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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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This is so utterly stupid but I have a few HC’s about Muslim Dabi(again obv this isn’t canon I just think it’s funny)

-Dabi would def be the type of Muslim dude who claims to be super religious cuz he never eats pork and “goes to the mosque to pray”(which is actually just code for hitting a blunt in the back of the parking lot w Hawks and Shigaraki💀), but yet smokes^^ and still has hella sex with like every other girl who bats her lashes at him from across the dining hall

-he also is a big cat lover, he claims since the Prophet Muhammad had cats of his own it’s sunnah to keep one

-on Eid namaz he’s the most dripped out one at the session, I’m talking black kurta dress, nice ass watch, slicked back hair...but funny enough, no one has actually seen him in line for the prayers themselves

-if he were back at home with the rest of the Todoroki’s, he’d most definitely be THE MOST spoiled one. Fuyumi would get on his ass for not cleaning the dishes, but he’d wave her off and tell her it’s training for her to be a better housewife for her future husband(cue a soapy sponge thrown at his head)

-Snitches.Constantly. Bro like this dude catches Shoto on his phone when he’s supposed to be doing a dua? Boom, instant callout followed by a long ass lecture about how he’s straying away from his religion and how he’s going to hell just because he spent one measly moment on his device instead of praising da lord

-Hes also always telling fuyumi to cover up her sleeves that come just a bittt before her wrists, claiming that she’s showing too much skin(especially when Hawks is over, that fucker’s got his eyes on every single one of his family members). But she’s quick to point out his secret tattoos, piercings, and hair dyes. He just scoffs and pulls the “women were created lesser than men so it’s okay for me to act a fool but not for you” card🙄stg I can’t stand him

-Since he’s the closest to Natsu, he’s always giving Eid money to him the most. The dude will slouch against his favorite brothers’ door, watching him play 2K. “What do you want?” Natsu asks with no real malice, not taking his eyes off the changing screen, furiously clicking away on his controller. “Mom says you gotta iron your clothes, Fuyumi’s doing her own so she can’t do yours as well. Oh, and Eid Mubarak by the way.” Natsu pauses him game and stands to stretch his arms above his head, groaning at the tendons popping in place on his back. “Yeah man, you too-what’s that?” He points to a fat parcel in Touya’s hand. The white-haired boy grins and chucks the bulging package at him, which Natsu catches easily. His eyes widen when he tears open the cream-colored paper envelope and reveals dozens of bills exceeding the usual 5-10$ family limit. “Yo, what-how-thanks Touya!” He sputters, throwing the package on his bed and throwing an arm around his brothers’ back in a man-hug. Touya rolls his eyes and barely suppresses a smile at Natsu’s excitement,(something he’s always wanting to be the source of) pounding his back to let go before he asphyxiates. He lets go and Touya smirks before heading towards the door, calling out over his shoulder, “Oh, and I’d thank Sho-turd as well while you’re singing my praise.” Natsu stops in his tracks and looks suspiciously at the withdrawing slender figure. “Why?”. Touya’s voice is distant as he moves to close and lock his door. “‘Cuz it’s his money after all.”

-The two brothers are always waking up at Sehri the earliest in Ramadhan, just so they can scarf down a majority of the food in the fridge and go to sleep without having to interact with the rest of their family at sunrise. And in the case that their family DOES wake up in time to see them chomping down food made for a WHOLE FAMILY and not just two boys, Touya is quick to grab his keys and jacket and cackle that him and Natsu are going to iHop to eat some more. Natsu ofc is quick to follow pursuit, throwing an apologetic grin towards his parents and other siblings.

-When they’re at the mosque and Enji has somehow bullied him enough to sit the hell down and actually ATTEND the lectures for once, Touya still has one up his sleeve. Planned out strategically, he always simpers to Rei that he wants to donate to the mosque, causing her eyes to water and a handful of cash thrown his way, her voice wobbly as she praises her son for actually taking the foundations of his religion seriously. Unbeknownst to her however, this just means that he’ll take a little bit more than he gives. Hawks will be standing at the front of the hall, bowing his head and using his silver tongue to graciously thank the many men and women who come forth to drop their allowance into the money basket. When he sees his best man approaching, he has to stop the smug grin from reaching his ears, instead slanting his brows and holding the basket out to the now black-haired thief. “Glad to see you’re taking eternal damnation seriously, for once,” Keigo flashes his perky whites and Dabi drops Rei’s money into the donation basket, dipping his hand a little lower for a second. “Glad to see you’re still standing here like some busboy peasant, as usual,” he fires back, the two boys catching each other’s eyes and stifling their cackles as the patched hand withdraws, a copious amount of bills in his hand, more than what he put in.

-100% steals shoes. Usually you hear about older men doing this, but age aint nothin’ but a number to Dabi, baby. “Nice kicks,” he nods to a boy Natsu’s age, noting the blue and black minimalist patterns adorning the shoes. The boy recognizes Dabi as one of the most revered figures at the mosque (and the most featured by adults. Who’d want their kid hanging out with the eldest Todoroki as an influence?) and bobs his head excitedly, spewing out the manufacture and release dates of the shoes. Dabi looks at the fanboy amusedly, continuing to lean against the shoe rack as more people crowd around and start to push the boy inside. “See you later Dabi!” The eccentric kid calls out as he’s pushed into the hall by grumbling uncles. The ravenette snickers fo himself, “Yeah, but you won’t be seeing these shoes anytime soon.”

-A notorious playboy in the community. Uncles glare at him, unable to scold him outright for his shenanigans due to his father’s close presence, and aunties steer their children away from him at dinner parties. Speaking of, Dabi’s at a dinner right now. He’s lighting up a joint in amongst 3 mesmerized girls sitting on the floor in front of him and 2 jealous dudes his age in a locked room, away from all the screaming little kids. “Wow Dabi, doesn’t it burn?” The youngest of the three girls asks him with imploring eyes. He smiles a charming smile down at her and he thinks he sees the other two swoon. “Nah, sweetheart, you get used to it after a little while. Don’t be like me though, keep yourself pure and clean,” he shoots a wink at them and they giggle, faces turning red. The other two boys sitting at the far end of the bed scowl at his successful flirting, but Dabi doesn’t care for any of them, honestly, they’re just target practice. Right as he inhaled the fumes of another puff, a little body throws itself at the door, banging its fists on the wood. “It’s time for food!” They all jump at the intrusion and chuckle as the intruder runs away, containing to scream about food being served. The group gets up to leave and exits through the door, but Dabi takes his time. He wasn’t done with his joint, and he has to waft the smell away anyways when he leaves. He’s opening a window to let out some air when he heads a soft shuffle from behind him. “Shows over guys, go eat-“ but when he turns around, the oldest girl of the three stands before him, fiddling with her hands and looking at the floor. “Um, Dabi? I know you said not to try it out by ourselves so...I was wondering if you could-if you could teach me how...?” She looks at the half-used roll in his hand, and he looks from the blunt to her face. He looks behind her. A closed door. Perfect. Taking a step forwards, he relishes in how she takes a hesitant step back, the breath in her throat catching but she still doesn’t back down. She looks to him like he’s a god, and he feels like one right now. And so he steps closer until she’s backed against the wall, his lids lowered to her wide ones, and he placed a hand next to her head. “Didnt your mom ever tell you not to take things from strangers?” He ghosts by the shell of her ear, and she shivers. “She never told me the strangers would be this hot,” and he has to laugh a bit at her tenacity. He pulls away and flops back on the bed, signaling for her to join him. “Well come one then, I’m hungry, better hurry up before I change my mind.” And 5 shotguns later, Dabi barely wipes off her bright pink lipstick from his face and straightens his kurta along with his hair before bounding down the steps, eager for food. At his command, she comes down a minute after him as to not cause any suspicion, but it doesn’t stop Rei from shooting him a knowing glare from the living room as he piles his plate with food. He shoves a veggie roll in his mouth as he turns to join the boys in the dining area, but his path is blocked by a large woman. “I know you’re up to no good. The children told me what funny smell was coming from the room upstairs, and I know you’re to blame, Touya Todoroki. I respect your mother a lot so I won’t make a scene here-“ he interrupts her, mouth half full with a roll, “-I mean, you already kinda are,-“ but she continues her tirade. “-I don’t think you’re a good influence on these kids, especially your siblings. What self respecting family would be okay with their son acting like a hooligan, having piercings, smelling like weed?” He smirks and swallows before swerving around her. “I don’t know Aunty, why don’t you ask your daughter? She didn’t seem to mind my, ah, influence.”

-When they were all younger, there was a time where End*avor wanted the boys the toughen up a bit and stop messing around so much. He brought the family up to the mountains in a nice cabin, purposefully choosing an area with farms nearby. It was around the time of Eid-e-Adha, so naturally goats and sheep’s were going to be sacrificed for the family feast. Touya already knew what was going on, so Enji left it up to him, a scrawny preteen boy to take over the initiation. Fuyumi wanted to come to the farm too, but Touya glared at her and told her to stay home because “girls are too emotional for this.”(he really did think that, but above all he held a secret soft spot for his only younger sister). Natsu and Touya both started heading down to the field to pick out a goat, and ofc little Shoto wanted to come along to. He begged and begged for his older brothers to bring him along and to not leave him at home for once, and with a sly glance to Natsu, Touya relented. He leaned down to Shoto’s eye-level and asked with serious eyes, “You sure?”. Shoto nodded eagerly, standing straight up as to look more solemn and mature. Natsu held back a snicker and grabbed Shoto by the collar as they dragged him out to the pasture. Oh, the little boy was in heaven among the bleating sheep and fluffy coats. “Go ahead, pick one out!” Touya said eagerly, nodding to the clueless toddler to choose a sacrificial sheep. And so the heterochromatic child pointed to one, looking to his big brothers for assurance, to which they gave an excited nod. Shoto yelped with glee and spent the rest of the afternoon frolicking with the soon-to-be-mutton chops, completely oblivious to its grim fate and creating a bond with the animal. So when it was finally sunset and the time came to start preparing for the feast, Touya walked over leisurely to Shoto, pushed the grubby hand away from the animal’s collar, and started pulling the creature towards the chopping block. “W-what’re you doing?” Shoto asked uncertainty. “Well, we gotta eat, right? Thanks for picking out such a fat sheep, ‘wonder how it’s gonna taste,”. The eldest grinned with malice at his youngest brother, who started to sniffle and ball his fists. “You’re lying! Leave it alone!” He cried out. “Nope, m’not lying, ask Natsu.” Natsu turns to Shoto and shrugs his shoulders without any real regret. “You’re the one who wanted to come along, right? Think of how proud dad will be of his favorite-he finally sacrificed his first sheep!”

-the first time he was ever asked to lead the namaz, Keigo and Tomura kept kicking the back of his legs so he would fall over while trying to recite the prayers, and in turn he’d immediately whip around in the middle of the whole damn hall and shoot fire at the two howling boys. Needless to say, he was never asked to read again

(one would think since Dabi knows sooo much about being a gOoD mUsLim and how to follow the rules he’d take some of that advice HIMSELF)

#dabi #dabi headcanons #touya #touya headcanons #muslim mha #mha headcanons #touya todoroki #mha crack #bnha #mha #bnha dabi #mha dabi #mha toya #bnha touya

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sincerely-raine · 3 years

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I hate ppl who say I’m “lucky” for being flat chested like 🤨??? if anything I think y’all are lucky for being able to feel like real women (unless ur trans/enby then I’m hella sorry, I’m just shit talking cis women who say this shit)

Everytime my tits are brought up all I hear is “omg ur so lucky u can actually fit in clothes 😩” YEAH CHILDRENS CLOTHES

YOU THINK IT FEELS NICE ONLY BEING ABLE TO WEAR CLOTHES MADE FOR 8 YEAR OLDS??? WELL IT DONT BAE IN FACT ITS HELLA FUCKING HUMILIATING (sorry to bring out the all caps but they’re really good for letting out anger lolol)

And don’t even get me started on bras- bitch I can’t find fitting bras for SHIT every bra in my area is made for B-G cups THERE AINT NO AS OR AAS

I started puberty at 10 and didn’t get my first fitting bra till I was 14– even Victoria’s Secret let me down

Like they measured my tiddies and were all like “32A ur so lucky I wish I had ur size 🤪🤪🤪” then I walk over to the cabinets with bras in them…open the 32A drawer…you know what I saw?

Fucking B cups

In the 32A drawer

There were 4 B cup bras

In one of the biggest bra companies

And I know they were NOT Acups because they had unpadded cups in their bras (and they didn’t fit)

Bitch if there’s cups and they aren’t even padded then they are NOT Acups ✋🏻💀 I’m sorry but bra companies are too busy tryna tell us smallies that we’re not good enough and need to look bigger to give us UNPADDED bras

I have NEVER seen a bra company actually tell flat chesters that we don’t need to create an illusion of having big boobs (other than that Pepper.com site or whatever it’s called, love y’all 💞💞💞)

So yeah I wasted my money on that shit cuz yknow? I wanna feel like a woman, not a little boy, and idgaf if the bras are too big I was NOT wearing training bras for the rest of my life

So yeah wearing those bras made me insecure asf and I still am lmao

But naw back on track-

2 other problems with clothes:

-So many women’s shirts made for boobs….so many…

-And the baggy clothes

I said it a million times and I’ll say it again:

FLAT 👏🏻 WOMEN 👏🏻 DONT 👏🏻 HAVE 👏🏻 BOOB 👏🏻 CRACKS 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

BOOB CRACKS ARE LITERALLY MADE OUT OF TWO LUMPS OF FAT PRESSED TOGETHER

WE DONT HAVE FAT DEAR LORD

And every fucking women’s shirt I see has a hole for the tiddy crack- and for us it either just shows our chest skin or our whole tiddies and nipples

I don’t wanna go walking round the street showing everyone what color the skin on my chest is or the color of my fucking areolas

AND THE SHIRTS THAT NEED BOOBS TO STRETCH THEM OUT OMFGGG

Every time I see them I��m like “Oooh a sexy crop top I wanna wear it!” 😃 then I’m like “Oh yeah…it’ll just look like a fucking tank top on me” 🙂 like y’all thiccer girls out there don’t know HOW MANY shirts need boobs-

I’d provide pics but my internet is shit but if u see a a big tiddies girl wearing a crop top- the reason why it’s a crop top is because 90% of what’s under her shirt is boobs, not shaming just tryna get it thru y’all’s head that PEOPLE NEED TO MAKE CROP TOPS FOR SMALL BOOBS WE WANNA FEEL SEXY TOO???

(Like for example the reason why clothes are tight on y’all is most likely cuz y’all tits take up most of ur shirt, take those tiddies away and that shirt will prolly be twice the size of you)

And the baggy clothes…I hate most baggy clothes, if u like them that’s cool but bitch I’m talking bout myself rn and that shit is ugly to me 😂😂😂 and the fact that ALL clothes are big and baggy on me makes me feel even uglier than I already am like wtf

And I’m used to baggy clothes I wear them all day everyday!!! Ever since I was fucking born! That’s shits getting boring I wanna feel sexy and wear skin tight clothes but nooooo all tight shirts are made for BOOBS

I’d need to go to a fucking professional tailor to get a tight shirt and waste $1k for one shirt or sum shit

Next topic:

The insecuritiesssss ✨✨✨

We’re all insecure but when you’re flat you got ur own insecurities that you can’t tell anyone about otherwise they’ll just disregard every fucking thing you say in exchange for “but you can fit in shirts” (thanks a lot, bitches, that helps so much)

And for y’all’s record: stop telling flat chesters that we can cosplay dudes easier, telling us that we look like men doesn’t help, in fact it makes it worse cuz we tell ourselves that exact thing everyday 🙂

And not everyone likes cosplaying?? So???? What’s ur point

The fact that men say they don’t care bout breast size then continue to ONLY sexualize big boobs like yes tf you do care, we know this. I can’t even look up small boobs in any explicit manner without seeing CHILDREN (hentai children ofc but still children) LIKE WERE NOT KIDS STOP CALLING US KIDS unless you are a kid 🤪 and can y’all stop with the pedophilic hentai? That shits disgusting

And STOP DRAWING SMALL BOOBED CHARACTERS WITH BIG BOOBS I can’t even count how many times I saw fan art of Miku with big boobs- SHES FLAT AND YALL KNOW THIS STOP FUCKING CHANGING HER BODY YALL DONT KNOW HOW MANY PPL UR HURTING WITH THAT SHIT

And it’s not just her too 🙄 like is it that fucking hard to draw a flat chest, y’all always draw it on men, why not women? Hm? Do u not like flat women? Think we’re not good enough? Well good for you cuz we’d never date boring ass, offensive ass incels like you anyways. You could never have these cute A cups ❤️❤️❤️

I was gonna add “vent post” at the top but fuck it, this shits important to us flatties and if u skip this post I hope you step on a tac 💓

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ace-trainer-risu · 3 years

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what are your fave diana wynne jones books that aren’t howl’s moving castle??

Oh whattt a lovely and fun question which I was definitely not secretly hoping someone would ask!!!! Yay!!

Hm okay so, not specifically in order, probably my top fave Diana Wynne Jones books would be:

Deep Secret! Deep Secret is not just one of my favorite books by DWJ but one of my favorite books full stop! It’s so good. Basically, the premise is that there is an infinite series of interconnected worlds, some of which have magic and some of which don’t, at the center of which is a vast interdimensional magical empire. Magic in the multiverse is overseen by an organization of magicians called Magids and there must always be a specific number of Magids in existence. When Rupert, a young Magid living on Earth, discovers that his mentor has died (ish) he becomes unexpectedly responsible for finding and training the next Magid, which is extremely inconvenient timing for him because the aforementioned magical empire is on the brink of civil war and chaos and its his job to stop it. And also almost all of this takes place at...a science fiction convention. It’s amazing. I have read this book minimum four (probably more) times and every time it’s absolutely delightful and hilarious. I would like to go to the sci fi convention in this novel more than anything. It’s such a good read and its one of her few novels which is specifically aimed at adults, so I would EXTREMELY recommend it. Plus the romance in it is extremely good...not exactly enemy-to-lovers but more like ‘annoys-the-shit-out-of-each-other’ to lovers. (**One note about this one...there’s a few very briefly mentioned side characters who are gender noncomforming and even tho they are actually portrayed very positively, it’s not necessarily ideal and 100% respectful (basically the protags comment on them being very beautiful and nice but also keep trying to guess their “real” gender). Additionally there’s a different briefly mentioned side character who is fat who isn’t portrayed very nicely. Both of these are brief incidents, just wanted to provide a warning for them)

Dark Lord of Derkholm - Okay this one is weirdly hard to summarize but it’s about this magical fantasy world which has been taken overy and is being used as a tourist destination by a non-magical world (heavily implied to be Earth) for people who want to role play at being in a classic high fantasy story, including fighting and killing THE DARK LORD...who is really just a random magician pretending to be evil. The inhabitants of the fantasy world do not enjoy this and are trying desperately to stop the tours, but unfortunately according to a magical oracle, their best hope of stopping the tours is this year’s Dark Lord, a hapless farmer magician named Derk, and his, um, eccentric family consisting of his glamorous wife, seven children (of whom five are griffins and one is a bard) and a simply improbable amount of magical animals. And also there is a very good dragon. I think Derkholm is so great as a novel b/c it’s a very funny, loving but sharp, parody of high fantasy stories...but a lot of the time parodies only function as parodies but not as good stories in their own right, you know? But this novel completely functions as a story too, and in fact the first time I read at maybe age nine or ten, the high fantasy parody went completely over my head...but I still loved it. I also really love that this novel is very accessible to all ages, I think I enjoy reading it as an adult just as much as I did as a kid, which is rare. For anyone who has read Howl’s Moving Castle but nothing else by DWJ and isn’t sure where to start, I think this is a great place to start. (TW: There’s a brief, non-explicit scene which has implied sexual assault.)

Fire and Hemlock - This may be the most controversial one since it features a romance with a significant age gap where the two characters meet when one is a child and the other an adult. And I fully agree that that’s :/ and normally that trope is NOT my thing but it doesn’t come off at all creepy in this story imo, and if you think you can deal with that then this is a very weird, atmospheric, cool book about storytelling and fairy tales and growing up. The short summary (this is another hard to summarize one) is that as a child, Polly encounters and strikes up a friendship and correspondence with a young man, Tom, which mainly consists of the two of them jointly making up a silly, ongoing fairy tale type story...but things get weird when parts of their story start to come true in real life. I’ve only read this one twice but it really stuck with me and in fact just describing it here...really makes me want to read it again!

The Chrestomanci Series - So all of the above are either specifically aimed at adults or a general audience whereas the Chrestomanci series is aimed at children, mainly a middle grade type audience. And tbh I started reading them as a kid (fond memory - I bought an omnibus of the first two with my allowance money...b/c it had a cat on the cover!) so I don’t know what it would be like to first read these as an older teen or an adult. BUT. Honestly they are really good and would be a quick read so I do still recommend them. There’s seven overall, with th seventh being a collection of short stories, and they’re only semi-chronological so the reading order isn’t vital. My recommended order (b/c this the order I read them in, haha) is Charmed Life, The Lives of Christopher Chant, The Magicians of Caprona, Witch Week, The Pinhoe Egg, Conrad’s Fate, and then Mixed Magic you can read whenever you want so long as you read it after Charmed Life and The Magicians of Caprona. So the very core premise of it is not dissimilar to Deep Secret - there’s an infinite series of worlds/universes and there’s a magician, called the Crestomanci in this case, who is responsible for making sure magic isn’t abused across the multiverse. The Chrestomanci is an extremely powerful enchanter who has nine lives, and the novels are various semi-connected stories about the adventures of Chrestomanci as an adult and child. Chrestomanci is a title so it’s not always the same person, but for the majority of the stories it is the same guy and he’s...the best/worst...He’s this extremely handsome, charismatic, powerful enchanter who is very good at his job, loves his wife a lot, wears very beautiful clothes and makes, um, questionable life choices and is very annoying to everyone. I’ve thought about this very hard and I believe that he’s what happens when you take a fundamentally chaotic good person and make him do a fundamentally lawful good job; yes, he’s going to do it and do it well, but he is going to do it in the most chaotic, ridiculous way possible, and he IS going to die at an ALARMING rate, doing things that would not normally kill a person, such as playing cricket and trying to catch stray cats. He also, as previously mentioned, frequently wears very dramatic silk dressing gowns with elaborate embroidery, which the protag of Charmed Life finds deeply alarming. It’s very odd to me how these books don’t seem to be well known, because the Chrestomanci books were some of my absolute favorite books as a child. I still have my omnibus editions of the first four novels and they are very worn and very beloved. And it’s so WILD to me that I don’t think I have ever talked to someone who also read those as a kid! Like I’m not saying those people don’t exist, I’m sure I just haven’t met them, but that’s so weiiirddddd to me. If I bring up Tamora Pierce or Garth Nix or other authors of weird, eccentric children’s fantasy novels to other avid childhood consumers of fantasy, people usually know what I mean, but Chrestomanci and its just..crickets. Is it b/c she’s British? Anyway all of the Chrestomanci books are very degrees of good, but if I had to pick a favorite, I think, controversial choice here, it would be Conrad’s Fate. Particularly in terms of recommendations to others, Conrad’s Fate works as a standalone and, unlike the other books in the series, it’s aimed more at a YA audience, so if you wanted to read a Chrestomanci novel without getting into the whole series, that’s a good way to go. It’s about a boy, Conrad, who is told that he has a terrible, possibly fatal Fate awaiting him unless he goes to work as a servant at a wealthy, and weird, estate neighboring his town, at which place he encounters things including color changing livery, an extremely annoying teenage Chrestomanci, and the greatest liminal space house EVER. It’s like a combination of an upstairs/downstairs Downton Abbey type social drama with bizarre fantasy shenanigans. How could that not be good??

Also as Honorable Mentions - A Sudden and Wild Magic and The Time of the Ghost. A Sudden and Wild Magic is fun b/c it’s one of her few works aimed specifically at adults and it’s (gasp) a little bit NAUGHTY which I was very surprised and delighted by when I read it. (This may seem like an unfair statement considering that Deep Secret fully has an orgy in it, but Rupert is so fundamentally unnaughty of a character that he completely unnaughtifies the whole novel, whereas Sudden and Wild Magic embraces being a (little bit) naughty.) The Time of the Ghost on the other hand is weird and haunting and creepy and atmospheric. I only read it once but it’s one of those novels you just think about periodically and go “wait what the fuck that was a weird novel” (Also known as the “Garth Nix” effect)

#the ask and the answer #i spent...too long writing this out but i love talking about her novels soo muchhhh #that i couldn't help myself!!!!!!!!#diana wynne jones #things you didn't care to know about veronica

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

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Starker High School AU, Pt 3 (Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 4, Pt 5)

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There were two things in life that Peter was unequivocally certain were true.

Number one was that Monday mornings were a universally despised, unpleasant experience that no weekend could ever ease the pain of having to endure.

And number two: Sit-ups were a specific and profound mechanism of torture that no person should ever be required to engage in, recreationally or mandated.

Of course, it would be just his luck that the two were combined on this very Monday morning.

It was cruel and unusual is what it was, Peter thought, hands curled at his temples as he pushes himself into a sitting position, falling back onto the dewy grass with a thud that steals the breath from his chest.

Bucky, holding his ankles, encourages him to complete his set.

“I can’t,” Peter gasps, his stomach trembling as he pulls himself up again. “I - oh fuck - I hate this. I hate exercise.”

Bucky squeezes his ankles tighter. “C’mon, Parker, only three more. You can do it.”

Peter shakes his head, even as he pulls himself up again with a pained groan.

“No, I can’t. Make it stop.”

“Two more. You got it. Sit-ups are not the boss of you.”

“Yes - ahh - they are!”

“One more!”

Sweat pours down his neck and his muscles protest as he pulls himself up for the last time. He gets probably only most of the way up before his gravity slams to the ground.

Bucky slaps his bare calf encouragingly as Peter stares up into the glaring morning sun, arms splayed out, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Oh, god. Never again. That was the worst.

Covering his eyes with his quivering arms he wonders if maybe coach will indulge him just this once. Maybe he can stay here until training is over, perhaps curl up into a ball and try to blend in with the grass so that no one sees him or subjects him to any more exercise.

Except Coach Danvers is already yelling at him to get off the ground and get moving.

He smacks his hands over his ears but it’s no use.

“Get up Parker, last warning!”

“Respite!” He yells back pleadingly, curling in tighter upon himself. “Please!”

Her whistle pierces the air.

“Now!”

Coach has been on edge all morning. Her harsh has turned razor edged in the face of their upcoming match against Kingston this Thursday, reminding the team of her expectations, tolerating nothing other than complete dedication.

Which, whatever.

Peter’s dedicated, okay? It’s Monday. He dragged his ass out of bed to be here at an unholy hour, exhausted and bloated from his indulgent weekend, didn’t he?

Erring on the margin of spite towards Danvers and self motivation, which he suspects is her aim, he pushes himself back up. Taking each of Bucky’s ankles in his grip, he starts counting as Bucky begins his set.

Not that he needs the assistance, Bucky proves his strength by ripping through the set like a bull stampeding through a brick wall. He doesn’t even break a sweat. Dude’s crazy athletic.

It’s really not fair.

As he mentally counts the reps, Peter thinks Bucky’s the kind of fit that Peter both hoped and never hoped to be. He’s effortlessly capable at any physical task, but he works hard for it, harder than Peter would ever dream of working, dedicating hours to gym time and conditioning. Bucky’s not even out of breath when he strikes up conversation.

“How was your weekend, PP?”

“S’okay. Played Mario Kart with my Aunt all weekend.”

Bucky grins as his upper half rises to meet his knees. “Oh, party animal. She doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s good,” Peter grins wryly, taking one of his hands from the other’s ankle to push the sweat-damp hair from his eyes. “Kicked my ass though. She always takes Toad.”

“Switch?”

“Nah, GameCube. How was your weekend?”

“Boring. Parents were home all weekend and wanted some ‘family time’.”

“So, you just watched The Voice all weekend?”

“Yup.”

“Nat sneak in after?”

“Yup. How’d it go with Stark on Friday?” Bucky accepts Peter’s hand as he finishes his set. Peter pulls him up and pats him on the back.

The set off in a jog to complete a lap of the field, Coach yells that only five minutes are left, urging them to pick up speed. Peter’s lungs burn when he speaks.

“It was fine.”

Bucky looks at him dubiously, flyaways whipping at his face.

“Well not like, fine-fine, but no bloodshed. See? All limbs intact.” He holds his arms out mid-sprint.

“Wow, so you’re basically best friends now.”

“No.”

“Did you hold hands and braid each other’s hair?”

Incensed, Peter shoves at Bucky to the sound of his snickering,

“Ew, stop, I just had breakfast. Look, the first experience was painful enough. Can we move on? I really don’t want to talk about it.”

---

“And then he hit on my Aunt,” Peter complains in the showers, soaping up his chest. “Literally right in front of me. Who does that?”

“Did she flirt back?” Bucky asks, dipping his head into the spray.

“What? No. He said he was just trying to get under my skin,” he puts his head beneath his own shower head, the water pleasantly lukewarm against his heated skin. “I mean, what kind of psychopath does that?”

“Yeah, but your aunt is super hot though,” Wilson says to his right. “Stark’s an asshole, but he’s not crazy.”

There is a general murmur of agreement around the showers.

“I’m going to need you all to shut up right now,” Peter warns, turning to point at them all. “Keep my aunts name out of your mouth while you’re washing your balls, alright?”

“You heard him, move on,” Rogers cuts in, offering Peter a sympathetic smile.

He nods gratefully as conversation quickly turns to girls, grades and the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays. There was a reason why Peter was on Roger’s side all these weeks ago, he thinks, observing how the entire team respects his command without query. The guy was just interested in doing the right thing, and that’s pretty cool.

By the time they’re all dried and dressed, the topic is forgotten, much to Peter’s relief. He’s nearly late to first period though, too busy watching Wilson and Barnes smack each other with wet towels and attempting to tame his unruly curls into something resembling neatness. He’s not proud of the amount of gel it takes, but it’s what he’s got to work with.

It’s not that he’s obsessed with his appearance or anything, but he has a routine that he sticks to. Gel and lots of it.

Once, in third grade, Flash pulled one of Peter’s tightly coiled ringlet between his fingers, pulled on it and said oink. Peter still had some lingering baby fat at the time and so, as cruel as children can be, Peter was donned Piggy Parker for a time afterwards. Sometimes Porky Parker. They’re friends now, but the oinking and snuffling that followed him around the playground still haunts him.

Anyway.

On the way to first period Rogers walks alongside him down the hall. They have English together, but usually make their way separately. It kind of weirded Peter out for a moment because while they’re team-mates, they’re not really friends.

“Heard you got paired with Stark for an assignment,” the other boy says, his wry smile caught between amused and sympathetic. “That’s shit luck, Parker.”

“You’re telling me,” Peter agrees, waving to Ned and Betty as they pass. “Dude’s a freakin’ prick.”

Rogers bumps their shoulders together.

“You said it. Want me to have a word with him, get him to back off?”

“Nah,” Peter shakes his head. “I can handle Stark, he’s just some bored rich kid looking for a fight. Besides,” he gives Rogers a once-over, “pretty sure you’re supposed to keep your distance after your last brawl with him.”

“True,” he concedes, clamping Peter’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze as they stop before their room. “But we’re a team, alright? Just say the word and I’ll encourage some sense into him. Promise to be gentle.”

Peter clamps his hands over his heart with a flair of drama, despite being truly touched. “You’re my hero, Captain Rogers.”

Rogers rolls his eyes and shoves him into the classroom.

“Alright, smartass. Let’s go.”

Inside, he smiles sheepishly at Mrs Perez who glowers at them for their lateness and takes his usual seat between Clint and Shuri. He signs a good morning to the former and smiles at the latter, who is staring down at her desk with disdain.

“What’s wrong?” He nudges her chair with his foot to grab her attention.

“The curriculum.” She raises her head and points to the board miserably. It reads Lord of the Flies.

Oh, great. He could use the nap.

Peter smiles sympathetically, opening his nearly full notebook up to a blank page. “How was your weekend?”

“Meh.”

“Meh?”

“Mmm,” She nods, gesturing airily. “You know, eh. Oh, oh! I heard you spent the weekend getting cosy with Stark,” Shuri follows, pretending to search through their textbook. “Wow, that’s a three-sixty, PP. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What?” Peter hisses, voice lowering when their teacher looks around as roll-call commences. “That’s not -- ”

“Parker!” Perez yells for roll call.

“Present!”

Shuri snickers as Peter’s hand shoots up.

Lucky for him it’s the last he hears of it.

Kinda.

---

His next class is Bio with MJ who, thankfully, says very little through class. She inspects him with bleary eyes when he enters, nursing a coffee in her hands, always earlier than Peter who has to come from the other side of the school.

Peter’s grateful for the reprieve. When she does speak to him, it’s to borrow a pen or to offer him a sip of her coffee. It’s not a lab class today, only note-taking and listening to their teacher drone on about plant anatomy in the same monotone, so he accepts the bitter black coffee without hesitation.

It’s only then that he ventures to initiate conversation.

“So,” he begins precariously, doodling in his notebook, “how was your weekend?”

She shrugs, appearing more awake than earlier. “It was okay. You?”

“It was okay.”

And that was that, he’s relieved to note, companionable silence falling between again as they turn their attention to their teacher again. It’s not until they’re packing up their books at the end of class that MJ speaks to him again.

“See you at lunch?”

“Yeah, dude. Save us a table?”

“You bet. Oh, and by the way, I heard Stark is gonna be your new step-daddy. Congrats.”

Peter groans.

“How do you -- you know what, no,” he says, pulling his backpack over his shoulders and making a x with his arms. “Nope. No more talking about Stark, he is persona non grata. I’m traumatised enough.”

MJ pushes his glasses up after they slipped precariously down his nose during his declaration. “You’re so dramatic, dude.”

He bumps their shoulders together on the way out of the room and shakes his head.

“Why do people keep saying that?”

---

Ned texts him during recess; Peter is taking an extended break in the bathroom despite not needing to be there, but he’s definitely not hiding, nope. He’s just chilling in the cubicle.

< heard stark spent the weekend < lol wtf < plz verify < actually i don’t want to know < no wait i do tell me < dude

< hello?

----

Traitors, all of them.

He wonders if he should leave this school and start anew elsewhere.

---

Here’s the thing.

As much as Peter loves his friends, he has limits to how long he can spend with them before needing a time out.

They’re his motley crew of village idiots. Some he’s known since first grade, like Ned and Flash, others only since he came to the school and subsequently, the football team.

This school headhunted him because of his academic merit. With his pursuit of scholastic excellence - and the fact that some of his best friends would be attending the school, he applied for and was awarded a scholarship. It was a no-brainer - he had big dreams and even bigger expectations of himself to achieve them and he wanted May to be proud of him.

Which was why when it was suggested that he try out for JV, having exhibited some physicality during gym class, he decided to give it a try. It would look great to have on his applications, he was assured.

So he did. Somehow his wiry frame and years of gymnastics was considered an asset and he was promptly recruited by Coach Danvers. At first he deeply regretted the additional commitment -- the early hours, the soreness, adapting to the internal culture within the team. But he’s persevered and he’s glad that he did.

And for the most part, he copes okay. He can juggle football obligations and after-school activities and the odd tutoring jobs here and there and stay sane, right?

Sort of.

Because as grateful as he was for his broad circle of friends, Peter was still, at heart, an introvert. And right now, his social energy is running on fumes.

It’s because of this - and nothing to do with the relentless questions about Stark - that Peter retreats to the library at lunch that day.

Nestled away in the dusty, back corner, near the collection of old encyclopaedias that nobody reads, are an assortment of bean bags. It’s away from the main area, quiet and disregarded by most. It used to be a thriving recreational area way before Peter’s time, but there wasn’t any maintenance to it over the years. Now the bags are old, terribly lumpy and are speckled with suspicious stains, the fabric is thinning and aged. Most people purposefully avoid the old rec area, which is why Peter likes this spot best. It’s his secret hiding space.

He prepares to disassociate for the next forty minutes by getting comfortable on his favorite bean bag and popping his earphones in.

Next, he retrieves his slightly soggy ham-tomato sandwich from his bag and takes a large bite after unwrapping it. The first burst of tomato hits his tongue at the same time as the music begins.

Ah, to be alone.

Closing his eyes, he allows his body to sink into the bag and for his thoughts to wander freely.

Of course, because his luck is as poor as he is, his seclusion lasts all of three songs before someone else enters into his space. Well it’s not his space, technically, but it should be.

When Peter creaks an eye open to see who is intruding he’s surprised to see Thor perched on the bean-chair opposite him. They catch each others stare and smile.

Well, alone time is overrated.

Maybe his luck isn’t down the drain after all - because this is his opportunity to prove he isn’t a total fumbling loser. He doesn’t know which deity he pleased to be alone in a quiet corner of the library with Thor, but someone up there is clearly looking out for him.

He wants to say something, to strike up a conversation that might make Peter seem cool and only casually interested - something that would make him sound both smart and like, available.

But not too available.

With little success, Peter wracks his brain for the best opening line but frets because he’s ever been cool or collected a day in his life. And great, now he’s just been sitting there smiling for like two whole minutes like an absolute weirdo. Come on, Parker, say something!

Thor acts well before Peter has the chance to say anything, pointing at him, his mouth moving with words Peter can’t hear.

Realising a moment too late that his earphones are still playing music from his phone, Peter hurries to tug them out if his ears, smacking himself in the face in the .

“Sorry, I was --” Peter gestures to his ears, hands shaking, cheeks going hot. God, Thor is talking to him. Him! Peter Parker! “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I said I like your shirt!” Thor replies, way more loudly than what would normally be socially acceptable for a library, but Peter does not care. Thor likes his shirt.

“This?” He asks, gesturing downwards to his shirt where crumbs are dusted at the collar. “You like Nirvana?”

“I do not know Nirvana,” Thor smiles, “but it looks very cool. Peter, right?”

“Uh yeah,” he nods, face positively flaming because again, he knows Peter’s name. Quickly sweeping the crumbs from his shirt, he extends his hand out to the older boy who shakes his hand. Holy shit. Be cool. “I’m Parker -- I mean, Peter. Yes. Nice to be here. I mean, nice to be speaking. To you.”

Even as Peter’s arm is roughly jostled with Thor’s exuberant hand-shaking embarrassment crawls up his neck, and he wants to disintegrate into the bean bag where no one has to witness his persistent, glaring awkwardness. Palms sweating, Peter has to bite his lip to stop himself from commenting on how big Thor’s hands are.

Stop it, he scolds himself, be normal, play it cool.

“Thor, right?” Peter asks, as if he didn’t doodle their initials together in his notebooks. “You were at training last week.”

“Yes, you fell on your face,” Thor nods, gesturing to the yellowed bruising on his jaw, “I saw.”

“Oh, okay, so you saw that! Uhh -- ” Peter waves a hand at his face, laughing nervously. “This? It’s nothing. I’m totally fine.”

“You are clumsy,” Thor states, not unkindly.

“Well, no -- I mean, yes --” Peter tries to come up with an explanation, but falls short. “I’m not always a klutz, promise. Just sometimes.”

“Happens to the best of us. Well, not myself, but you know, generally speaking. In any case, I’m happy to see you’re okay.”

Thor unzips his backpack then and from within it retrieves a truly gargantuan protein shake, followed by a sub wrapped in foil so large it could be the same size as Peter’s forearm. Sneaking a look down at the remainder of his own lunch, his pickings look pretty slim in comparison.

“Sorry,” Thor says. “Just peckish for a snack.”

Peter watches, dazed, as the older boy consumes half his sub in a single bite, washing it down with several mouthfuls of his shake.

A snack.

“You’re fine. Anyway, football isn’t really my forte,” he admits after a moment, drawing his knees up. “I mean, I’m okay at it and I like it, but it’s not really what I’m best at, y’know?”

The blond boy nods, “I’m on the varsity team,” he proclaims, wiping his mouth. “Whatever that means.”

His accent is so thick it takes Peter half a moment to figure out what it was that he said.

He’s not sure if Thor is being serious or not but the one question Peter has is why is he so fucking cute?

A silence follows, albeit not an awkward one. It gives Peter the opportunity to inspect the older boy, nearly a man at his height and stature, of course helped along by the generous distribution of facial hair across his lower face.

“Uh, did you play football back at home?” Peter asks, keen to keep conversation going. “Soccer?”

“Oh yes,” the boy nods. “Soccer, tennis, volleyball. Water polo. Badminton.”

“Wow,” Peter blinks, “that’s a lot of sport. You’re like the whole Olympics here.”

He’s awarded with a lazy grin for that comment. Thor, to his credit, doesn’t appear to be boastful about his physicality, seemingly a result of his passions instead of a product of vanity.

“Close enough, I suppose. What else do you play, besides football?”

“Uhh --”

Oh god. How is he supposed to respond to that when the idea of doing additional sports outside of football is abhorrent? He can’t tell Thor that. Surely he can fake a common interest. Think of something, Parker, think, think.

The first bell rings, saving him from having to provide a potentially humiliating answer, seeing as all how all that could think of was chess, or PC. Both of which are true and accurate, but not exactly something he thinks that would make him appear more attractive or endearing.

Thank god for fifth period.

“To be continued?” Peter asks as he picks up his backpack, just a little hopeful.

There’s an awkward bit of shuffling as they rush to get off the sagging bean chairs, moment filled with odd squeaks of polystyrene as they attempt to stand.

Thor nods and to Peter’s surprise, doesn’t immediately rush to get away from him. There’s an awkward bit of shuffling as they rush to get off the sagging bean chairs with, odd squeaks of polystyrene as they stand. Instead, he accompanies Peter all the way out of the library, walking alongside him into the main hallway where a flurry of students are intersecting to get to their next class, walking alongside him.

Heads turn to watch them as they depart the library and enter the halls. For a moment, as kids part like the red sea to make way for them - for Thor - Peter wonders if this is what it’s like to be famous. Or to be on the arm of someone famous. It certainly feels like it, because even though the revere isn’t for Peter specifically, it seems like the weight of everyone’s awe is on them.

He doesn’t like the attention. But he likes Thor.

To his delight, the older boy follows him to his locker. Embarrassingly, it sticks when Peter tries to open it, as it usually does. He struggles with it for long, humiliating moments before Thor opens it with one hand.

“Thanks,” he says, blush creeping back up his neck. “You’re like, crazy strong, dude.”

Thor flexes and inspects his own bicep, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Perhaps,” he concedes, smiling roguishly. “Back at home I used to lift my brother for weight training.”

“You what?”

“A story for another time,” Thor shakes his head, shuffling closer to be heard over the traffic of students. “Anyway, I should be going. But there was something I have been meaning to ask you, if I may take a moment --”

Peter freezes. Oh my god, this is it, he thinks.

It’s happening.

“-- seeing as you and I have similar interests and we seem compatible, it would please me greatly if you would agree to --”

Heart racing, Peter turns, a fervent yes already on his lips.

It dies when there is a loud call of his name in the hall.

“-- Hey, Parker!”

Whatever Thor was going to say wilts at the interruption, seemingly forgotten as he waves at the intruder. Peter turns to see who called out for him and instantly wishes he didn’t.

Heart dropping to his stomach, he squeezes his eyes shut and sighs.

This is his luck.

Never has he wanted to melt into the floor and die like he does right now as Stark approaches the pair in quick strides.

Hands shoved into his jean pockets, Stark’s wide eyes dart between them inquisitively, a shadow of a smirk crossing his face, disappearing just as quick.

“Well, pardon me. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Tony places a hand on his heart and leans on the locker next to Peters. “Thor, barely a pleasure as always.”

“Stark,” Thor nods.

Tony simpers, smile saccharine sweet and gestures to an uneasy Peter.

“I am just so sorry to intrude, but would you mind if I spoke to my husband here? He’s such a slippery one, aren’t you, sweetums?”

Thor looks between them, head going to and fro like a pendulum.

“He’s not my husband,” Peter rushes to assure, acutely pincered between Thor’s confusion and Tony’s mischief. “I mean he is, but it’s for an assignment. We’re not really -- it’s not real. I don’t like him.”

Tony exhales heavily, looking at Thor with dismay. “That’s not what he said in our wedding vows.”

Peter wants to punch him in the throat.

“I understand,” Thor smiles, patting each of them on the shoulder. He dips his chin and catches Peter’s eye. “To be continued?”

“Y-Yeah,” Peter nods enthusiastically, probably too enthusiastically, he thinks, as his aim is to pretend to be cool and disinterested, but he doesn’t even care because maybe not all is lost after all. “To be continued. See you.”

All of the pomp bleeds away from Tony as Thor walks away, his posture turning into a slump against the locker.

The smile drops from Peter’s face. He sends Tony a heated glare as he retrieves from his books, shoving them into his bag.

“What do you want?” he grumbles, slamming his locker shut. “You have the worst timing, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” the other boy shrugs. “What can I say, I’m delightful.”

“You’re deplorable.”

Tony gasps in mock offence. “Deplorable? Good lord, Parker, is that any way to speak to your husband?”

“If the shoe fits,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, I have to go to class. Say what you want or move out of the way.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t be like that. C’mon, what were you and He-Man grunting about, hmm? Grr, me big, you tiny?”

“Unless you have a point,” Peter asks, pointing to the main hall, “I’m leaving.”

Tony puts his hands up in surrender, however the glib expression doesn’t quite leave his face. But at that moment Peter doesn’t have it within him to care, he’s not here to entertain him and sooner they get this over with, the better.

“Alright, alright, buzzkill. Come outside, I have to talk to you about the assignment.”

Peter looks at him, perturbed.

“I need a smoke,” he explains, tutting at Peter dispiritedly. “Also, don’t lie, I know it’s your free period.”

He doesn’t wait for Peter to respond, heading straight for the double doors that lead to the courtyard at a sedate enough pace for Peter to follow. Nonetheless he jogs a few paces to catch up after debating whether or not it was a good idea to follow or if he should hide in the boys bathroom.

Again.

It’s fairly chilly out, the wind whipping through his clothes. He wishes he had a scarf or gloves or something, opting to shove his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and hooking the hood over his head.

“How do you know it’s my free period?” he queries loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“Because,” Tony turns to walk backwards, the breeze whistling around them, “it’s also my free period and you always stink up the library so I can’t go there,” he rounds the corner to lead Peter to the shaded area behind the auditorium where a few students are lingering, most of them smoking.

“And you take the best seat. Personally, I think it’s selfish. I can’t possibly sit there after your ass has warmed it.”

Willing himself to not rise to Tony’s level of pettiness, he crosses his arms over his chest as they come to a stop. The wind is at full force now that the surrounding buildings aren’t taking the brunt of it and it is cold as all hell, although Tony’s in a black t-shirt and doesn’t look affected at all, probably because he’s cold-blooded or warmed by hellfire.

Tony cups his hands over his lighter to protect the flame from the breeze, struggling briefly to light his cigarette. Once the end is properly alight, Tony takes a drag while staring at him.

His hand comes to rest at his thigh, smoke rising idly from the cigarette. After a moment, he exhales the smoke in Peters direction.

“Wow. You’re disgusting,” he waves his hand in front of his face to dispel the smell. “Don’t you know second-hand smoke can kill?”

"Yes. Do you want a drag to speed up the process?”

“Don’t be a dick,” he says as Tony seems to find himself funny, offering up the cigarette in jest. Peter has half a mind to snatch it out of his hands and stomp on it. “I know that’s hard for you.”

“I’m joking, okay. I thought the wind would redirect the smoke. My bad.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, the assignment? Still waiting for whatever was so urgent."

Tony takes another drag, flicking ash to the ground before answering.

“I booked an appointment with a realtor for tomorrow after school.”

That has Peter’s curiosity piqued. “Really? Where?”

“LIC. One of the agents has agreed to be a reference so our domestic nightmare can be officially documented. Yay, go team.”

“Yay,” Peter deadpans. “What time?”

“Appointment’s at four-thirty,” Tony retrieves his phone from his pocket and hands it to Peter. “Give me your number and I’ll send you the details.”

Peter accepts it with a grimace. It’s warm from Tony’s body heat. Ugh.

“And now you can say: ‘thank you for being proactive, Tony, you’re so much better than me, Tony’.”

“Thank you for being proactive, Anthony, even if you’re a self-aggrandizing jerk,” Peter mutters, voice getting progressively more sarcastic.

A wide smile blooms on Tony’s face, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re welcome, Parker.”

He is going to let that one go, Peter decides, feeling magnanimous on spite of the circumstances. He’d never admit it, but he’s kinda surprised by Tony’s apparent initiative, and even genuinely a little grateful that the other boy has arranged this so quickly. Or even that he thought to arrange it at all - field research was one of the highest scoring components on the rubric for this assignment.

Eyes flicking up for a moment, he assesses the other boy. Maybe he’s not as much of a slacker as Peter thought he was.

Tony, slumped against the brick wall, rubs his stomach and burps quietly.

Or maybe he is.

Nevertheless, Peter types in his details and saves his contact in Tony’s phone as Your Better Half.

Peter isn’t too much to look at, he knows, but he’s not the weak link here.

Tony accepts the phone back and wipes the touch screen on his shirt before pocketing it.

“Alright then, meet me after school tomorrow in the parking lot. Don’t be late,” he flicks his cigarette to the ground and steps on it to put it out. Tony bends at the waist then to pick up the stub, clutching it in his fist for later disposal instead of leaving it as litter.

That surprises Peter a little, it’s more thoughtful, conscious a gesture than he would have expected to come from Stark. Not that he’s ever personally seen such behaviour from him, but it wouldn’t be a stretch with his devil-may-care attitude. Would it?

He’s about to make mention of heading back inside when Stark takes two purposeful steps towards Peter, bridging the gap between them.

Peter freezes on the spot, breath caught in his chest as Tony brings them nose-to-nose.

He flicks his eyes down at Tony’s lips when his solemn expression morphs into an impish smile.

“Dude, what -- ?”

While Peter is distracted, Tony’s hands dart out to grip the strings of Peter’s hoodie, tugging them until the hood shrinks around his face.

“Do me a solid and try to wear something that doesn’t make you look like you’re a step away from lining up at a soup kitchen, okay? Y’know, something nice.”

Peter smacks his hands away furiously, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Tony backs away, snickering.

“You really get off on being a prized piece of shit, don’t you?” he mutters, somewhat self conscious as he tries to correct the hood. “Poor jokes, that’s real nice. Sorry not all of us were born wearing Balenciaga.”

He continues to struggle with it as they move away and head back towards the main building, pushing it off his head altogether.

“Calm down, Charlie Brown, it’s not that deep,” Tony says drily, although his flippant demeanour softens significantly. “I have no doubt that you’d still manage to look like a hobo even if you were loaded, okay. You just have that grubby vibe.” Tony claps his hands together. “So, tomorrow. Meet me in the parking lot. Yes?”

Inside, away from the wind, Peter is still helpless to quell the hurricane that is Tony Stark. He gives him a tired thumbs up.

With that Tony sets off in the opposite direction, leaving Peter to wonder what the hell just happened, and what his life has become these last few days.

“What a jackass,” he says to himself.

Now alone, he rubs his hands up and down his face, fruitlessly attempting to scrub away the memory of Tony close to him, eyes warm with mirth, the heat of his body up close and the smell of nicotine on his breath as he quite literally tugged Peter’s strings. It takes longer than he likes to will the image away and to calm the furious beat of his heart.

Furious; a feeling Peter is becoming progressively more familiar - and uncomfortable with.

Ben used to say that being angry at someone was allowing them to take up space in your head, rent free. He was right, because it never served Peter well to house animosity when acceptance was kinder to his soul and psyche, and to others -- but he can’t help it with this guy. Tony Stark is like an ear worm of the brain. He has this completely obnoxious way of making himself front and centre despite Peter’s best efforts to cast him to the sidelines.

While he’s willing himself to move on his phone vibrates inside his pocket with a new message.

> ur not my better half, loser > why r u like this > nvm i already know lol. > remember, don’t be late 2morrow

Peter, just a little satisfied with himself for getting under Tony’s skin, saves his contact as Tiny Stank and types back quickly, eager to get back to his seat in the library - assuming Stark hasn’t already occupied it - and make the best of his remaining free period.

< whatever helps u sleep at night < also, plz lose my number after this is over

> way ahead of u, princess > say hi to aunt may for me

Ugh, Peter cringes, pocketing his phone without replying.

That guy is the worst.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends, @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix

#starker #ironspider #high school au #tony stark x peter parker

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that-bi-bitch-writes · 3 years

Text

The Rumor Around Hogwarts (Ch.4)

Chapter Four: The Train Ride There

1k+ Words a lot of it is taken from the book but as always I added a lot of [Name] in to make it.... chaotic and slightly angsty

Still uses he/him pronouns for now and later addition of they pronouns will be announced before the chapter. Hope you Enjoy!!!

Last // Next

“What the actual hell- Ow, heck i meant heck.” [Name] choked out while rubbing the back of his head

“Mhm sure you did”

“Anyway you mean to tell me I have to run at a wall.”

“Yup”

“In a muggle train station”

“Yes”

“In the middle of the day?”

“Look, do you want to go to Hogwarts or not?”

“I mean I do but-”

“If you don’t you’ll only disappoint Harry” [Mother’s name] interrupted

[Name] hesitated before responding “I’m sure he’ll be fine he like defeated an evil lord as a baby of course he can run at a wall and make other friends”

“[Name] if you miss the train I’m not taking you to school myself”

And just as [Name] seemed like he’d be okay with that aspect (anything to not embarrass himself in public really) all his hopes were completely crushed

“And I’m not taking you back home to ride on the house elf express”

“Okay but if I die or embarass myself I’m gonna have to find a way to jinx you or something. Maybe i’ll tell that weird muggle mailman you find him cute and force you to flee the country”

“You wouldn’t”

“That’s what you think”

[Name] seemed to gather the courage of all his ancestors (may they rest in peace) and ran straight at the obvious death trap. He had a chosen one to meet after all. He closed his eyes right before impact only to have his senses assaulted by the sounds and sights of something completely unexpected

‘Wow' he whispered under his breath

“I told you so”

“Alright alright I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But I mean you’re not exactly the most trustworthy. If I needed someone to help me cover up a crime maybe, but a prank that could end in bodily harm..”

[Mo. Name] pretended not to hear a word as she fussed over [Name], the train departing soon. She’s a mother, she couldn’t help it. After running down a long list of things [Name] should have (And did) pack in his trunk she gave a forehead kiss and pushed him off to the trains. As he got on she did the unthinkable.

“Bye baby!! Momma loves you. Tell Peeves I said Hi’

Yeah [Name] definitely wasn't gonna be popular now. At least… not in a good way. There’d be rumors around hogwarts. And he’d be in the center of them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry sat alone in an empty compartment after all the hustle and bustle that came with parents seeing their children off for the first time. And could’ve sworn he had heard someone say something about being peeved. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted when the door of the compartment slid open and the youngest red headed boy he had seen earlier came in.

“Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. “Everywhere else is full.”

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn’t looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

“Hey, Ron”

The twins were back

“Listen we’re going down the middle of the train- Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” mumbled Ron.

“Harry,” said the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later then.”

“Bye” said Harry and Ron. the twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

“Are you really Harry potter?” Ron blurted out

Harry went to nod but the compartment door slammed open once again

“Harry there you are. Thank God I found you.” [Name] gasped out “My mother totally embarrassed me as I was getting on the train screaming about someone named Peeves and she called me BABY. Anyway I’ve been trying to find you without drawing to much attention to you or myself.”

Harry had wondered how [Name] had said so much in one breath. He didn’t know [Name] to be particularly talkative. He of course had his moments when he’d stand up for someone but Harry had always seen name as a little bit of a worrier or an outsider like himself.

“Sorry." [Name] said almost as if he read Harry’s mind “It’s the nerves. I’m super glad that you’re not alone but I’m also jealous I didn’t get to you first.” [Name] continued as he moved to sit next to Harry.

“What were we talking about? Oh yeah he was asking about your chosen one status which is kind of cool and lame at the same time. Is that offensive?”

“Have you really got - you know?” He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared. And surprisingly [Name] did too.

“Y’know as close as we are for two people who only met twice, I realized I haven’t gotten a good look at you Harry.” [Name] realized turning all of his attention on the resident Chosen One

Harry and [Name] stared at each other for a moment. [Name] was curious as to who the boy who lived really was and why he was drawn to him. It was like they were meant to meet up. At the Zoo, in Diagon Alley and now hopefully they would remain on the same path at Hogwarts too.

Harry on the other hand was staring at [Name] in appreciation. They were strangers, yet [Name] came to Harry’s rescue so naturally. Ron was to be a good friend to Harry, he’s sure of it, but it was different with [Name]. Their friendship wasn’t founded on titles, or reputations, or anything but mutual respect and destiny perhaps? If he were more naïve he might’ve attributed this feeling to a crush.

“So that’s where You-Know-Who-? Ron interrupted the staring contest

“Yes” said Harry “but I can’t remember it”

“Nothing?” Ron said eagerly.

“Well- I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.

[Name] got incredibly bored of the topic, not really keen on discussing Voldemort’s attack on Harry so he began looking out the window like the main character. Only catching flashes of the conversation and adding his own commentary when appropriate. Apparently Ron had 5 brothers and a little bit of “a lot to live up to” but being friends with the chosen one was sure to give him some stories to tell..

[Name] didn’t interrupt with much about his family because he’d already talked about his embarrassing mother and there was nothing else to talk about but his incredibly large and empty house which would have made him a little uncomfortable and slightly awkward. Y’know since he was talking to an orphan and a poor kid with a huge family. How could either of them relate?

What he did however pay attention to was Harry’s bravery and generosity. Apparently he was only a little bit of an oblivious idiot. Sure he proudly said Voldemort’s name (a trend [Name] hoped to follow) but he was smart enough to realized in the wizarding world at least he was rich and could splurge a little bit on the less fortunate *ahem* Ron *ahem*

“Go on, have a pasty” said Harry, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron, eating their way through all Harry’s pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten.)

“What are these?” Harry asked Ron and [Name] holding up a pack of chocolate frogs. “They’re not really frogs, are they/” He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him

“No” said Ron “But see what the card is. I’m missing Agrippa”

“He has no idea what you’re talking about, look at his face” [Name] laughed out. Ron followed his line of sight and chuckled at Harry’s confused face as well.

“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know - Chocolate frogs have cards inside them, you know to collect - famous witches and wizards. I’ve got about five hundred, but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.”

Both Harry and [Name] removed the cards from the chocolate frogs. Harry got Dumbledore which set his curiosity aflame once again. [Name] kept his a secret for dramatic effect of course. After answering his questions Ron asked for a chocolate frog as well only to get Morgana.

“Well Ron” [name] started “if you show me a trick, I’ll give you this” flipping over the card Ron’s eyes went wide at the sight of a Ptolemy card.

After a long conversation about the dangers of eating Bertie's ever flavored beans (which [name] would never even touch) Ron eventually worked up the courage to perform a spell when the toadless boy from earlier appeared, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening, she was looking at the wan in his hand.

‘Oh god.’ [name] said to himself as the girl’s thoughts assaulted him and drowned out the obvious awkward silence in the car ‘this girl may have redeeming qualities, or at least I’m hoping she does but she needs to get over herself’

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback

“Er- alright” he cleared his throat

“Sunshine daises, butter mellow, Turn this stupid fat rat yellow”

He waved his wand but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell? Said the girl. “Well it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but…

[Name] having heard most of this speech in his head already tried to tune her out and gave a snort at the end of her rambling when Harry and Ron looked at each other incredulously. Only a little offended when he heard Harry's comparison of Hermione to the nervous [Name] earlier

They all introduced themselves but Harry’s introduction led her on another tangent about him not looking himself up as if this was a common thing to do?? Then she asked what houses they thought they’d be in before leaving, taking the toadless boy with her. Poor Neville.

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it”

“I doubt we’ll be in the same house Ron” [Name] realized “you’ll probably be in whatever house your brothers are in”

“Gryffindor” Ron spoke up

“Right, and Harry will probably be with you where as I’ll end up in Slytherin probably”

The car went silent a bit before [name] spoke up again “I know what you’re thinking. Literally. I never had a Ptolemy card. I only said that because I wanted to show off my powers as a legilimens. I can see into your mind basically and I made you see what I wanted you to see. Don’t worry though I won’t like brainwash you or anything. Wouldn’t want to be a typical Slytherin and end up a dark wizard.

[Name] got ready to flee the cart after that whole speech and he could tell Ron felt kind of guilty but [Name] couldn’t risk Harry hating him. He was going to the house that produced Voldemort after all. He rushed out of the cart as some blond entered probably because Hermione had spread the rumor about seeing the chosen one.

Before [Name] knew it he was facing his newest worst enemy. The sorting hat.

#the rumor around hogwarts #hp x male reader #male reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x nonbinary reader #harry potter x male reader #harry potter x reader #that bi bitch writes #non binary reader #nonbinary reader insert #reader insert

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klbwriting · 4 years

Text

The Sparrow and The Rogue - Part 1

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Ben Hargreeves/ female!Reader

Warnings: some fighting, a touch of fat-shaming

Summary: The Umbrella siblings arrive back in 2019 to discover that Ben has no idea who they are, their dad wants them all dead, and they are once again in way over their heads

Notes: I’M AT IT AGAIN. Another series because I’m a glutton for punishment and I can’t resist my love for Ben Hargreeves. A few actual notes now. Note 1: In this I refer to Ben as Number One because I feel that is who he seems to be in the Sparrow Academy and also once Reginald learned of the others I don’t think he would allow personal names ever again. Note 2: I have named the reader in this as Number Eight because I feel its ambiguous that you can infer yourself as a reader into the shoes of someone just called a number. Note 3: I am really trying to portray the characters well so I hope you enjoy! Please like, reblog, but most of all COMMENT send asks about it or just reply with something or use fun tags. Thank you!

Klaus couldn't process what he was seeing. Ben, his brother, his dead compadre, the one person who was always there for him (except when he was on something, and that one time he just abandoned him in a bar), was right there in front of him with a bad boyband haircut and hate in his eyes. It was a scene that was both tragic and beautiful for Klaus. Vanya felt similar feelings rise in her. Ben had been the one to truly save the world, had been the kindest of her siblings when they were kids, the one who seemed to actually love her and here he was looking at her like he wanted to unleash the horror on her right in the living room that she used to call home. Diego recalled easily how Ben when he was possessing Klaus had hugged him so tight and he had felt the love he missed from his baby brother, but now he had the distinct feeling that Ben would take him out without a second thought. None of the other four had had any moments with Ben recently but they were feeling similar things, happiness at the fact that he was alive, but confusion over how different he seemed. Klaus finally opened his mouth to say something when Reginald stepped in.

"These are the morons I told you about Number One, they have come to usurp your group, they are what I have trained you for," he said. The Umbrella siblings turned to face their father, faces a mix of rage and hurt. Ben frowned looking at the motley group in front of him. "Well Number One? Lead your team against these frauds." He was conflicted, he had rarely attacked anyone who didn't deserve it and he didn't really know what these guys did to deserve the wraith of his father, but before he would make a move the front door of the academy burst open, shattering to the ground as several figures entered the room. Leading them was a familiar face.

"You dummies going to just stand there?" Lila asked as she entered the room ready for a fight. The Umbrella siblings looked back to the Sparrow siblings to see them now all around Ben, masks on, and ready for attack. Surprisingly however, none of them looked anything like the Umbrella siblings, they were all completely different, except for Ben.

"What are you waiting for Number One? ATTACK!" Reginald yelled.

"Shut up dad," a girl standing beside Lila snarked to Reginald. He glared back at her.

"I see you've grown yet again Number Eight, getting bigger by the day," he snarked back. She snarled at him.

"O come on, fat-shaming? That's a little much," Klaus said. Then he caught sight of Lila's expression. "O right, escaping." He followed his siblings and the two women out as the others with them were left behind to fight with the Sparrow siblings. They got a few blocks away before stopping for breath.

"Number Eight?" Five finally spat out at the unknown woman. She shrugged. "I was Number Eight for five years before Lila here came along and sprung me," she explained. Diego looked confused.

"You look exactly the same as you did in the 60's how is that possible if you raised another peron?" he asked. Lila smirked.

"A lady never reveals her secrets. O I missed you love," she answered, gripping Diego's face in her hand. He rolled his eyes but didn't pull away. He missed her too if he was being honest even though she had tried to kill him, a few times. "Now I see you have met your new counterparts."

"Why is Ben leader?" Luther asked. The rest of the siblings looked at him as if to say 'what the fuck dude?' He held up his hands shrugging.

"Because Ben as you call him is the strongest in that crop, at least in terms of powers, channeling a being of destruction in your abs can get you a lot if you try," Eight responded. "But he can be sympathetic and good most of the time." She reddened some at the confused looks on the siblings faces.

"You'll have to forgive sweet little Eight here, she has a bit of crush on Number One there," Lila said, putting an arm around Eight that the woman immediately shrugged off in annoyance. "Anyway, now that you've returned to the present I should catch you up shouldn't I? Come on, to our little hideout, the others should be getting there by now since our little distraction and extraction worked." She turned without getting a response and headed down a flight of stairs that had construction blocks in front of it, disappearing underground with Eight following her. The others looked at each other and one by one they followed the women into the ground.

---------------------

Number One found himself wondering several things after the scuffle had ended. One, why had his father spent so much time talking up this group of siblings like they were evil incarnate? He didn't see any sign of anger or threat from any of them. Two, why did Eight always have to show up with Lila? It drove him crazy to see her, especially now after their last one on one fight that didn't exactly end with a normal take down unless Lila was teaching unexpectedly kissing as a new technique. And three, where the hell had they gotten the name Ben from? He racked his brain for a time that he was known as Ben and he couldn't recall one. "Dad, what was all that about?" he questioned as his siblings watched at dinner that night. Reginald sighed deeply, hating to be questioned, especially with Pogo and Grace in the room.

"Number One, I have told you before, the Umbrella Academy is a rival, a group who wants to destroy us and what we hope to achieve," he said as if One was a small child.

"I understand that's what you told us but that is not what I saw in them today, they looked sad, and confused," he said. "If they were a threat then why didn't they seem to know us at all? Why did they call me Ben?"

"Enough Number One, if you cannot listen properly then you are dismissed from dinner and are to go study Lord Byron again, maybe you will learn something finally," he snapped. One gripped his fork tightly but stood and did as told, just like always. He was the leader and needed to set an example. He heard the whispers from his siblings before they were silenced by their father. He felt Number Three poking around in his mind, trying to see what he was thinking, trying to put a thought into his head but he shook it off and headed upstairs to his room.

He shut the door and let out a breath, finally relaxing for the first time that day. He stripped off his uniform and got into comfier clothes, before laying down in his bed. He laid there, actually taking out Lord Byron and reading some before he heard the last of his siblings go to their rooms. Once he was sure that the house was completely locked down and everyone was at least pretending to sleep he put the book down and rolled over, feeling behind his bed for the loose brick just below his box spring. He pulled it out and from it he pulled out a crayon drawing and a cell phone. He put the picture back into the hidey hole before powering up the phone. He smiled at the message that was waiting for him.

'It was nice to see you today even if I almost had to kill you' 'You couldn't kill me if you tried' 'Ya, you're probably right, but you couldn't kill me either One' 'I know Eight, I know' 'Maybe we can find a way to have a fight tomorrow?' 'I do have some time scheduled to patrol between 9th and 15th street aroud 5 pm' 'I'll be sure to vandalize a building or maybe rob a warehouse on say 12th?' 'I'll be there to stop you' 'Can't wait, goodnight One' 'Goodnight Eight, o and what dad said, you look amazing the way you are' He didn't get an answer but knew she'd see it in the morning and hopefully it would make her smile. He put the phone and brick back and drifted off imaging her smiling at his message.

#The Umbrella Academy #ben hargreeves #ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves series #ben hargreeves fanfic #ua #umbrella academy #umbrella academy fanfic

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

Note

Let's go wide and predictable... Tell me about the different WoD incarnations for Shaw. :>

OK SO First thing I am glad you are also a nerd for this so I don’t don’t to explain all these terms. Secondly wow I need to be better about tagging/organizing, I couldn’t find all the other posts on this I was SURE I wrote. SO HERE’S A BIG FAT POST, RIP YOUR EYES

VAMPIRE Lasombra: This is the clan I typically default to in answers for him AS YOU HAVE NOTICED. I mean, they’re dark aristocrats who are all about Social Darwinish, preying on the weak, and the strong reigning. They primarily enforce this subtly through political games, but they have NO PROBLEM throwing an elegant Potence-backed punch. While one would think that these proud predators demanding sniveling obedience---and one would, in a way, be right---they certainly don’t RESPECT it, and it can even induce violent rage in them. Fits Shaw to a T. Sure, the Catholicism/Church control and Spanish origins and attraction to the sea and Abyss mysticism aren’t for him, but hey, he fits the outlook of the Clan perfectly aside from the religious aspects, and no one fits EVERY stereotype of a clan anyway. Most Lasombra are Sabbat, and he could be too, but he would be in it for personal power, not true belief in being the Sword of Caine. I can equally easily see him going antitribu for the political power and stability of the Camarilla. My other choices for him are VENTURE which is pretty obvious, but also Gangrel, which sounds counterintuitive but I HAVE A REALLY GOOD ARGUEMENT FOR IT! WEREWOLF Shadow Lord. Total Shadow Lord for pretty much all the same reasons as Lasombra. Like just LOOK AT THIS QUOTE: “ The Shadow Lords are a fictional tribe of Garou (werewolves) in White Wolf Game Studio’s Werewolf: The Apocalypse role-playing game. […] The Shadow Lords’ lives are like a daily game of chess and a constant struggle for power […] Shadow Lords respect power and condemn weakness, any cub who’s not strong enough in their eyes is banished from the tribe [… ] None of the other tribes like them very much, or at all, but even the ones who hate them most don’t question their ability to get things done. […] perhaps the largest camp, the Lords of the Summit tend to be the stereotypical Shadow Lords - power-hungry, manipulative, ambitious, and arrogant. This by no means makes them less dangerous foes.” And like. . . .they focus on political and intellectual power FIRST, and that sort of character is typically physically weak. But as with the Lasombra, nope, the Shadow Lords had bodily power too; they’re described as looking more like over-muscled pit bulls in lupine form than wolves. So....yeah, that’s perfect. Because Shaw does fight “smart” first, he ideally never touches his opponent, but when he has to? BOY CAN HE PULVERIZE. So, Shadow Lord Shaw is a Homid, probably an Ahroun but maybe a Philodox, and he has a lot of Glass Walkers following him as well as fellow Shadow Lords; he finds great use in their technological talents and ability to adapt to an urban environment and OWN it (rather than just SURVIVE in its fringes like a Bone Gnawer, as he sees it) and they organize themselves in a corporate-like structure where he takes a natural lead. While the Shadow Lords are stereotypically/traditionally Eastern European, they can be of any race today. Shaw’s dad is English, but since we never see his mom in canon, for this version I’m saying his mom was a great big Eastern European Shadow Lord, and that’s why he never knew her, because the Garou aren’t typically raising their own young. He’s just. . . .big brutal wolf boy. And has like a billion puppies/Kinfolk kids. I DREW HIM FERA Ok, so I picked a BUNCH of Fera for Shaw, and you know why? I could. Literally just because I could. I don’t have a DM to tell me no! I even picked extinct ones, BECAUSE I WANTED TO! Cat-wise, I like him as a Khan or a Khara. Are the Khara extinct? Yes. Do they really suit him, the way they’re described less as warriors and more just secret-gatherers? Not at all. I picked them because I just like the idea of him turning into a massive, massive black smilodon. Because I think it’s cool and I don’t have to respect canon here. He can be the last of the Khara and not fit them at all if I say so. And hey, he LOOKS like a prehistoric man already! As for the Khan. . . .of the extant Bastet, the Simba and Khan fit him best. And if I am being honest? The Simba probably are a better fit for him. And I’m fine with that. I’m fine with Shaw as a big ol werelion with a black mane. But I also just really, really like the Khan. And as I have made clear, I am running this show. So my first choice for him that isn’t a Shadow Lord, is a Khan. They’re most typically Indian, Chinese, or (due to breeding with colonizers in India) English, so he could be one of the English Khan, and hey, fighting the Wyrm gives him a good outlet for. . . himself. Their human forms are also typically tall and HUGE, upwards of 300 lbs, and they’ve sired some of the most beautiful kittens and powerful bloodlines. T “ The Simba may declare themselves nobility, but the weretigers fit the title. Regal hunters and warriors, these Bastet evoke the respect the lions demand. From the snowy mountains of Asia to the cities of India, the weretigers hunt the spawn of Asura and defend the last of their Kin. They’re solid, dependable, smart and strong. Their weaknesses, such as they are, come from being too trusting or too sure of themselves. Khan are straightforward and action-oriented, not clever schemers. Whatever a Khan does, he does full-tilt — fighting, romancing, hunting, studying, even contemplating. These Bastet throw themselves into all tasks with vigor and passion, and their bodies, in any form, bristle with vitality. Most Khan love company; though few of them can stand the presence of another of their kind for long, they often enjoy companions. And who would deny a tiger’s friendship? It’s said the Khan were brought forth to battle demons, and many of them take that charge literally. Vampires, Asura and fomori have few enemies more relentless than a tiger. Perhaps that’s why the Khan have been brought to the verge of extinction: They made too many of the wrong kind of enemies.” “ The tribe’s traditional cultures stress honor and obedience. The treachery of Nagda was worsened by the stain it put on the tigers’ pride. While solitary in nature, most Khan establish protectorates where they defend a given family or land against corruption. The fact that “defense” occasionally includes killing certain people doesn’t detract from the tribal purpose. The Kahn were created to war against demons. Those who court the darkness must die “ “ While many Khan tend to be bad-tempered and aggressive, others love company of all kinds (and are powerful enough to demand respect). “ So, is that ALL Shaw? No. He’d be a particularly nasty, scheming Khan, in fact, a little unusual for his breed. But that’s hardly unheard of. After all, the famous English Khan named Lord Clouster “had cobras for a heart; he tossed his own kuasha beneath the wheels of a train, fed his wife to a suttee fire by pretending to be dead, then killed his children when he found they did not carry the Changing Touch.” And another Khan, the Indian sultan Nagda, got into a feud with another Khan and “ taken over by his rage, the Sultan Nagda betrayed his race and used a tribal secret. During an eclipse, his assassins struck all over Asia, slaying nearly 100 Khan and many Kinfolk outright.” So, Khan can be bad too. But not as bad as the Simba. “ “The Lords of Sunlight.” That’s what they call themselves. Like the blazing mane around the heads of their kings, werelions liken themselves to the sun. All things have a place and an order and rebels must be reminded of this fact. The real fact, of course, is that the other tribes dislike the lions; the Simba may call themselves “Lords of Sunlight,” but many other cats give them another name: “The Dark Kings,” an unflattering comparison to the Khan. The Simba aren’t villains; they’re magnificent lords, slayers of demons. Things are simply out of order. When the balance is restored, when the humans know their place and the cities become graveyards, the lions will be proven right. The demons of the modern age can be traced to the end of the Impergium and the laxity of the Changing Breeds. The Simba mean to put things in order, and if that requires bloodshed, so be it. Warfare is the sport of kings” “ Werelions value strength and order. Despite their bloody reputation, Simba adore their loved ones, and watch their Kinolk closely. Children and kittens are raised within the pride and must constantly prove themselves to survive. “ “ Each pride has one Mtolo (“father”), or dominant male, and several Kirii (“wives”) and Anwana (“young hunters”). Small prides defer to larger ones, and may owe allegiance to a Chakuva (“High King”) like Black Tooth. “ So, Simba are very patriarchal, very hierarchal, and want to run everyone else and feel they’re entitled to do so by birthright, and the more I talk the LESS it sounds like Shaw actually? Like don’t get me wrong, he’s proud and power-hungry AS YOU KNOW, but what sets him apart from Apocalypse or Magneto or Xavier is that Shaw has never sought to have mutantkind follow him. He has his own ideologies, but he has never sought to lead others or enforce it on them. So really, the Simba mentality of “we should be in charge because it’s us” DOESN’T work for him, nor does the idea of being entitled to do so, as Shaw’s “power first” mentality is all about EARNING your position, not deserving it automatically. It’s all very Fabian though! So I’ll leave that here as a bonus for you instead of going back and deleting it lol. yEAH HE’S A BAD KHAN, BASICALLY And his Pyrio, no matter what cat type he is, would be Night. Each Bastet has a “Pyrio” meaning a classification of their general personality and what fields they’re likely to pursue and be talented in. “Like the Dark Father Cahlash, the favor of the Night indicates a sinister or hidden nature. Most Bastet with this Pryio tend to withdraw from others, concentrating on their own business unless interrupted. Although they might not be actively malignant, they have short tempers and quiet ways, and fiercely guard their privacy. Night Bastet prefer occupations such as assassin, scholar, scientist and dark mystic. In the wilderness, the Night cats are hidden hunters and man-eaters, with nasty dispositions and an eerie reputations. These are the cats whose deeds are told around campfires for years to come. If you’ve got a disposition toward the Night, activities that cause others discomfort, reinforce your private space or protect some valuable secret from outsiders can refresh your Willpower.” So yeah. Shaw is a night kitty. Rats are not the type that fit him the MOST, but I drew him as a RATKIN WARRIOR anyway. Because rats. Also while I drew him as a Warrior, he could also be an Engineer or a Plague Lord (specifically sylphyllis; every Plague Lord contracts with a disease spirit and embodies its most horrific symptoms and I just love the idea of this hideous terrifying syph-ridden Shaw) And hey, he can get into the “culling humanity” and “survive so that you may breed” deal! Most wererats also have very little kindness towards the weak either, despite being the underdogs of the Fera themselves. Likewise, hyenas aren’t the breed that fit him the most but I kinda dig the idea of him as an Ajaba? Their role was choosers of the slain, tasked with culling the sick, dying, and unfit. They were called rainmakers because of the tears their task brought to others, and they did not spare even their own. Then, the Simba came to their lands, and enacted genocide against them. They left Africa and spread across the globe, now breeding indiscriminately to survive and can be any race. What holds them together now first isn’t any duty, but the desire to simply stay alive. And both those things---culling weakness, and being knocked off his pedestal and now forced to fight for scraps in the shadows to survive---seem fitting for Shaw. The philosophy is obviously what he’s always had, and the degraded position reflects where he currently is in canon. He’s not usually the underdog, but he is here---but doubtlessly a brutal one, the Fera equivalent of a gang leader, recruiting Also they’re matriarchal and I kinda like the idea of him having to deal with that, as....that kind of fits too? Shaw was the only MAN of note in the Hellfire Club. All the other most iconic, powerful, threatening members were women, and Shaw’s never really had a chance (or tried to fuck with) any of them. He’s USED to being around a ton of badass ladies who are calling the shots, that’s just TUESDAY for him. Finally---FINALLY-- I could see him as the odd human-born Rokea. A Great White, of course. Again, it was probably his mother who was the Fera, some monstrous creature who came on land and mated with his human father, only to spawn this boy while still out of the water. All Rokea are ugly in their human state, but Shaw looks better than most due to being born on land and as a human, and he is also able to move through---and thrive---in human society. Since he is seen as a Betweener---one of the Rokea who “betrays” the Sea by living on land instead---stepping into what should be his natural habitat is always risky for him, as other Rokea WILL kill Betweeners on sight. And the single-minded nature of sharks leaves little room for explaining oneself. Oh did I say finally SURPRISE I HAVE ONE MORE. The peaceful, matchmaking, extinct Apis don’t really fit SHAW aT ALL, and they’re EXTINCT, but I love the idea of him turning into a HUGE BLACK BULL. So here’s my explanation. The deal with the Apis is that when their numbers reached the single digits, a last handful of young Apis called Last Hope went into the Deep Umbra and haven’t been seen since. The “hook” in the 20th anniversary Changing Breeds book for their return is that maybe they finally came out the Umbra and back to the physical world. My idea is that he and HAVEN are mebers of Last Hope who have re-emerged in modern times to bring back their kind---something that rests entirely on SHAW’S shoulders, since Haven’s womb was cursed by the Wyrm. So it’s up to him to just breed with as many women and cows as possible. So he’s got an excuse! And as for why he’s so un-Apis, my explanation is that the trauma of their species being wiped out and the time that was allowed to fester in them during their long sleep in the Deep Umbra, drove Haven and Shaw to two extremes of Apis behavior. Haven took on the gentle caretaker side to the extreme, becoming so pacifistic she can’t fight or defend herself. Shaw went the other end, becoming so enraged and resentful that he’s become more like a bloodthirsty predator himself. Eventually, they both fall to madness after re-emerging, but in the opposite ways that everyone expect. It’s the sweet gentle Haven who ends up Frenzying other of control in a berserker rage, rampaging across the city in massive bovine form, causing untold death and destruction until she’s put down. . . .while the cruel violent Shaw falls to a “cow version of Harano” sinking into a depression so profound he goes catatonic up until Haven’s own loss of sanity, at which point he throws himself on her horn. The story ends with the last of the Apis truly dead, but with a new hope for the species living on in Shaw’s children, who are showing signs of being Kinfolk or Apis themselves.

#world of darkness #vampire the masquerade #werewolf the apocalypse #wod #wta #vtm #episomalvector

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miniwolfsbane · 3 years

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JWCC Sammy Gutierrez and body positivity

THIS IS VERY LONG! (I just have a lot of feelings!) Also, this is personal and doesn’t talk a lot about Sammy and is just one big rant.

Comment I wrote on the S2 preview “Also, shout out to the creators for making Sammy heavy, but it not effecting or having anything to do with her character. OR have her be obsessed with food. I'm sure other 90s kids remember the fat kid trope. Not doing fat logic, but we've come so far from the old days! As a woman who had that kind of body type growing up (had skinny friends, developed early, etc. it all was uncomfortable for many reasons. Long story.), it's amazing to see this kind of...semi-body positivity that's quiet and unspoken in a show aimed at everyone, including girls. If I had seen this character at 13, my mind would've been blown. Kudos!!”

I’m reeeally tired and getting to that point where I get emotional about stupid stuff. However, this isn’t that stupid...maybe?

We’ve reached a milestone, a kind of apex in American society, where being fat is no longer a running gag and it’s celebrated to be thick and/or a healthy weight. (Not to say skinny isn’t cool and it’s sure as heck better than carry 90+ pounds if it can be helped, but, as I said on Youtube, lots of 90s fat tropes were had, were they not? Every body type has their problems, blessings, and issues.) But, health is also a big issue and losing weight is too. I’m all for losing weight, but I also know what it was like growing up a fat kid, then a fat teenager in the 90s and 2000s when we didn’t have representation and people like Tocorra Jones, Melissa McCarthy, Ashley Graham and Rebel Wilson around to promote different body shapes and/or being a little heavy or curvy while still being healthy. (Melissa and Rebel have lost weight and I applaud them full circle!)

Anyway, It is downright uplifting to see Sammy in JWCC like this! Being “thicker” than her two female friends doesn’t slow her down or hinder her in anyway. She is not obsessed with food. She is not constantly eating. Likewise, she has an actual personality and an interesting secret and backstory. The fans seem to love her. She is not dressed immodestly and she doesn’t seem to have ANY negative opinions of her body type, for now. Likewise, in a fast paced show like this, no one is talking behind her back about her weight or eating habits (again, for now. This could change in upcoming seasons, we don’t know.) Come to that, she’s fairly intelligent and isn’t dumb. Like, how many times have we seen a fat, dumb person in a show. (I’m looking at you Chris Griffin and Cleveland Jr!) This could’ve gone SO SIDEWAYS in her character creation any number of ways and I’m just amazed it didn’t. However, this maybe is attributed to the show being an action show and not a comedy? In any case, I’m so glad girls of this generation can see it. I wish I’d had it at their age. (It’s probably because her VA is heavy, but heavier than how Sammy is portrayed, to my knowledge. I’ve only seen her years ago on Disney channel. Who cares why? It happened and I’m glad.) Please be assured, I’m NOT trying promote fat acceptance, just inclusivity, relatability, and representation.

Like I say all the time, I’m not super heavy. I never was. As I said in the comment, I developed early and had mostly skinny friends growing up. I remember being about 11 and hosting my first sleepover and someone pointing to my arms at my stretch marks, asking what they were. I wasn’t traumatized and they didn’t tease me, but I was a little (a lot?) self-conscious. Like, can we please get the idea out of our head that ONLY pregnant women get stretch marks?? (Cocoa butter companies, hello?!) They can happen to girls that grow tall fast or, like me, you can have them all freaking over because the puberty button in your brain got stuck. (LOL?) And calling them cute things like skin lightning doesn’t really help. My limbs and body still look weird.

I don’t remember seeing many characters shaped like me in shows as a kid or teenager. Unless maybe Simpsons characters with their pudgy bellies who may be some of the most average, realistic bodies in all of fiction, really. We can’t all be supermodels and body builders. Sailor Moon girls were all thin and leggy. None of the Magic School Bus kids were pudgy, all average and healthy (which is probably a good thing in a way. IDK. Representation is great, but so is promoting healthy eating and healthy shapes. Everything has their place.) Disney characters were mostly animals at the time, and I didn’t see Recess until Highschool or something at 3 am, and even then, there was only Mikey. Mikey was progressive, but he wasn’t female. Closest I got was Ariel’s (Little Mermaid) sister, Adella ( https://littlemermaid.fandom.com/wiki/Adella) and even then, she had no belly and never animated the same outside of the series with not much character development or anything.

Cassie from Animorphs might’ve been a close second, but, though she was my favorite female character as a kid (not anymore), it was hard to say “OMG, she’s shaped like me!” as it was a book series with few visual aides outside of covers, posters and some toys.

I remember seeing the singing group Cherish for a few seconds on TV once. A bunch of thick, busty, heavy black girls and I was SO EXCITED because for those few seconds on TV, there were girls that looked like me! Then some years later I found out a few of them lost weight and I was like bleh. (I didn’t follow their music or anything, not even sure how I saw them again.) Not that disapprove, health is essential, and I encourage people to lose weight for themselves, but it was nice having some representation. Except health needs to come first. It’s a two-edged sword if I ever saw one.

Don’t get me started on the sheer amount of girls with small/flat chests on TV. (No offense! See above about body types. Again, it’s about representation and seeing someone that looks like you that was not common in the 90s and early 2000s) I’m picky though. I wanted to see more representation, but the minute I saw it, I was not impressed or annoyed. To my better judgement, I saw a few episodes of something I won’t name with a curvy lead. I found her times dressing up as a man unconvincing and confusing because of her body shape. Other times I was, for lack of a better word, slightly appalled at her own size, even though she somewhat looked like me. I know, it makes no sense. Other times, I was mad at Lizzy Mcguire or another show for having skinny characters with A-cups while I was, er, way past training bras and smaller bras by 14/15 when the show was new.

Swearz, I developed (pun not intended!) this weird conspiracy theory that Disney execs have to look at the Star’s mom and other women in their family before casting a girl to make sure she stays thin/average chested for the shows entire run. Outside of one show, all shows in that era had the same thin girl body type. (And not much representation for different races for Disney back then, but that’s another debate for someone to better handle, not me.)

All that said, my shape was attributed to four things: Diet, genetics, lack of exercise and my mom’s cooking. Not sure how much I subscribe to the “genetics effect body fat theory”, but the “genetics effect body shape” is definitely a thing! And hormones in chicken. My family said all I ever wanted when I was little was McDonald’s chicken nuggets all the time, so I think that had some play in how I turned out. It’s probably too much to get into here, and no one cares about my sob story, so let’s move on.

Sammy is awesome and I hope to see more characters like her from other studios in the future. Every body type needs representation, but every body also deserves to be healthy and nourished.

EDIT: WARNING: THE VIDEO AND THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS TALK ABOUT ED AND CALORIE RESTRICTION!!

OMAHGAWWWD! I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING ROTTEN IN THE INDUSTRY, Y’ALL!! (Okay, that’s obvious, but you don’t really give it thought in your day to day life.)

The video gives a summary of Jenette McCurdy’s time on iCarly and the horrors she’d been going through in her younger years, which included an eating disorder and restricting calories to an (alleged) 900. Dear lord, that is sickening.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCE1x_chT34

Granted, I would take this with a small grain of salt as it’s from the internet, and undoubtedly, many actresses, probably more than we realize, have ED’s. If they would start encouraging them to be at healthy weights, things like this wouldn’t happen. Frick Nickelodeon and frick the acting industry!!

So, this was what I was trying to convey. Casting and producers need to find that middle ground. Don’t promote fact acceptance, but do not force your actors/actresses to be stick thin either. I could go on a huge tangent, but I don’t have the brain power right now. If you have an ED or know someone that does, I strongly encourage you to get help. I’ve been in tight spots like that (I knew of people or knew people), but getting REAL help from a doctor, professional, or someone with a good head on their shoulders is better than hiding it or keeping it secret. Ten years down the line, you’ll be thankful you did and not have regret. No one is perfect, but sometimes you have to fight harder to find a solution and someone that will actually listen to you and take your concerns to heart.

If I get negative comments, I’ll be deleting this and no one will be able to enjoy it. Think before you type and don’t be a jerk.

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occasionalmagicandcurses · 3 years

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its been about 10 years

But I’m back. I did therapy for a year and honestly all it got me was agitated. I remember the days of yore when I would sit on my tumblr home page, refreshing constantly and making new friends through whatever current horrible experience I could put to words in my life at the time. Whether it was the milso shit I was on (he was a cheater, and I was just a girlfriend), or the love for pokemon or anime, I always made a friend. I’m still friends with so many of them to this day. I’d skip whatever homework I had to do and meticulously pick at the code for my theme, calling to the days even further back of myspace and (dare I say it...) xanga. I learned about my internet etiquette through here. I paid way too much attention to the rules and regulations, even dipping my toes in some internet drama. I was an early witness to the birth of “cancel culture.” It was here that I developed my dreams and material aspirations for the future.

And 10 years has flown by. I’ve got two degrees, a staggering amount of debt, a few more earth shattering relationships, and 1 cross country move to show for it.

They say that no matter where you go, you are there. Whoever they are, they’re right. And it is draining to have to carry myself around everywhere. I can never seem to be completely upright. My anxiety says “gnaw on your fingers until they bleed” or “buy one more pair of shoes” or “shake your leg until even your dog looks at you funny” in an attempt to mitigate some of the pressure in my jaw. My depression follows up with the gambit of “you have no self control” or “no one will want you” or “just hold off on eating, it’s not going to do anything for you.”

I turned 30 years old 3 weeks. Feels the same as 29, except now 40 is 10 years around the corner, instead of 11. None the less terrifying or grim. I have an awful spending problem, undoubtedly an overcorrection from my poverty-stricken childhood. Ever seen cheese that doesn’t melt? I learned how to count from the monopoly money-esque appearance of food stamps. My mom would make it a game. I found it fun until we started having to leave baskets of food at the register because something was wrong.

Trauma, its delicious, I swear. We bounced from home to home, changing schools by the semester and allowing my brain to continue to develop on its fucked up axis. I struggled to make friends and struggled even harder to want to try. I knew it would all blow up anyway. I told the most elaborate lies to hide my home life. I’d say my grandmother was a doctor, and I’d hide that I couldn’t afford breakfast at school by saying I was trying to lose weight, or not have a full stomach for band practice later in the day.

I got on the overcompensation train pretty early. I finally got tired of my mom’s repetitive failures and walked out of the door at 17. I never lived with my mom again. I never want to be like her. To be 53 and living paycheck to paycheck with two kids I never wanted and still can’t parent correctly? Count me out.

I burned through college and graduate school. I have a career I am pretty kickass at. I love what I do.

I decided to change directions (and time zones) about 3 months ago. When I say I was bored, I was b o r e d. Professionally, I felt stuck. I had a job I was good at, but didn’t want to move up in. It was lacking the spark that made me love my field to begin with. I was living in a city I’d been in for the past 20 years. I was a year past the breakup from a relationship that literally and mentally broke me in two. Absolutely devastated me. I sometimes cry for that life on occasion. It was pure misery and happiness that I don’t think I’ll ever experience again. I still feel I’m not worthy of one or the other. There’s always a price. Both, or it isn’t real. Comparison (and infidelity) were the thieves there. My unbridled anger too.

I packed up my car and my dogs and took the mom that told me she would have had a great military career if it weren’t for me and drove halfway across the country. I flew her back home a week later, and not a minute sooner. Being in close quarters with her always stews a rage that turns me into not the daughter that’s pushed for 25 years for her to be a mom, but the daughter that hates the mother she never had. I drove the entire trip and never really could quantify why I wanted her to come, except to say it might have been a latch ditch effort of the little girl that wanted a parent. I could have done it by myself, and I probably should have.

Getting away has been amazing. I haven’t worked in almost a month and this was the break I didn’t know I needed. I saved up some, but obviously not enough, and now I get to pay the piper in a few weeks. I’m doing stupid things like riding my tax refund and the bonus for the job that I over performed at for 3 years to pull me through. I already got another job but good lord the background check has been sucking the life out of me. I am not a murderer, but I guess they need to figure that out for themselves. I’m slightly nervous for this job. My family and friends think I’m working now, but I am enjoying doing whatever the fuck I want. I blew off the job I got that motivated me to come out here because of the lack of money and transparency.

Then I made the absolute mistake of swiping on tinder. I’m not sure what I get out of doing it, aside from fleeting attention from guys who like to talk about their sex drive, but I did it anyway. I’m not ready for a relationship, and I know it. So I’m forcing it with this guy who works too much and looks 10 years older than he actually is because of it. He smells nice though. I sold him to my gf’s as “he’s great!” and he is. Just not for me. I’ve only had sex with him once because I’m honestly not all that attracted to him. His fingers are chubby, but he’s not fat. I don’t like how he touches me, and I wish he was more dominant. Not in a “smack me around” type of way, but a “hey I wanna do this thing and I’m gonna show you and not really leave it to discussion” kinda way. He could make a great friend, so I’m probably going to go ahead and nip that sooner rather than later.

I think I want attention, but I don’t. I honestly just want to mind my business and start the process of fixing all of my fucking problems. And actually finish.

#30something #life #help #thoughts #broke #failure #starting #fresh start #new start #thirty years old #thirty #aging #time #california #texas #success #fail #new #trying again #depression #anxiety

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years

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Lost in the Stars

AN: My first attempt of writing a Star Wars fanfiction and first time writing for the Mandalorian, go easy on me. Sorry if there’s any mistakes.

Summary: When Sarela Reyes accepted a bounty to find some missing child it should have been a simple job. What she got instead was a chance meeting with a certain Mandalorian, and her world was never the same.

Sarela Reyes sipped on her glass of brandy as she patiently sat in a corner of a crowded cantina named Plo's awaiting the arrival of one Zef Vanel, a man that had a job for her. She sat with her legs crossed as her eyes swept over the cantina, surveying everyone and everything. At first glance people would assume that there was nothing special about the chestnut skinned woman. She was, by all appearances what an average human female would look like. That is not to say she was a plain woman, she's actually quite lovely and has been told that many times.

Sarela was a young woman of average height with an athletic yet curvy build. Her black, tightly coiled hair framed her round face, bringing attention to her round shaped eyes that were like pools of honey and cinnamon. One would almost mistake her for being a native of the planet until they heard her speak. Her accent was very distinct, it would either drive people away in disgust or bring them in closer just for the opportunity to shower her with empty flatteries of her appearance.

But Sarela didn't really care what people thought of her. Her appearance was only a tool like her blaster, or her fists if need be. She used it when it proved to be useful.

The young woman tapped her fingers on the table, observing the cantina that was bustling with life as the band played an upbeat song and drunken humans and aliens spoke obnoxiously loud in a variety of languages. Seven months ago, Sarela would've turned her nose up and scowl at her surroundings, but now the sight of seeing puddles of vomit and witnessing gunfights at Plo's was commonplace.

However, that's not to say Sarela would prefer to be here, the last seven months had not been kind to her. Her life had been upended on the previous planet she lived on and was pretty much left with nothing because of it. In the months that Sarela arrived here she had worked a dozen jobs ranging from small time smuggling and even a few bounties. She knew that with the skills she had she was far above the jobs she'd been receiving. But she took them anyway because it was good fun and easy credits.

Sarela's full shaped lips struggled to hold back a smirk at the sight approaching her before she knocked back the rest of her brandy. A fat, human man approached her table and once the man spotted the woman he outstretched his arms. He appeared to be in his mid forties and skin was olive-toned and had closely cropped brown hair. He wore a long green vest over his long-sleeve cream collared shirt, black pants, and knee high boots.

"Reyes!" the man bellowed happily. "My friend!" he added, sliding in the seat in across from Sarela in her booth.

Sarela didn't consider the man in front of her a friend, sure he was the first person she met on this planet and he gave her small jobs to get on her feet financially. The only reason he helped Sarela was because he thought she was some beautiful, small fragile thing, until he saw her easily defend herself against three people in this cantina after they picked a fight with her.

That same night Zef asked her about being a hired gun to keep him safe, at first Sarela didn't understand why Zef need a gun to protect him. But after spending one week with him she realized why as Zef had the awful habit of swindling the local crime lords or anyone gullible enough to fall for his schemes.

And it is for that reason that Sarela wouldn't trust Zef as far as she could throw him.

Sarela shook her head, "Zef," she greeted dryly, her voice was elegant and poised like most accents from the core world. "You're late," she stated, looking down at her nails.

"I can't even get a simple greeting Reyes?" Zef questioned, as a waitress placed down a plate of food and a mug of ale.

"Let's not play games old friend," Sarela said, lifting her head to look at him. "Why did you ask me here?" she inquired.

"You were never one for pleasantries Reyes," Zef commented, as he set his meaty elbows on the table.

"What's the job Zef?" Sarela asked slowly, and her thick Imperial accent was more pronounced due to her growing impatience.

Zef busied himself in cutting up his chicken, "There's a child that's missing," he explained, before taking a bite of his meal.

Sarela's eyes narrowed and she slightly leaned forward, "This is what you had me waiting an hour for?" she inquired. "For some missing kid?" she questioned, letting out a scoff. Sarela stood up from the table. "Unbelievable," she shook her head. "Go find someone else Zef. I have better things to do!" she hissed, before walking away.

Zef's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, "6,000 credits," Zef whispered harshly, just loud enough for Sarela's ears to hear it and she stopped in her tracks. "That's how much they're offering," he added, and she slowly turned on her heels.

Zef let go of her wrist, "6,000 credits for some missing kid?" Sarela inquired, arching her brow. "Who's the kid?" she asked, now sliding back into the seat.

"It's Vullen's daughter," Zef answered, taking a swig of his ale.

Sarela's eyes widened, "The Mayor's daughter?" she repeated. "Missing?" she asked, now intrigued.

Zef nodded his head, "I had the same reaction as well," he stated, drinking more of his ale. Zef reached down and dug into his vest pocket and lightly tossed his holoprojector onto to the table. "Here she is," Zef commented, tapping the holo. "Little Lora Vullen," he announced, stretching his hand out.

Sarela studied the hologram of the young girl. She was a small and slim child with fair skin and light brown wavy hair that stopped at her shoulders. Light freckles sprinkled across her upturned nose and cheeks and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the hologram.

"She can't be older than what, eleven?" Sarela guessed, lifting her gaze to Zef's.

"Twelve," he corrected, turning off the holo and putting it back into his pocket.

"This is not like the other jobs you given me Zef," Sarela stated. "Why are you tell me?" she questioned, folding her arms over her chest.

"Well I figured a woman like yourself would be best for the job compared to others," he began, and Sarela lifted an eyebrow.

She knew what Zef was getting at, unlike them, she had proper training. And she knew that in Zef's eyes that made her more ruthless as any accomplished bounty hunter and even more skilled and quick-witted as the best smugglers.

Zef sighed in exasperation, "Come on Reyes, you and I both know that you have skills that are far superior to the common gun for hire," Zef continued, doing his best to persuade her. "This is a delicate situation, I'm sure Vullen doesn't want the riff raff putting their dirty little hands on his daughter," he added.

"As far as Vullen's concerned, I am apart of the riff raff," Sarela countered. "He might hate me even more since I'm an ex-Imperial," she pointed out.

"It's been years, who cares at this point. The war is over," Zef replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Letting out a sigh Sarela squeezed the bridge of her nose, "Alright, say if I take the job," she began, looking up at Zef again. "What's in it for you Zef?" Sarela asked.

Zef laughed, "You know me too well Reyes," he said, shaking his head. "I was hoping if everything goes right then Vullen would appoint me into that recently vacant administrator position," he explained, a grin on his face.

"Of course you were," she chuckled.

"So you'll take the job?" Zef asked, as the door to the cantina opened behind Zef.

Sarela watched as a man wearing shiny silver armor that matched with the helmet covering his head enter into the cantina. Instantly, she felt her blood run cold as she immediately recognized the armor. Beskar. The man was a Mandalorian, a mercenary. It was only matter time before her past caught up with her. Maker, she didn't even get to live a full year on this planet without someone coming after her.

"Reyes," Zef called, snapping his fingers.

Sarela shook her head from her daze, "I'll take the job," she confirmed, nodding her head. "Five percent cut as always?" Sarela questioned, holding out her hand.

"Ten?"

"Don't get greedy Zef. Five or no deal," Sarela responded, her hand hung waiting.

"Fine...five," Zef agreed and they shook hands. "I will see you at Vullen's office tomorrow morning," he said, lightly hitting the table and standing up from it.

"Tomorrow it is," she repeated, flipping her hood up.

Zef nodded and walked away from her, quickly greeting someone else in the cantina. Sarela's eyes made their way back to the Mandalorian who was now speaking to Plo, the man who owned the cantina.

"Good," Sarela thought.

He wouldn't notice her slipping out of here. Sarela lifted her scarf that ran down almost to her waist and tightened it around the lower half of her face. She slid out from the booth she was sitting in and steathily walked past the armored man, keeping her eyes straight ahead to the door. The sound of hissing met Sarela's ears as she stepped out the cantina and into the sunny streets of the surrounding market. She squinted her eyes as they adjusted to the bright daylight after the darkness of the cantina.

Sarela moved along with the crowd, blending in easily as she pretended to shop for fruit in the street market. As she walked along the busy market Sarela subtly kept her hands on her belt where her vibroblade was sheathed in its holster as well as her blaster on her thigh. Sarela bent down at another fruit stand, picking up the produce to inspect it and froze momentarily.

She suddenly got the feeling she was being watched.

She smiled at the vendor as she placed the fruit back down onto the stand before she pressed on through the crowd, this time quickening her pace. Sarela maintained her calm demeanor and made herself uninteresting as possible as a squad of guards brushed past her as they patrolled the market square. Her brown eyes scanned her surroundings and noticed an alleyway that she was nearly approaching. Sarela made a sharp turn into the alleyway and spotted a ladder from the fire escape attached to the building. Sarela ran towards it and leaped onto the ladder, nimbly climbing to the top and quickly ducking into the open window.

Just as Sarela planted her feet on the floor of the abandoned room she saw a figure enter into the alleyway as well. It was just as Sarela suspected, she was being followed, and by that Mandalorian no less. The Mandalorian had his gun drawn as he slowly walked deeper into the alley, keeping his head on a swivel for any sign of her. Sarela watched as the Mandalorian holster his gun, seeing that there was no one in the alley and he turned his back toward the window she was hiding in. Silently, Sarlea climbed out the window still observing the armored man's movements.

The Mandalorian began to walk out of the alley just as Sarela landed gracefully on the ground without making a sound. She crept behind the man, readying herself for a fight.

"Looking for me?" she called, and the Mandalorian immediately turned around only to receive a powerful kick to the gut and let out a loud grunt.

The Mandalorian stumbled back from the blow before regaining his footing as Sarela charged at him. She kicked her legs out forward into a crane kick which the Mandalorian blocked with his arms, quickly throwing a punch into Sarela's gut. She gasped sharply, the blow knocked the air out of her as she dropped to the ground. The Mandalorian roughly grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her up close to his helmet.

"What do you want?" the Mandalorian questioned, his voice gravelly.

Sarela stared into the dark shaded visor, "I should be asking you the same thing," she retorted, swiftly she reached down for her vibroblade and jabbed it towards his throat.

The Mandalorian reflexes were faster as he stopped her strike with his other hand and knocked the blade from her hand. Sarela grunted in frustration and yanked her knee up into the man, hearing a groan escape his mouth. The man struck his fist out, hitting Sarela across the face sending her down to the ground hard. She let out a groan of her own, twisting herself around just in time to see the Mandalorian with his blaster out and aiming at her. Using her agility, Sarela kicked the tip of his blaster away, she could hear it blast the ground beside her arm. The heat from the discharge rippled near her skin.

The Mandalorian raised his arm again after readjusting his grip around the blaster only to see Sarela her tightly holding her blaster in her grip, leveling it at him with her finger on the trigger. They were at a stalemate and Sarela could tell the Mandalorian was weighing his options just as she was.

"Why did you leave that cantina in such a rush?" the Mandalorian asked, breaking the tense silence.

"Why did you go after me?' she asked back, breathing heavily as her finger still rested on the trigger.

"I asked first,"

"Maybe I get a little jumpy when I see a Mandalorian appear out of nowhere," Sarela suggested, faintly feeling the hood from her scarf began to slip off her dark hair. "Now back to my question," she continued. "Why did you come after me?" she inquired. "Was it for a bounty? Tell me, how much was I worth this time?" she questioned.

"I'm not here for you," the Mandalorian stated. "I'm here to stop you from returning the child and collecting the bounty,"

"Stars above!" Sarela exclaimed. "You chased me down for Vullen's daughter?" she sassed incredulously.

The Mandalorian aim on her seem to waver slightly, "Vullen?" he asked.

"Yes! Vullen, the Mayor!" she snapped.

"There was a man in the cantina bragging to the barman saying you gotten a bounty for a child that's worth good amount of credits," The Mandalorian explained. "He said you and him were going to become very rich people," he finished.

Sarela exhaled deeply, "I'm going to kill Zef," she growled.

Part II

#din djarin #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars oc #star wars #black!oc #black original character #dyn jarren #din djarin fanfiction #baby yoda #black fanfiction #black oc

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spell-cleaver · 5 years

Note

Prompt 4 with kid Luke and Hondo with a dash of Vader towards the end

This got longer than I expected and I think it’s still too short to do the narrative justice, but I hope you like it anyway :)

Han had been sitting listening to this Weequay's tall tales for an hour now, waiting for Chewie. He was getting bored.

"—and then, when I was much younger and sprightlier—but still very skilled and experienced, you understand, very good at my job—I encountered this young girl, Togruta—"

"I ain't interested in your exploits," Han cut in, because the rest of this had been awful but that was crossing a line.

"Oh, no, nothing like that, my friend! Not my type at all. Besides, if anything had happened, she would have shoved a lightsaber right through my head, and that would ruin this pretty face now, wouldn't it?"

Han rolled his eyes—then froze. Lightsaber...

"I've, uh," he said, rising from his seat in the booth despite the fact that the bar was still sans Chewie, "gotta go now."

"Oh no, stay, my friend! I have one more story for you before I have to go on to more adventures! It is about," he paused for dramatic effect and Han, despite himself sat back down and leaned in, "Lord Vader and a little boy."

Han was intrigued. He would later regret being intrigued.

Luke clutched Old Ben's hand tightly and tried not to cry.

He didn't succeed.

He cried—hard, big fat droplets rolling down his cheeks to splatter onto the floor of this cantina Ben had brought him into. Ben had dragged him to Mos Eisley, away from the burnt out homestead and his aunt and uncle's— their b—

He was here, and Ben hadn't wanted to take him in there despite the fact that Luke was a big boy now, he could handle anything.

But, even he had to admit, the atmosphere in this place was... scary. There were tall men everywhere, it smelled funny, and something felt... off, like he knew when a sandstorm was coming or that a vaporator was beyond fixing. He wanted to go outside, no matter what Ben had said about not wanting to risk that someone took him.

(Luke knew what that meant, even as young as he was. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru's terror had never been hidden from him, and he knew about his grandmother.)

But finally Ben stopped talking to that human who at the... bar? He turned around, took Luke's hand and firmly marched them to the booth where that man had gestured, giving Luke a weak smile as he did. He looked distracted.

He'd made Luke sit with his back to the rest of the cantina, which Luke resented—scary or not, there were more species in here than he'd seen in his entire life!—but it meant that he got to watch Ben closely. He'd never spoken to him much, Uncle Owen'd hated him, but he'd been the one who'd shown up when he was hiding in the little secret trapdoor in the garage and he said he'd known Luke's father...

He was watching him closely. He saw the moment his face fell, his eyes bulged, and his lips moved silently.

Curious, Luke twisted round to see who had upset him, and saw a big tall alien—a Weequay? He'd only ever seen one picture of them, he wasn't sure—sashaying towards them, arms spread wide and braids swinging. Luke found himself grinning just at the sight of him; he looked like fun.

"Kenobi!" he called out, and he was delighted to see Ben, Luke could tell. Luke grinned wider—he must be a friend. "You are alive! I knew it, I knew it—you know, I tell people about my Jedi friend and they oh no, he's dead! You'll never see him again! But I knew it, no droid or clone or Imperial would ever take down the great Obi-Wan—"

"Shhh," Ben hissed, paler than Luke's clothes. "Yes, I'm alive. If you keep running your mouth like that, I won't be for much longer!"

The Weequay laughed a lot, though Luke was pretty sure Ben wasn't joking.

"That's my good friend Obi-Wan, always so modest," he said. "And no worries, before you ask—I will not sell you out to any of those nasty Imperials on this sleepy outpost. We are friends, are we not? And it's not wise to upset a Jedi," he shook his head sadly, "it's not good business."

Then he perked up again. "Now! It's been lovely seeing you, but I have a fine gentleman somewhere over here looking for passage to Alderaan!" His eyes scanned the surrounding booths. "Who do you think it is, that distinguished-looking man over there?"

Luke frowned. Glanced at Ben. He was staring at the Weequay and had somehow paled even further.

"Ben?" Luke prompted, finding his voice for the first time. The Weequay's gaze snapped to him and Luke felt his massive curiosity. "Didn't you say— are—" He swallowed at Ben's warning gaze but considered doggedly, "aren't we going to Alderaan?"

The Weequay froze, staring at Ben with his eyes comically large.

"Why, Kenobi," he said, "don't tell me you're the person looking to visit the planet of beauty?"

Obi-Wan said something. Luke was pretty sure it was a swear word.

The Weequay's name was Hondo, and he was awesome.

He let Luke play in the turrets—"Just shoot at a random point in space won't you, my boy, it'll all come in useful one day, eh?"—despite Ben's objections; he let him help with the jump to hyperspace—"I'll show you which buttons to press and you press them!—despite Ben's objections; and, most importantly of all, he told Luke stories about his father.

Also despite Ben's objections, but they were half-hearted at most. From the moment Luke's father had been brought up, he'd known he'd lost that battle.

"Your father? Oh, I knew him, little one, we were almost as close as me and Kenobi here were! Excellent pilot, excellent—"

"I thought he was a navigator on a spice freighter," Luke pointed out. Hondo was clearly in that sort of business himself; shouldn't he know the difference? Uncle Owen had made it painstakingly clear.

Ben winced. Hondo was surprised.

"At least, that's what Uncle Owen told me... But," he crowed, "if he was a pilot as well, then that's even cooler!"

He did not hear the small whimper of despair Obi-Wan gave when he called working on a spice freighter cool.

Hondo's eyes were wide. "Oh. Oh my. You didn't know? He didn't know?" He addressed the last part to Ben, who shook his head grimly—and a little pointedly. "Oh dear. My sincerest apologies."

"What don't I know?" Luke added dubiously, "That he was a pilot...?"

Ben sighed.

"Luke," he said gently, "come into the back room. We need to talk."

"My father was a Jedi?" he asked Hondo the moment he came back out. Hondo grinned and patted him on the head.

"Yes he was! One of the greatest Jedi ever to live, in my humble opinion. Second only to our beloved Kenobi, of course."

In the background, Ben sighed. "Don't fill his head with ridiculous ideas, Hondo."

"I would never dream of it, my friend! Are you going to train him to be a Jedi too?" He poked Luke's arm lightly.

Luke looked up at Ben and did his best innocent, hardworking and humble expression.

"...yes," Ben ground out, though he managed to make himself smile at Luke. "I will. If he wants—"

"I do!"

"Then yes," he smiled wider and patted him on the shoulder, "I will."

There was a beeping from the cockpit and Hondo jumped into action. "Looks like we are coming up on our destination, my friends!"

"Good," Ben breathed a sigh of relief and ushered Luke into the cockpit behind Hondo. "Once we reach Alderaan, I will get you your payment, Hondo, and then, Luke, there's someone I'd like you to meet—"

The streaks turned to stars but no planet loomed before them.

Ben froze.

"This isn't Alderaan," Luke observed mildly, but no one was listening to him.

Ben was shouting. "Hondo—"

"Now, now, you understand, Kenobi," Hondo said, turned around quickly, snapped his blaster up from his side and stunned him. "You were offering a wonderful sum, but someone else is offering more for your head and, well," he shrugged, "It's just good business."

Luke stared at him, wide-eyed and suddenly terrified.

He glanced at the scopes—Hondo had shown him how to use them. There was a massive, wedge-shaped ship to their left, just to the side of the viewports.

Hondo winked at him and put away the blaster. "Don't you worry, little one, no one is going to hurt you! It's only Kenobi that Lord Vader wants, I doubt he'll care about a little squirt like yourself, no matter how wonderful your father was!"

He was lying.

Luke's fear ramped up a notch. He felt... cold...

A little light on the console began chiming. Hondo flicked a switch and a holo appeared of a scary-looking figure—droid?—with a mask.

The voice thundered. "Ohnaka. You have Kenobi?"

"Of course, my lord. Hondo always delivers, doesn't he?" He wagged his finger in an odd way; Luke could tell that this Vader was not amused.

"Apparently so. But—" Vader stiffened. Luke, against his will, squeezed his eyes shut when that cold doubled, and it seemed to double around him. "You are carrying someone else on your ship."

"Oh, no one, just a little boy Kenobi picked up in his wanderings, a stray. Nothing to worry about, Lord Vader. Now, about my payment—"

"I will be the judge of what I worry about, Ohnaka. Bring him to the holo."

"My lord—"

"Bring him."

Hondo swallowed, the only sign of fear he'd shown, and it made Luke even more scared. He tried to duck when the pirate reached for him, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder and he was dragged in front of the holoreceiver.

He looked up and automatically met that dark lord's eye... plates? "Hi."

Vader tilted his head. It was a pretty big head, so the tilting was obvious.

"What is your name, young one?" he asked, curiously softly.

Luke had no idea what was going on, but his aunt and uncle had not raised a liar.

"Luke Skywalker," he said.

That... cold... constricted, making it hard to breathe for a moment, Then it was inside him, his head, poking and prodding where it shouldn't, where it was rude, and Luke gave the mental equivalent of a shove and a tongue stuck out at it.

To his surprise, it retreated. A whisper of amusement and surprise lingered.

On the holo, Vader had not moved his helmet to gaze at anything other than Luke.

"We have you on our scopes, Ohnaka," he said. The ship shuddered. "We have a lock on you and will tractor you in to a hangar bay. Then you can bring me Kenobi, and..." He hesitated, his stare seeming to triple in its intensity.

"And bring me the boy."

"And that, my good friend," Hondo finished, "is how ten years ago, I accidentally gave Vader his son, without even realising it!"

Han stared.

And stared some more.

Then he shook his head, more out of pity than disgust, and said, "I'm too sober for this nonsense."

He left, ignoring Hondo's squawked protests behind him and met Chewie outside.

Chewie roared a question; Han gave a short, obligatory laugh.

"Ah, nothing. I think he's gone crazy. Talking about this kid, who was supposedly Vader's son... it's a lotta nonsense."

Chewie groaned his understanding, then gave Han the best news he'd heard all day: they had a client.

"Oh really?" Han asked as they approached the docking bay the Falcon was in, seeing a slim figure already waiting for them inside. "Who is it?"

Chewie inclined his head; Han turned to look. The figure was a boy—adult on a technicality, he supposed—with two droids trailing him: a gold, annoying-looking one and a blue astromech. The boy smiled when he saw Chewie and Han, but he looked... tense.

"Hi!" he said. "My name's Luke Skywalker."

Han did a double take at the name—but no. Hondo's story was too ridiculous, too far-fetched. He wasn't even going to think it.

The boy, though—Lord Vader's son, if that tall tale was to be believed—sharpened his smile a little, eyes flashing a little gold in the light.

Vader, he remembered belatedly, was supposedly able to read minds.

Skywalker rested a hand on the astromech's dome; it curled slightly, nails digging into the finish, with either tension or anticipation.

"I don't suppose I can purchase passage to Alderaan for myself and two droids?"

Prompts from this post, but I’m closed to prompts for now.

#i love doing prompts but i wanna take a break from writing rn #so i have one more prompt and one more chapter to write #then i have a few weeks' break #so don't send anymore in unless you're willing to wait over a month for it #luke skywalker #hondo ohnaka #darth vader #obi wan kenobi #han solo #chewbacca #my writing #random words on a page #flash fiction #flash fiction: star wars

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spine-buster · 5 years

Text

Alone, Together | Chapter 21 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: Y’all deserve this one. I’ll be at church cleansing my sins if you need me.

Briony never got to give out Valentine’s Day cards at school because she could never afford them. She’d get them from her fellow students, decorated with superheroes or puppies or whatever else was popular at the time, usually with a heart-shaped chocolate or a Hershey’s Kiss, but she was never able to give any out. That was why, given the opportunity, she went out and bought really corny Valentine’s Day cards, the fold up ones that came in packs of 30, wrote one to Morgan for each day of his road trip, and hid them in his suitcase for the 13-day tour of Montreal, New York, Colorado, Las Vegas, Arizona, and St. Louis. Bee was a bit bummed that she wasn’t able to spend time with Morgan on their first Valentine’s Day together, but there wasn’t exactly anything she could do about it.

Instead, she was focused on the training she was completing for her new job. The day after her interview, Mark Travers had called her back. “Can you come back to my office?” he had asked. Morgan was at morning practice, so she high-tailed it in an Uber. When she got there, he sat her down in the same chair she sat in for the interview. “What are your salary expectations?” “There will be performance bonuses if you accept and do well.” “We’re not going with the candidate from Montreal. I would love for you to be part of our team.” It was all very surreal, and of course, she accepted the job. She was a junior financial analyst at Scotiabank. Her hard work paid off in the best way possible. Yes, she had a boyfriend, the best boyfriend in the world – but now, she had a job. She had a career. She had everything she had ever wanted.

Morgan was, of course, over the moon when she told him. So over the moon, in fact, that the Leafs won their next two games against Anaheim and Ottawa. She was able to go to both games after her training, just a short walk to the ACC from Scotia Plaza. He asked so many questions and was so interested in everything she would be doing. He was like a little kid in a candy store. He wouldn’t shut up about it. He told his teammates. He told the wives and girlfriends (as if she hadn’t already). He told Mike Babcock because, well, he just happened to be listening at the time. He told the Uber Eats delivery man when he dropped off their food that night, a celebratory feast on Indian food. He’d tell a park bench if it listened.

But, like always, then he had to leave. A thirteen day road trip for the team. He cursed the fact that after all these big events, he always had to leave, and they could never properly celebrate. They couldn’t even properly celebrate their first Valentine’s Day, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. There wasn’t exactly anything any of the other wives or girlfriends could do about it, so instead of wallowing in self-pity, Alannah had organized a “Galentine’s Day” night over at hers and Zach’s place. The boys were facing the Vegas Golden Knights tonight, and the girls could at least watch the game together while eating junk food and sipping on mimosas and mocktails rather than spend the night alone.

Until then, Bee found herself with Aryne, who was apparently feeling particularly stir-crazy. There was a week of paid training before Bee assumed her full responsibilities, and in the time, Aryne made it her personal goal to meet with Bee everyday for lunch so they could check out places to eat in the financial district. Today, they were at the Cactus Club, an import from western Canada that just opened a few blocks north of the Scotia Plaza. Aryne had ordered them both a tuna poke bowl and non-alcoholic Valentine’s Day-themed drinks.

They had been talking for a while, discussing who was going to be at Alannah’s place that night and what time Aryne would pick Bee up, when suddenly a shrill voice was heard from across the restaurant screaming, “Ohmigod, Aryne is that you?!” Aryne and Bee both looked to their left, and Bee saw a beach blonde running over to them with a giant smile on her face.

“Oh Lord,” Aryne mused under her breath as she smiled at the woman making a beeline.

“Who’s that?” Bee asked, but it was too late. The woman had approached their table and Aryne was smiling politely at her.

“So nice to see you here!” the woman said, bending down and giving Aryne a hug, who didn’t bother getting up from her seat. “I can’t believe I ran into you here of all places. What are you doing here?”

“I’m having lunch with my friend,” Aryne said. Why else would she be in a restaurant with another person sitting across from her? “Bee, this is Sydney. Sydney this is Bee McTa--”

“So you’re Bee?” she said slyly, not bothering to offer her hand for a polite shake. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“From who?” Bee asked.

“From Instagram,” Sydney said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Bee got worried the second she mentioned it. She didn’t even know who this Sydney was – why did she knew who Bee was? What had she seen on Instagram that made her feel like she already knew who Bee was? “I just love that Chanel bag that Morgan got you.”

“What have you been up to, Sydney?” Aryne intervened the split second she saw Bee’s eyebrows furrow. “What brings you back to Toronto?”

“Well, I had my dress fitting at Kleinfeld today. Jessica had a working lunch so I thought I’d come to Cactus Club and see what the food’s like,” she explained. Bee had no idea who Jessica was and she wasn’t inclined in the slightest to ask.

“Jessica who? Mulroney?” Aryne asked.

“Of course, Aryne. Who else?” Sydney smiled. “Anyway, the second dress was already ordered in Southampton so we’re waiting for that to come in for alterations as well. Then there’s the veil and the flower wall and just, like, so many other things.”

“Should’ve eloped,” Aryne winked.

“Boomer wouldn’t want that,” she giggled, turning her attention back to Bee. “You must know my fiancé Matt? Or my father Boomer Esiason?”

Bee didn’t understand. Did Sydney just ‘my father’ her a la Meghan McCain? Was she just name-dropping people in the hopes that Bee would recognize who she was? Why would she want anyone to recognize her? Bee shook her head. “I’m sorry, I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“My fiancé is Matt Martin. He plays for the Islanders. He was on the Leafs last year,” her tone was light but she spoke in short sentences, talking to Bee like she was an idiot. “Do you not know about hockey?”

“Not a lot, actually,” Bee tried to keep her voice as cordial as possible. She could see Aryne trying to suppress a smirk. “I’m usually too busy with work to learn about other teams, so I just stick to the Leafs.”

“Oh…” Sydney was taken aback by Bee’s answer, by Bee’s lack of interest in who she was, in Bee’s lack of caring about anything to do with her.

“Bee’s a financial analyst with Scotiabank,” Aryne informed Sydney.

“And Morgan’s okay with that?”

A shiver ran up Bee’s spine. “Why wouldn’t he be okay with that?”

“Morgan earns more than enough money for the both of you. All the hockey players I know would love to have their girlfriends at home with them to help with the hockey schedule. You know how boys are so dependent,” she tried to turn it into a joke. “They can be so useless sometimes.”

Maybe her boy was dependent, but Morgan could get by on his own. Bee didn’t like the insinuation that he was the only one that mattered in the relationship and that her needs took second place to his. That’s not the way she lived her life, ever, and that’s not the way she and Morgan acted in their relationship. “Morgan loves that I have my own career,” Bee said definitively, taking a sip of water to prevent her from saying anything else she might regret.

Sydney smiled politely. “Well, I won’t keep you two much longer,” she gave a half smile to Bee before focusing on Aryne. “Look for the invitation to come late May. It’s going to be in Southampton. We’ll provide hotel details.”

“Good luck with the rest of the planning,” Aryne smiled before Sydney walked away, readjusting a Prada bag on her shoulder. Aryne looked back at Bee and gave her a look. “Sorry about that. I thought we’d be safe here.”

“Is she always like that? Namedropping Jessicas and Boomers and who her husband is?” Bee asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Aryne rolled her eyes slightly. “Her dad was a pro football player and now she’s getting married to Matt. He played for the Islanders with John, then played in Toronto for two years, but now he’s back on the island. She’s really close with Steph.”

Bee tried not to roll her eyes. She didn’t like those types of people – those that would namedrop to get what they want or so they could let you know who they were. It actually did say a lot about who they were, and to Bee, it wasn’t that good. She didn’t even like it when Morgan did it all those months ago at Cibo. “What did she mean she saw me on Instagram?” Bee asked.

“Well obviously we’ve been uploading pictures and stuff,” Aryne said, taking her phone out of her purse. “But then there’s like, the fanpages or whatever. She stalks them a bit to see what they say about her and Matt.”

“The what?”

“The fanpages. You know, like the girls who somehow get a hold of our pictures and then post them on their accounts?” she phrased it as more of a question. When she saw the confused look on Bee’s face, she shook her head. “Oh come on Bee. You have to know about them.”

“I know about the girls who send me messages telling me I’m fat and Morgan’s my sugardaddy,” she said bluntly. Aryne knew about them too. They laughed about them together. “I don’t know about these so called fan-pages. How do they get the pictures if our profiles are private?”

“Oh, they find their ways,” Aryne typed something into her phone and swiped through a few screens. “It’s nothing horrible. They literally just post pictures. But…yeah. Here’s you,” she said, showing Bee her phone over the table.

Bee took Aryne’s phone in her hands and swiped through the post from @theladyleafsoftoronto: ten pictures stolen from her Instagram account, from Ashley’s Instagram, and even from Lucy’s private one somehow. Group shots of her with the girls. None of her and Morgan together, thankfully, because those were few and far in between. She had just posted her first one, series of photos of them together in Vancouver, after they got back from their trip. She’d cleared her Instagram like Angie told her to, and she hoped they wouldn’t get out.

“Check out at NHL wives and girlfriends,” Aryne said the name of another account before she stuffed her face with contents of her poke bowl. “Those girls should work for CSIS.”

Bee punched the handle into the search bar and immediately saw the account. She didn’t have to scroll far to see the two different posts, each with another series of photos and videos of her. Twenty total. They had screengrabbed Instagram stories of her and Morgan kissing from Auston’s New Years Eve party and others, Boomerangs from Halloween in their costumes, and even went so far as to include one of the oldest pictures of herself she had posted to Instagram. They were crazy. And somehow – yup, of course, of-fucking-course – the series of photos of her and Morgan together from Vancouver were on there. She didn’t even want to know how they got there.

“Wait…” Bee said as she noticed one specific picture. Their backs were to the camera and they were standing on the seawall on Kitsilano Beach, where Andy brought them when they landed in Vancouver. “That’s…that’s not…”

“What’s wrong?”

“One of these is Shirley’s picture,” she said. “Shirley…she only posts to Facebook. You mean to tell me they stalk her Facebook?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Aryne shrugged her shoulders. “I told you. They should work for CSIS. They could get information on anyone. Hell, if you didn’t even have an online presence they’d still find you.”

It was at that point, staring at the candid picture Shirley had taken of them in Vancouver, that Bee realized there was nothing she or Morgan could do about it. Absolutely nothing. They could switch on every privacy button they could, they could refuse to post – none of it mattered. It would still end up somewhere. It would still end up on an Instagram profile with almost 10,000 followers and fifty comments on the post. It was completely out of their control.

So why bother?

“Jesus,” Bee shivered slightly, and it wasn’t because of the cold outside. She handed Aryne’s phone back to her. “I didn’t know…I mean, these girls must have a lot of time on their hands.”

“I know it’s a lot, but it’s not a big deal. It happens to us all. They all find it somehow. The more you come to just accept that it’s gonna happen, the less freaked out you get when it does happen,” Aryne explained. “The fact that you don’t care what they say helps, too. Yours and Morgan’s relationship is strong and you’re better than what they say about you. Other girls aren’t as strong as you.”

***

Bee had received a text with a picture of every Valentine Morgan found on his 13 day road trip followed by a heart and a message of “I can’t wait to see you”. Now that he was finally on his way home, Bee sent him a text back: “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

She was restless. All she wanted was him with her, beneath her, above her, beside her, behind her – she didn’t fucking care at this point. She wanted touch him and to feel him so desperately she was willing to jump his bones the second he got in the door. Hell, she’d meet him down in the parking garage if it meant getting her hands on him. But with the last ounce of self-restraint she had, she put on her blush coloured baby doll lingerie set and waited for him on the bed.

Even as she heard the door open and shut, she stayed in her position. “Bumblebee?” Morgan called out, the sound of his bag hitting the floor loud in the quietness of the apartment.

“In here!”

She heard his footsteps make their way to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he was greeted with her, sitting on the bed on her knees in her lingerie. He stopped for a moment, taking in the scene before him. “Well well well…happy belated Valentine’s Day to me,” he hummed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day baby,” she smiled, noticing he had something in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Your valentines,” he said. “Wanted to give you a kiss for every one you left me, but it seems like you have other plans in mind,” he licked his lips. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“I was keeping it a secret.”

“Oh were you,” he sauntered over to her, making a come hither motion with his finger. She moved towards the edge of the bed where he was standing, slipping her arms around his neck. “I mean it. Thirteen kisses,” he mumbled, grabbing hold of the flesh at her hips before giving her the first kiss. “I love the pink,” he mumbled.

“I knew you would,” she said, biting his bottom lip. “God, I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too, Briony. But I’m home now.”

She kissed him again, unable to wait any longer. They definitely gave each other more than thirteen kisses as they made out, but she wasn’t exactly complaining. Morgan’s hands on her flesh were intoxicating and all she wanted to feel. She wasted no time in ridding him of his clothes. He moved quickly to put the valentines on the dresser so he wouldn’t lose them.

“Lie on the bed,” she directed him when he came back.

“What?”

“I said lie on the bed,” she repeated as she made way for him to do just that.

“What are you --”

“Can you stop asking questions and just lie on the bed!” she giggled, pulling him down so he had no choice. Crawling in between his legs, she couldn’t help but smile as he put his hands behind his head to view her. She grabbed a pillow for him so he could use it in place of his hands. She needed his hands for this. “Did your cock miss me?”

“Mmmm, you have no idea,” he said, his voice low.

She helped him out of his boxer-briefs and scratched her nails teasingly down his thighs. When she finally grabbed hold of his cock, she smiled before kissing the head gently. Morgan bit down on his lip as he looked at her. “C’mon baby.”

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head, a devilish smile on her face. “Nice and slow.”

He glared at her momentarily. “Excuse me?”

“Nice and slow,” she repeated, her eyes flashing with revenge. “I can tease too, you know.”

“What are you – wha…” he didn’t understand what she was trying to say, but then it hit him. This was payback. ‘Nice and slow’ was payback for their little impromptu rendezvous before Auston’s New Year’s Eve party, where he’d teased her so achingly slow with his fingers. “Baby, please --”

“No,” she said definitively, licking the underside of his cock, but pulling away right after. “Nice. And. Slow.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. He knew he was going to pay for that one day.

True to word, miraculously, she worked on his cock slow and steady, making sure to take her time with the foreplay and use all of her tricks that she knew would drive him wild: the moaning, the dirty talk, even the simple act of catching his eye while his cock was in her mouth and rolling them to the back of her head in pleasure. His body felt like it was a thousand degrees as she worked her magic.

When she began to take him deeper into her mouth and throat, he made sure to gather her hair in his hand as he guided her up and down his shaft. Like always, his eyes rolled back when she would gag slightly, but because she was taking this all nice and slow, everything seemed heightened. She was thoroughly enjoying herself and taking her time, and by her actions he knew she wasn’t forcing herself to do anything she was uncomfortable doing.

“Feeling good, baby?” she asked quickly before taking him into her mouth again.

He grunted in appreciation, tightening his grip on her hair slightly. “You’re so fucking good.”

She moaned a little before she sucked him from base to tip, ending with a pop. “I wanna taste you baby.”

His breathing was hot and heavy. “W-What?” he stuttered out.

“I want you to cum down my throat baby. I want to taste you,” she cooed.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he moaned out, but before he could say anything else, she took him deep in her throat quickly, gagging, and he actively had to think about something else to prevent him from exploding right then and there. He caught her eye as she looked up at him. “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

She giggled. “Good,” she said before continuing her actions.

True to his word, it wasn’t long before he began to lose control. He tightened his grip on her hair one last time before he rocked his hips so he could push himself even deeper into her throat. After one last moan and one last gag, she felt him shoot his hot load into her throat. His breathing was erratic, his sighs more high-pitched than normal, and Bee let out a satisfied sound as she swallowed every bit of him.

She continued sucking until she felt him get soft, ending with another pop and another devilish grin on her face. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Morgan.”

“Hap…Hap…” he tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even think straight. “I can’t…I can’t…” he repeated, worried, still on a high. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move, but he knew the night couldn’t end here. No way. He never wanted to not make her come, especially for Valentine’s Day celebration, but after doing so himself, like that, he didn’t know how long he’d have to take to recuperate. Needless to say, he didn’t exactly want to wait either.

“C’mon Morgan,” she whispered, her voice breathy and low, her lips grazing against his ear.

His brain was fucking mush. He wasn’t even sure where he was to be honest. “I…I…” he tried to formulate a coherent thought, completely spent and still trying to catch his breath.

“C’mon baby. I’m all dressed up,” she taunted him.

He watched her as she slipped her hand underneath her panties and began to touch herself. He regained enough semblance of a conscience to realize he didn’t want her to be doing that. He wanted to be the one. “Stop,” he said as firmly as he could.

She did as she was told. She looked at him and a small smile crept onto her lips. “How do you want me?” she asked.

Just by the way she phrased it he was ready to explode again right then and there. “Get on your knees,” he said, and she followed instructions, lying back on her knees to face him. “Other way,” he directed, watching the surprise spread across her face as she did what she was told yet again.

Finally regaining enough consciousness, he got on his knees too, getting behind her so her back was flush with his chest. He wrapped his left arm around her slowly, making sure his fingers grazed her skin underneath the material of the babydoll. His right hand was already playing with the lacy material of her underwear. He kissed his way along her shoulder and up her neck until he got to her ear. “You trust me?” he asked.

Bee nodded her head. “I trust you.”

He gave her another tender kiss on her neck, his right hand already reaching over and slipping into the front of her panties to tease her hot core. She jumped at his touch, knowing what he was about to do. “I’m gonna start with one,” he whispered in her ear.

“Two.”

A shiver went up his spine. “Two?”

She nodded her head. “I want it so bad.”

He sighed contently, chuckling to himself at the desperation in her voice. He began teasing her with two fingers, playing with her slick folds and rubbing circles on her clit as he continued to kiss and bite the skin along her neck and shoulders, definitely leaving marks. He could feel her getting wetter with each passing moment and, lacking all self-control, he didn’t wait to push his fingers inside of her.

She moaned at the action, grinding her hips against his hand as much as possible. She snaked her hand along Morgan’s arm that wrapped around her body and intertwined her fingers with his. “Fuck, Mo.”

“Feel good?” he bit down on her neck.

Bee could only nod her head as he curled his fingers in her, hitting the spot that made her shake in pleasure. “Feels so fucking good,” she managed to breathe out.

His kisses were a mix of tender and hungry; his bites both loving and heated. He bit his way back up to her ear. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me Briony?” he asked.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“Are you gonna take more?”

“Yes. Yes,” she said, desperate, grinding her hips again. “Please Mo. I want more.”

He slipped another finger in, now three fingers deep in her. Bee shouted out slightly at the sensation, adjusting to the new feeling as much as she could before her body began reacting before her brain could. A warm shiver went up her spine and she leaned back into Morgan, his chest slick with sweat. “You okay?” he asked quickly.

“Go harder, Morgan.”

Was it possible to self-combust? Because between the blowjob and this, he was sure he was going to spontaneously self-combust right then and there on the bed. She knew just the right tone to use in her voice when she begged to drive him wild. “You’re fucking desperate, aren’t you?”

“Please Morgan,” she begged again, bringing her free hand up to yank at his hair, pulling him so she could give him a sloppy kiss.

His fingers continued to curl inside her and she moaned out in pleasure. This time, he tightened the grip his arm had around her body, limiting her movement so she couldn’t grind against his hand as much. He knew how much she liked when he held her hips down while he ate her out, making sure the responsibility of her pleasure was in his hands the most, and he figured she’d enjoy it just as much in this situation too. A whine escaped her as she realized what he was doing; despite her best effort, she wasn’t able to grind down as much. “Harder,” she panted out.

Losing any semblance of restraint he had left, he began pumping his three fingers in and out of her quickly, much to her wish and indulgence. Her moans were loud and desperate, long and throaty, while, by some miracle, he was still rubbing against her clit and he was still kissing and biting down on the sensitive skin on her neck. It was all too much for her – the different sensations in different places – and her body became hot and she could feel her orgasm already building as Morgan continued to work. “Morgaaaaaaannnnn,” she elongated his name, pleading with him to continue exactly what he was doing.

“You like that, huh,” he mumbled against her skin, making her nod her head. “You’re so fucking desperate for me to fuck you like this.”

“Morgan, please,” she didn’t know what else to say. She knew it was all she was saying but she could barely form a coherent thought. This was so unlike anything they’d ever done; although he had fingered her before, it was never like this. It was never this hot and this steamy and this raw. She was so close she felt like she was going to explode already. “I’m so close.”

“Then make a fucking mess, Briony.”

That’s it. She’s lost it. She cried out loudly, repeating his name over and over again as he curled his fingers in her one last time, making sure it lasted as long as it could as she collapsed against his body, her head leaning back onto his shoulder. Her legs felt like jelly and her hair stuck against his skin.

His fingers were still in her and her thighs were wet as he gave her a tender kiss. “You’re such a good girl for me. Always such a good girl,” he whispered.

“Again.”

He stopped momentarily. He wasn’t expecting to hear that. “What?”

“More. And again.”

The shock was written all over his face, but she couldn’t see because between not facing him and her eyes rolling to the back of her head, she couldn’t see much of anything. “I…you want more?” he clarified.

“Keep going,” she nodded her head. “I want more. Keep going until I can’t scream anymore.”

In a snap second he realized what she was asking him to do. “Are you sure?” he asked one more time.

“Positive. Go wild, baby.”

He practically growled at her request, tightening his grip around her once more and starting to move his fingers in and out of her again. “You gonna take it all like a good girl?”

“Like your good girl.”

“Mmmmm, that’s right. You’re my good girl,” he licked at her jawline. “You ready?”

Bee nodded her head. She whimpered when he curled his fingers and began pounding them into her even harder than before. She felt so warm and wet and the sounds they were making, the moaning and the screaming and the panting, the squelching of her wetness against his hands, it was all so hot and heavy and neither Morgan nor Bee could get enough. “Mooorrrrgaaannnnn, fuck you’re so good baby,” she cried out.

“You want to come again, Briony? So desperate for me to make you come again?” he tormented her.

“Yes baby. Over and over.”

“Over and over till you can’t walk tomorrow.”

“Yes!” she screamed out, apparently loving the idea. “Yes baby. Because of you. Only you get to do this to my pussy.”

“You gonna make another mess?”

“Yes. Yes Morgan. Always.”

“You gonna come for me?”

“Only for you baby,” she turned her head as much as possible to kiss him. “Don’t stop, baby. Keep going until I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

Morgan did just that. Over and over Bee cried out, losing control, screaming, panting, her body being shattered as waves of pleasure continually washed over her, non-stop, especially after Morgan slipped a fourth finger into her, stretching her completely and filling her like she hadn’t been filled before. Her body felt like it was on fire as Morgan held her up in his arm, but the constant state of orgasm and the more overstimulation she felt, the more her body began to feel like it was going to collapse onto the bed at any given moment.

The longer they went, the more orgasms she had, and the longer they went, the more Morgan recovered and began to feel hard again. He didn’t even know how long they’d been going for, but because of the overstimulation, his non-stop movements, and the fact that Bee hadn’t been silent since they started, he also wasn’t truly sure how many orgasms she’d had. “How many?”

She didn’t answer at first. She couldn’t answer. She was so wrecked she didn’t know words were a thing she could use. “How many, Briony?” Morgan repeated.

“I d’know,” she let out quickly.

“You wanted this baby. How many?” he demanded an answer from her.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” her moans were broken, her skin shining from the sweat. “It’s so much.” A rose flush had taken over her body. His fingers hadn’t stopped. She was too concentrated on the feeling; the feeling of pleasure but also the feeling of being completely lost to another person, her pleasure in his control, and feeling one hundred percent safe about it.

“C’mon baby, you can keep going,” he encouraged her.

“Morgan,” she cried out, so hot and so wet and so…so willing to keep going.

“C’mon, you can do it again, huh? Like a good girl? Like my good girl?” His voice was soft instead of demanding, filled with love instead of forcing her to do something.

“Y…Yes,” she panted out. All she knew was that she was close, she was so close, but she wasn’t done yet. It was a lot, almost too much, definitely more than she had ever felt before, but she wanted to keep going.

“That’s my good girl,” Morgan cooed as he placed a kiss on her temple. “I’m almost ready, okay? But you’re being such a good girl.”

“Fuck me when you’re ready,” her voice was hoarse and strained.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll fill you up like I always do. Stretch that pretty pussy how you like it.”

“Mmmmmmm fuck, keep going Morgan. Keep going,” she whimpered.

“C’mon baby, you can take it. You can take it,” Morgan hummed as he began moving his fingers inside her again. She was so sensitive that any movement sent her over the edge quickly. She cried out his name over and over, his fingers and her thighs absolutely fucking soaked, and it wasn’t long before he felt her walls clench around his fingers again, and again, and again.

Finally, finally, the arm keeping her up loosened, his hand going to his cock to stroke himself and get him as hard as he could. She immediately collapsed down, hitting the sheets as he teased at her entrance. It wasn’t long before he pulled her by her hair, slick with the sweat from their bodies, and brought her back to be flush with his chest. “Are you okay baby?” he asked. She barely nodded her head. “One more?”

She closed her eyes, another barely there nod. “I need your cock deep inside me.”

He entered her in one quick go, gasping at how fucking wet she was and how fucking easy it was to slide in to her aching, hot pussy as she collapsed on the bed again, ass up in the air for him. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, his hard thrusts burying his cock deep inside of her. She screamed and moaned and whimpered over every movement, practically sobbing at the feeling of feeling completely and absolutely wrecked by Morgan. When she felt his hot cum squirt inside her, one last orgasm – after way too many to count – ripped through her body, sending her into one last rush of pleasure before Morgan collapsed on top of her body, cock softening inside her but refusing to pull out.

It was a long time before they came back down to earth. Bee’s heart was threatening beat right out of her chest, the overstimulation still running rampant through her, especially since Morgan’s cock was still inside her. She took some deep breaths to try and calm herself. When Morgan’s arm wrapped around her and he shifted their bodies slightly so he was spooning her, he placed tender kisses along her shoulder, now absolutely ravaged with red hickeys and bite marks, and she felt her heartbeat slow down a bit.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered.

At first, she could only nod her head. Her throat was so dry it hurt to speak. She wondered if she would have a voice tomorrow. “I’m okay.”

“You did so good baby. You were so good for me,” he cooed, giving her another tender kiss. “Always such a good girl.”

She couldn’t get enough of him calling her his good girl. She knew she was always good for him, to him, but he was good to her and for her, too. She twisted her body so she could somewhat see him yet still keep his cock inside her. She was absolutely spent, just absolutely destroyed, but she wanted to see the face of the man who made her feel this way; the face of the man who indulged her every want but always kept her needs in mind. “Thank you, baby,” she whispered. She wouldn’t have been confident doing this with anybody else, and for that, she was truly thankful. She could completely lose herself to him and know she would be safe. She knew he would explore this with her but always keep her in control.

“Thank you, baby,” he kissed her. “I love you so much. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. No, you didn’t hurt me. It was better than what I wanted. I love you too.”

“You wanna clean u--”

“No,” Bee said as he began to move. Her desperate hand on his skin stopped his movements. She knew it probably wasn’t the best decision but she didn’t care. “I don’t care right now. Just stay here with me.”

Morgan nestled back into her, arm draping over her body as he pulled her close against his chest, their bodies still slick with sweat. She’d kill him once she realized what her shoulders and neck looked like, but for now, all he could do was kiss the skin peppered with love bites until they both drifted off to sleep.

#morgan rielly #morgan rielly imagine #morgan rielly fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fic #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fic #alone together series

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lordwaffleking · 7 years

Text

Stop Holding My Hand And Let Me Masturbate Already

Official review of Pokemon Sun and Moon via Lord Waffle King Dot Com.

www.lordwaffleking.com is still currently down and under construction so I’m just gonna post this here for now.

The Pokemon series has come quite a long way. From the very first games for the Game Boy, all through the many sequels and spin-offs, the world of Pokemon has grown exponentially and touched many, many lives. I’ve been a huge Pokemon guy ever since the first games, and whenever a new one is announced, I’m always nothing less than enthralled.

They’ve been with me through it all, man. When I was learning to read? There’s a lot of reading in Pokemon. When I was learning to make friends? Pokemon was what brought us together. And when I started touching myself for the first time? Yeah, I busted some fat nuts on Pokemon.

And then Pokemon Sun and Moon came along. I followed the news all the way up until release. I reported it all, right here on WWW Dot Lord Waffle King Dot Com. The designs looked great. The game looked perfect. I was sure this would be the greatest one yet, beating out my previous favorite that was Black and White.

I was very, very wrong.

Pokemon Sun and Moon have to be the greatest train-wreck of a Pokemon game I’ve ever played. To simply call the game “bad” wouldn’t quite explain the situation well enough, but I wouldn’t hesitate to call it my least favorite Pokemon game. And it really breaks my heart.

In my time playing Sun and Moon, I lost interest several times. Something that’s never happened to me before in a Pokemon game. I had to force myself to complete it, and only because I wanted to know who all the characters were so I could jerk off to hentai of them.

I mean, you can’t just whack it to a girl you don’t know. What kind of animal does that? Someone that doesn’t respect women, that’s who.

Pokemon games have slowly become more and more bloated over the years, but Sun and Moon are the first to ever truly be weighed down by it. Sun and Moon doesn’t know who it’s catering to anymore, and in an attempt to please everyone, they’ve really only succeeded in providing a clusterfuck of things that really don’t mesh well.

It’s an incredibly ambitious game, don’t get me wrong. Graphics are great for a 3DS game, and the presentation is phenomenal. A great soundtrack like always, and the Alola region has to be one of the best out of all of them. The Pokemon designs are fucking fantastic, all of the characters are likeable and well-developed. And surprisingly, even the story is great. The writing potentially rivals Black and White, actually. There’s real character development and everything. Not just a fat kid that likes to dance. In that sense, I’d actually rank it as one of the best Pokemon games. Possibly the best.

And yet the promising plot and world-building is held back by what I can only assume was corporate meddling on the Pokemon Company’s part to try and make the game appeal to the little shits sucking their glue through a straw because their negligent moms let them play Pokemon Go in the fucking street. Maybe they felt like they had to compete with Yo-Kai Watch and try to make the whole game into one long cartoon episode.

Fuck that shit though.

I wanted to explore Alola. I wanted to catch Pokemon and immerse myself in this world. I wanted a grand adventure. What I got was a special ed class Easter egg hunt. Getting lead by the hand to all the conspicuously placed Easter eggs, and having them all pointed out to me and placed gently in my basket by an adult so that I wouldn’t accidentally shove them up my ass by mistake.

It’s like going to Disney World with gassy Uncle Boris. No, don’t go on ride. Uncle Boris no feel good. Uncle Boris eat too much asparagus. Please, keep walking. We walk around park and go home.

Elsa and Snow White could be flashing their tits and beckoning you to join them on the fucking tea cup ride, but no. Keep walking. Look, there’s Mickey Mouse over there. No, you can’t go say hi to him. That’s not a part of the fucking tour. Keep walking.

The entire first half of the game feels like one long tutorial. It doesn’t at any point let you go to explore on your own time. You go where it tells you, you explore the way it wants you to. Read all of the dialogue, do the battles it presents to you, watch all of the completely unnecessary cutscenes. Why so many cutscenes? Pokemon doesn’t need that many. The cutscenes are done very well, yes. They help to build up the characters and make the emotional impact they deliver in the end that much more powerful. Sure. But the same was accomplished with N in Pokemon Black and White, and it didn’t require stagnating the whole fucking game.

When the action does open up, during that entire first half of the game that spans two of the region’s four islands, it hardly even makes a difference. The islands are designed in such a linear fashion, there really isn’t even a need for the map that takes up the bottom half of the screen. It’s a straight, Point A to Point B map. There are no “dungeons” in the same sense that older Pokemon games have had. Caves, forests, and other places to explore are kept to a minimum, and when there are some, they’re usually presented as part of the game’s “trials” which replace the gyms from older games.

Which would be fine, if it didn’t hold your hand through trials just in case battling a singular wild “Totem” Pokemon with slightly higher stats than usual was too hard for you. It tells you very clearly where to go, what to do, and how to do it. The mini-map on the bottom screen, which is an unfortunate waste of UI space, always has a very clear marker point of where you’re supposed to go. It’ll even offer you little hints. Say, didn’t the professor go that way, you know, where the little red flag is? Gosh, there might be something important there. Let’s go there.

There’s genuinely a point in the game where the map will present a goal for you, and then instead of just letting you go there, you’ll walk out and find that an NPC was out there waiting for you with a brief cutscene telling you which way the mini-map, that’s always on the bottom pointing you in the right direction, wanted you to go. And then it’ll proceed to lead you there, having you follow the NPC all the way to the trial site. You know, in case a giant red flag on the bottom screen was too hard to find.

And that’s after the fucking two island-long tutorial.

This was a big step in making the game autism-proof, I get it. It was to make sure that the generation of kids raised on Angry Birds and fidget spinners could play the game just like everyone else. But there’s no way to turn it the fuck off? I wanna play Pokemon games too. Come on.

Pretty much every older DS Pokemon game used the bottom screen in a better way. Even Pokemon Ranger. I’d rather draw fucking circles than put up with this bullshit. Sure, make the completely redundant mini-map the default. But there’s so much more you could’ve put there.

The incredibly promising Poke Pelago, a touch screen-based way to interact with your Pokemon, is locked away in menus when it could’ve easily been at your fingertips at all times. And on top of that, every time you want to use it, you need to watch an unskippable cutscene of your trainer traveling to the fucking Poke Pelago just to use it.

The touch controls are also fairly sloppy with Poke Pelago, something surprising considering Pokemon’s years of slowly perfecting its touch screen UI. There’s so many tiny sprites on the bottom screen moving around, it’s easy to accidentally tap the wrong thing when you’re just trying to collect some God damned beans.

So many strides have been made in eliminating annoying quirks that the games have had for ages, and yet all the tiny steps towards progress are fucked up by glaring bad design choices.

It’s really sad, it really is. It’s like a Miss America pageant contestant in Pokemon game form. It’s really fucking gorgeous. I’d fuck it. And the script, clearly, had had a lot of work put into it. But in the end, it’s just really fucking stupid. If you asked Sun and Moon what it meant to them to be a Pokemon game, they would ramble on incoherently about Pokemon games bringing people together for ten minutes, and then point to an Alolan form Pokemon and say “Kanto, remember?” You can get your favorite Pokemon from the first games, but now they have a much more exotic penis.

And yet even with the shitty execution, I still felt the emotional climax at the end of the game. Which made it so hard for me to accept how much I hated it. By the end of the game, I wanted to love it, I really did. But now all I feel is the disappointment of how much better it could’ve been if they didn’t butcher it.

A Pokemon Sun and Moon where I get to explore all of the islands without cutscenes every couple steps. Where there aren’t ten different forms of point markers to tell you where you’re supposed to go at any given point, and I can play the game to its fullest without worrying about accidentally overpowering myself. Almost every cutscene ends with someone giving you ten Max Revives. And they heal your Pokemon for you on top of it. There was really no reason to ever use healing items or Pokemon Centers, which are now conveniently located on almost every route now instead of only towns, because everyone would heal you before every major battle anyway. There was a time where I actually used healing items, because I was towards the end of the game. But no, they were wasted. As soon as I approach this powerful, endgame trainer, someone steps in and pitches me an entire medicine cabinet and heals my Pokemon for me.

There’s a difference between “Oh, just turn the Exp. Share off, then it won’t be too easy” and “Oh, just don’t talk to anyone, don’t buy anything, don’t battle too much, don’t explore the miscellaneous side-quests on each route, don’t use the Poke Pelago, turn Exp. Share off, don’t look at your bottom screen, ignore all of the cutscene dialogue, and don’t do any of the StreetPass Festival Plaza shit or whatever. Come on, it’s not too easy”.

It’s like if they made a reality TV show where you have to live in the same house as 8 different grandmas, but try not to get fat from them stuffing you full of food. You can refuse all you want, but they’re gonna get you. Even if you eat only three times a day, you’re gonna die of cardiac arrest. And you’re only allowed to murder one, the rest have to go from natural causes. There’s no way you’ll take home the million-dollar prize. You have better chances of beating the robot from Jeopardy.

Even the obnoxious feature where Pokemon call for help doesn’t do anything to balance the game, it just makes it more of a drag.

“Too easy” or “for casuals” would be the cop out verdict. The truth is that the game is just miserably balanced, relying on an instant gratification-style of gameplay and a slow-paced narrative that makes the game intolerable. The point where things start actually getting good is the brief half hour before it cuts to the credits, and then the game is over before it even starts.

It’s like not being able to get your peepee up and then when it’s finally up you blast your load immediately.

I think a lot of people did not actually like Sun or Moon, despite the overwhelmingly positive reviews. I don’t think a lot of people played it all the way through, actually. It’s a lot like when No Man’s Sky launched, and everyone was pretending to love it until someone said something about it. Several people told me Sun and Moon was just fantastic, and then they’d say “yeah, I’m on the second island now” and then they’d just leave the game for something else.

I think a lot of people just watched all the leaks and then beat off to hentai of the new characters and then just pretended like they finished the game. Not saying that no one at all enjoyed the game, I’m sure a lot of people did. A lot of people could’ve looked past the glaring flaws and loved it for what it was.

That doesn’t stop the fact that it’s still the only Pokemon game I’ve ever played that I didn’t have fun with. And that will be a mark of shame that the game has to wear. I almost wish that all I did was watch the leaks and never play the game. I could’ve lived with the illusion that Pokemon could do no wrong.

But no. I had to be a gentleman and learn the names of all the trainers before looking up hentai of them.

This is why chivalry is fucking dead.

#pokemon sun and moon #3ds game reviews #nintendo #game reviews #pokemon sumo #lord waffle king dot com #like lord waffle king dot com on fb #www.lordwaffleking.com #it'll stop being broken soon i promise #i am so fucking pissed #i just wanted to play pokemon #this review couldn't wait #i was really mad

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shamondmilk-blog · 7 years

Text

The Backstory

Where did it start?

The first time I remember binge eating was when I was 7 years old. There was a bag of Halloween candy atop a shelf in the guest room at my house in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey. I imagine my mom never intended us to find it. Candy was never really allowed in the house. If we were lucky, there'd be an occasional Skinny Cow in the freezer, which my sister and I relentlessly tried to get a hold of first. I can't remember ever enjoying vegetables as a child. It was always a struggle to finish my carrots that came with every dinner. I'd sneak them to my Golden Retriever when my mom's back was turned. Vegetables were always an incentive in the house, so the precedent was set: vegetables are an adversary to be vanquished to get to the ivory tower containing whatever savory goodness was on the plate. I'm sure this was never my mom's intention, to foster this adversarial relationship with healthy eating. She wasn't much for cooking when I was growing up, and never thought to present healthy food in a way that was appealing or creative to me or my siblings. Can you blame her, coming from a dysfunctional family background of nine in an Irish-Italian household? My grandma is probably delusional and self-centered enough to believe that the lectures she gave her children were proper nourishment, and the fried salami ends bought from the local butcher shop were an additional treat. What a prize.

Anyway, the incident with the Halloween candy was isolated, at least it seemed that way at the time. I remember thinking after that binge session that what I had done wasn't normal. All the adages of spoiling your dinner and getting a tummy ache and the countless euphemisms that people use instead of saying "hey kid, making that pattern of eating a habit will spike your insulin and fast track you to Type 2 Diabetes and a foot amputation" ran through my head. I had done a bad thing. But at the same time, it felt like a great thing, too. So much chocolate and sugar, what 7-year-old is self-aware enough to assess short-term reward against long-term consequences? Not I. But it seemed inconsequential at the time. The metabolism of a fairly physically active 7-year-old is not going to shit the bed after one candy binge. I’d be fine, until the move happened.

After 3rd grade, my parents informed my siblings that we would be moving again, this time to Naperville, Illinois. In my 8 year stint on this planet, it would be my 6th move. I don’t remember being particularly upset about it. Making friends after every move never seemed terribly difficult during the other moves, so why would this time be any different? I was fairly popular in New Jersey. I remember walking around the soccer field during recess by myself, by choice. I remember a lunch supervisor coming up to me frequently asking me in a thick Polish accent “Olivia, where are your friends?” They were on the playground doing whatever it was that 8-year-olds in the early 2000’s did together, and no one was kicking me off the playground. I had spent all day in the classroom with them, and ate with them at lunch. I was good to be 20 minutes without them and spend some quality daydreaming time. Bitch, I have friends, I should’ve noted to the supervisor. It would’ve gone over great, I’m certain.

Enter 9-year-old Olivia, fresh meat at Elmwood Elementary School. The classroom was set up in clusters of 4 connected desks, which was different from the conversational rows I was used to at my old school. Everyone in Naperville knew each other by then. They had broken off into their respective friend groups, for the most part. As far as these 9-year-olds were concerned, they were who they were going to be for the rest of their lives, quarter life crisis be damned. Hopefully some of them got the chance to backpack around Europe before settling into their mediocre corporate lives and Spongebob themed 3-piece suits. If I got stuck in one of those clusters with kids who had no interest in expanding their friend circle, I’d resign to drawing forest animals and Pokemon and daydreaming that dragons were real. So, needless to say, I was not quite the chameleon that I needed to be to merge into the blonde, N’Sync listening, Lip Smackers wearing fembots-in-training that made up the majority of Naperville girls.

Nothing about this account so far could possibly imply that I was bullied (spoiler alert: I was). First, I was bullied for being different. Being bullied for being fat would come later. I needed to be alienated first. I didn’t watch Spongebob, which in case you didn’t know, was the gold standard for Naperville kids in the early 2000’s. I preferred Backstreet Boys, but N’Sync was the preferred boy band of my classmates. I was a Crip in a Blood world. I liked fantasy and science fiction. My sister introduced me to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and all bets were off. I was set down the path of nerdom, but as any nerd knows, the adventure is much harder if you’re solo questing. To translate that last sentence for the non-nerds: I had no real friends. I had playdates with other kids, but nothing really stuck. But the names stuck, “weirdo, freak, lesbo, gross, fat, ugly bitch,” to name a few of the commonplace ones (oh, but by 8th grade I developed really big tits, so at least I had that going for me. I remember my guy friend reporting to me that even though I was the notorious goth weirdo, the wrestling team loved my boobs. Aw, thanks guys, self-worth attribute +1).

By the end of 4th grade, I had descended far down the social totem pole, but not so far that I had lost the desperate ambition to climb back up. After all, walking around alone at recess loses its luster when it’s involuntary. So I let the popular girls continue to make their digs, and I would take it. We’re all friends, right? Well, those friends didn’t call to my house for play dates, and they sure as hell never referenced to me as “friend.” So, I sat at home, lost in my computer games or buried in my books. The satisfied feeling you get from laughing and talking with friends wasn’t there. Something needed to fill the void. But what? Somewhere in my developing brain, with so few long-term memories and subconscious cues to choose from, the answer revealed itself: sugar, chocolate, potato chips, potato-and-chocolate chip cookies (thank God Pinterest wasn’t a thing yet).

And so it started. There was just one small problem. My mom is an Iron Lady, Margaret Thatcher style (no offense to Robert Downey Jr.). By Iron Lady, I mean she is a seasoned Ironman Triathlon participant. The picture of health, from what I remember, save the Chardonnay obsession. That meant no unhealthy food in the house. Only low-fat, low-sugar sweets. So how does a 10-year-old looking for a salt and sugar fix compensate if there’s not a potato chip or candy bar in sight? Why, she eats 10 lower-sugar snacks in one sitting, hoping to get the same resolve of course. I started eating everything and anything remotely sweet. If there were no Kudos bars or Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches to be found, balls of white bread dipped Hershey’s in chocolate syrup would suffice (I wish I were joking). Oh, also, a few chocolatey Cliff Bars would do in a pinch (you know, the ones that are supposed to replace an entire fucking meal).

But that short-term comfort only lasted so long, and I happened to be the only one who ignorantly saw the temporary benefit of it. My mom and I played a years-long game of hide-and-seek, but my mom and I used objects as our playing pieces. My mom’s pieces were the hidden snacks, and my pieces were the hidden wrappers. We’d find our usual hiding places for both, and yelling would ensue once we found each other. I must’ve felt like I was fighting a battle on both fronts. On one end, I used by binge eating Guerilla tactics to combat the feelings of isolation from my peers, and stealth tactics to hide food from my mom. I don’t think it would be crazy to interpret this as a pretty shitty setup for my relationship with food as a whole, no?

So, I guess that’s where my binge-eating story begins. But where does it end? I guess the more important question is “how does it end,” or even “does it end?” I guess you can’t start a solid story without a solid beginning, so that’s what this will be. It’s time to start this journey with a reference point, which is what I suppose this long and psychoanalytic account will serve as. But I’m not crazy about the idea of doing this alone. And as every seasoned nerd knows, solo questing is harder than going at it with a party.

#wellness #binge eating #binge eating disorder #health #welcome #support #gamer #nerd

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