Asmodeus being overly expectant that MC is going to propose to him any day now for no reason.
It’s a quiet evening and the two are lazing around on the bed in Asmodeus’s room. New skin mask pouches have been opened and applied. New issues of each of the Devildom’s most popular fashion magazines lay scattered around.
MC rolls over until they bump into Asmodeus’ thigh and raise their magazine. “Hey, Asmo. What do you think of--”
”Yes.” There is no hesitation. “Yes, I think we should.”
Asmodeus throws down the magazine he was looking at to lean over and pepper MC’s face with kisses. “Let’s get engaged, right now!”
“Oh, okay, cool. I was just wondering what you thought of this top.”
“Oh... It’s kind of tacky. You’re not wearing that to our wedding, right?”
----
It’s dinnertime and, as usual, everyone is gathered around the large dining room table. MC is across the table and several seats down from Asmodeus, with most of his brothers seated between them.
MC’s plate is almost empty. They give the table a once-over look before deciding on a course of action that requires interrupting the current conversation.
“Pardon me, Asmo, will you-”
Asmodeus squeals and kicks his feet. “Yes! A thousand times, yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”
“Wait, no that’s not what--”
“What!?” Mammon shouts, much to the chagrin of Lucifer next to him.
“In your dreams, maybe,” Belphegor quips.
Leviathan looks like he’s about to start crying.
Satan and Beelzebub, sane enough to not jump to conclusions, seem to piece together the situation. Together they work to pass MC a plate of dinner rolls that had been in front of Asmodeus.
“This what you wanted?” Satan asks.
“Yes, I was just asking for these,” MC sighs. Bread will serve nicely to sop up the remaining sauce on their plate. “Thanks.”
Asmodeus responds, “we can serve them at the reception, I think that’s fine.”
Mammon tells him to “get yer head out of the clouds, Asmo, nobody’s marrying you.”
Their mutual glares practically send sparks across the table.
“Pass them back this way,” Beelzebub requests, wanting three more for himself.
----
It’s the middle of the school day. MC pops their head into a classroom. This time they've mentally prepared.
“Asmo, do you wanna-”
"Yes? Yes! I’ll marry you.” As predicted, Asmodeus runs over and winds his arms around MC’s waist. He presses his forehead against theirs and leans them back into a dip. Several students clap. “Proposing to me at school? How brazen.”
“Well, maybe this time I’ll actually think about it, but you have to take me out for lunch first. Deal?”
Asmodeus looks somewhat stunned. He parts his lips and thinks over the proposition while staring into MC’s eyes, searching for any hint of a lie.
“Wait… Really?” He pulls MC back up and takes them by the wrist. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”
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Tears In His Ferrari - 11
Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.
Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.
Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi
Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.
Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2,Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10, Chp 11 , Chp 12.
Bucky then found himself inundated with tags from numerous people: “#SaveBuckyFromY/N”, “KateBucky4ever”, and more.
Feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the online scrutiny, especially since he hadn’t even established a relationship with Kate, Bucky realized the weight of social media speculation.
"Bucky-" as Y/N began to speak, Bucky sensed the tension building within her. Before she could ask him anything, her phone rang, interrupting their conversation.
Reacting swiftly, Bucky urged, “Wait, don’t pick up the phone.”
However, it was too late.
“Hello?” Y/N answered, her expression turning serious as she engaged in the call.
Moments later, she visibly struggled to maintain her balance and leaned heavily against the nearby table. Reacting instinctively, Bucky hurried to her side, offering his support.
Guiding her to sit down, Bucky observed a vulnerability in Y/N that he hadn’t witnessed before, despite their months of companionship.
Letting out a weary sigh, Y/N confessed, “This thing still chases me wherever I go.”
Concern etched across his features, Bucky inquired softly, “Is it true?”
Y/N met his gaze and nodded solemnly. “Do you want to know why I disliked you the first time we met?”
Bucky attempted to lighten the mood with a jest, “You did? I didn’t notice.”
Y/N smiled stiffly, her expression betraying a mix of emotions. “You reminded me of my old self. Selfish and childish.”
Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion. The Y/N he knew appeared aloof, but beneath her exterior, she always extended a helping hand whenever someone needed it.
“You?” Bucky exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
Y/N nodded, her gaze distant as she recounted her past. “I used to despise farm life. So, I ran away to the city.”
“No way,” Bucky responded, struggling to reconcile this revelation with the Y/N he knew.
“I took on any job I could find to survive,” Y/N continued. “Eventually, I landed a position in a small restaurant. The owner took me under his wing and taught me everything I know. After a year, he recommended me for a chef position on a cruise ship.”
“That’s where you met Paul?” Bucky interjected, connecting the dots.
Y/N nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. “We were the youngest chefs on board, constantly underestimated by our senior colleagues. But we worked tirelessly to prove ourselves.”
Her smile faded as she delved deeper into her story. “Who would have thought that Paul was actually the son of the ship’s owner?”
Bucky nodded in understanding. Kate came from a wealthy family, and while he knew her mother, he was unaware of her father’s identity.
“Paul asked me to join him in opening a restaurant,” Y/N continued, her voice tinged with reminiscence. “I became his sous-chef.”
Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in concern as he processed Y/N’s words. “Starlight restaurant?”
Y/N simply nodded in confirmation.
“Wow,” Bucky remarked, impressed. “It’s notoriously difficult to secure a reservation there.”
Y/N’s expression shifted, her eyes clouded with memories. “The restaurant was successful, but I grew exhausted and burned out,” she explained. “I couldn’t handle it, especially with Paul’s gambling addiction.”
The restaurant had flourished financially, but much of the income had been drained to cover Paul’s debts, leaving Y/N drained and depressed.
“So, I quit and returned to working on cruise ships,” she continued a tinge of regret in her voice. But even that decision proved a mistake, as she became increasingly depleted and devoid of the passion for cooking that once drove her.
Then came the fateful night of the accident. Paul, inebriated and reckless, had implored Y/N to drive him home. Despite her protests and her inability to operate the sports car, Paul had insisted.
The car veered off course, crashing into a tree. While Paul had sustained injuries, they hadn’t affected his culinary skills. It soon became apparent that the accident had been staged—a ploy for Paul to evade responsibility and declare bankruptcy for the restaurant.
Disgusted by Paul’s deceit, Y/N had returned home—a place she had once fled in search of escape. But upon her return, she realized just how much she had missed it. It was then that she resolved to stay and make amends as a dutiful daughter.
Bucky listened attentively, a mix of empathy and understanding in his gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured her sincerely.
Y/N met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a blend of surprise and gratitude. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear those words. I never expected to hear them from you.”
“Hey…” Bucky’s soft and comforting voice offered solace amid Y/N’s turmoil.
As their faces drew closer, a palpable tension crackled in the air, igniting a silent conversation between them. Y/N’s heart raced in anticipation, her mind swirling with the possibility of what might transpire between them. Is this really happening? she wondered, her breath catching in her throat as she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable.
But just as their lips hovered tantalizingly close, the spell was abruptly shattered by the intrusion of Samantha’s voice.
“Baby, are you okay?”
Startled, Bucky and Y/N quickly recoiled, putting a respectful distance between them as Samantha entered the room. The moment was lost, replaced by a wave of awkwardness that washed over them both.
Samantha’s eyes flickered over the scene, a discerning glint in her gaze. She approached her daughter, her expression a mix of concern and determination. “Don’t worry, baby,” she assured Y/N, her voice laced with unwavering resolve. “Mom will handle this. Nothing this skinny person said is true.”
Y/N’s brows furrowed in confusion and apprehension. “What are you going to do?” she inquired, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she awaited her mother’s response.
******
Kate, thoroughly enjoying her followers' flattering tweets and comments, lounged back in her chair with a satisfied smirk. "Hehehe."
Meanwhile, her assistant, feeling a bit groggy, couldn’t seem to sit still.
"Stop fidgeting," Kate commanded, her tone impatient as she continued scrolling through her phone.
"But she didn’t do anything wrong," her assistant pointed out, a hint of sympathy in their voice.
Rolling her eyes dismissively, Kate waved off the comment. She was too engrossed in the online attention to entertain any doubts or second thoughts.
However, her focus was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She glanced at the caller ID and saw it was her estranged brother, Paul.
Kate's trembling fingers hesitated before accepting the call, her long, manicured nails glinting in the dim light as she whispered a tentative "Hi."
The voice on the other end was cold and devoid of any warmth one might expect from siblings. "Keep my name out of this," Paul commanded, his tone sharp and unforgiving.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Kate watched as the call abruptly ended. It was a brief exchange, leaving her feeling pale and unsettled.
Despite being siblings, Kate and Paul had grown apart over the years, their relationship strained by their parent's divorce and Paul's withdrawal from social interactions following the accident.
As Kate tried to process the call, she was startled by a commotion from her rented house. Peeking cautiously through the curtains, she saw a sight that sent shockwaves through her. Quickly retreating from the window, she cowered in the safety of the shadows, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty.
"Get the car keys," she ordered her assistant, her voice tinged with urgency.
"What's going on?" her assistant pressed, confusion evident in their tone.
"Stop asking! Just do it!" Kate snapped, her patience wearing thin.
With a resigned sigh, her assistant rolled their eyes but complied with her request.
Peeking anxiously from behind the curtain, Kate's heart sank at the sight that greeted her. A crowd had gathered outside, wielding fiery torches and brandishing pitchforks.
It resembled a scene from a medieval village, and Kate couldn't shake the feeling that she was the target of their ire.
Voices clamored outside, demanding her presence. "Come out, come out! Where is the person who just slandered my daughter's name?" one voice shouted.
"Right. Come out and talk," another added, the tone laced with hostility.
Kate trembled with fear, her mind racing with panic.
"You want to go now?" her assistant asked, their concern palpable.
"Now!" Kate insisted, her voice quivering with anxiety.
As she hurriedly exited town, Kate swore to herself that she would never return. The events of that night had left her shaken to the core, and she had no intention of ever crossing paths with Bucky or anyone else from the town again.
********
Kate's message sat unread in Bucky's inbox, a stark reminder of her betrayal. He felt a pang of guilt as he reflected on how things had unfolded.
If he had been firmer in asking Kate to leave, Y/N wouldn't have been subjected to such humiliation.
Despite the turmoil, Bucky resolved to carry on with his daily routine. Tending to the crops and livestock provided a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of recent events.
During lunchtime, he decided to visit Toby and his grandparents. As he arrived at the farmhouse, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to encounter.
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Author Note: Hey friends,
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I don't think I've ever seen a good take on Tumblr about music and this recent fiasco of the majority white userbase floundering to justify not listening to rap/ hip-hop is proof of it. So far You guys literally have pulled:
"rap is too violent for me" (stereotype that's painfully untrue and rooted in anti blackness)
"I'm autistic and rap hurts my brain" (I'm autistic and I know other autistic people who like rap)
"I listen to rap!! (And lists something that isn't rap in the slightest)"
"insert something racist here" (self explanatory)
"does Hamilton count" (I will stab you in a dark alleyway)
Please I beg on my hands and knees for you to listen to expand your musical horizons, go outside your comfort zone. To get a complex and rich understanding of the world, one must view art from people outside Their own fixed walks of life. I've put this gently but also, you don't need to fucking reiterate that "you dont like rap" or "you don't listen to ( insert black artist)" every time you speak on a subculture that you're not a part of. The conversation isn't about you! Move on! I will say that if there are people who WANT to listen to rap/hip-hop there is a plethora of artists to choose from from many different backgrounds that aren't what white media has illustrated it to be.
Some albums I can reccomend off the top of my head:
Saba - Few Good Things
McKinley Dixon - Beloved! Paradise! Jazz?!
Kendrick Lamar - to pimp a butterfly + Good Kid Maad City (2 classics)
Noname - room 25 + Telefone (both great albums)
Little simz - sometimes I might be introvert
A tribe called quest - low end theory
Denzel Curry - Melt my Eyez See your future
Outkast - Aquemini + Stankonia (again, both great albums)
JPEGMAFIA - LP! + All My Heros Are Cornballs (2 fantastic albums also I think he's rlly hot and he's probably my favourite artist ever)
Grouptherapy - I was mature for my age but I was still a child!
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (probably one of my favourite albums ever, To Zion still makes me cry a lot ;;)
I will say this over and over again until the cows come home but please for the love of all that is holy, you can't just keep fucking repeating dumb shit on the internet about something you know nothing about.
If you want to engage in new music it's never been more accessible and artists like Denzel Curry and McKinley Dixon even have bandcamps for you to support their music on if you don't like streaming services.
I hope this recent beef of the year has managed to actually make people listen to more black and brown artists. Music is something I'm very passionate about and all of these albums in some way have affected me on a personal level and changed my perspective on life and molded me as a person (and also some just sound really fucking good).
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May Prompts #6 & 7 - Cold and Calm
Another update of The Private Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson; this is Chapter 28 in the fic.
Prompts 6 and 7: Cold, Calm
Last evening, which Sherlock and John both were at home for, and isn’t that a miracle these days, Sherlock informed John that he didn’t want to go to Bill’s wedding. Too many people, which John got, and too many preparations, which John didn’t. Suits, a wedding gift, hotel room to stay in after, hire car to get there and back (Sutton Mallet, why’d they pick Sutton Mallet? Bill’s not from there and he said Deborah’s family are all Londoners. ??) were all squared away. So what –
Sherlock interrupted at that point to hand John the most luxurious socks John had ever seen in his life. The explanation for such socks was that Sherlock had been told that the floors are often chilly at weddings, and Sherlock wanted John’s toes to stay warm.
Hmm.
“Told by whom?” was John’s question (and he deliberately used “whom” so as to not distract Sherlock from the question by incorrect grammar).
The story was this:
Molly’s young niece had wanted to meet the famous detective, so Sherlock agreed to lunch with her and Molly at a small cafe. They had an engaging conversation on forensic entomology (“You told a small child about insects eating dead people?” “She was the one who led the conversation. Quite insightful questions for one so young.”), and then Small Molly (Sherlock did not remember the girl’s name) mentioned she would in the near future be the flower girl at a wedding.
Regular Molly excused herself to the toilet, and Small Molly proceeded to impart to Sherlock all that she knew about weddings.
By the time Molly returned to the table, Sherlock had concluded he wanted nothing to do with weddings and the conversation had turned to other matters.
“Tell me what she told you,” John said.
Sherlock proceeded to do so, getting more agitated and speaking faster and faster as he went. The thing he was most anguished about was that guests had to give a speech about the best man, and not only would many of the guests be embarrassingly and tediously incorrect about who exactly the best man was, because obviously John was the best man still alive (apparently, the Garroter of Somewhere had been a very generous person but was now deceased), but it was becoming frustratingly clear that capturing one’s feelings on paper-slash-screen was exponentially more difficult than recording one’s thoughts.
A nice tight hug, deep pressure in the right places, helped calm Sherlock down. John explained that the under-ten set had a tendency to misinterpret, and then they had a conversation about what actually happens at weddings.
They had to consult Mrs Hudson on some of the finer details, but by the end of the evening Sherlock had once again agreed to come to Bill and Deborah’s wedding.
(And at the very end of the evening, when we were tucked into bed together, Sherlock told me some of the things he’d been trying to put in a speech about me. God. Tears in my eyes, on my face; me bawling like a baby, felt like. Sherlock got alarmed, but I just held him closer and tried my best to reciprocate, to tell him what he means to me. Not sure I did it justice; not sure I could ever do it, or him, justice, really. Not sure that’s possible. My love.)
--
@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl
PS from Dee: I googled “expensive socks” and got these by Bottega Veneta. Please look through the pictures to see the picture of the man wearing them. He looks like a really odd flasher.
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