rapidly. Tits jiggling in the Slytherin boy’s hands, you bring him into a heated kiss. 

You swallow down his desperate whines, your hands pulling at his unkempt locks. Juices dripping down his cock, both of your thighs are quickly covered by your essence. His abdomen rubs against your clit with every bounce, bringing you closer and closer to your release. 

Breaking from the kiss, you suck on the skin of his throat, before speaking, “You’re so big, Sevvy. My pussy can barely handle how thick you are,” His hips meet yours, hitting your cervix harshly. A loud moan escapes you, “Fu-fuck! You’re so good for Mommy! Come on, Darling, meet my movement, and you can cum inside.”

At your words, he starts a breakneck pace, meeting your every movement with a mighty thrust. Your hands reach up to pinch his pretty, pink nipples, making him falter in his movements. 

“Mommy! Mommy-you feel so good! Please let me cum inside!” Increasing almost impossibly in speed, you feel yourself quickly hurtling over the edge. 

“Gu-go ahead! Mommy wants you to cum with her!” With one last sitting movement, the both of you orgasm harshly. Your back arches almost painfully, as you feel him fill you to the brim with thick, hot cum. Your own juices squirt out, coating the both of you in a sheen of white sperm and a glossy cunny juice. 

Severus face plants into your chest, practically drowning in your perfect teats. Whilst catching your breath, you run your hands through his hair, loving how silky the strands are. 

“You did well, Sevvy. You were so good for me,” You fully embrace him, as he buries his head further into your plush chest. 

“Th-thank you, Mommy, I’m glad I was good enough for you,” Bringing his face up to your level (wish is relatively hard, because he’s tall), you smile sweetly at him. 

“You’re always enough for me,” Kissing him on the forehead, you cuddle into him for a while longer. 

While you’re content and happy, Severus is over the moon. 

The girl he’d pined over for years is finally within his grasp! He’d have to write this moment down the moment he gets to his dorm! 

He’s just one step closer to stealing her away the moment they graduate. Hopefully, you’ll still be the homemaker he knows you’re meant to be, even if you’re a bit angry at him at first. 

Wrapping his arms tightly around you, he knows that you’re the only one for him. Hopefully, you think the same, too.

#yandere snape #yandere severus #severus snape #yandere harry potter #harry potter x reader #snape x you #snape x reader #yandere male x female reader #tw mommy kink

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette: Stone Cold

Ok so i love this prompt but it took forever to get to. And as soon as I did its like suddenly I was swamped with everything. So frustrating. But I finally finished it. And I love it. @vixen-uchiha​

              Marinette was six-years-old when her parents died in a car crash. She had been at school when the vice principle, Mrs. Valmontes, stopped by and pulled her out of class. The little black haired girl had known something was wrong instantly as Valmontes had smiled just a little hard at her and much more gently than what she was known for.

           Still, she had been really surprised to see Office Raincomprix, her classmate Sabrina’s dad, waiting for her in the principle. Marinette always thought he was really nice; always jolly and quick to lend a hand to the teacher at the end of the day if he got to class early to pick up Sabrina. However, he too, seemed rather despondent when Marinette entered the room. His partner, a rookie named Lorna, looked really sad too.

           They took her down to the station where she was led to one of the back offices. Sabrina’s dad waited with her there. And then woman name Susanna LeFlont, who Marinette would later learn was a grief counselor. Then they told her.

           Susanna held her as she cried and begged and called them liars, until she couldn’t cry anymore. And then they gave her a stuffed animal, and said they would try calling her relatives to pick her up.

           They came back an hour later, saying they got ahold of her parents’ emergency contact…

           Marinette’s Uncle Jareth Dupain.

           She had frowned when they said his name because to her he had never been Jareth Dupain. No, he was always her cool Uncle Jagged. So it took her a second to remember that his real name was Jareth Dupain-Stone, her father’s younger half-brother. Marinette even briefly remember her dad mentioning having to change their emergency contact after his mom, Gina, passed away a few ago.

           He was only 20 when Marinette born and he was always a budding Rockstar so he wasn’t around too much. And 6 years later he was the biggest rockstar in the world. Still, that didn’t stop him from rushing to the police station, Penny hot on his trail, and pulled his sweet niece into the biggest hug he could.

           Jagged took his niece to the hotel room to get her settled and had Penny go back to the bakery to get some of her things. He didn’t think it was a smart idea to take her there yet; not when the wounds were still so fresh.

           Still as the twenty-six year old Rockstar stared at the small form cuddled up to Fang, he realized for the first time that he was all Marinette had in the world; the only family she had left. The only family he had left.

           So he knew, despite the lawyers taking days to contact him regarding who Marinette’s guardian would be, that it was him. Jagged was the person Tom had entrusted to protect and watch the most precious thing he had the entire world; his daughter. And he wouldn’t let his brother down.

Tom had always been the best big brother anyone could have. And when Jagged’s own father, Tom’s Stepfather (as tom’s own father had suffered a heartache when Tom was a teen), had walked out, Tom had stepped up. He showed Jagged, who was still called Jareth at the time, how to be a man. He believed in Jagged’s rockstar dream when Jagged didn’t even believe in them himself.

Jagged would do right Tom, by Sabine; he would do what they would do if the situation was reversed and they were given Jagged’s kid to care for.

He would raise Marinette as he own. And though he knew would never come close to being the father that Tom Dupain had been…

Jagged would damn well try to be.

…

…

Jagged Stone, Shattered Roses, Nightmare’s Hail Mary, Unmasked Dragon, True Born Rejects, and Emancipated Mirrors were some of the biggest rock band in the world. Whenever, they went on tour together, they were the epitome of what people thought Rock Stars were. They were loud. They partied all night. Groupies hung around everywhere. To them, it was paradise. When all the bands were invited to go on the Kings of Neverland tour, with Jagged Stone headlining, they expected very much the same as they were used to. Jagged always had the most Rockin tour bus. His parties were legendary. They came to expect it.

However, when Neon Savage (front man of the Shattered Roses), Austin Knight (Leader of Unmasked dragon and lead Guitarist), and Niklaus Bane (Lead vocalist of True Born Rejects) showed up with beers and all other sorts of alcohol the day before their opening concert for the tour, they came across something very unexpected.

Or rather someone.

A little Asian girl with pigtails in her Blue hair, a tiara on her head, in a rainbow tutu paired with a black too large Guns N Roses shirt, her hand on her hips, no shoes, and a rather large crocodile next to her.

“What’s with the ballerina?” Austin asked. He had dyed silver hair done in a stereotypical emo style, grey eyes, and too many piercings. He was slim and tall.

           Niklaus sighed in relief, “Oh good, you see her too!” He had curly blond hair, dark brown eyes, and wore mostly black. He had ripped jeans and a red tie. The tie was as red as the whites of his looked. “Why is your hair blue?”

“Because Uncle said I could,” She answered and pointed a figure at them, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Savage scoffed, “You got that twisted, kid.” He was a bulk guy, with long dark hair, and a severe expression on his face. His arms were covered in tattoos. He played in a metal band, and it was obvious. “Where’s your mommy?”

“Dead,” The little girl said bluntly. “I live with my Uncle Jagged now. This his tour bus, and you’re not supposed to be here.” She glared at them. “Fang, Stranger Danger!”

           What happened next was a bit of a blur. One minute they were fine, the next they were being chased around Jagged’s tour bus by a rather vicious crocodile while pint-sized twerp laughed.

           Lucky for them, their yells for help were overheard by Penny and Jagged who had been working in back, “What’s going on?” Penny asked as she ran in.

“Mates, what the h. e. double hockey sticks is going on?” Jagged asked right on his assistant’s tail.

           Austin, who had jumped on top one of the shelves, gave Jagged a confused look, “Better question; what the hell did you just say?”

“Ooohhhh! There’s five bucks for the swear jar!” The little girl taunted.

           Jagged glared at rockstar, “Watch it! A Kid’s in the room!”

           Savage glared at his longtime friend, “Who the fuck do you think set Fang on us?!” He cast a dark look at the crocodile. “Stranger danger my ass! I’ve known you sent you hatched, you overgrown cheap pair of boots.”

“That’s ten buck for the swear jar!” The girl said.

“Ten bucks?” Austin frowned. “Kinda of steep for just two swear words.”

“I swear to God-” Savage growled but was cut off.

“Chill, mate,” Jagged said. “This is my niece Marinette.” He gave her a loving smile. She beamed up at him brightly. He had been taking care of her for a year now. “I told ya about her.”

“You didn’t say she was Satan!” Austin whined. Fang had bitten him, the slowest of the three, quite a lot, and he had a giant hole in his jacket.

“I’m not Satan,” Marinette huffed. “I’m a ballerina, princess, Rockstar on my way to a tea party with Duchess Rosy Sparkles, of the Unicorn Fairies. And guess what, you’re not invited!”

“Oh that’s just mean,” Niklaus complained.

“She sicked a mini dinosaur on us,” Savaged hissed.

“Yeah, well, now she hurt my feelings.”

           Jagged sighed. The guys were some of his closest friends, and by the look up the “entertainment” they brought, they were ready to raze it up like always. But things had changed. Jagged couldn’t be that guy anymore. “Marinette’s staying with me from now on,” He reminded them. “No parties on the tour. She has a bedtime. And doesn’t need to see “us” at our finest, no matter how Rockin we are.” Jagged shrugged. “Spread the world, my bus is off limits.”

The rock stars grumbled a bit but didn’t leave. They could hang with Jagged without presence of booze, weed, loud music, and groupies. It would be a little weird but they’d managed. Jagged was their friend; they’d known him before any of them became famous and stayed close well after. They hadn’t been there for him as much as they wanted to after Tom died; too many commitments, too many required appearances in different countries that had taken them away. But they were there now. And if being there for one of their best friends meant regularly chilling with a six-year-old, then they’d deal.

Savage grunted, “Austin, get rid of the booze.”

“By ‘get rid of’, I assume you meant put back in my tour bus,” The silver haired guitarist corrected.

           Niklaus raised his hand like he was a student in class, “I get the whole no alcohol thing; that stuff will kill ya. But what your feelings on pot?”

           Jagged just sighed. It was going to be a long summer.

           The three musician, and even the other Rockers on tour, slowly but surely got used to the seemingly near constant presence of a six-year-old around Jagged or running around backstage. And the swear jar was a serious thing. It didn’t count when they were singing on stage but off it and anywhere near Marinette and they found themselves forking over five dollars for ever swear word. It added up a lot. And quickly.

           Jagged’s tour bus, instead of being the Party palace it used to be, now was the chill zone. It was also the cleanest of all the tour buses. No empty beer bottles everywhere. No one random passed out anywhere. No having to watch out for throw up. No rabid fans, as Jagged had increased his security to Tony Stark worthy levels.

           All they had to do was mind their manners and remember that Marinette was very impressionable at her age.

“OH screw you!!!!!!” Savage roared as he jumped up and frantically mashed buttons on his controller. “I’m not losing!”

           They had been babysitting Marinette all day while Jagged did an interview Buzzfeed.

           Austin snickered, “Says you.” His character raced past Savage’s. Only for something to hit him and send poor little Yoshi spinning out of control. “Did you- did you just blue shell me, bitch?” He hissed at Niklaus.

“Nooo!” Niklaus said sarcastically. “Hey!!! Not nice, brat!” He told Marinette after a banana caused him to slip off the ice.

           Marinette smiled easily, but there was a determined look in her eyes. Her hair was jelled into a faux-hawk courtesy of Ashley Crimson, from lead singer for Emancipated Mirrors, an all-girl punk rock band.

“Die, scumbag!” Ashley roared as her racer zoomed by. She was a vivacious redhead. Her and her bandmates got used to being some of the only girls around that weren’t either working for one of the rock stars or were scantily clad fangirls who do “anything” to get backstage.

“You’re going down, twerp!” Savage told Marinette.

“Bite me!” She snapped back just as Jagged and Penny walked into the tour bus.

           Jagged crossed his arms, “What did you morons do to my sweet little niece?”

“Nothing!” Niklaus, Ashley, Savage, and Austin chimed together.

“Savage taught me to throw a punch, and or kill a man.” Marinette smiled happily. “I helped Austin set up a glitter bomb in Nightmare’s Hail Mary tour bus. Niklaus and I are banned from Chuckie Cheese. Ashley and I spray painted her ex boyfriend’s car. Cleo and I got arrested. We disturbed the peace!!” Cleo was a pink haired girl who played drummer from Nightmare’s Hail Mary. She had to rush off for her own interview. “Oh and we’ve only been Playing Mario kart for an hour but they each owe like a hundred bucks to the swear jar.”

           There was silence as the words were processed.

“And not one of us taught her how to keep a freaking secret?” Ashley face palmed.

           Jagged just sighed.

…

…

           For the next few years that was Marinette’s life. Austin, Niklaus, Savage and Ashley became pseudo Uncles and Aunt to Marinette.

She spent most of her childhood on tour with her Uncle; going from to place, concert after concert. Marinette was homeschooled and didn’t mind it. Jagged went on tour with a bunch of different people over the years and she got to meet all sorts musicians; Clara Nightingale, Ed Sheeran, Adam Levine, Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco, Taylor Swift. Her favorite were the award shows though. Through them, she got to meet all her favorite actors. And was inspired to start designing on her own clothes after seeing so many fabulous looks. She got to model and do some acting. In her free time, she ran a very popular fashion blog/youtube channel.

The press had always loved her. To them, she was Marinette Stone (Jagged didn’t want her real name released to the media). She was always on the best dressed list, frequently seen with various celebrities, and could be found on the cover of various magazine.

However, when Marinette was eleven, she begged her Uncle to let her go to school with other kids. She was getting older and she wanted to have some type of normal childhood. It took him a year to agree. Her uncle Jagged had become quite protective over the years.

So Marinette went back to Paris. She cut her hair, used her given name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her Uncle bought a grand penthouse not too far away from her new school, and whenever he was gone her bodyguard, a sweet woman named Harlow who was former CIA, was in charge of her. She started at her new school with a smile on her face.

Not long after, she became the hero Ladybug.

Everything was great. She had friends, a normal social life, went to school with other kids her age. She wasn’t constantly being followed around by paparazzi. She still ran her fashion blog and had frequently updates. It was perfect.

It took two years for it to go bust.

The reason’s name was Lila Rossi.

And she was the biggest liar Marinette had ever met. And Marinette had grown up in the entertainment industry.

Lila made wild claims that the other kids just ate up. A simple google search could refute all of them. The ones Marinette could stand was always about Jagged. Like her Uncle, or an airline, would be reckless enough to let a kid race on to an airport to save a cat; not that Jagged had ever own one. Fang was territorial.

Lila made her out to be a bully, and slowly Marinette lost all her friends. Her only one left was Adrien, her partner Chat Noir. The blond and Marinette had modeled together a few times and he had recognized Marinette despite her new looked but he kept it a secret. Because of their history, Marinette developed a crush on the other and Adrien was quick to lose his crush on Ladybug once he found out it was his dear friend behind the mask.

When Marinette was exiled to the back, Adrien was quick to join her (much to Lila’s fury) and nothing could change his mind. Mostly because he was sick of Lila always touching him despite his vocal protests, and Bustier not doing anything about it.

Soon Marinette things started being messed up or destroyed; her homework, her sketchbooks and pencils, her jacket. She was tripped and called rude names. Her cellphone, (Well one of her phones. She had two; one she used as Marinette Stone. One for Marinette Dupain-Cheng; a number only her classmates had.) was filled with mean texts.

Bustier caved to demands and had her excluded from class trips and events due to being a negative influence; again Adrien decided not to go either, and Lila was Akumatized once he said this. Marinette hadn’t been surprised. Bustier always ignored the bullying and harassment clearly happening in front of her. Still, Marinette decided to start recording her classes a hidden camera on her desk, on the corner of the celling and even on top of the whiteboard behind Bustier. It was just in case anything took a serious turn.

Still losing all her friends because of a few promises and dreams of glitz and glamour had been a wakeup call. Her Uncle had warned her. Her Aunt Penny, who Jagged had married with Marinette was ten, had warned her. So did Savage, Ashley, Cleo, Austin, Clara, and Niklaus. They told Marinette to watch out for fake friends and gold diggers, coattail clingers and desperate wannabes; people who would sell out every secret she had to the paparazzi behind her back just for five minutes in the spot light. So called friends who would do anything to get ahead, to get famous.

And it was clear that’s who most of her ex-friends were. Even Lila learned the hard way. When she told Alya about her mom meeting with some important celebrity about their Go Green initiative, this wasn’t a lie as it would turn out. However, the glasses-wearing girl posted it online, despite Lila legitimately asking her to keep it a secret. Lila got in big trouble with her mom apparently.

The teacher, Bustier, was awful but she always had been. Marinette ignored it in the past because at least she had her friends. But if that witch told Marinette to be a better example one more time, it was over.

           Everything came to a head after Marinette got expelled, granted she was brought back after evidence that it was impossible for her to have cheated surfaced, and the bluenette decided enough was enough. She finally gave in and told her Uncle everything.

           Jagged was pissed. He cursed up a storm; enough to fill the swear jar ten times over and buy Marinette a car.

           It took a while to get him to calm down. And to convince him that Marinette could handle it. She had a plan.

           Still, she remembered that Uncle was a wild card.

           Friday, during lunch, Marinette was eating in the cafeteria, when suddenly the lunchroom doors burst open, “Marinette,” Jagged called as he entered, trailed by a happy Penny and bodyguards “Where’s my favorite little fashion designer?”

           Marinette just sighed.

Adrien smirked at her; looking way too amused. The jerk must’ve known. She had thought it was strange that he wanted to eat in the cafeteria. The two rarely ate on the school grounds, opting and preferring to go to local restaurants rather than deal with terrible food and pesky classmates. Still Marinette didn’t mind as long as they away from her classmates. And they did.

Kagami, Aurore, and Claude gave her perplexed looks.

           The students in the cafeteria went wild. Girls and guys screamed, and tried to get pictures. Jagged ignored them and went straight to Marinette’s table, walking passed where Bustier’s student at lunch. Alya shook Lila’s shoulder and pointed at Jagged, and loudly asked if Lila could get her an interview. Lila looked horrified.

Jagged beamed when he reached Marinette, “There you are, you’ve been ignoring my texts,” He accused. Which to be fair, Marinette had been. Her Uncle had been coming up with way too many revenge plots to be healthy. “I decided I need a new look for the VMAs; something rockin, something tasteful, something to show remind the world the amazingness that the Rock Gods have blessed them with.”

“I’m at school,” Marinette told him.

           He smirked, “Then Learn to answer a text,” The Rock star shrugged. “But fine; we can talk later. How about at my concert, yeah. You and your friends” he motioned to the kids at Marinette’s table, “Can have backstage passes. We’ll talk then. But I really want you to wow me. Maybe get a matching hat for Fang too.”

“Fang?” Adrien asked innocently. Still Marinette could practically hear see the script he was reading off of.  “Is that your cat?”

           Jagged gasped as if insulted, “Cat? Do you think I’d ever own anything as ordinary as a cat? Me? Jagged Stone?! I should be insulted, mate. I hate cats, always have. Never owned one, never will. Fang’s a crocodile. Marinette’s knows. Fang loves her.”

“That is strange,” Kagami shot Marinette a smirk which caused Marinette to nearly hiss at the betrayal. Kagami knew too?! “Lila said you did.”

“Lila?” Jagged asked. “Who’s Lila? I don’t know a Lila.”

“Lila Rossi?” Aurore offered. “The Ladyblog practically swears in an interview that Lila Rossi saved your cat from being hit by a plane or something.”

           Jagged scoffed, “What a loud of bull! Any journalist that believes that is not worth the pen they write with.” Gasps were heard. “But I heard that rumor. Didn’t know where it was from. Thanks for letting me know who I should sue. This Ladyblog and Lila Rossi will be hearing from my lawyers.”

           It was a photo finish as to who fainted first; Alya or Lila.

           Lila went home right after that. This caused the reactions of the class to be split. Half the class still defended Lila; refusing to believe their golden ticket was lying. The other half was ready to burn her at the stake; they had carried her books, done her homework, wrote her notes, nearly everything for her.

           Marinette just sat back and watched with amused eyes. If they thought this was bad, they hadn’t seen anything yet.

           That weekend Marinette Stone released a video on her blog about bullying. She had been mentioning her own trouble with bullying for months and people had asked her for more information.

           The title of the video was:

           Bullying Stone: The Expose

           In it Marinette revealed that at her school she went by Marinette Dupain-Cheng, her real name, and had a new look. She told about how much she liked school at first. And they what changed; that it all started when a new girl arrived and started telling lies about celebrities about Marinette. She told the story of how she was expelled; and just how many procedures were broken when it happened.

           Marinette used the recordings she had of class, and even showed up the horrible texts she got.

“As you can see the teacher does nothing,” Marinette frowned. “It’s all happening right in front of her and she does nothing. In the next video, you’ll see someone being sexually harassed, in front of the teacher and she doing nothing about it. And then what victim blaming looks like. Again, as a reminder, all these videos and pictures are unedited.” She had offered to blur Adrien’s face but he declined, and even appeared in the video too and talked about his own experience.

           At the end of the video, Marinette looked straight at the camera, “Anyone can be bullied; famous or otherwise. If you’re being bullied; speak up. Tell your parents, your Aunts, your Uncles, your siblings, your cousins, teachers who you know will actually do something about it. I waited too long to tell someone. I regret that. They thought what they were doing was hurting me.  They thought I’d be miserable without them. They thought I’d cry and break and come crawling back to them. They thought wrong. You can bully Stone but it takes a hell of a lot more than that to break it.”

           The video went viral in an hour. And people were angry. The people who knew Marinette and loved her were beyond furious. Jagged, even more so, as he hadn’t seen the videos before, read the texts.

           Marinette Stone’s phone blew up with texts and calls. She was tweeted and retweeted thousands of times. And she got far too many, ‘You want me to kick their asses for you. I can kick their asses for you,” texts. But she had known she’d get them.

           The Ladyblog was ripped for lies by celebrities who been lied about on site and fans.

           Gabriel Agreste, Adrien told her, was pissed about what had been happening to Adrien, in front of a teacher no less. Lila Rossi fired. And if Lila ever had dreams about working in the fashion industry, they were over.

           Savage, after berating her for not kicking Lila’s ass, told her he and the gang (Austin, Cleo, Ashley, and And Niklaus) was coming over for some Mario Kart and artery clogging fast food.

           When the call disconnect, Marinette got a text from him.

Why did you sic Fang on them?

And that’s a five for the swear jar!

           Marinette couldn’t stop laughing.    

#ml salt #ml fic #ml salt fic #marinette dupain cheng #Marinette deserves better #adrien deserves better #adrien agreste #alya salt #class salt

[salmonandsoup]

do you ever accidentally spend three and a half hours dramatically reading and audio editing a shitpost?  no?  well, here’s what happens

i accidentally cut out a small sentence in the middle but hey it happens it still works

thank you @teaboot for letting me read this!

the post in question!

transcript and song list under the read-more!

Songs Used: 

“O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana composed by Karl Orff (sung by James Levine and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus)

“Killer” from the JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable OST (composed by Yugo Kanno)

Transcription:

God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he’s in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he’s got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD’S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I’m overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. 

“Bhurr blur, I’m Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs”. Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Tow Mater summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he’s sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. 

And I know its irrational. That’s the worst part. I know he’s just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children’s movie, I know it doesn’t matter, I know I shouldn’t care. But that’s part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is altogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world’s array of sinners, and I can’t even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity’s saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. 

I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It’s EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it’s disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

#voice acting #voiceover #dramatic reading #frozen #frozen 2 #olaf the snowman #salmonandsoup #teaboot #funny #lol #humor #comedy #drama #shitpost #rant #500+

[the-young-and-forgotten]

Chapter 1 - The Arrival

| masterlist |

A/N: this is set at the start of the marauders 6th year

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a clap of thunder and a single flash of lightning, four boys fell directly from the sun, slamming onto the concrete ground beneath them. 

As their backs hit the pavement, their mind whirled through memories that weren’t their own. A castle up on a rocky cliff, rooms full of magical equipment, a forest with danger at every turn and a fiery redheaded girl that made James blush.

Groaning, they all picked themselves up, dusting their clothes off.  Peter shielded his eyes and looked up at the sun, grumbling “Why did they have to go and drop us from the fucking sky?” Remus opened his mouth to respond but something hot and soft started falling from the clouds. 

James held out his palm to the sky and watched as a burning piece of ash floated down onto his open palm. He studied it, visibly confused. “The sky is.. raining fire?”  “Nah mate” Sirius said with his arms outstretched, head tilted towards the sky “The worlds shuddering at the weight of our power” At that, the other boys started to spin in the fiery rain, laughing as they caught the embers on the tip of their tongues. 

Unbeknownst to them, an old man had heard their laughter and was walking up to them, smiling softly. “So you must be the fallen gods” he stated bluntly, capturing their attention. A flash of panic flitted across the boys’ faces as they searched for an excuse. “Oh no,” James said quickly, leaning against Remus’ shoulder. The boy in question had just started picking the flowers out of his hair, which was not helping to sell their lie. “We are just four normal boys casually dancing in the burning rain.” The man laughed, looking at them with a twinkle in his eye. “I do not think I am mistaken, Hecate told me you would be coming soon.” Peter scoffed, “Psh Hecate. You should never trust the goddess of…..” He paused at this, looking at James in wonder who was waving his arms around haphazardly. Realising his mistake, he tried his best to backtrack.  “Wait I mean, who's Hecate? She sounds dumb.” 

Right at that moment, one too many ashes had landed on Sirius’ skin, activating his flames.  With a big flash, he turned into a humanoid fire. The flames gradually subdued, leaving a sooty boy who looked at his hands in shock before turning his gaze to blood brothers, eyes wide. “That wasn’t supposed to happen..”  James’ shoulders slumped, running a hand down his face as Peter ducked down to hide his grin. Remus finally looked up from picking out the flowers from his hair that now lay in a pile around his feet. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at him. “That uh.. That doesn’t happen often...” he explained, shaking his head at what a mess they all were. 

“Would you like to take a walk?” Dumbledore inquired. They slouch after him, visibly relieved that he didn’t question their insanity further.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Dumbledore spoke up. “Are you boys familiar with… the tale of the Children of Hecate? It’s an old one.” Sirius laughed harshly at this “dude, we are a thousand years old we know all sorts of tales you couldn’t even dream up.” “You never answered my question young god.” “No… we aren’t” Dumbledore smiled, pulling out his wand. “I thought not.” He waved about his wand and silver mist broke out of the end, morphing into people, animating the story being told.

“A long time ago, there was a woman.  Cast out by the gods from helping out a paranoid mother, she, like you today, fell from the sky in a blaze of burning rain. Filled with hate and grief, she vowed to anger the gods in any way possible. For a hundred years she wandered this earth aimlessly, occasionally accompanied by Thanatos who came to reap the mortal souls. One day, she stumbled across seven mortals, cowering at the feet of Death, begging for life. Now, this woman had traveled among us, watching all our struggles and misery. Listening to our heartbreak and treachery. She took pity on these mortals and stepping from the shadows for the first time in a century, she addressed the seven. Pushing past Thanatos, she knelt to their level and placed a hand on the cheek of the child in front of her. Smiling kindly, she knew what to do to help them and fulfill her vow.  Reaching inside of her core, she drew out seven silver wisps. Weaving it around the mortals in front of her. “Upon you I bestow the power of the gods,” she whispered, transforming into her godly form. “Follow the path this shows you and life will come.” As the mortals scampered away, hands smoking and eyes dancing, Thanatos turned to her furious. From then on, Hecate was forced to spend the rest of her immortality guiding demigods, gods and mortals along the three crossroads. The mortals she blessed, though some may say cursed, used the powers how their minds begged them too, some for good, some for evil. But the magic went on, passed from generation to generation, family to family and will do so forever. Among all these powerful witches and wizards, as we call ourselves, were two men and two women. Born with magic unrivalled by anyone but Hecate herself.  They drew together and formed a school now known as ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’.  From then onwards, magical folk have been taught, honing their abilities to perfection. Carrying out the vow Hecate made many eons ago.” 

The boys were speechless. Remus pointed to Dumbledore then his wand and back again. “So you’re…” “Yes” Dumbldore answered, turning towards them and giving a short little bow, “I am a descendant of Hecate.” “And you want us at this school of yours?” “With Hecate's blessing, yes.” 

Peter cuts ahead of his friends, raising his hand. “Interjection! How the hell are we supposed to get magic powers?”  Dumbledore smiles at him and holds his hand. “If you four trust me, I will take you to where everything will be revealed.” The godlings look at each other before holding onto the man in question, watching as he whispers something, waving his wand around.

The boys feel a tug on their abdomen and gasped as the world around them blurs, like they are on a moving train. They felt themselves morph, as if they were travelling through time. Their very fibre being pulled and torn. Before long, the scenery around them started to solidify, changing into a strange room with silver instruments and hundreds of portraits everywhere. “What the FUCK was that.” Sirius shouted from a pile of broken items he had staggered into, being vulgar as always.  Dumbledore merely dusted himself off and fixed his robe before moving behind the desk. “That, dear boy, was a form of magical travel called apparition.”  Peter lay on the floor, gasping for breath. “I think I prefer falling from the sky.”  “And I prefer lying on a couch throwing grapes at the nymphs.” James groaned, stretching out his back.

“So magical powers?” Remus asked, walking up to Dumbledore's desk as his friends gazed at him in shock, wondering how he could be fine after that supposed ‘hell’ they just went through. “Ah yes!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together, reaching into a drawer just behind his desk. Out of the drawer he pulled four glasses filled to the brim with grey smoke.  “Within these glasses contain the exact wisps Hecate used to infuse those seven mortals with magic. Take this and it shall do the same.” “I’ll drink to that.” Says Sirius, pushing past Remus and picking up a glass. 

In one go he downs it, smiling devilishly. “See men? All fi-” Suddenly, Sirius’ face freezes in a half smile as his hands fly up to throat. He falls to his knees, coughing horribly, eyes glowing silver. His whole body twitching uncontrollably.  As quickly as it started, it was over. He lay there gasping, trying to formulate a sentence. “That was delicious…” he wheezed “110% recommend you give it a go.”

After seeing what happened to Sirius, the other boys were more hesitant to take even a sip.  But one encouraging smile from Dumbledore made them drink it, going through the same process as their blood brother. 

When they had finally recovered from the side effects of the potion, Dumbledore was reading through a small scroll covered in glyphs. “I just need to ask your four a question in order to secure your stay here at Hogwarts. Now this may feel extremely unnatural, since I am jogging memories that don’t actually exist.” 

He looked up from the paper, his eyes holding that twinkle they had seen before.  “Boys, what house were you sorted into six years ago?” The godlings felt their soul pulse for a second and their mouths fell open of its own accord.  A movie tape started running through their mind, twisted and slightly burning. Back and forth it ran, so fast everything was a blur of colours.  Finally, it landed on a vision of their younger selves sitting on a stool in front of hundreds as a hat screamed out something. The boys on the stools were faceless and the edges of their bodies were blurred, as if someone had edited them into a scene. They felt something invisible reach towards the memory and rip it out of the tape, forming it into words. Speaking together, they all said “Gryffindor.” 

Their souls pulsed once more, and they were brought back to reality, grabbing their heads and groaning. “I swear if we have to go through that everytime we remember some pointless memory-” Sirius spat, grabbing at his hair like he was trying to rip the headache out. “No, do not worry, Sirius. This should be the last time it will happen. You will feel dizzy and weird when experiencing a memory though, since they were forcibly planted into your mind.” 

“That reminds me,” Remus interrupted, wincing as he stood up “How come we aren’t going dizzy from the sight of you? Something tells me we should know you even though we don’t .”  Dumbledore laughed “My, aren’t you inquisitive?”  “That's Remus for you.” said Peter smiling fondly at the boy in question. “Has to know everything about a subject the moment he finds out about it.”  Remus made a face at him before turning back to Dumbledore, eyes hopeful.  Dumbledore smiled kindly at him and continued. “That’s because I personally asked the gods not to include me in your implanted memories. I would prefer to get to know you as the boys you are now. Not what fake scenarios portray you as.”

The godlings look at each other, questions of trust in their eyes.  Taking the first leap of faith, James extended his hand for Dumbledore to shake. “You have left a good impression on us sir. You have earned our trust.” Delighted, Dumbledore shook his hand, once again smiling kindly at them all. “Now, I must show you to your dormitories…”

“No need Sir.” Sirius said, finally standing up. “We can get there just fine.”  They turned to leave, heading for the office door. Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at their departing figures. “You may get lost” 

James stopped by the door just as the others went through, chuckling.  Turning around he winked at Dumbledore.  “That’s the thing about us chaos gods.” He said, grinning mischievously.  “We have impeccable navigational skills.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @pregnant-piggy @just-a-belgian-girl @james-effing-potter @thegrxywitch @aspiringsloth20 @naviation-xx @marauderenergy @give-the-boy-a-hug @amixedwitch

if you want to be a part of my taglist for this, fill out this form 

#marauders as gods #the marauders #god!marauders #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 8

Thomas X Reader

3744

Summary: Tensions grow between Grace and Reader when Grace is informed one of her co-workers is dead. Reader meets Ada.

by @adventuresintooblivion

Grace was due for a rendezvous yesterday, but she hadn’t a moment of free time until the Garrison Pub closed its doors two hours after it was supposed to. She had called into the station, but no one answered, which led to her practically sprinting to the nearest cabby who might take her to see Inspector Campbell.

After an all too expensive ride, Grace strode into Inspector Campbell’s office, clutching her purse between herself and the world. At first he didn’t even look up from his papers. It wasn’t until Grace cleared her throat that he spoke.

“You’re late.” He slowly looked up. Something about his posture had changed since last Grace saw him. While before he had stood tall and proper, now he held a tension in his movements.

Grace glanced down. “The Pub kept me working late yesterday. Everything was closed by the time I was free to contact you.”

Inspector Campbell grumbled, “You could’ve come over.”

She raised her eyebrow. “To your house Sir? Isn’t that dangerous?” 

Not to mention wildly inappropriate?

The Inspector ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But your father would want me to look after you, so I can’t have you missing deadlines like this.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you send anyone now?”

It was his turn to break eye contact. “Something has happened. I’m not sure how big it is, so I didn’t want to endanger your cover just in case.”

“What happened?”

He grimaced, “We questioned that girl you gave us a picture of. We’d been keeping an eye on her, but when she contacted Thomas and stuck around we thought he might be trying to fence the guns through her.”

Grace felt blood rushing in her ears as the world dropped from underneath her. “W...Who did she turn out to be?”

Inspector Campbell shrugged, “Y/F/N. She was an old war buddy of his. Worked in his company as what they called a Runner. Distracted the Germans while they dug.”

“She joined the army and fought?”

The Inspector nodded but didn’t elaborate. He started shuffling through papers until finally he held one out for Grace. When she took it there was a list of names with Y/N’s picture next to it. Each name had a different occupation listed next to it along with locations.

Grace frowned, “Is this all her?”

He shrugged, “Supposedly, though she’s never done jail time for anything. I’m half convinced most of these she just made for fun.”

“So how did you get her to come in? I didn’t think she’d be the type to offer up information for free.” Grace folded the paper and tucked it away in her purse.

Inspector Campbell’s features darkened. “Oh, it wasn’t free. She gave us no choice, we had to corner her. When she tried to escape, she killed Matthew.”

She froze, “Matthew’s dead?”

He nodded. “The funeral is this weekend. Due to your current assignment, I can’t allow you to attend, but we are all pitching in to help his wife and son. At least until she can figure something out.”

Grace nodded and practically threw what little cash she had on hand at him. She’d always liked Matthew. They’d bonded during the late hours working to neutralize the IRA. When Inspector Campbell had offered to take them both to Birmingham, Grace had even helped him pack up his whole family. Now he was gone.

Something about the situation didn’t all she could think about was her friend’s tired smile. “Please tell me you at least got something.”

He paused for too long but Grace was desperate for an answer, “We have a possible location.” 

She nodded. It was all she needed to keep going, to not run out of here right now and give Y/N a sound lashing. 

〜

The next day Grace wiped her hands on her apron, her foul mood having settled in to stay. Her mind kept wandering back to images of Matthew. While Inspector Campbell hadn’t gone into details about his death, her imagination provided plenty of gory details for her to mull over. 

She knew Y/N was upstairs. Hell, the topic of last night’s search party was all she heard about all day. Details were fuzzy at best but from what she could gather Tommy had roused half the Peaky Blinders in the late hours of the night to track her down. 

Grace tried to strike up conversation multiple times with her patrons, but they were all dead on their feet. Several of them went so far as to nap next to the pints they’d been nursing moments before. Even Harry’s stern glares weren’t enough to keep them awake.

Yet Grace was determined. If she couldn’t get information from them, she’d get it from Thomas when he returned.

〜

It was late afternoon by the time Y/N awoke. For the first few moments she lay there perfectly still and enjoyed her last couple minutes of peace. Then she shifted and it was all over. Her muscles spasmed, causing her to lose her breath for the briefest moment.

“Well, damn, I was wondering when you’d join us.” Nearby a woman sat with a book splayed open on her lap.

Y/N slowly sat up, her arms shaky beneath her.

The woman stood suddenly. "Hey now, don't you think about getting up alright? Tommy gave me strict orders to keep you off your feet."

Y/N chuckled, "Thank you for the attention, Miss…?"

She waved away Y/N's feeble attempts to dismiss her, "The name is Ada Shelby."

A smile spread across Y/N's lips. "So you're Ada? I was wondering when I'd get to meet you."

She nodded proudly, "The one and only. Now listen here, missy. You'll not get out of this bed until you're healthy again. You hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Y/N tried to hide her growing smile.

Ada ruffled Y/N's hair. "Don't be cheeky with me. You're the one that got caught by a copper of all things. Now, what would you like to do today?"

Y/N shrugged. "Just grab me a couple books and I'll be fine. If you need to go do something I don't need to be babysat."

"Well, while that might be the case I'm not supposed to really be out and about either." Ada fidgeted with the ties on her dress.

Y/N raised her eyebrow. "I'd ask how come, but it doesn't look like you're comfortable sharing."

"I know I can trust you, otherwise you wouldn't be living above the Garrison right now. No it's just… I haven't said it aloud yet. Not to anyone except Aunt Pol."

Y/N shrugged, "I mean, I'm not really sure where I stand. So really, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Ada sat back, drawing her shawl closer around herself. After a moment Y/N noticed it was the same as Pol's just a different color. Wonder which one of them knits.

Then Ada spoke so softly Y/N almost missed it, "I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air allowing their weight to settle as the implications slowly became clear.

Y/N bit her lip, "And you've only told Pol. Yikes."

She glanced down, "Yeah, he's missing too. Do you think.. He’ll come back?"

"I'm not exactly the expert on that. “Y/N paused for a moment. “But I did also come back from the dead. That’s a weird case though, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask."

Ada smiled sadly at her. "You really came back for Tommy?"

Y/N blushed, "Don't say it too loudly. You're gonna make me sound like even more of an idiot." 

She burst out laughing, the color returning to her cheeks. "Come on, let's get you some breakfast."

"I didn't get a chance to buy any groceries yet." Y/N bit her lip.

Ada bounced back up excitedly. "Don't you worry about that. I stopped by the market on the way here."

"I hope you're not hurting for money then, because I have absolutely no way to pay you back right now." Y/N felt a pit forming in her stomach. Or pay rent for that matter.

Ada turned towards the kitchenette, the room so small Y/N caught herself checking to make sure the blankets wouldn't get caught underfoot. She rifled through cupboards and moments later the smell of food filled the space between them.

Ada finally answered, "Don't worry about paying for anything, Y/N. Tommy would lose his head if anyone asked you for a dime."

Y/N shifted around until she was sitting at the foot of the bed, closer to Ada. "Yes, making a deal with the Devil is the perfect way to never worry about anything ever again."

Ada threateningly waved a wooden spoon at her, "You calling my brother the Devil? Cause you'd be right."

They burst into laughter, an easy chatter formed between them. Ada remained for a large part of the day. Eventually the sun began to set and the two women were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Thomas waited barely a moment before slowly poking his head in. “I hope everyone here is decent.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “It’s not gonna be the time you’ve seen me in my underwear, Thomas.”

Ada cast her a somewhat scandalized look but was quickly distracted by Thomas’ soft chuckle. “Yet you looked manlier than most the men you were changing next to.”

Y/N gasped dramatically as she clutched at her heart. Thomas’ chuckle rose into a full on laughter.

“What kind of sorcery is this? I haven’t seen you smile like that since you found out John tried to stick it in the wrong hole his first time.”

“John did what?” Y/N’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

Ada glanced between the two shrugging, “He said his reasoning was that ‘that’s how animals did it.’”

Thomas shook his head. “I still can’t fucking believe-”

Laughter filled the room, however the mood was dampened quickly as Y/N groaned. Thomas rushed forward, kneeling beside the bed while Ada stood nearby frozen as they waited.

Finally, after catching her breath, Y/N grimaced, “Oh stop your fussing. A good laugh is worth a few loose ribs.”

“You’re supposed to be healing,” Thomas growled.

She dismissed his concern with a small wave, “If I spend all my time healing I won’t have any left for living. Stop worrying so much about me Shelby, I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head before turning towards Ada, “Would you mind giving us some privacy? I have to talk to Y/N about a couple things.”

Ada huffed, but soon her steps could be heard receding down the stairs.

Thomas slowly turned back to Y/N. “How are you holding up?”

Y/N shrugged, glancing out the window into the abyss. When did it get so dark?

He took her hand in his, so gently she almost didn’t recognize his touch. “Y/N, don’t spare me the details. I can’t do my job if you don’t tell me how bad it is.”

“What exactly is your job when it comes to me?” Her voice was the barest whisper.

There was a long pause as the answer hung in the air, the one they needed to be said before either of them could move on. It was their last chance to escape from each other; if he pushed her away now, she would leave. Disappear. Once again becoming the ghost of his past.

Thomas bowed his head, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “I’m going to look after you.”

Only the slightest tremor in her voice betrayed her, “You don’t owe me that, Thomas.”

“Not everything is about payment, Y/N?”

She raised her eyebrow. “Is this the same Birmingham that I left five years ago?”

He released an amused hum from somewhere deep in his throat, finally looking up at her. The dark circles had etched themselves deeper beneath his eyes. A tightness around the corners reminded Y/N of the darkest days in the trenches. Instinctively she reached up to cup his cheek and brush the worry away with her thumb. 

“Rough day, Tommy?”

It was as if the whole room released a deep sigh, “It always is.”

Y/N gestured to the chair Ada had been using, “Wanna talk about it?”

Thomas ignored the chair and sat at the foot of her bed, his hip pressed against her leg and his elbows resting on his knees. Old habits die hard, don’t they?

He gathered his thoughts, but soon he was catching her up on a myriad of events. About the horse and the unfortunate turn of events that had taken place. The guns. Thomas’ meeting with Inspector Campbell and how close he had come to throttling the man. Danny’s head being payment for the death of a man he’d caused during an episode of shell shock.

For the most part Y/N listened, offering advice where it seemed to fit, until he brought up Danny, “They want you to kill him with witnesses?”

He nodded. “I’ve already taken care of that. A casing full of sheep brains.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the smile that played across her lips. “This is why I love you. So do you have a good hiding place for the guns or are they still at the docks?”

Thomas’s mind went blank, then suddenly every thought he’d ever had felt like it was clashing together as he registered what Y/N had just said. His heart was pounding in his ears. The room was too hot and not warm enough all at once. It took every ounce of control he had left to control his breathing enough to speak.

“W...what did you just say?”

“Hmmm? I was asking if you had a good hiding spot for the guns yet.”

“No...Um, before that.”

Y/N furrowed her brow, “I was asking if they demanded witnesses.”

Thomas finally let himself look at her. There was no indication that she was messing with him. No tell tale smirk or signature twinkle in her eye. She just sat there confused on why he was asking her to repeat herself. He ran his fingers through his hair.

His voice was gruff when he finally answered, “No, I don’t have a place picked out for the guns yet.” He honestly already had several ideas, but he couldn’t conjure up a single one right now.

Y/N glanced around the room thinking for a moment. “Why don’t you put them in Danny’s grave?”

“He’s not actually dead. I thought I made that clear.”

“Yeah, but if he was dead you’d dig him a grave come hell or high water. So you’ll have to dig him one anyways so that no one gets suspicious. Plus, this won’t be related to any other contraband that the Peaky Blinders deal with so if someone snitches on you, it won’t be there.”

Thomas blinked slowly before he nodded. “That is actually quite brilliant. I’m a little disappointed I didn’t come up with that myself.”

Y/N shrugged, “One of my many random skills, hiding things.”

Thomas wasn’t exactly sure what to say about that, but he had one last thing to tell her. After her slip-up in the previous moment, the words felt like poison on his lips. “I’ve also asked Grace to the races.”

“Did you just need her for a plus one?” Y/N raised her eyebrow.

Just say yes. 

“No, Billy Kimber owns the race tracks, and we’re expanding. Making legal money and all that.” He pressed his lips against his clasped hands, wishing he didn’t have to answer what came next.

Y/N frowned, confused. “And what does this have to do with Grace?”

Thomas sighed. “Mr. Kimber is known to enjoy sampling the pleasures of women. She asked to work for me, so I plan on offering her up to him as part of the bargain.”

“Did you ask her if she was ok with that?”

“No.”

She smacked his shoulder, a sharp sting exploding from his arm. “Tommy!”

“Hey, don’t hit me, Ms. Cracked Ribs.”

She shook her finger threateningly at him. “It’s Ms. Broken Ribs to you, and I’ll smack you as much as I damn well please. You can’t just go offering up a girl’s dignity like that.”

Thomas turned and grabbed her hands in his, preventing any further retaliation. “She asked to work for me, Y/N.”

Y/N growled, “She’s not from the underbelly of Birmingham. Or any other city for that matter. You can tell from a god damned mile away. Shit like this ruins women.”

He paused. “You may be right, but I don’t have anything else he wants.”

She let out a deep sigh. “What were you gonna offer him?”

He told her, and she nodded. They sat in silence for a while as they mulled over what to do about all this. At the end of the day they both knew if he brought Grace she would end up having to go with Kimber sooner or later. He expected it to say the least. And it wasn’t just Grace, any woman Thomas brought would be offered up as a bargaining chip.

Finally Y/N spoke, “She may have to go with him, but she doesn’t have to stay with him.”

“And break the deal?”

She shook her head, “Save Kimber. Like tell him she has something.”

He smirked at her. “So much for preserving dignity.”

Y/N shrugged. “At least she won’t have to sleep with him.”

Thomas glanced away, “Yeah.”

Y/N glanced down. Her hands were still in his, though his grip had loosened into something more casual. A small thrill went through her as she realized how much smaller her hands were compared to his.

She stammered as she spoke, “It’s getting late.” 

Thomas took a deep breath broken out of his thoughts. “Yeah it is. I’ll head out and give you some peace. If you need anything, come get me.” He stood, letting Y/N’s hands slip from his grasp. 

The air was cool on her skin compared to his touch. She found herself following him with her gaze.“Come get you? I thought you lived at the Shelby house?” she asked.

He paused. “I’m going to be staying in the room next door for a while, until you’re better at least.” And with that he was gone.

〜

Y/N awoke in the late hours of the night. Darkness had escaped it’s daily chains, exploded from every nook and cranny and coated the room in a thick film. It took her a moment to shake off the disorientation before she remembered where she was.

Then she heard what had woken her. Through the wall she heard a cry. She couldn’t tell at first what it was for, but then it came again. Thomas.

She stood slowly, pain shooting up her back with every step as she shuffled out of her room and down the hallway. When she finally reached the rickety door she pressed her ear against it.

“NO...Freddie!” 

That was enough. Y/N pounded on the door. On a normal day with the noise of people, it would’ve been deep and resounding. But now it was so deafening she caught herself wincing as she hit the wood.

A bewildered voice answered, “Wha..Who’s there?”

“Thomas it’s me. Open up.”

A shuffling sound and rattle later the door opened slowly. Thomas blinked at her blearily with bloodshot eyes. Y/N waited patiently for him to come back to reality just enough.

He asked groggily, “Is everything ok?”

“You’re having nightmares.” 

Thomas stiffened, glancing around as if the whole world might be listening. He was about to answer when Y/N stepped forward, gently placing her hand on his chest. 

His skin was hot and damp, the sweat having left a small layer that made him glisten in the barest of light. The air inside the room was hot as it poured through the crack in the door, trying to escape.

He placed his hand over hers. “What’re you doing?”

She looked up at him, somehow finding his eyes in the darkness. “Let me in.”

“She says at the entrance of the Devil’s den.” A soft rumble rolled from deep within his chest, a sleepy laugh.

“If you think I’m not a devil myself then I really need to jog your memory.”

“Y/N.” 

Every ounce of fight in him suddenly dissolved away. After so many years of nightmares. After so long in the darkness. After watching her die a thousand times in his dreams. He had no will left to say ‘No’.

Y/N pushed her way inside, careful not to bump into anything that could make her fall. The room was much smaller than hers, and the window wasn’t open even the slightest, accounting for the heat. 

As she walked inside she let her hand fall from his chest to intertwine with his fingers. Thomas let her lead him back towards the bed. It was actually smaller than the one she had in the other room, but that didn’t stop her from laying down and pressing her back against the wall.

She waved for him to join her, “Come on, Thomas. Before the room becomes freezing again.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to process what was going on. “I don’t think this will help your ribs heal.”

“Just shut up and get in here.”

He crawled in slowly, careful not to jostle her. Thomas paused before laying his head down. Y/N finally got tired of waiting and slid back onto the bed proper and maneuvered him until his head rested on her stomach. 

Her fingers ran through his hair as he mumbled, “This isn’t hurting you?”

“The broken ones are higher up. And while I’m pretty sure any doctor would be shitting themselves right now, I’m fine.” 

“Y/N,” he protested.

“Hush now, and get some sleep.” 

After a few moments he chuckled, “My feet are hanging off the edge a bit.”

She hummed as sleep reclaimed her, “We’ll just have to sleep in mine tomorrow.” 

“The scandal.”

“Damn right.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #reader insert

[hoodoo12]

Elegy (1/6)

What follows is a story of Miss Argentina and Beetlejuice and how their own personal issues keep them locked in their own private hells. Contains smut and angst. It was done as a rp between @clairjohnson and myself. NSFW. Beetlejuice/Miss Argentina. Beej is a combination of movie and musical; Miss Argentina has contains hcs (such as her name and circumstances). Also contains minor mentions of OC Dante’s Inferno employees.  (Tagging people who have asked in the past. If you’d like to be tagged, hmu. If you’d like to be untagged, hmu.   @turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @angelicspaceprince) Enjoy!

He’d married, been murdered, vanquished the evil that was Juno – he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again anytime soon – said some weird heartfelt goodbyes to people he just terrorized, and was carried off by his clones in the smallest, most subdued mosh pit style ever, for an exit that was worthy of some kind of award, just for the theatrics of it. 

The second he was through the swirling mists of the doorway that separated the living from the Netherworld, he turned on his own clones and attacked them remorselessly, using claws and teeth to tear them apart, growling like he’d lost his mind and spitting like he was rabid. 

None of the clones attempted to fight back or escape. They were part of him, and he was so fucking angry – it made him angrier that they just took their destruction passively, his destruction, a destruction of self that made his hands drip with gore, his mouth taste like clotted blood, and his clothing, the tuxedo conjured specifically for something positive in his fucking waste of a life, a deeper color. 

He hated this fucking suit. 

He was too exhausted by the end of his rampage to flick it away, however. Stepping over the piles of meat that had been clones, he wiped his hands down his front and winced as they brushed over the new ventilation that goddamn teenager graced him with. He kicked the door to the waiting room hard enough that it bounced off the interior wall of purgatory, startling the assholes sitting around waiting for their stupid numbers to be called.

---

It had been another slow day in the waiting room. Not that Miss Argentina had any way to count “days” – time had little meaning in death – but her job was as uneventful now as it had been several hundred new arrivals ago. Staring down at her clipboard Maria crossed out the name of the last soul she’d sent back to meet their case worker. Juno was surprisingly absent at the moment, but the receptionist wasn’t too concerned. Her boss was a work-alcoholic and honestly, what else did Juno have to do? She’d be back soon. 

In a practiced motion, one she’d done a million times, Maria stood and slid open the dividing screen to the waiting room. 

“Number 5,678 Mr. Hen – “ 

The rest of the name caught in her throat when the door to the left of her was blown open, rattling on hinges that threatened to give. A split second of panic washed over her, an emotion really only needed for the living, before she saw who it was.

Betelgeuse. 

“Mr. Hendrix,” she finished, moving her gaze from the fuming poltergeist to the sorry looking dead man standing up from his seat. “Your caseworker is waiting for you – please step through those doors.” 

Maria placed her clipboard back on the desk then leaned out the window a little further, giving the older, bloodied man a deeper once over. “Back so soon, Mr. Betelgeuse? Should I pull you a number?”

"Fuck this place and fuck the numbers!" he spit, literally spit, making the ghost sitting nearest in his line of fire wipe his face as he hoisted himself up – some kind of heart attack took him, no doubt, from the lack of obvious trauma and the effort he took to get out of the molded plastic chair – and hurried as fast as he could out of range. 

He could take that chair and beat down every wall in this place. He could tear apart every single soul in this forsaken pit. He could bypass the eons of fucking waiting and just march right down the hall to the Lost Souls' Room –

– scary thing was, that option held some real fucking appeal at the moment. 

Beetlejuice glared at each and every dead person cowering in place. Fucking losers. Just like the fucking Maitlands, but worse, because they followed the goddamn directions in the fucking Handbook and were now stuck here. 

But what did that say about him? the voice in the crate in the back of his mind whispered. You tried, and you still ended up right.here.with.them. 

Beetlejuice grabbed the side of his head, mindless of the residual tackiness on his hand, and gave his hair a yank. Sometimes that dislodged the voice enough to make it shut up. 

His gaze fell on the beauty queen behind the partition. He couldn't tell if she was politely waiting for his tantrum to subside, or if she was being indifferently patient, having seen it all before.

Maria wondered, absently, where all the blood had come from. She noticed the gaping hole in his chest and assumed it might all be his – but it was always hard to tell with Betelgeuse. His brand of “bio-exorcising” wasn’t the cleanest. However, based on his outfit, she doubted his day job was what sent him back here. The fool had tried to get married again. 

Fixing him with a cool, pleasant smile, Maria yanked a number from the ticket dispenser and held it up. “I’ll just pull one for you, then. You know the rules – no number, no getting to see Juno.” 

The beauty queen leaned further out of the window and rested her chin in the palm of her hand – her clipboard and list forgotten for the moment. Red tuxedo – a classic for him. How many times had she seen him in it? She could remember at least four, and she guessed he’d worn it twice as many times before she’d crossed over. Betelgeuse never told her how old he was, but after working with him for over three decades, it was clear he had a few hundred years under his belt. 

When was he going to stop pulling this stunt? It never worked. Always ended up with him down in the waiting room – back here with her. Maria bristled, both angry and jealous that he got to leave this hell and go gallivanting top side as he pleased. Her smile tightened and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You never invite me to your weddings,” Maria said casually, lifting the hand from her chin to examine the ruby manicure. “Any good plans for your honeymoon?” 

She flicked her gaze up to catch his reaction.

The bitterness and pure rage inside him managed to ratchet up another notch with the receptionist's detached apathy to his situation as she offered the ticket out to him.

Anyone else, and he'd have taken that hand off at the wrist; he could feel his teeth lengthen in anticipation of it. As it were, he snatched the paper away with enough force to tear it. He crumpled it in his fist and shoved it into a pocket without looking at it, casting his glance around the room again at all the lesser assholes who were pointedly trying not to look at him and become the focus of his ire. 

Maria's words, her barbed little query spoken in her light accent, just poured salt into the gaping hole in his chest. 

"Fuck you," he roared. His voice cracked.

Maria was used to seeing Betelgeuse angry. She was also used to seeing him happy – manically so. The man had a way of taking emotions to the extreme. She was not, however, used to hearing the crack in his voice. The next biting remark died on her tongue and she peered up from her nails, her brow furrowing. 

“Oh, don’t look so upset.” She tutted, but there was less sarcasm behind it. “You have all the time in the world to try again, don’t you? It’s not like you’re stuck here (like she was). Not for long, anyway.” 

Had this time been different from his other attempts? The pain in his expression suggested so. If he kept this up she may just bring him around back to avoid disturbing the waiting ghosts. Maria didn’t like bending the rules, but for the good of her job she’d bend them. That’s what she told herself at least. For the job.

try again 

not like you're stuck here 

Her words meant to comfort stung, jamming themselves like smaller spears into his chest. She was partially right. It wasn't like he was stuck here, so long as he could convince some dumb sucker to fulfill the terms of the contract. Finding the right dumb sucker was what took the time and energy. 

That led to the whole "try again" debacle. What was the point? He'd never succeed; despite the seemingly impressive power he had in the upper world, it was useless. He was useless, like everything was smoke and mirrors and the one being fooled was him. 

He realized he had his fists clenched so hard he was shaking. The ghosts surrounding him in the mismatched furniture, patiently waiting their turn, still did their damnedest to pretend they heard and saw nothing. 

"No one is like me!" he'd shrieked in the Maitlands' faces. 

The stupid deads sitting here proved it. He had half a mind to grab the nearest one and rip him apart like he'd treated his clones, just to continue to give his rage an outlet, but on top of everything else he didn't want to deal with the consequences of that. Maria was still watching him, as if she expected him to do something of the sort, like she was steeling herself to have to intervene and de-escalate him, even though he knew it wasn't anywhere near part of her job.

The shaking of his fists drew her gaze down – would he really be so brash as to tear through the souls waiting? Not that he could actually kill anyone, but it would make them have to get a new place in line . . . and the paperwork involved would be a headache. 

Maria lifted her Miss Argentina sash over her head and draped it on the back of her chair. Quietly, but quickly, she moved around her desk and out the side door that led to the waiting room. Like approaching a wild animal you didn’t want to startle, Maria crept forward. Delicately, she placed her fingers on the side of his arm to get his attention, keeping her back straight and her expression calm. 

“How about you come wait in the back, Mr. Betelgeuse.” 

Her voice was smooth. She had started adding in the “Mr.” when he’d gone rogue and stopped working for Juno. The days of familiarity, of her calling him “Beej”, were long gone. Maria still kept a certain level of fondness for the poltergeist, though she’d never admit it aloud.

The roots of his hair were probably the color of this fucking suit. 

When Maria physically approached and laid a manicured hand on his arm, he almost spun on her. When the pressure on his arm increased, aided by her nails digging in so hard he could feel them through the layers of fabric, he forced himself to relent. 

"Fine," he agreed bitterly.

She’d felt him tense at her touch, and Maria briefly considered she’d made a grave mistake approaching him, until his muscles relaxed – slightly – under her fingers. Thank goodness. 

Keeping her hand on his arm the receptionist guided him to the office door. She peered out to catch the relief on the newly dead faces before shutting it behind her. 

“Take a seat.” She gestured to the chair next to her desk and sat back down on her own. She wanted to stay disinterested, wanted to keep things professional, but she couldn’t.

“So.” Maria pulled some papers together and tapped them on her desk until they were even. “Is most of that blood yours? I haven’t seen you looking so . . . out of sorts in quite some time.”

 The beauty queen looked at him from the corner of her eye, pretending to keep most of her attention on the work in front of her.

He sat where indicated, in the hard straight back chair beside her desk. If he wanted, he could look up and see the filing cabinets, the paths in the rug worn through to the subfloor underneath, the endless stacks of paper, and the hallway where the caseworker's offices were. 

He didn't want to. He could walk through the place blindfolded. Nothing changed in the Netherworld; it was all slog and dismay. And they thought he was crazy for wanting back out?! 

A cigarette appeared in his hand. Sticking it between his lips he glanced up at her question and statement. 

"Yeah. The blood's mine. First from that goddamn teenager and second – " He broke off there and used lighting the cigarette as an excuse not to finish and admit he'd torn apart his own clones in a fit of rage. " – never mind. Nothing matters. It's the same shit for eternity."

Maria watched, with pointed interest, as he brought the cigarette up to his mouth. Well, at least the blood was his. Less mess for Juno to clean up later. 

“Thanks.” She drawled sardonically, bringing her own cigarette into existence. “I’d love one.” 

As she took a drag, Maria let his remark sit in silence for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. Most of the dead seemed to be having an on-going crisis – and if Beej had been feeling the same, he’d never let on. 

“You’ve always been one for the dramatics. But never nihilism.” She paused, “ – also, did you just say teenager? You know what – I don’t want to know.” 

She threw her hand up at that, waving the question off. He was a scumbag, to be sure, but the thought of him being that scummy was not an idea she wanted to entertain.

He'd have felt bad about not offering her a smoke if he was in a different state of mind. As it were, it didn't even register until she pointed it out. Even then he couldn't quite bring himself to care. It was easy, however, to fill in the blanks she left out. 

"It was a fuckin' green card thing," he growled. "Most teens – especially gothy ones who think their existence is the worst of anyone, ever – are dumb as shit. Easy to manipulate. Except this one was too damn clever for her own good. She used – " 

It was on the tip of his tongue to admit his naked, desperate desire to be accepted was used effectively against him, but that made sour bile rise in the back of his throat and he had to swallow it down again. 

" – ugly art to impale me," he corrected after only a brief hesitation. He took a deep drag, and was dismayed to see that some smoke drifted out the hole in his chest. That kid must've punctured a lung. He sighed as he pulled at his shirt to try and cover it. 

From the corner of his eye he watched her watch him. He didn't want her pity. He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew he didn't want her pity.

Maria felt herself relax at his growled response – pleased to hear he was still a normal scumbag of the con-man variety. She couldn’t hide the twitch of her lips into a smile when he admitted how he kicked the bucket this time around. She’d seen a lot of dumb ways to die, but ugly art was a first. Chuckling through a drag, she eyed the smoke coming out of his chest, causing her lips to curl even further upward. 

As good as it was to have him talking, the anger radiating off him was still obvious. She could practically feel it on her skin. Whenever he got out of hand Juno was usually around to deal with him – but not this time. She was still surprisingly absent. Fortunately, Maria had worked here long enough to know what her boss’s trump card was. 

“Juno’s been away from the office today.” she started, putting out her cigarette in the glass tray on her desk. “And you look like you’re in the need of a distraction after . . . your little accident.” 

The receptionist spun her chair to face him, one slender bare leg crossed over the other, and raised a brow at the bloodied ghost. 

“How does a drink or two at Dante’s sound? On Juno’s tab, of course.” 

She smiled, scarlet lips parting to show off her straight white smile. In many ways the two were opposites. Beej was unapologetically himself, moss and all, while Miss Argentina went to great lengths to appear perfect. Even though she had let some of that anxiety go in death, bad habits were hard to break. 

“I’ll join you – if you don’t mind. I could use some time out of the office.”

In an effort to appear disinterested in the state of both his clothing and the new hole he was going to have to figure out how to close, Beetlejuice kept his eyes on the paperwork she'd straightened. A kid's profile, from the looks of it. One perk about working as Juno's assistant way back when was helping the kids when they came through –

He glanced up sharply when Maria mentioned Dante's. Actually suggesting it, and accompanying him to it. He would've thought that the beauty queen would pretend that place never existed, although he knew she must have been both scouted and offered a job there. 

"On Juno's tab? A drink or five sounds great." 

Some time that old hag was going to show up again, slathered in Sandworm spit and gastric juices, and he'd much rather not be found here if possible. He stood up abruptly, making the wooden chair squeal against the floor. 

"Fine. I'll let you take me out."

“Only drinks, Mr. Betelgeuse. I’m not paying for any other services.” 

Miss Argentina hadn’t had a chance to be out in quite some time. With an eternity stretching out in front of you, there was little rush to do much of anything other than your assigned job. Peering down at her burgundy gown, she also realized she hadn’t changed her outfit in years – wearing the same dress to two different parties used to be a mortifying thought when she was alive. 

How things change. The beauty queen stood, and with a few moments of concentration, changed into a red cocktail dress. Her French curled hair now in tight waves around her shoulders. It felt nice. A little like being alive, even. Even if it was just to go out and watch this man get drunk off his ass. But she understood his desire to live again – didn’t all ghosts wish they could be top side? He was certainly the most tenacious about getting there. 

“All right, ready when you are,” she said while smoothing down her new outfit. She turned from the older man and started towards the office exit, throwing a ‘are you coming?’ glance over her shoulder at him.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her hands smoothing down the fabric of her choice of dress. With his cigarette still caught between two fingers, he ran his thumb over his lower lip, thinking about the differences between the dead and the breathers changing clothing – the breathers had to take it off and put it back on, versus simply willing a new outfit into existence. 

Of course the dead could be titillatingly mundane, if they chose. It was too bad this was the never-closed office, and there was a waiting room full of ghosts on the other side of the glass partition –  

At her invitation and with a sigh, Beetlejuice stepped off the road that daydream was headed. He'd lost the chance with her a long time ago. 

He flicked his still lit cigarette into the ether and decided if she was going to be dolled up, it wouldn't be right for him to accompany her in what he was wearing. Between one step towards the door and the next, his blood-soaked tux became his favorite striped suit. He left the hole in his torso under his shirt. 

"Lead the way, muñeca." tbc . . .

#writing #role-play #BeetleTina #Beetlejuice #Miss Argentina #Beetlejuice x Miss Argentina #Movie Beetlejuice #musical Beetlejuice #fanfiction #rp

[asterekmess]

honestly, my fury at the lack of werewolf culture/history/worldbuilding is worthy of its own post. Let me know if by some ungodly chance, you actually wanna hear my thoughts on it // Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

ohmygod yes, pls, enable me.

SO.

I think I mentioned b4 that Teen Wolf hates werewolves.

This is a show about werewolves like, yeah, sure, they do other plots and stuff. But the main character is a werewolf. The vast majority of the cast are werewolves (at least in the first half of the show). But think about it. What do we actually know about werewolves? They uhh, they shift on the full moon. But like, what about the full moon? Cus’ Scott gets handcuffed to a radiator and he doesn’t shift and break out until the moon comes out from behind the clouds and he screams like it’s excruciatingly painful for him. But then Derek and his Betas are underground during their full moon, and they shift like it’s all fine and dandy (they’re furious, but there’s no pain) and it doesn’t matter whether they can see the moon or not. They, uhh, they’re allergic to wolfsbane/it’s poisonous to them (btw it’s poisonous to literally everyone, just the scent of it is enough to cause seizures and hallucinations in humans. It’s a whole other frustration that they won’t make up their fucking minds abt it. It’s one thing to say that this is some parallel universe where wolfsbane doesn’t poison humans (bc lydia makes them hallucinate with the punch but injesting that much wolfsbane should kill you, and Stiles straight pulls a plant out of the ground; should’ve caused itching, burning, a cough, nausea, fever, headache and More hallucinations) and yet Jackson has to see a doctor and gets told he’s got Aconite Poisoning. So WHAT IS THE TRUTH?) but apparently not enough for Derek not to be able to plant a wolfsbane plant and massive cord of roots (which he would’ve had to tie together himself) in a revenge spiral around Laura’s body. But just being around it causes wolves to lose control. But also there’s supposed to be different strains that do different things? And also sometimes you burn the wolfsbane and it becomes the cure, or you have to burn it out of them or you just cut it out of them? Make UP Your MIND or at least ACKNOWLEDGE that different strains do different things. They get stronger on a full moon. But does that mean they get infinitely stronger with every full moon they experience? Does that mean they get weaker during new moons? They’re stronger in packs. Okay, but they never establish what the fuck a pack is. Is it an agreement? Is it a magical bond? Scott just sort of says people are in his pack. Does that mean they are? Do the humans he knows make him stronger? Just how strong is this bond? Derek makes a claim that “You have your own pack now” so is that a joke, was he mocking scott? Or is he saying that there’s no need for an Alpha and just being a beta with some friends counts as a pack? Apparently they have some kind of...animal magnetism or mind control? Derek uses a funny voice and a guy wakes up from a near coma to look at him with seemingly no control. Peter can force Scott to shift up. Derek forces Isaac to shift down. Derek has an insane amount of control over dogs and makes one lose its fucking mind from like a hundred feet away? Scott makes one calm down, but derek sends attack dogs running with their tails between their legs. Is it actual control or is it just a persuasion? Is it just intimidation? I haven’t even gotten to culture. You’re telling me that we get an entire episode of Allison discovering the entire story behind the Argent clan’s origins as werewolf hunters, why they started, how her name means Silver and apparently that’s where the entire myth of silver hurting werewolves comes from, but we don’t get to know anything about the first werewolves? Where they come from? If they’re a form of evolution or just straight magic or if it’s a curse or a gift from the gods? There’s an entire hidden werewolf population with packs all over the world, but somehow there’s literally no wolf culture? No moon worship? No specific terminology (Alpha, Beta, and Omega are terms used by a really fucking stupid biologist who studied frantic wolves in captivity and cast aspersions on the entire species. He’s been disproven a Thousand Times. NONE of that Alpha, Beta, Omega shit is right. Packs aren’t Hierarchies of Dominance. They’re families. They’re led by two wolves, yes, an “alpha pair” that’s literally JUST THE PARENTS. THE ‘BETAS’ ARE THEIR KIDS. This terminology makes sense if used by HUNTERS who consider werewolves to be mindless dumb animals. WHY THE FUCK would werewolves use it to DESCRIBE THEMSELVES?) besides the absolute minimum of ‘I caught a scent?’ Are you serious? Then there’s werewolf ages. Oh my god that was so fucking lazy. Saying that werewolves don’t age like humans, but that Cora is seventeen “by human standards” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? I’ve seen theories that go so many different ways. The idea that Werewolves live really long lives because of the superhealing. The idea that they live really short lives because their healing just burns through their body really quickly. The idea that their lifespan is directly correlated to the amount of damage they take because they can only heal so much, so wolves who get hurt a lot age faster than wolves who don’t. There’s NO explanation! You’d think it might be an interesting point for Scott to find out that he’s gonna live to fucking 200 years old. (How old is Satomi again?) That sounds like something a Teenager would be daunted by. We see them make fun of Stiles a few times because he believes werewolf myths about silver, and then because he believes Peter when Peter tells him he lives in a series of underground caves. But like...why not? THESE ARE WEREWOLVES why did you just make them humans with extra facial hair? Where are the traditional mating rituals (or even the concept of a mate/life partner, can you imagine how interesting that would’ve been? If Scott found out Allison was his mate? Or if he suddenly had all these weird urges around her, like rubbing their foreheads together or cuddling her way too much or wanting to bring her food? That would’ve been fascinating and hilarious as subplots for their romance!) where are the full moon runs or pack get-togethers? Where are the aversions to perfumes or cologne? Where are literally any animal behaviors besides AGGRESSION? Where is the den-making? Can werewolves eat fast food or does the grease bug them? Talia was a famous Alpha bc she could full shift. Does anyone know why she could do that? “Evolution” is a bullshit answer, let’s be real. It’s shitty writing and it put Derek through so much more than he deserved. THEY ACCIDENTALLY ESTABLISHED that ALL HALES can full-shift! IT’s NOT EVOLUTION. It’s BIRTHRIGHT. Talia fullshifted. Peter full-shifted (though his was distorted into the monster thingy. That wasn’t anything like Deucalion’s shift. It was a FULL SHIFT) Laura could full shift bc she did it after she died. No other werewolves on the show turned into full wolves after death, even if they died with wolfsbane in their system? MALIA could full-shift into a coyote. LITERALLY EVERY HALE except Cora and that’s bc she got booted back to South America COuld FULL SHIFT (and it never happened after they lost all of their wolf powers, that coud’ve been an interesting plot if they didn’t FUCK IT UP.) But still there’s no explanation, or even just acknowledgement? You don’t have to spell it out for us, but at least SAY “Hey, so the Hale family is really powerful and all of us can full-shift. Not sure why, but it’s neat.) I’m still stuck on rituals. Routines. Werewolf mores. Social cues. Are there certain smells they’re supposed to ignore? Is it polite to pretend you don’t hear someone coming up to your house until they knock? Do they have rules about waiting until the Alpha eats before they start eating (much like how lots of traditional households wait for the father to dig in, or whoever is head of household)? Is it tradition to homeschool werewolves for the first few years until they learn control? Are there seriously no rules about biting humans? You don’t have to talk to their parents or have a specific conversation with them? And if werewolves are so dominance/hierarchy based, then you’re telling me there’s no “second-in-command” or respectful greetings that are supposed to be used for an Alpha? There’s absolutely no form of werewolf government or ancient laws or anything except a big spiral that is universally recognized as a sign you’re gonna kill people? What was the wolfsbane around Laura’s body for? Why make the spiral out of that instead of just drawing in the dirt or something? We make a lot of jokes about Derek being bad with his words, but so is Peter and so is Cora. And they’re the only born wolves we interact with (except Satomi who ALSO isn’t a chatterbox) What if that’s not just because they’re all traumatized and cranky? What if they’re just speaking on a different level? Scents and body language are integral to wolf interaction. Like how we say that Peter has that conversation with Derek’s eyebrows? What if Derek’s so fucking pissed all the time because he hates talking to Scott because SCott ISN”T LISTENING to his body language and scent and chemosignals? He tells Scott to use all his senses, and Scott does it fucking once to say that Peter felt “Angry” and never again. What if Derek is Talking PLENTY (with his body and movements and reactions) but Scott just isn’t paying attention? Isaac seems to understand Derek just fine. Erica and Boyd never complain that Derek is lying to them or ‘keeping something’ from them? What if the reason Scott always thinks Derek’s hiding something is because he isn’t reading the rest of Derek’s conversation and he assumes that the empty feeling is Derek lying. Even STILES seems to understand Derek. He’s human, but he goes totally wolfy. He already uses body language a lot and while he gets mad at Derek he never has to ask what the fuck derek is saying or what he’s holding back. I digress. I wanna know why no other packs came to help Derek and Laura after their family died. I wanna know why Emissaries and Druids are so incredibly important to the supernatural/werewolf world but Derek barely knew they existed (Especially when it’s established that he know tons of lore about other species.) and even though every single pack should have an emissary, they never handle who is the emissary for Derek’s pack or for Scott’s pack (Once again, is an emissary bound to their pack somehow or is it just an agreement?). I wanna know why Derek knew Satomi and trusted her but for some reason never felt like he could ask her for help? Centuries of hiding and living amongst humans with almost no wolf behavior to their name, but none of these packs interact? There’s Druid Vets and Hunter cops and Emissary counselors. But no werewolf doctors? No werewolf teachers? Absolutely no werewolf society? If Derek was worried about Paige not accepting that he was a werewolf unless she became one, what does that say about his experience with humans? He says “there were people in my family that were perfectly ordinary in that house” who died in the fire. But wouldn’t he talk to a human pack member about his worries, if he had one? Or even a bitten pack member? He admits he doesn’t know how to train a Bitten wolf. He’s never been called out by a human pack member for using phrases like ‘caught a scent’ or for reacting to things he shouldn’t. Does this mean Derek’s family was entirely werewolves? No humans in the know? No bitten wolves? He has a huge thing about keeping the secret and never letting anyone in on it unless they get dragged into it. Did Derek’s pack have some kind of prejudice against humans? Was Derek raised to believe humans were weak or cowardly or something, that he thought this beautiful girl would automatically hate him and expose him if she were to discover the supernatural without being forced into silence by self-preservation.

Lots of times, it’s easy to forget in this fandom that so much is missing, because we’ve been filling in the gaps for so long that some stuff is practically canon. It’s generally assumed that the Hales were homeschooled before high school. It’s generally assumed that there’s some kind of bond that marks people as pack. We instinctively add in mentions of Scent and the use of the shift (growling, claws, a hint of fang, flashing eyes) as part of the casual communication between characters. We add in scent-marking and territory boundaries and specific roles in the pack. We do all of that and never think twice because it’s already in all the fic. But we did that. The show gave us nothing. It spent an entire season talking about the nogitsune and the oni and how they’re summoned and what kitsune fox tails are for, but we never got to find out why wolves can do the pain-drain (or even if it dissipates the pain or just transfers it to the wolf doing the draining) or if Derek Hale EVEN HAS A DAD.

#personal #rant #Meta Ramblings #it's not even anti-scott #Anonymous #go for it

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (17/18)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I told you it wouldn’t take as long to get this one up! And to everyone messaging about Walking the Baseline, I have started writing the next part! ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 

-/-

The swan is staring at her.

It is legitimately staring at her from its spot on her dresser with its beady little black marble eyes. For weeks, Emma has thought it was cute, has treasured its presence in her room. It’s the only thing anyone has ever won for her, which seems miniscule, but when you don’t have a lot, it’s a big freaking deal. That night had been awful, her heart warring with her over Neal and his presence at the fair, but then she had this dumb stuffed animal to hold onto – and squeeze onto instead of slapping Neal, if she’s honest. Killian had won it for her to make her happy, even if just for a little while, and while she hadn’t realized her feelings for him in that moment, she should have.

Anyone who plays rigged carnival games to make someone happy is probably a good person, and Killian Jones is definitely a good person.

A good person who was (is, hopefully) her friend who she then started fucking who then ended that, and now she sits in her room in the dark at seven in the morning staring at a stuffed swan.

What a weird thought process.

What a weird relationship.

What a weird couple months.

When Emma looks back on it, she can’t believe this is how her life has been lately. She ended a half-decade long relationship, had her heart shattered into pieces, and then she made the stupid decision to be friends with benefits with the last person she should have done that with. Who even does shit like that?

She does, apparently.

But the night of Liam and Elsa’s engagement party, she was tipsy and upset and needed to forget the pain. Killian seemed like the perfect person to do that with, especially knowing how easily he does casual relationships. As she now knows, having a casual relationship and having a casual relationship with Killian Jones are two different things.

At least when you’re her.

Now, though, she doesn’t know what relationship she has with Killian. They’re friends, always have been, but things have been…different since they stopped sleeping together. They don’t text as much, they certainly don’t hang out like they used to, and when they do, things are stiff. The conversations don’t flow, arguments fly more freely, and Emma has no idea what to do about any of it. She’s tried not to think about any of it and pretend that everything is fine, but then moments like this hit and it’s impossible. Liam and Elsa are getting married tomorrow, have their rehearsal dinner tonight, and Emma and Killian have to spend time together.

They’re going as each other’s dates.

And she feels like such a cliché at the end of a romantic comedy where people are being forced to gather at a wedding with romance everywhere, where she mopes around waiting for things to get better. That’s not real life, though. Some floral arrangements and twinkly lights do not solve relationship problems, especially when you’re not in a relationship to begin with.

Especially when the other person wants nothing to do with you.

Emma sighs and flops onto her mattress, pulling a pillow over her mouth and loudly groaning into it. She’s pathetic. This is why she hasn’t allowed herself to have any free time since the weekend in the mountains. She’s stayed busy, throwing herself into work and her runs. She’s even read the stack of books that’s been on her nightstand for months, but mostly she’s made sure to be surrounded by friends, even if that does include Killian. David and Mary Margaret, bless them and their inability to read the room, have continuously brought Graham around thinking Emma is open to dating him. She’s not. He’s a sweet man she gets along with and in another world, she might consider dating him. It’s not another world, however, and she doesn’t want to date Graham Humbert.

All she wants is Killian like the pathetic woman she is.

And for the freaking stuffed swan to stop staring at her.

After screaming into her pillow once more and kicking her legs up and down like a petulant child, Emma throws the pillows off of her and shifts from underneath her comforter. Begrudgingly, she stretches her arms above her head, her muscles aching from overuse, and she walks to her bathroom. Slowly but surely, she gets ready, spending extra time washing her hair and shaving while her phone plays music loud enough for her to sing along to. Once she feels alive again, she steps out of the shower, pulling her hair into a towel and walking to her vanity. She brushes her teeth and does her makeup, going ahead and applying the smoky eye she wants to wear tonight. She’ll look ridiculous until the sun sets, but she’s not coming home in between work and the rehearsal and doesn’t want to pack her full makeup kit. It’s the same reason she blows her hair out and curls it before pulling on a black jumpsuit. She’s had it for years, but never had a chance to wear it. It hugs her curves and flares out at the legs. There’s a cutout on her stomach and the cleavage dips, and to cover that up so she doesn’t get fired, she pulls a cropped sweater on top. An hour later, she leaves her apartment and drives through Storybrooke to get to the club.

This is just another day. Emma can make it through.

She’s made it through every bad day so far, most of them a hell of a lot worse than having to eat dinner with Killian Jones by her side.

With Labor Day over and summer beginning to fade away, tourists have fled from Storybrooke and returned to their normal lives. The beaches are empty, the restaurants barely occupied, and Storybrooke Country Club is only frequented by members who either live in the area or who avoid the main summer rush. Walking the hallways alone is odd after spending months not having a moment to herself, and since there’s no one around, Emma takes off her heels and walks down the hallway barefoot. There’s a luncheon in one of their smaller dining rooms, so Emma checks to make sure the linens and the menu are still correct from when she checked last night, and once she’s sure they are, she moves to their nicest ballroom where Liam and Elsa are having their reception tomorrow. They were going to have the ceremony inside as well, but since the weather looks like it’s going to be nice, they’re having it on the deck with the ocean in the background.

She thinks most of this place is stuffy and stuck-up, but she does love this ballroom. The windows are large and look out to the ocean, and if they open the doors, it connects to the expansive deck with string lights hanging over the ceiling. Tomorrow, when the sun sets and those lights are turned on along with the lights inside, everything will be cast in a magic glow. Emma looks around at the chairs lining the sides of the walls and the tables out, and she sighs. Someone was supposed to put everything out, and after calling around and finding no one, Emma starts arranging the tables and chairs herself. It takes her hours, especially when she starts putting out linens and setting the tables, and while florists won’t come in until tomorrow, she marks the places for the arrangements to be set. She nearly calls Mary Margaret and asks her to come in on her day off, but she likes being busy. It keeps her mind off things.

Too soon, though, she’s set up everything she can, and the cooks have started prep work for tonight’s dinner. Emma catches a look at herself in the mirror, sees where some of her makeup has run and her curls have fallen, and she grabs her work makeup bag out of her office and moves to the bathroom where she reapplies her powder and lipstick and brushes through her hair before pulling it into a high ponytail.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“Tonight is going to be fine,” Emma tells herself, rolling her arms to relax her sore muscles and calm herself down. “It’s just like it always is. It’s spending time with your friends but in nice clothes, and you just have to get through a weekend without fighting.”

Emma stops rolling her shoulders and leans forward, fingers curling around the sink top. “Great, Emma. Now you’re having full on conversations with yourself in the mirror.”

Inhale, exhale.

She’s got this. She has to.

Emma looks at herself one more time, does a final adjustment on her ponytail, grabs her bag and walks out of the bathroom with her shoulders back. She sits through more weddings than any normal person should, and this is a weekend to celebrate someone she loves. It’s a happy moment.

Until she walks out of the bathroom, her limbs still shaky, and nearly plows down the bride and groom.

That would definitely get her fired, and she doesn’t think her year could take losing her job too.

“Hi,” she squeaks out, stumbling over her heels before correcting herself. “How are you two? Elsa, you look beautiful.”

“Oi, what about me?” Liam jokes, and Emma awkwardly giggles, still trying to catch up. She needs a reset of today.

“You look stunning,” Emma laughs, quickly hugging Elsa before doing the same to Liam. “Are you guys excited for tomorrow?”

“You have no idea,” Elsa sighs, happy, content, so many things that brides should be but rarely are. “Thank you so much for setting everything up. I know you’ve been by yourself with Mary Margaret taking the day off to do things with us, so I really, really appreciate you.”

“I’m happy to do it for you guys. Promise.” Emma squeezes Elsa’s forearm. “If you were anyone else, I would complain.”

“Well, you know how to make a girl feel special, but I have a feeling you won’t say the same thing when Anna shows up in a few minutes.”

“I have already mentally prepared myself for it.”

Elsa looks down at her phone. “Speak of the devil,” she laughs, holding up her phone. “I’m gonna step away and take this.”

Elsa moves down the hallway, heels clicking against the tile, and Emma is left alone with Liam, the two of them swaying back and forth, eyes never making direct eye connect. She doesn’t know the last time she spent time alone with this man, and at the moment, she can’t think of them ever spending time alone together. They’re not friends, have only started getting along recently weirdly enough, but they always have Elsa or Killian to be the buffer.

There’s no buffer now.

Emma tries to think of something to say, works through a conversation about the weather and the wedding and tonight’s menu in her head, but she never says any of it out loud. Instead, she laughs awkwardly and smiles, wondering how shitty it would be to excuse herself from the room when she doesn’t have an actual excuse.

“You should talk to Killian,” Liam says. Emma’s eyes widen, and she looks at Liam. He doesn’t shift away from her gaze like she was expecting. “I’m not sure what’s been going on between the two of you, but I know that there’s something. I know I’ve never been the kindest to you, but I know that you are good for Killian as long as you don’t decide to break his heart.”

Emma crosses her arms, her heart thumping under her fingertips. She wonders if Liam can hear it or see it the way she can, like it’s the third person in the conversation. “I don’t think you get a say on what I decide to do. Killian’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions. He doesn’t need you putting up some ‘holier than thou’ front to tell his friend not to get into a fight with him.”

Liam steps closer, and with her heels, she’s able to keep her gaze directly on his. “I may not know exactly why the two of you are fighting, but I do know you’re the woman he’s been sleeping with all summer.” Emma’s jaw drops, and she’s not exaggerating when she thinks it may be broken. How? How does he know? “You two should really learn to lower your voices when you’re talking in the morning. I didn’t realize until last month right before our trip, but there was one morning where I recognized your laugh and then your voice was so clear afterward.”

“I’m not – we’re not – he isn’t…”

“Emma,” Liam sighs, pressing his hand to her shoulder, “it’s okay. I’m not trying to be an ass. I know that I am one, but all I want is for Killian to be happy. And believe it or not, I want you to be happy, too. Talk to him.”

Her mind is running at one hundred miles an hour, her heart beating even faster, and her cheeks are so warm they must be as red as tomatoes. She doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how the hell she’s supposed to react to any of that, so she doesn’t. Instead, she makes an excuse, something along the lines of checking on the food for dinner, and then she’s gone, disappearing down the hallway and into a linen closet.

Liam knows.

Liam knows, and he didn’t even blow a gasket. What kind of crazy alternate universe is this? Emma doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything.

(But Liam apparently knows a lot.)

She doesn’t know what to think or say or how she even feels about anything. All she knows is that she still has to make it through this weekend. She can’t spend all of it hiding away in bathrooms and linen closets no matter how much she wants to.

Rolling her shoulders back, Emma takes her seventeenth deep breath of the night, twists the door knob, and manages to slip out of the closet without anyone seeing her. By the time the rehearsal has finished – they did two-run throughs – Emma’s heart has managed to calm down. It wasn’t easy, especially when she saw Killian walking down the aisle, one of Elsa’s cousins on his arm who couldn’t stop laughing at whatever joke he was telling, but she was able to push back the attraction and jealousy and everything else that comes with looking at Killian Jones.

She’s always known he was handsome. It’d be impossible to miss, but tonight as he wears a baby blue shirt, halfway unbuttoned of course, and some fitted Navy slacks, his hair coiffed and beard trimmed, she’s taken aback by him once more. Mostly, though, she’s taken aback by his smile, bright and beaming, and her heart aches missing it.

Missing him.

She stands at the edge of the ballroom as people begin to take their seats, finding the names on cards on the table, and Emma knows where hers is. It’s at the head table, rather undeservedly so, but she’s the best man’s date. She gets to stick by his side.

Right now, she doesn’t know how.

Maybe she hasn’t managed to calm down as much as she thought she had.

Emma catches Killian out of the corner of her eye, still talking to that same bridesmaid, but then he’s walking away and walking right toward her. He flashes a smile, as bright and confident as ever, but there’s something off about it. She can’t pinpoint what, especially when his smile fades as he looks from side to side, almost as if he was searching for someone.

“Hello, love,” he greets before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you. You look nice.”

“Don’t I know it?” he teases, cheeky, before offering her his elbow. She takes it, looping her arm through his, and as her skin presses against his dress shirt, she can feel his warmth. It feels normal, like it has for so long, and while she didn’t forget how much she loves his touch, she didn’t realize how much she’s craved it, craved the new normalcy they’d found themselves in this summer. “Shall we go to dinner and get drunk off our asses as we listen to people give awful speeches?”

“I’d love nothing more. Don’t you have to give an awful speech?”

Killian leans in and winks. “Mine won’t be awful.”

And for a little while, things are normal. She’s sitting next to Killian, and she doesn’t have to think too hard about what to say or do. It’s just the two of them, like it always has been, and the glass of wine she’s had isn’t hurting how calm she feels. They don’t talk much, too much food on their plates and then too many people talking, but just as Emma is telling Killian about how she nearly broke her neck on a ladder today, that same bridesmaid as before interrupts her to start talking to Killian. Emma knows her name is Nora, that she lives in Portland, and that she has no problem flirting with Killian despite the fact that Emma is obviously his date.

But who is she to say anything? They’re here as friends.

They always have been.

Friends, friends, friends.

And the flirting doesn’t irritate her, not really, but the fact that Nora interrupted Emma in the middle of a story does. That’s rude, and while Emma doesn’t have the best social graces, she knows not to interrupt people. Emma ignores the two of them and looks out across the room. She wishes she were at the table with Mary Margaret, David, Ariel, Eric, Ruby, and all of the rest of her friends. Anna and Elsa’s parents have taken up most of the conversation with Elsa and Liam, so she doesn’t even have Elsa to talk to.

She’s miserable.

There’s no point in dancing around it anymore. She’s miserable, her feet are killing her, and she’s ready to go home and sleep until she has to get up. She’s never craved a Monday so badly.

Emma excuses herself from the table, not that anyone really listens, and she hurries out of the room with a pounding heart. She thought it had gone away, but it’s back with a vengeance, making her cheeks heat and her stomach fill with bile. This is the worst. Just, the fucking worst.

She’s in love with her best friend who isn’t even her best friend anymore, and she doesn’t know how to deal with any of it. This summer has been like a rollercoaster, except she hasn’t been buckled in. She’s been holding on with fear and exhilaration, and now, she’d like to get off the ride.

When she hears footsteps down the hall, she knows the end of the ride isn’t here yet.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Did you follow me?” Emma asks, not bothering to turn around.

“Well, when a woman runs off and seems upset, some might say following her is a good idea.”

“I wouldn’t.” “Swan.”

Emma turns, her heels clicking against the tile, and crosses her arms over her chest. Killian glances down, and she realizes his eyes are drawn to her boobs. Typical.

“Go back to Nora, Killian. I’m fine.”

“Nora?”

“Elsa’s cousin. The woman you’ve been oh so fascinated with all night. I don’t need a babysitter when you obviously have other interests.”

Killian huffs and steps closer.  “You’re my friend and when a friend leaves a room, obviously upset, I follow.” “Well, if you’d said that a month ago, I might believe you. now, though, I don’t.”

She’s angry, she realizes. Pissed off, actually, and Killian might be here to be kind, but she’s not.

His brow arches, one followed by the other until his forehead is wrinkled, and he steps closer. “What are you talking about?”

“Really? You’re going to play that card?”

“What card?”

“The one where you pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Like, you don’t know things have been different between us since you ended things for no damn reason.”

“Why aren’t you here with Graham?” Killian asks suddenly, and she feels like she’s been slapped with whiplash. Emma isn’t sure that’s possible, but what the hell does she know anymore? “Why the hell would I be here with Graham? You and I agreed that we would do all of the wedding stuff together, didn’t we?”

“Well, you’re dating him, aren’t you?”

“Oh my God,” Emma sighs, turning on her heels and walking down the hallway before walking back toward Killian who has got to be grinding his teeth far too much than any dentist would ever recommend.

Why is that even where her brain is going right now?

Probably because she can’t stop staring at the way his jaw clenches.

“What”? he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest, fingers digging into biceps.

Emma stops pacing, the clicking of her heels against the tile stopping, and she places her hands on her hips as she takes a deep breath.

She’s about to fuck everything in her life up, but really, how much worse can any of it get? She can’t keep living like a madwoman, her mind contradicting everything her heart says, and for once in her life, she wants everything out in the open. She wasted too much time in an unhappy relationship because she didn’t want to speak up for herself for fear of someone else leaving her. She’s not doing that again. Damn the consequences.

It is not going to kill her to put her heat in Killian’s hands even if it means he has the ability to crush it.

“I am not dating Graham Humbert,” Emma says on an exhale. She doesn’t even know where Killian is coming from thinking that, but it doesn’t matter. “He is a new friend who I have repeatedly said I had no interest in dating, and if you could get your head out of your ass for one second, you would know that the only person I have any interest in dating is you, you absolute fucking idiot.”

-/-

-/-

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#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan

[cassidybueter]

A play by play reaction of the live-action FMA movie: because I hate myself and also you.

Oh good. It has English dubs. So it'll be a delight for both the eyes and ears.

Mama Elric dies from hugs.

NO CHARACTERIZATION. ONLY PLOT.

If I hadn't read the manga, I'd be totally lost. And because I read the manga, I know it's bad. Who was this for?

There are many female voice actors that can do convincing young boy voices. These... are not those actors.

Why is Father Cornello running around a clearly empty city?

I keep expecting Edward's discount bin Spirit Halloween wig to fly off.

The only people trying are the CGI animators.

Alphonse has said nothing and done nothing because animation is expensive.

And cover up the metal arm! Quickly! Before we have to figure out how to do a good effect!

Suddenly the town is filled with people.

Why is Mustang in Leore?

Why... is he arresting Edward?

The philosopher's stone is clearly red plastic.

Remeber how I said the animators were trying? I take that back. Al's animator is very drunk.

WHY IS WINRY IN LIORE?! What the fuck?

How are we in East City?! It's miles away. Did we teleport?!

And why is Edward's dialogue so muffled? Was it being recorded through a pillow? No one else's is this bad.

They ditched Al in Leore so they wouldn't have to animate him.

Damn. These characters really do telelort at the speed of plot.

Ok. Points where they're due: Hughes' actor seems good and the shadow of Gluttony eating someone is very intimidating.

Winry is a brunette. Which wouldn't be weird except that they put so much non-effort into making Ed blonde.

This would probably be great if it were, say, a comic book, or an animated TV show.

Truth: How'd you like it? Ed's actor: Well, it's a paycheck.

After they transmuted their mom, Edward turned into his teenage actor, because the little kids can't act.

"This house is huge" *doesn't show house.*

Anime Shou Tucker looked kinda creepy, but possibly friendly. This Shou Tucker is just some sleepy dude.

Mustang and Hughes walk down Generic Path of Exposition. Screw creativity, we pray to the ALMIGHTY PLOT.

Again: Why is Winry here?

I like how Ed just ditches his brother anytime the director thinks the budget is getting too big.

They got the most wooden VAs for like half the characters. And the shittiest microphone for the main character!

You know what the original story was missing? GOD DAMNED HYPNOSIS. THE LAZIEST TROPE.

Winry is the real main character. She does things and Edward/Alphonse follow blindly.

Edward's metal hand makes a very fleshy sound when slapped against the table.

Marcho's dead. Lol.

A man died in front of us and we found the secret to the stone. Next scene!

CGI dog Nina looks like Snuffaluffagus.

This scene was creepier when hand drawn.

Now that Winry has been so firmly established as the third Elric Brother, it's weirder when she's not around.

Okay, when the classic dialogue from the series is delivered without the emotional context of the story, it's suddenly very silly and emo.

Edward is studying. Alphonse is sitting, trying to move as little as possible.

God bless you, Maes Hughes, the best part of the movie.

Seriously, he's mostly on point. Everyone else can go to hell.

Ah yes, Laboratory #5, a totally safe place for Winry to be. Man, it was such a cool place in the real story. Here? Just an empty building. Then again, we can't figure out how to animate one armor, how would we do three?

Oh no, the brothers are fighting for no reason. If only there was emotional weight.

"It hurts to see you hurt." Bitch, it hurts to hear you speak.

Yeah, where's East City on that map, Hughes? Is it two feet away from Leore? No?

Remember when Envy transforms into Hughes' wife before killing him and how that was real imactful? They set that up by having him drop the photo, but then Envy turns into MUSTANG.

Tucker lives. It was stupid when the '03 series did it and it's stupid now.

Envy looks like he styled his hair with crude oil.

This movie's so LOOOOOOOOONG.

The shadow of Gluttony eating people looked good. The actual CGI... is grossly unfinished.

Shou Tucker tries and fails to be the main villain. It's almost cute.

Oh god. The cyclopse dolls animate like Going To The Store. This just looks silly.

Alphonse: I can't move my body. Animators: Oh. How convenient.

Oh yeah. Riza Hawkeye exists.

Aw, now that the movie's over they're trying to wring emotions out of every person's single character trait.

A bright light started shining on the cast and I prayed they were about to get hit by a train. Nope. It was the sun, rising on a new day.

In short: It sucks.

#fma #bad movie reviews #fullmetal alchemist #live action

[legionofpotatoes]

alright here’s ma thoughts on that flick I mentioned

we hatewatched a*my of the dead because we were CONVINCED “zombies in las vegas” would be an impossible concept to screw up, but in so assuming we obviously invoked a holy wager with the universe and got reminded, once again, that hoping for improvement from someone who’s dependably put out bad art is never a wise choice 😐

but we were honestly kinda roped in by the marketing??? and expected a goofy fast-paced flick with the odd traditional undead metaphor thrown in, framing some sort of relationship drama maybe or hell even nothing at all! we’d have taken pure indulgent storytelling, idk italian job with zombies in las vegas, I don’t know fucking anything but??? whatever this was???? spoilers below for it is time for One Of My Rants

I mean the main reason I really want to write all this and complain. this film here probably has the most unappealing cinematography I have ever experienced in my life and that is saying something. who the fuck signed off on that CONSTANT shallow-ass depth of field that imprisons your eyeline and turns every shot into bokeh paste???? and I mean every shot almost!!!! I promise if you think I am overreacting just throw a dart at the seek bar and watch twenty seconds from wherever it lands. it is horrifying to look at. at least it gave my girlfriend a good visual shorthand for what it’s like when I lose my glasses

why was sean spicer in this movie. did they pay him to be here. was sean spicer paid hollywood money for his scene in this film because fuck everyone who was involved in that decision

the legitimately baffling hints at the extraterrestrial origins of the infection that went absolutely nowhere and had no dramatic or plot-level bearing. we love to see the franchise sprouts fellas

yet another big budget waste of everything hiroyuki sanada has to offer. and bautista too I guess? I like him but man was this an odd career move

what was the crux of his conflict/resolution with his daughter btw. I understand it was rooted in miscommunication over their forms of grief irt mom but uhh… it was all rather clunky and didn’t land for me. I tried I really tried to buy in but something was wrong fundamentally with the groundwork there, it did not click and their catharsis felt unearned. I know there’s massive amounts of tragic baggage being projected there from the author so I’m not slapping any judgment down really;

but again it would be an easy thing to wave off if they just had a vibrant cast of lovable simpletons with good chemistry and the kinetic sense of plotting the trailers promised (and this premise never discounts good drama, either). but instead it was just two and a half (!) hours of meandering into situations the filmmaking instincts had no idea how to flow in and out of

to wit. I know talking about “bad pacing” is associated with armchair bullshit but consider the example of the scene were dieter does an out of nowhere little dance after childishly screaming but then still-killing a zombie, with the film framing this as a micro character triumph, and not a second later the bg soundtrack instantly fades into an orchestral score dramatizing a nearby mcguffin reveal, completely 180 degreeing the tone without a semblance of deft insert shot stitching or even I dont know a fucking jump cut maybe. now imagine this whiplash for 2.5 hrs uninterrupted

I will keep complaining about the length yeah because this was not a story requiring this much real estate to be told. Uhh in my humble and personal opinion, of course

[man sees zombie tiger] “this is crossing the line!” you can in fact write dialogue that is not utter nonsense that falls apart once you drill down its single fickle layer of referential meta winking. what line are you talking about. you have rules in this insane situation you’re in? total nitpick moment I know but it got burned in my brain for some reason. like a microcosm of the mismanaged dramatic instincts paired with weird writing that dots this movie. I am sure the director calls this either satire or genre deconstruction. I am SO sure

tumblr domino meme that goes from “dude getting sucked off while driving” to “entire las vegas literally nuked”

tig notaro is always great to see but once you know she’s been filmed as a separate greenscreen plate months after photography wrapped - cause she had to apparently replace some abusive asshole but that’s a whole other pig not worth fucking - it becomes impossible to unsee her odd detachment from everyone else in the movie lmao. it doesn’t really “ruin” anything on its lonesome but it is hard to unsee

why. was. sean. spicer. in. this. movie

a very simple key ingredient missing from fully turning lip service sympathy for main uruk hai dude into actual empathy that would generate meaningful conflict with hero family would be to spend a bit more time articulating what he internally wanted the most. because he was obviously trying to do something here with pointed agenda. a family, to have kids, build a caste system, save his wife’s head, return to his planet??? all of these could represent the bigger context in his psychology that spurred his vengeance but none of them are dramatically emphasized long enough for you to cheer him on. I’m not asking too much I promise. Articulating interiority of a mute character is pretty doable with deft cinema language, just gotta linger and hold a shot here and there for a few seconds, frame as his POV, donezo. I know this is also one of those like. “who cares” moments but the movie does, very evidently so, in making this guy an actual character. you can kinda piece it together and create a framework of sympathy for him, sure, but then again he ultimately becomes a foil to be killed and not defeated, so. Ehh whatever

quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was n

the rooftop helicopter fakout at the end was such an ass-backwards, manufactured moment of what could be a simple setup/payoff it just pissed me off??? you gain nothing by giving sad dad five seconds of pointless crisis that flips right back to previous status quo ANYWAY, except for a weaksauce waste of runtime, which could be used instead to get inside notaro’s head and actually SHOW the remorse form as she took off, literally maybe even a frown playing on her face as she’s headed for safety right before we cut back to drax and the kid. just a simple-ass, minimal, momentary setup for what is the most basic filmmaking trick of creating macro catharsis moments. Just???? g o d if you can’t even land that shit why are you even doing any of this

that lil run final pam did was very very charming and super choreographed in a way that was the tiiiniest bit overdone

the whole intro with the simul-backstories and posing with family photos was just… oddly motivated. what was the goal? “here’s what we’re fighting for” vignettes? why? it’s not a functional setup in that vein. what was all that

also I am sorry if this is insensitive but the reasons most characters end up articulating to justify going back into the hell that destroyed their lives makes them sound seriously insane

I dont like complaining about CGI (honestly) but so much of it in modern movies can achieve higher fidelity if the animation is simply subdued. Do not overengineer and over-apply 2D cell methodologies and kinematics to each tiny twitch and movement in a hyper 3D model and I promise you. it will look a thousand times more natural. look at thanos in those last two movies. your rendering and detail are absolutely perfect with the tiger you just have to let stuff sit instead of constantly simulating swaying hair strands and firing off all facial muscles at once. great moment at one point where makeup zombie horse and CG zombie tiger are both in one shot together and just by unnecessary amounts of movement alone you can tell who doesn’t belong. again; detail, rendering, compositing, lighting, all picture-perfect; but y’all just gotta let the animation breathe sometimes, and chill it out

plot holes don’t really matter to me but it was kinda funny how lilly decided not to mention the enormous wrinkle in intel pertaining to an actual territorial tribe of intelligent zombies that require human offerings to let you pass, just so that reveal could play out in real time through the joyous punishment of the cartoonishly misogynistic dude

total chad move for mister uruk hai and final pam to rule from a rusted swimming pool complex

the ending with vanderohe oh my god. with the. cash stacks at the airport register. and specifically them working in his favor. that is literally something you do to get arrested under suspicion of theft. it was almost played for laughs and I respect that. coulda been goofier. make these movies goofy ya dorks

anyway, weird, weird movie. bad marketing. message unclear (something something sins of the father???), baffling editing instincts, literal worst-looking cinematography I ever laid eyes upon. Confidently dying on that last hill

#text #long post #aotd spoilers #aotd critical

[trvelyans-archive]

You probably should’ve known that Gray would find you here.

Although, to be fair, you did tell him that this is where you go when you need a break. But you thought that, at least, if you didn’t tell him which bookshelves you wedged yourself between, he would never find you if he came looking. Unfortunately for you, he came looking. And he definitely found you.

You don’t know if he did it for your sake or Nick’s. Maybe that makes it all worse.

He lingers at the end of the aisle, scratching the back of his neck and scuffing a stained patch of carpet on the floor with the toe of his shoe. (You can’t see it from where you’re sitting on the floor - you only know that because you look at the same thing whenever there’s someone else in between the bookshelves doing something weird like looking for an actual book and you’re waiting for them to leave.) The lighting in the library casts odd shadows over his face, but you can tell he’s looking at you - and probably smiling sheepishly at you - and clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

Fat chance.

Nick doesn’t get it. He never gets it. He understands that you’re upset but doesn’t understand why, and trying to explain it to him is useless, especially because he can hear your internal monologue in real time and by now should have memorized all your problems as well as his chocolate chip cookie recipe. But he doesn’t, which means he should know to stop listening and tune you out when you’re thinking bad things about yourself - after all, it always leads to an argument - but he didn’t, and now you’re here, tucked away in the darkest corners of the library like an afterthought with the only person you want to talk to not knowing that because he can’t hear your thoughts from the end of the aisle.

You could ignore Gray, and he’d leave. That’s something you know very well.

But you wave him towards you anyway (and nearly roll your eyes at his cautious approach).

You don’t like to fight when Gray’s around. You both know that it upsets him, trying to play referee, trying to make it productive  - and he knows that it upsets you whenever he takes Nick’s side. Nick’s his best friend, of course, so he has every right to defend him, but... you just wish things were different. In literally every way there is.

“Hey,” Gray says as he comes closer, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatpants while the air conditioner above him rustles his stupid perfect hair and makes him look like the even more stupidly perfect love interest of a bad silent European film. “I didn’t think I’d actually find you. I almost gave up ten minutes ago.”

You don’t need to read minds to know what goes unsaid in the awkward silence that follows. I’m glad I didn’t. Though usually you’d be secretly pleased to know that, right now it’s just another nail in the coffin. After all, lately, things have been changing - he’s been taking your side a little more often, tentatively backing you up when you and Nick get in an argument. It’s easier that way because Nick’s much more likely to forgive him (especially considering you’re pretty sure Gray’s just doing it for show) but... that sucks, too. He can’t keep playing on both sides and wait for a truce that’s never going to come. Or, even if it does come, it certainly won’t stick.

But he’s not a quitter. And neither are you, at least not in this case. And that’s the worst of it - you really are trying.

Contrary to what it might seem like, you and Nick get along most of the time. You tease each other and make jokes and talk about stuff happening around the city and then, when you disappear up to your room to watch movies, he turns on the radio and bakes cookies or makes dinner or... well, whatever else he does after work. Living together works if you don’t spend enough time together for you be irritated by him, and if you don’t sit close enough to depress him with your thoughts.

But sometimes even tucking yourself away into the shadows doesn’t help. You should know that, because Gray found you in the library tonight anyway, and his eyes on you make you feel like you’re stuck in a fucking spotlight. Nervous sweats and buckling knees and all.

You sigh. “Maybe I didn’t want you to find me,” you say, trying to be nonchalant about it.

If this was Nick, he’d be met with a ‘fuck off’. Well, okay, maybe not that, but it’d certainly be implied. Gray is different, though.

Jerk.

“You would’ve hidden better if you didn’t want me to find you,” he says with a quiet laugh. He’s right, too, and it wouldn’t have been hard. You could’ve just grabbed a book and hidden your face behind it until he passed by the aisle, or, in a more extreme case, knocked down a couple of bookshelves as a distraction and then bolted in the middle of all the commotion. “I just... I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to look for the right words so you don’t actually bolt. “I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

You nearly sigh again, but you bite your tongue to hold it back. “I’m fine,” you insist.

“You’re not, Marian,” Gray says. His nose wrinkles as he frowns. “Mari.”

“What, can you read my mind or something?”

Unfortunately, the joke falls on deaf ears. If usually does when Nick and Gray are trying to be serious and you’re cracking jokes so you don’t cry or knock something over (usually your’s) or both. He sits back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and stares at the tips of his shoes. “It got intense back there,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He’s obviously waiting for you to take the lead on this conversation, but you’re not going to. He clears his throat. “So...”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gray,” you say with much less conviction than you’d like.

“I think you hurt Nick’s feelings,” he continues. Like you hadn’t said anything at all.

You try again. “I don’t care.”

Gray lets out a soft sigh, and you don’t know whether it’s from sheer disbelief or straight-up disappointment. “I don’t think that’s true.”

He doesn’t need to read your mind to know that you feel bad. He can probably read it on your face - with him, it’s your worst enemy. Of course you feel bad. Nick gave up his young adulthood to take care of you, and you can never thank him enough for picking up the slack and taking care of you after everything that happened with your parents. But that’s part of it. Fuck, that’s most of it. You can never thank Nick enough for everything. You’re a failure to your family. You’re a disappointment. You’re nothing but a big fat zero.

And you know that very well. The world has made that very clear. Why would you bother pretending any different? And why does Nick? Why does Gray?

“He should know better,” you insist anyway, because like hell you’re going to admit you’re the one at fault here. “I had a bad day, and he knows that, and he didn’t tune me out like he should’ve when he knew I was going to be in a bad mood.”

“He wants to help,” Gray says.

“I don’t want him to. We all know how therapy went, right? Poorly. And if they can’t fix me, what can Nick do?”

The words sting - you can see it on Gray’s face. Still, he pushes through. He perseveres. Because some people can do that, you think, and it’s something you always manage to forget. You certainly can’t. “He wants to be there for you. He just wants to help,” he repeats.

So do I. Gray doesn’t say it, but you know he’s thinking it.

“It just makes it harder,” You’re surprised at how quickly your anger has turned into exhaustion. Or maybe you’re not. “And I’ve told Nick. And he doesn’t get it.”

He sits back on the heels of his hands, thinking, and you stare at the space between you while you wait for him to say something. Bringing up therapy was a low blow - it definitely wasn’t a nice part of your life, and one Gray was unlucky enough to be a part of. One time you came home after a session and locked yourself in your room for a day and a half straight, and you’re sure Nick probably cried about it at some point before he and Gray managed to coax you out like some sort of wounded animal. It’s a painful memory. For all three of you.

That’s one of the few things you agree on.

“I know it can be frustrating,” Gray says finally, and you look at him again. “And I know he gets on your nerves. And I don’t blame you entirely, Mari. I know your condition can be...” He chews on his bottom lip, looking for the right words because he probably thinks there’s a chance he’ll scare you off. “Difficult. But Nick is trying to make you happy. He loves you.”

That’s all he can manage to say right now, apparently. Which you can’t blame him for.

After all, Gray doesn’t get it, either.

“Well, I love him too,” you mutter, looking at your shoes. There’s no point in pushing anymore - you’re tired, and you want to go home, and above all, you don’t want Gray to hate you. You already cause him much more trouble than you’re worth. “You could tell him that next time you see him.”

Gray chuckles. “Maybe you can tell him yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “Depends on how he greets me when I get home,” you answer. “If he goes in for a hug, I’m out. If he made a batch of apology cookies, then...”

That was another joke, but Gray must have heard it this time. You know that because his eyes light up and reaches into his pocket, fishing around for something until, a few seconds later, he leans forward and holds his arm out as far as he can without getting too close. In between his fingers are a couple of plastic-wrapped chocolate chip cookies. “He started making them right after your left,” he says, smiling kindly at you so the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

You lean forward a little, squinting at them knowingly. “Did you take one, Grayson?”

He laughs, reaching up with his other hand to scratch the back of his head. “Maybe,” he says. “But they’re for you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” He thrusts them in your direction again. “Truce?”

You meet his eyes and force a stream of several images through your brain. Frog guts. Crying children. Bloody zombies with terrible make-up and detached limbs. Sure, it’s all pretty dark - something you’ve become accustomed to - but it’s meant to keep people away, and it works for you. Most of the time. Not on Gray, though, who is still looking at you and smiling, and you wonder how he’s allowed to be so perfect when you’re the exact opposite, and why the fuck that’s the reason you love him, too.

You take the cookies from him, giving him a smile of your own. “Truce,” you agree. For now, at least, but to Gray, it seems like enough.

#oc: mari #pairing: mari x gray #her full name is marian btw :3 #the inspo for this came from like.... a few of the asks........... #the one about the hidden intervention stat - though this is pre-book so we can jump that hurdle when we get to it LKSJDFLS #and then the one about gray not being able to date an mc who is hostile to nick #and then the one about nick not rlly getting mc's grudge against their parents (if they have one which mari does) #i think mari and nick like each other but they have different... perspectives ??? mari is a very self-involved person #i like the ask where it's like. nick cares about people's intentions which is why he can forgive easier. but mari can't #because people don't INTEND to hear her thoughts/read her mind (well some of the time at least) but they do anyway #and she feels like it takes away all her autonomy and privacy and whatnot and Yeah ANYWAY #also this is abt the ask where it's like. gray (and sally's) romances are abt 'knowing the person intimately b4 falling in love w them' #that ask literally took me out. it pinned me to the ground. it got me in a chokehold. i really do love him #ALSO THIS IS PRE-BOOK FOR ANYONE WONDERING.... MARI IS PROBABLY LIKE. 18-19. #so if any of the lore is wrong i will be so mortified. jo please do not read this LKJFDKLSJL #i just had such a vivid image of this fic and HAD to write it yenno. or else it'd haunt me. but ANYWAY #I'M RLLY SCARED I WROTE GRAY WRONG BUT I TRIED MY BEST I WENT THRU HIS TAG LIKE TEN TIMES LKDJFKLD #OK. ANYWAY I SAY FOR THE 5TH TIME #my writing #my ocs

[lowkeyaesthvtic]

Fiery and Frozen

Pairing: poly!Sea Three (Uma x Harry x Gil)

Summary: The Sea Three get sent home from Auradon Prep early due to a snow storm. The boys want to turn on the fireplace, but Uma has other plans

Word Count: 4,146 (that’s right, it’s a long boy)

Warnings: major major MAJOR explicit smut, light bondage, dom!Uma, switch!Harry, sub!Gil, I feel like the post will get banned if I explain everything so just read with caution

Author’s Note: This is the first of three (I think three?) smuts that follow the smut dialogue prompts I reblogged a while back. This particular one has prompts 16 and 94

The air outside was nearly arctic, and the howling wind didn’t help too much. Ice quietly tapped against every surface of every building in Auradon. Those who made the dull-witted decision to skip out on layering for that day came back to their dorms with high chills on their skin and a blue or purple tint to their lips. Uma, Harry, and Gil had all made that mistake.

School had been cancelled early that day, as did all after school activities. Some were happy to be sent home early, eager to catch up on homework, take a nap, whatever they wish. Others were upset about the cancellation of their beloved tourney practice or rehearsal for Auradon’s Speech and Debate team. These swashbucklers, however, only cared about staying warm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Harry mumbled as he shut their dorm room door behind them. Goosebumps trailed along his pale skin from one muscled arm to the next. For the first time in a long time, he would publicly admit to being desperate for something. In the case? Warmth.

“I don’t get it...yesterday it was sunny. Like, really sunny. Did someone cast a spell? Is Auradon cursed again?” Gil asked as he walked over to their bed and looked for blankets, hoodies, anything to warm themselves from the frost outside their window. Uma sat on their bed and crossed one leg over the other as she eyed her boys up and down. Despite them being tinted a dark blue, Uma could not stop thinking about their lips. The cold skin trailing along every inch of her body as she’d curl her icy fingers down their bare backs. 

“Nope. Evie told me earlier today that they got hit with something similar this time last year. She had the perfect cure for it, though.” She smirked and walked over to the small fireplace in their nearly luxurious bedroom. They had only added tiny Isle-esque touches so far, and they did intend on adding more. But for now, their bedroom would look like a weird mix of their home on the Isle and the fresh, pristine style of Auradon. With the fireplace on, the boys quickly sped over to sit on the foot of the bed and face the roaring heat emitting from across them. 

The boys sighed in relief. But said relief was quickly cut in half when Uma stood in front of the fireplace, blocking some of the heat that would be warming them. She stood facing them, hands on her hips and looking at them with hungry eyes. “Well? Don’t you want to know what the cure is?” She asked innocently, hoping the tease in her tone would help them take the hint.

Harry immediately caught on, knowing that slight tease in her voice from a mile away. He smirked devilishly and gave a low chuckle. Gil, however, bless his pirate soul, was sitting there with his head slightly cocked to the side in confusion. “I thought the fireplace was the cure?” Gil asked.

The dark-locked pirate stood and tenderly greeted his girlfriend, placing a stray hair behind her face. “Hmmm, it seems he’s not catching the hint. More for me?” Harry quietly cooed in her ear. Uma smiled softly, inching in closer to him as if she were going to kiss him. Harry was swiftly surprised, however, when she tightly gripped his hair and pushed him down to his knees. Harry melted into the touch, loving the fluttery, fiery feeling he received when Uma reminded him who was in charge.

“Not if you’re gonna behave like that.” Uma began to walk closer to Gil, but stopped when she heard shuffling movement from behind her. She briskly turned and gave Harry her dominating glare. “Did I say you could get up? Stay there.” Uma gritted through her teeth as she turned to Gil with a sweet grin. “Gil, do you understand what I’m asking for, here?”

Gil could already feel his breath getting a hint heavier. He knew exactly what she wanted, but he had a role to play. This was a lustful dynamic the three of them had built far before they had decided to take their relationship in a more romantic direction. Harry was a feisty one. He’d have his days where all he wanted to do was tease his sunshiney boy more and more, inching towards the brink of release, but swiping it every time. He was bratty, too. Flirtatious and hedonistic as if the feeling of Gil and Uma’s bodies against his was a drug..no, a religion to him. He could be as teasing and devilish with Gil as he wanted to be, but the minute his Captain stepped in, it’s as if a switch in his mind, body, and soul flipped. What was once a fiery, near chaotic little demon became an obedient first mate, eager to please and serve his Goddess.

Uma always took charge. She’d command every kiss, every touch, every lingering piece of skin on her and her boys. If she asked her boys to jump, they’d ask how hard..how deep, and they had to do it willingly. Because their Captain was merciless, brutal, yet burning ecstasy in punishment. 

Gil? Gil was the sunshine boy. Innocent and a tad dumb both in the streets and somewhat in the sheets. He was always submissive. Almost always excited. He would be a bit naive at first, supposedly fronting like he didn’t have a lot of experience. But once the foreplay was done, that would be the complete opposite. Gil is like a rabbit. Sweet and adorable but horny as fuck. And that showed in his actions. He was needy of pleasure both for himself and his partners, and giving out a naive front was a part of that need.

“I, I think so? Can you...can you tell me?” Uma quietly giggled and slowly shifted herself on to Gil’s lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. She runs her hands gently through his blonde locks and placing a finger under his chin, leans his head up to gaze directly into her dark brown eyes.

“Oh, sweetie. Why tell..when I can just show?” Uma whispered before leaning in to place a kiss on Gil’s soft, pouty lips. Their lips collided deeply and passionately, dancing with each other in a fiery masquerade. Uma couldn’t keep her hands off of Gil’s rock hard, bulging biceps and Gil revelled in every cold touch she gave him. Harry sat back in longing, the sounds of their needy groans and content, quiet sighs filling the room and seeping into his skin. Gil quickly moved down to Uma’s neck, sucking and biting hard enough to leave love bites that blended near perfectly with her dark skin. A small moan slips from Uma as she leans back and takes a quick look at how Harry’s reacting to all of this. She quickly pushes Gil down, his back laying on the soft bed. As she takes off his shirt, she leans down and cooes loud enough for the dark haired pirate behind her to hear. “Gil, why don’t we warm ourselves up a bit, hm?” Gil slowly nods, feeling his erection growing harder with every ounce of her breath he feels on his skin. 

“But...but what about Harry?” Gil looked up just for a moment to check on his kneeling boyfriend. He wasn’t quite a mess just yet, but the animal was definitely not liking his cage. His mind was racing, eyes fixed on Gil’s bare chest. He knew that as soon as Uma gave him the permission to, he’d ravage that naive boy enough to make Gil scream his name. The idea of pinning Gil’s arms to the bed as he’d suck and bite on every inch of his skin, teasing his hard, twitching cock until the very last second made Harry’s erection very visible through his black pants. Harry looked to Uma and gave her a gaze that silently begged for permission to stand, to move, to do anything other than sit here and watch. Uma chuckled and positioned herself right on top of Gil’s growing erection, causing a pleasured moan to slip from the boy’s lips.

“We’re gonna give him a show first. Now, be a good boy and do what I tell you. That won’t be so hard, will it?” Gil shakes his head, knowing that the moment he disobeys her he will regret it. Uma smiles and continues kissing every inch of his body, one hand gripping onto his shoulder as she digs her nails into his skin as the other hand rests on Gil’s right thigh. She perks her firm, supple ass a bit higher into the air, knowing it’d drive her first mate crazy. By the time she leans up to examine her work, Gil’s neck and chest are covered in marks varying in shades of red and purple. Gil whines at the loss of contact, but is relieved of the sudden loss when he feels her grinding against his crotch. In his pleasured haze, he hadn’t noticed that Uma had stripped of nearly all her clothes, leaving her only in a pair of lacey, dark blue panties. 

But Harry had seen every bit of it. He knew from the second she removed her brown belt what she was doing to him. He marveled how she swayed out of her dress to the beat of every possible song that was blaring in his mind. He nearly growled when she turned around and flashed him a wink as she removed her bra and tossed it to the floor beside them. Not seeing her breasts, but only the curves and divots of her back and hips was the biggest tease she had given him. He wanted to touch her so bad, feel her lips crash onto his pale body and please every inch of her skin as Gil lingered his tongue up and down his cock. But, like a puppet on strings, he had no choice but to stay still.

Uma continued to grind against Gil’s hard cock, loving the feeling it gave her but needing just a little more. She moved her hand from Gil’s shoulder to his blonde lock, giving a strong tug. Gil quietly winced and the mix of pain and pleasure that she gave him, but he loved every bit of it. He needed to feel her mouth on him like a fish needed the ocean water coursing through every breath. “Uma..please..I need you.” He begged, eyes glazing over with wanton.

At his begging remark, Uma leans down and growls into his ear. “Did I say you could speak, my little rabbit?” She ceased her grinding and stood up, motioning to a needy Harry to stand beside her. “I’ll have to admit, I loved hearing you beg. Maybe our needy Harry over here can help you beg a bit more, hm?” As Harry stood beside her, she pulled him in and quickly crashed their lips together. After being without her touch for so long, it felt like ecstasy to finally get some attention. They ran their hands all over each other, Harry taking every chance he could get to grip her soft breasts. He started to move down to her neck when she pushed him back. “I’ve gotta get something. You two have fun while I’m gone.” As she walked away, she whispered a subtle command to her first mate. “I want him a mess when I’m back. But don’t let him come, you got that?” Moving his gaze to the desperate blonde in front of him, he slowly nodded with a devilish snicker. Uma walked off, heading towards a special closet in a different part of their home.

Harry quickly rushed on top of Gil, stripping off his jacket and shirt with haste. Using his strength, he pulled Gil up closer to him, their chests touching skin to skin. “Wait, what did she tell you?” Gil asked in between quiet moans as Harry left even more love bites across his neck and shoulders.

“Shut up and take your pants off.” Harry responded, to which Gil obliged. Soon enough, both of the boys were naked and revelling in each other’s touch. Heat, lust, and utter desire roaring in the both of them. Like an entrancing snake, Harry slithered down Gil’s chilled body, leaving both wet and soft kisses down every inch until he finally licked a long, wet stride up the blonde’s hard cock. The sensation sent shivers up Gil’s spine as he leaned his head back and let a needy moan release into their bedroom. Gripping onto his thighs strong enough to leave red marks, Harry soon became a little rougher with his tongue. Gil intertwined his fingers in his dark, messy locks as Harry switched back and forth between speedily bobbing up and down and teasing licks from the base to his tip. Harry had always been a fan of control when it came to Gil, doing everything he could to remind the muscle that no matter how big and strong he was, he’d always be a good boy for a teasing, devilish imp like himself. 

Harry kept himself trapped in between Gil’s legs, his pace growing quick and rough as Gil bucked his hips and let his cock hit the back of Harry’s throat. Gil could feel the warmth in his stomach beginning to bubble over as he longed for release. “Harry...please.” He moaned out as he neared his climax. Harry let go of his cock with an audible pop and continued gliding his fingers along the inside of Gil’s thighs, relishing in the small shivers and squirms the blonde pirate gave. 

“Sorry, rabbit. Uma gave me orders. I have to follow them.” He slid back from in between Gil’s legs and moved to straddle him. He leaned down to his boyfriend’s ear and whispered lowly. “You know how to follow orders, don’t you?” As Harry’s hand went to tightly grip Gil’s throat, the two pirates could hear the door opening and Uma walking in with an evil smile on her face. There she stood with a pair of red, leather handcuffs in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other. Harry speedily removed himself from Gil and began to saunter closer to Uma, eyeing the cuffs like a hungry wolf. “What exactly do you have planned, Captain?” Uma let out a soft chuckle before looking over to Gil.

“Gil, my rabbit, lean up against the headboard, will you?” Gil quickly nodded and obeyed, shimmying his body so his back leaned against the headboard. Uma spun one of the cuffs around her finger in pure excitement. “Harry, help me out?”

“Gladly, Captain.” Harry purred as the two moved over to cuff Gil to the black headboard behind their bed. Gil’s heartbeat began to quicken in both fear and excitement as he felt his hands restrict to the tight, red, leather cuffs that Uma had brought up. His length was still standing hard and thick, almost painfully stiff from Harry’s earlier teasing. A tiny whimper rises from him as Harry snakes down to his chest and starts to leave even more tiny little love bites on his chest. Uma straddled behind Harry and grabbed a lock of his hair, using her grip to move him up and away from Gil’s chest.

“Easy, Harry, you’re making the poor guy miserable. Surely he should get some kind of award for following my orders earlier, shouldn’t he?” Uma smiled as she grabbed the bottle of lube and began to open the cap. However, instead of squeezing the lube onto Harry’s hand, she quickly grabbed two of Harry’s fingers and swirled her tongue around them long and slow. “Just in case the lube’s not enough.” She said after releasing his fingers with an audible pop. Harry could try to assume that was the only reason Uma sucked his fingers so sloppily, but he knew what she was doing. He chuckled lightly and looked down at Gil. The poor little rabbit still laid a heavily breathing, silently begging mess. Harry took the lube from Uma’s hand and squeezed a little bit of it onto his two fingers before lathering them in the warm liquid. 

“Don’t worry, little rabbit. I’ll warm you up.” Harry smirked as he teased his finger around the rim of Gil’s hole before slowly inserting it inside of him. A small hiss of pain could be heard as Gil slowly adjusted to the penetration, but it wasn’t long before he laid there, eager for Harry to move his long, index finger. 

“H-Harry, please...s-stop teasing.” 

“We really need to find a way to shut you up, don’t we, little Rabbit? Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing. Are you able to lay on your back?” Uma asked softly, a temporary pause from her dominating demeanor to ensure the safety of her boyfriend. When he nodded his head and began to slowly lay on his back, Uma straddled over his chest and began to capture his tongue in a heated, passionate kiss. In the kiss, Uma began to grind her naked sex on top of Gil’s chest, painting it with her wet juices. “Go ahead and stop teasing him, Harry. I’ve got just the thing to keep him quiet.” Uma ordered her first mate. As Harry obeyed and began to curl his finger inside Gil’s hole, a soft sigh of relief could be heard from the blonde pirate. Uma began to move her naked body closer and closer to Gil’s mouth. “You know what to do, little rabbit. Show me what that tongue can do.” She whispered before lowering herself onto Gil’s face. He eagerly went to work licking her folds, lapping at her warm juices like a thirsty dog desperate for water. 

As he ate Uma out, Harry slowly curved his finger as he moved in and out of Gil’s hole. Tired of being tame, Harry cautiously added a second finger and began to quicken his pace. Moans could be heard from both Uma and Gil as the devilish imp hit Gil’s most sensitive spot and the little rabbit grew even more reckless with his tongue. “Fuck, sunshine...need to be in you so badly. Captain, can I fuck him? Please?” Harry panted as his member remained nearly untouched. His mind went wild watching both his boyfriend and girlfriend unravel before him, but the fact that he wasn’t getting a lot of attention slowly began to eat away at him. 

Uma was nearing her climax, but decided that she needed something different, something more from her boys. She got off of Gil’s face and went back to straddling his chest. She lowered herself to meet his lips as she whispered seductively to him. “What do you think, Gil? You want Harry to fuck you senseless while I ride that thick cock of yours? All you gotta do is ask.” The two boys gulped in excitement as Harry shot Gil a look saying ‘You better beg, you little shit.’ Gil looked up at Uma and eagerly nodded his head. 

“Please, please Captain. I need to feel you, I need to feel both of you. I promise, I’ll do anything.” After being silenced for so long, Gil felt amazing finally letting go of control and submitting to the two beautiful people in front of him. He’d beg as long as they wanted if it meant making them feel good. Uma quickly leaned down to peck his cheek.

“Good boy.” She smiled as she leaned over to the dresser and grabbed two condoms. As she handed one to Harry, she shot him a wink. “Try not to rough him up too much, alright? Unless he wants that.” 

Gil rolled his eyes as he watched the two unwrap and put on the condoms. “I don’t care how rough, just fuck me already!”

Harry and Uma chuckled and positioned themselves. Uma straddled Gil’s length as Harry rubbed some of the warm lube onto his own. “Well, somebody’s eager.” Harry laughed as he teased the tip of his cock around Gil’s stretched hole. Uma, however, was tired of teasing. As soon as Gil’s cock was within reach, she quickly lowered herself down. There was a small wince at the sudden entry, but as soon as Uma started moving slowly..up and down..neither of them cared. Harry, incredibly aroused and nearly feral from the pleasurable sounds Uma and Gil began to make, finally entered Gil’s hole starting with his tip and taking it inch by inch. His rough, strong hands began to grip onto Gil’s thighs as he began to move in and out. Gil, slightly overstimulated from all the attention these two were giving him, could already feel his head floating in the clouds. It was like the three of them were the only people in the world. He didn’t care how loud or ridiculous sounding his moans and tiny begs were, or how loudly their headboard had started to bang on the wall. All he cared about was the warm wetness Uma blessed him with and the rough, senseless fucking Harry began to gave him as he quickly picked up his pace.

Uma definitely had a good time herself as well. It always brought her joy knowing the pleasure of two of the Isle’s hottest boys was in the palm of her hands. She was the only one who knew the right way to tug Harry’s black locks. She was the only one who knew Gil’s secret ‘love’ for spanking and rope bondage. Technically, Harry knew these things too, but she was the only one who’d get to use them as tiny games of sexual torture. She loved it. They loved it. And they’re the only ones who play it with each other.

Harry could feel himself start to come undone. The warm feeling in the pit of his groin was bubbling and boiling like a pot of hot water and he wanted nothing more than to let it burst inside of his blonde baby boy. “C-Captain...can I come? Please, please let me come inside of him.” Harry would never be this submissive around anybody else. But there was something about the way Uma carried herself, both in and outside the bedroom, that made him weak in the knees. Weak enough that if anybody else were to see the two in moments like these, they’d think Harry was under some kind of love spell cast by Uma. But there was no spell involved here, just a girl so beautiful, so confident, so strong in her fight for dominance that just submitting to her brought Harry the utmost pleasure. For Gil, on the other hand, he was an amplified, sexualized version of his usual, chaotic self. Eager to both tease and please. After all, the more you tease, the more they want it, and Harry loved to elongate everything with Gil as far as he could until Gil was a begging mess. 

Speaking of begging, Gil’s pants began to grow quick and unrhythmic as his climax came close. “I’m getting close, too. Uma...p-please..” He whined as he listened to the beautiful music of Uma’s moans. 

“Yes, yes baby. You can come. Come long and hard like I know you can.” Neither of the boys knew which one she was talking to, but they obeyed the order regardless. Gil let out a huge moan as he came inside of Uma, knowing he’d have quite the messy condom to throw away later. As he came, Harry could feel Gil’s hole tightening around him. The warm, tight hole around Harry’s throbbing cock was enough for the devilish pirate to reach his peak, whispering both Gil and Uma’s name as he did.

By the time Uma had undone Gil’s cuffs and Harry had thrown away both of the condoms, the three laid sprawled out across the bed, both of the boys near drenched in sweat. “Thank wicked for snow days, yeah?” Harry huffed out as he tangled his fingers in Gil’s ruffled and messy locks.

“Definitely.” Uma smiled, staring up at the ceiling then lowering her eyes to the roaring fireplace. “You boys want me to turn off the fireplace?”

“No, I think we’re good here.” Gil hummed between breaths, taking in the scent and afterglow of his two favorite people. Then, he noticed something. “Uma, did you finish?”

“No, that doesn’t matter though. Making you boys feel good is fine enough for me.” Gil leaned up and looked over to Harry, cocking an eyebrow and letting a playful smirk spread across his face. 

“Well we can’t have that, can we, Harry?” Harry shrugged his shoulders as he began to leave little nibbles on Uma’s neck while Gil lowered himself to Uma’s thighs and began to tease her folds with his fingers. Uma sighed and closed her eyes, realizing a newfound love for snow days.

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