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be-my-ally · 1 year

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Big Bunny

Playboy Bunny Reader x Elvis on the Playboy jet request

it might be 3:30am here, i may have work today at 9 and i may have to proof read over this again tomorrow but still, here, have a bunny themed fic - very apt for a slightly (at least for where i am) belated good friday gift (for those who celebrate and a spring themed passover/ramadan/weekend gift for everyone else) !!

I genuinely did not expect to end up doing nearly as much research for this as I did - and therefore there ended up being significantly more back story than I anticipated for what I had planned to be a short smutty one shot lol so… here’s a p ridiculous 9.8k fill xx

pairing: jet bunny reader x 1973-4 elvis (yes we are going that specific this time) - early big daddy era.

summary: freshly hired shy new playboy bunny reader and elvis get up to some fun away from the other passengers on Hugh Hefner's private plane, the aptly named 'Big Bunny'.

warnings: 18+, 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), oral (v receiving), lil bit of fingering, gratuitous use of the term 'bunny' and all accompanying euphemisms, elvis (as always in my writing) refers to himself as daddy.

wc: 9.8k

You nervously adjust your scarf around your neck; it’s windy, and you’re worried about your hair—that its carefully styled easy look might be ruined by the breeze. You roll from one foot to the other in anticipation; you can already feel the leather of the new, tall boot starting to rub behind your knee, and you’re hopeful for the chance to switch it out for your regular heels on board. The other girls are quiet, and that’s how you can tell that they too are nervous or excited—anticipatory perhaps. Usually, they would be chattering away right now—at least, that’s your experience from the last few flights you’d worked. But for some reason, the knowledge of this special guest had made them all fall silent, worrying their scarves or hair, and checking one another’s lipsticks, even more so than when Hugh was on board. Perhaps it was, like the Bunny bible said, because there was the knowledge that you were all representatives of the brand, and that was even more true for someone who wasn’t the owner of the brand, or perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t just any boring old investor but Elvis Presley flying on board today.

You’re all too young to remember much of him in his early prime or his dizzying launch to success, but you know that every girl in this line-up had watched the ’68 special, probably at a similar formative age to you, and had an experience; it had been impossible not to. You had been on the cusp of being 16 and were utterly gobsmacked and captivated by the television set as you watched him gyrate in a full black leather suit. Your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t have told anyone what your father had said about it—you honestly couldn’t hear him because you were so shocked and excited by what you were seeing. Suddenly, you understood. You’d all discussed the marvel of the possibilities of the use of the satellites for the Aloha show only a few months ago, and you knew you weren’t the only bunny in the group who still found him almost alarmingly attractive. The concept, therefore, of being loaned out to him with the plane made you more than a little nervous. Another fragment of your anxiety for this flight also revolved around your new uniform—you weren’t comfortable in it yet; a teeny leatherette dress that somehow seemed far more revealing than your corset had ever seemed. Perhaps because it felt less like a costume in some way, perhaps because it simply was so unlike anything you would wear in day-to-day life—the over-the-knee boots were uncomfortable still too.

It’s unclear how you’d become so attached to the little corset costume when you were still so new to the plane and to this life as a whole. You’d been well-trained and ready to use your newfound, extensive bar knowledge while working as a table bunny in the club in LA. Although you had hoped that you might be spotted and bumped up to a more senior position in a little while—that one day you might be able to work your way up to the mansion or maybe even be handpicked to be a playmate—it all seemed so glamorous, and the attention was so exciting. You’d never dreamed you would, after only working a month, be handpicked as a jet bunny. It had been one of the most exciting moments of your life. Since then, you’ve not been flying for very long, although the training had been intense and your first flight had only been two weeks ago. And it had been a pretty slow start, with just Hugh and a couple of colleagues on board. They had their favourites, and while you had been chatted to and flirted with—treated well—you had also been mostly ignored.

Elvis, as far as you could tell, didn’t have favourites; he hadn’t requested anyone in particular from the thirty or so girls on regular rotation for the jet, and it made you relieved to think that you were on a mostly even keel with the other girls. You’d gossiped about it as you packed your bags onto the plane before you’d all ended up where you were now: standing in a row waiting for him to pull up, having been given word that he was mere minutes away. When you looked down at the other girls, you couldn’t help but wonder why, as one man with a small entourage for the flight, he really needed the bunny equivalent of five stewardesses. But, you think to yourself, at least he did because, as the most junior of the bunch, you definitely would have been the first to be bumped from the flight.

It’s only another few minutes until his long, sleek, white Cadillac pulls up in front, another car close behind, and his long legs are immediately sliding out of the car, almost before its even come to a complete stop. He seems eager to be away. He’s arguing with someone and barely acknowledges any of you as he starts to storm up the stairs towards the jet entrance—clearly familiar with the plane already. It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t arguing with someone physically with him but was instead recounting what had been discussed on the phone in the car—you could hear him swearing as he went inside,

"I fuckin’ asked her to come out here with me, and now she’s being all cold, just then she was sayin’ she don’t wanna see me -" You can’t hear anything more, and you look down the row before Darla in front shrugs her shoulders and starts greeting the other couple of men still coming out of the car, and in the car behind, there were around a dozen guys in total, no women other than you five, which wasn’t unusual on the jet but wasn't entirely expected either.

A moment later, Elvis is hurrying back down the stairs, panting slightly as he comes. He arrives back in front of you, the last in line, with a series of apologies.

"Lord, where are my manners? I’m so sorry, girls. Hello, nice to meet ya; well, aren’t you all pretty little things?" You blush, and he catches your eye, winking at you as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He smiles at the rest of them, and Darla launches into her ‘Welcome to Big Bunny’ spiel as she directs him back up the way he just came. Your mind is racing as you follow them all up the stairs, and you’re more than a little distracted as you close the door and conduct the safety checks. Does that mean something? That he singled you out?

You weren’t meant to be his main assistant; of course, the main focus for today was keeping him happy, but you’d been specifically told that your purpose was to make sure the other passengers felt that they were getting similar attention. You didn’t have the experience, as Darla had told you, to understand how to deal with men like him. Those that think they’re special or that just because you’re wearing a bunny outfit they have some sort of claim on you, that you’re all the same and your centrefold is owed to them. And also, she’d flippantly added, you were still very inexperienced, and first and foremost she had to consider the brand. Now as you watch her take his arm up the stairs, you think you might be understanding her motivations a little more; her hips swaying more than they usually would. But you can’t say you blame her or that her other observations were wrong. You were inexperienced, both in flying and with men. But, as you’re locking the door shut and heading around to fetch towels and drinks before the pilots engage the engine, you can feel his eyes on you, and you think, I know what that means.

It’s a pretty long flight for a domestic flight—four or five hours, depending on the route the pilot takes—so you have plenty of time to get to know the passengers and ensure they’re all well taken care of. You’ve heard rumours from some of the other girls that this kind of flight can often go one of two ways: either the men are rowdy, raucous, and handsy, or they’re quiet, appreciative, but distant. You had assumed Elvis and his entourage would be the former, but from the way he quickly gets himself situated and settled in the forward compartment, you’re inclined to believe it will be the latter. You can’t help but notice he’s sequestered himself in the back; a couple of the men are with him, but the rest are a series of seats away. It seems like even the inner circle has an inner circle.

Before serving the drinks, you have a chance to look over at him. Trying to be inconspicuous, you’re surprised at how large he is. You’ve never realised how tall he really is, but he’d remained a few inches taller than you even in your heels, and while the plane is more spacious and furnished less compactly than the average, it still serves to make him seem bigger in contrast to the environment. He seems to take up more space than his body needs too, like his presence needs allowance; he looks incapable of staying on one seat, and the way he spreads his legs, his knees falling open, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he might be taking up more than his fair share of space.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there, peering behind a partition wall, pretty much directly at his spread thighs. Until you move your eyes up, tracking up his body past his famously large belt to his open collared shirt, through which you can see tiny wisps of chest hair peeking through. You assess how his shirt is lying on him, clinging but well-tailored, and his trousers too, tight around his thighs and well-fitted on his waist but equally well-tailored, looking comfortable and well-fitted. Your eyes continue to roam over him until they come to rest on his face, and you realise he’s been watching you look at him. He’s smirking at you, clearly used to the attention but perhaps still flattered that he inspires it, and winks through his lavender-coloured glasses. You immediately duck back, taking a moment to gather yourself from the embarrassment of being caught out, before heading back out with the first tray of drinks.

It wasn’t your place to be, but you couldn’t help but be pleased when he showed himself not to be the type to start demanding wildly complicated cocktails—in fact, rolling his eyes when one of the men, Red, perhaps his name was, asked for a mai tai—and at his clear desire to remain sober, simply requesting a Pepsi. You take a breath, plastering your customer service smile on, determined to ignore any embarrassment, and swing around with the tray. Praying you don’t trip or spill anything in front of him.

Thankfully, you make it around without consequence, your thorough club training coming into play and keeping you steady even when there’s a mild bump as the plane engines start to roar. He grins up at you when you hand him the drink, and you can’t help but return it, beaming at him, forgetting your practised coquettish expression. You have to head back, sit down for a moment while the pilots announce your takeoff, and try not to grimace, knowing that your face can be seen from the compartment, at the feeling of taking off. You’re fine in the air, but that whooshing feeling of the plane jetting forward and up, the moment where you can feel the balance of the wings against the air as the engine battles its way up, still sends a wave of anxiety over you. Maggie brushes her hand over yours where it lies on the little armrest between the steward seats, and you thankfully grasp it, taking deep breaths. Once the pilot has announced you are officially flying and will be for approximately four more hours, you’re pleased you can finally stand up again and relax somewhat.

You’re not really needed for much for a little while, so you bounce about, chatting and keeping them company, talking with some of the other girls as you help to serve more drinks and food, and setting up the games tables when asked. Elvis has demanded the theatre be set up, so you arrange that, praying that when you return to the room he’ll have picked one of the latest cinematic releases and not, as you feared, one of the many adult releases available. You’re not sure you could keep a straight face if you had to watch him watch Deep Throat; it would just be too much to bear.

So you’ve avoided the lounge by staying in the forward compartment and helping the men there. Before you were sent on a mission to see if there was any peanut butter on board, a special request had apparently been made, but whether it had been complied with was yet to be seen. When Michelle, one of the more senior girls, suddenly appeared beside you, grabbing your arm and speaking in a hurried, hushed tone, she told you that you really ought to change. You panic for a second that something was wrong with your dress, but she’s quick to assure you that it was nothing like that. But Elvis had taken her aside and mentioned that although he "love[s] your yittle skirts, like yer spies or somethin’," he was "missin’ them little bunny outfits" and had left that with her. He hadn’t specifically requested anyone should change, but she’d successfully read between the lines of the very obvious hint and was, therefore, suggesting that you, Daisy, and Maggie change into your bunny corsets. You’d all planned for this possibility, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you were still slightly surprised. You’d not been given the impression that Elvis had been that bothered by the theme of the plane, of you, but rather was utilising the plane for the luxury and convenience of the travelling experience. But if he was requesting your bunny outfits, clearly he was more into it than you thought.

It’s not long after that you do as requested and emerge from the powder room in your little patented corset teddy, the black silk highlighting your complexion and the little collar and bow emphasising your neckline. You were slightly annoyed that despite your careful packing, your little cottontail puff had been flattened, and so you’d had to spend way too long fluffing it to bring it back to life. This also meant that you were the last to emerge, and there was no way you could deny noticing that Elvis himself was sitting back in the forward compartment, turned so that he was practically facing the powder room door, watching you exit with a satisfied smirk on his face. You try to ignore him, listening to the conversations happening around you and trying to anticipate everyone’s needs. In your absence, more substantial snacks have been served, and you can see the remnants of some sort of peanut butter sandwich situation dotted around the room, so clearly that had been found too. There’s now a discussion happening about whether you should turn on the lights in the disco room or wait a little while to eat first. Eventually, it’s decided a proper meal is imperative at some point in the flight, but that right now? They wanted music.

So you all move down the plane. You end up walking directly behind Elvis, and when the plane bumps up and down briefly in the tiniest spot of turbulence, you trip into his back. You right yourself with help from one of his arms, apologising, but you’re flustered. It’s only worse when he turns to you.

"No need to be sorry, doll; you can fall into my arms whenever you like." It was one thing to imagine how he felt, but to be able to remember the feel of him, even from behind, even from just a brief moment of contact, was a heady feeling. Especially when he felt just as you’d imagined he would—soft but firm and broad. So broad. Walking behind him like this also made you nervous for another reason: it made you feel as if your movement down towards the intimate bedroom quarters at the end might be signalling something. The cosiness of the rooms between -- the disco and the lounge, perhaps reflective of the internal struggle you’re facing; the disco the butterflies in your belly.

You know you won’t be able to prevent meeting his eye again. The thought worries you; you’ve been around attractive men before, of course, but never one that, just by looking at him once, has made you feel like you would risk giving up everything for a few hours of fun. Lose everything you have simply for the pleasure of touching him. Maybe this was what Darla was concerned about; you can see her glance over to you every now and again, checking in, and you can tell she’s a little bothered by something.

Once you’re in the disco, the girls and you are well-practised at setting it all up, making sure there are enough tracks ready to be played and that there was easy access to free-flowing drinks and bar snacks. You’re also all very used to essentially having to start the dancing yourselves, having to encourage the others to join in despite their enthusiasm in suggesting the disco. You hang back slightly, holding a tray, when Elvis lightly grasps your elbow. You jump, having not seen him come to your side, and look questioningly at him.

"Dance for me, baby?" You’re not a stripper or a go-go dancer or anything like that, but it’s not a request that’s unheard of in the clubs. And you enjoy it; you wouldn’t be in the job if you didn’t get a slight thrill from being looked at, watched, wanted. So it’s easy to agree, especially when you’ve always found it hard to ignore a man when he adds a pet name, and besides, you want to. So you do. Elvis sits himself down, and a few of the men join in, and you and Maggie and Daisy all dance around them. You prance and shimmy, and soon most of the passengers onboard are dancing around to the music that plays from the surround system.

The group cheered and laughed when Burning Love was played on the 8-track, and Elvis sang along, laughing and joking when he missed one of the high notes ("God almighty, that’s high"). You notice that after a while Elvis has disappeared back into the living area and looks like he might be close to nodding off; sat there with his head back. You suppose he must be tired—you don’t know what he was doing prior to the flight this afternoon, but you do know he was coming off of the back of a week straight of shows and heading towards another one. You again know it’s not your place, and yet you still can’t help feeling like you ought to check on him.

You head over, leaning over, and crouching in the way you’re told to, almost in a bunny dip. He blinks up at you when you touch his shoulder.

"Lord, you’re a vision." You’re taken aback and can’t do much more than crouch there, stuck in place. "Talk with me, honey?" He pats your arm, and you nod, standing upright again and looking for a place to perch. There’s nowhere for you to sit down, or perch, few seats as there were in this living area, attached to the disco, and with the other men and girls also collapsing around you, you awkwardly look around for a moment before Elvis’ hand comes out and wraps around your thigh, pulling you down onto his lap.

"Oh!" You gasp, "Oh, I—I, uh, don’t think you’re meant to touch me, sir."

"Bunny, for the next three hours, I own you." He chuckles but removes his hands from your legs, although he makes no attempt to shift you from his lap, instead sitting further back, causing you to fall more securely onto his lap. You avoid what is sure to be judging looks from the other girls as they hand him drinks and chat with the other boys on board. You’re wrong about them watching you and judging you; of course, all the other girls are distracted, and even when they do glance over, it’s mostly to check that you, as the new girl, are still doing okay. Despite any jealousy they may be feeling about the attention he’s giving you, they still know how shocking and abrupt all of this can suddenly feel when you’re being confronted with men like him.

He’s surprised when you look shy, and you know the rumours abound—about how you’re all able to make extra cash—the private parties for the number one keyholders. But it’s not something you’re forced into just by virtue of being a bunny, and it’s not something you’ve been interested in finding out more about. Still, being perched on his firm lap, the seams of his suit rubbing against your silk tights, you can’t help but wish that you had asked more about it; found out if there were expectations. You wouldn’t want to let him down. You awkwardly sit there a moment before opening your mouth,

“So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” He smiles,

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself honey.” So you do, giving him the basic information of your life, while he hmms and uh-huhs in all the right moments to show he’s listening to you. You’re starting to run out of steam and you’re about to ask him to tell you something when you’re distracted by him reaching to the side of you, jostling you a little.

He lights a cigar, and you can feel the heat of the tip. You shift the tiniest bit; you don’t know why it’s getting you so hot. You’re suddenly grateful for the subtle but multiple layers you’re wearing. Thankful for the fact that you’ve never listened to the few girls who swear it makes more sense not to bother with panties; you’d never been convinced that it wasn’t asking for trouble—something was sure to slip or become exposed. But you also always wore a double layer of pantyhose. He grunts the tiniest bit as you bump back into his stomach, and when you pause for a moment, you can feel a dampness growing between your legs. Through all the layers, he can’t feel it, thank God, but he does murmur to you: "Lord, are you a hot little Bunny." He strokes the small of your back, and you somehow know he doesn’t just mean it in the attractive sense, but that he can feel your heat.

You wriggle back against him, thinking, - don’t waste your chance, girl; don’t do it; you may as well go for it. All of your sense of propriety is lost, and you’re suddenly completely ignorant of the happenings around you. You can feel where the rubber around the edge of the leg bands of the teddy is starting to roll, being unable to stay put on the slippery tights and causing it to fall further away from your thighs riding up. You know he can feel it too, as close as you are. And while you’re still theoretically clothed, you can feel his trouser leg better on your thigh after it rolled up; he said you were hot, but he’s burning, it feels like. You push back onto him, feeling his tummy nudge against you, and under your tail, what felt like a growing erection. You don’t know what’s come over you, where this sexual confidence, this determination, this lack of self-consciousness, has come from. You wonder if it could just be the adrenaline of being so close, but you still go with it, and you nudge your ass back to him, grinding a little.

"Don’t baby," he pushes you forward a little, with his one free hand, blowing smoke past the side of your face, and you giggle, putting on a faux deep voice.

"Don’t procrastinate; don’t articulate…" You can’t even get the words out of your mouth you’re giggling so hard, wiggling in his lap, and it sets him off too, shaking his head and murmuring against your ear.

"Lord save me, girlie, you’re trouble, ain’t ya?" He holds you still. You try, but you’re practically incoherent because you’re laughing so hard.

"If you're lookin' for..." But your laughter cuts off when he hooks a finger in the corset and strokes it down your inner thigh—somewhere that you would have slapped anyone else and whispers,

"You came to the right place." You gasp, head going back, and his own tucking into your shoulder - he holds out the cigar, and, despite having barely lit it, rests it in the tray to the side of you so that he can use both hands to grip your waist. It’s ridiculously cheesy, and you don’t want to think about how many times and with how many girls he might have used similar lines, or how easy it must be for him.

"You want me, Bunny?" You still don’t know if you should be playing hard to get or if you should just give in to the inevitability of it all. "Can feel your little tail pressin’ into me - little puffy thing. Twitching ‘gainst me;" You wrinkle your nose cutely at his words, and he smiles into your neck: "Even a little twitchin’ bunny nose!" he presses a finger to it, and the strokes down to your lips. He rests it there for a second, "Do you wanna do this, bun?" You decide you may as well give in and nod—there's no point trying to play it cool when you’re sitting on his lap. You open your mouth, trying to catch his finger in your teeth as he fools around with you. He pulls you around, so one of your bent knees is now pressed against him and your other is resting on the seat, facing him. You shiver, loving how his sturdy hands manhandle you. You lean forward, as if to kiss him, when he stills you,

"Baby, we’re surrounded." You glance up, confused expression on your face, and a question in your eyes: Why would it matter? They all know the score. He shakes his head. "It’s your job isn’t it? You can’t - we shouldn’t?" You shrug your shoulders, he’s technically right and mere minutes ago you’d been worried about it yourself, but... It’s also not completely true to say that you would be discouraged from doing this with him.

"Say doll, how’d’ya - how’d’ya feel about joinin’ me?" Your heart flips, you glance around, but it appears the other girls are either preoccupied or purposefully avoiding looking at you. Plausible deniability. You’re frozen, and he stands up, pushing off of his lap, and leaves without looking back at you, only stopping at the door to the bedroom to call back,

"You coming or what?" So sure that you’ll follow him in. You glance around, and only Darla catches your eye. You’re wide-eyed and panicked at being caught, but she looks at you for a moment before nodding slightly and winking as she turns away. Somehow, it untangles the ball of anxiety that you didn’t realise was holding you so tense. Seconds later, you stand up, clearing the empty glasses from the tables around you, when Michelle swoops in, taking them out of your hands and nudging you with her hip towards the bedroom. Right then. You follow where Elvis had gone only a minute or so ago, and you cross past the little faux wood door into the bedroom. You look around but find that he’s already in the bathroom—perhaps so certain that you would follow that he didn’t even need to check that you had come in.

You sit anxiously on the big, round, fur-covered bed as you wait for him to reappear. You cross your legs before immediately uncrossing them and standing up—wondering if it was too presumptuous to be sitting there waiting for him. A moment later, leaning against the wall, you change your mind, deciding to sit on the edge again. It really did make the most sense. And while you didn’t want to make it seem like you were assuming something, you doubted he’d invited you back here to play checkers. He comes out and watches you for a brief second before coming over to stand in front of you, mere inches apart, so you’re forced to crane your neck up to look at him.

You’re a little skittish, and he can tell by the way you tremble when his hand comes up to touch your shoulder; he leans forward as if to kiss you, and you pull back. He pauses.

"What’s the matter, little Bunny? Why are’ya so twitchy now?" He doesn’t want to force himself, but he also can tell you want him, even before you willingly followed him here. He also knows that you must know the score—you can’t be that innocent in your role—and you must understand what he’s asking of you.

"I’m, I’m just -- it’s just a little surreal, you’re Elvis Presley. I don’t know how to, I've never been with anyone famous." He smiles, thankful that he hadn’t misread the situation — god forbid what the newspapers would have said about that if it had leaked: Elvis forces himself onto Playboy Bunny, BANNED from Hefner’s jet. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So he does the one thing he knows he can do well — can do so well that most women forget their worries and tilts your chin up to kiss you. He brackets your body with his thighs and cups your face in both hands. He’s masterful at it, knowing all the right moves, just the right amount of tongue forced into you, mapping your mouth. His lips are so soft, and his little nibbling bites on your lower lip hurt just the right amount for you to be totally consumed by his actions. He nudges you to move further up when you break apart, and you shimmy up a little, your legs coming up so that only your ankles are not on the bed. He presses one knee between your legs, balancing so he can move forward enough to kiss your cheek, his own high cheekbones rubbing against your face, and whisper,

"I’m just a man, hon, just like any other — don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it." He leans over and you’re forced onto your back, his hand catching you and lowering you down gently onto the fur coverlet. You lean up to kiss the exposed part of his neck, your nose nudging against his high collar.

"I, uh, god, I haven’t been around that many men in general — not like this, so that doesn’t actually make me feel a whole lot better. " You respond quietly. He pauses where his hand had been starting to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your corset. Pulling himself up to look you in the eyes.

"You, have - you have been with a man though? Right Doll?" You nod, frantically, you might be nervous but god don’t let him stop now.

"Yes - yes, just, just only the one." He moans on top of you, clearly liking the answer. You feel the zipper come down, and your chest is finally allowed to expand properly again, free from the restrictive boning. You suddenly panic, holding the garment close to your chest as you force him back a little. He rolls sideways, onto his elbow, to watch you;

"What’sthe matter baby?" He looks concerned as you force yourself up into a sitting position,

"Uh, could you - could you just close your eyes or something while I take this off?" He frowns,

"Well, sure, but… I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout modesty right now." You smile nervously back, trying for a blasé air —

"No, no, I know it’s just — it would just make me feel better." He looks at you, clutching the corset teddy to your chest. He nods, starting to close his eyes and you let out a sigh of relief, immediately standing up and wriggling out of it. You’re bent over, folding the fabric over itself when he starts to talk,

"I ain’t got a problem making you comfortable, babe, but if it’s about them little cottontails stuffed down your top I already know." You pause. Whirling around to see him peeking through his lashes at you. You forget to be shy, stood there topless, braless in nothing but your pantyhose and heels and you put your hands on your hips.

"How on earth —“ He laughs at you, opening his eyes properly,

"I’m not new to this game sweetheart." You can tell he’s teasing, but now he’s made you slightly worried that it's always been obvious thatyou weren’t quite as endowed as you were claiming,

"How’d you tell though?"

"You’re not the first girl meeting me with something stuffed down their shirt, darling, you just, sometimes you can just tell— I don’t know what you’d be stressin’ over though," He takes a moment to very obviously look you over, "they’re some pretty little tits." You’re pleased, but annoyed that he’s still decided to use the term little.

"Well - isn’t that why! Little!" He laughs at your indignation, reaching a hand out to pull you back to him, but he can barely speak through his giggles.

"No, no, no I didn’t mean it like that." You frown, but his amusement is infectious and you find yourself also giggling - "See, see, there’s a good girl - no reason to be sore about it, much more than what you’ve got’sa waste anyway mama, you’ll see."

He puts you back where he wanted you to start with - on your back, as leans over you. The feeling of him still being fully clothed against your chest, your near nakedness, makes you tremble - the soft silk of his shirt rubbing against your nipples. You can smell him, the slight musk of the day masked by cologne - perhaps reapplied in the bathroom a moment ago. His hair is looser than you expected it to be and it’s already starting to flop forward, it unnerves you slightly because it allows you to somehow forget who it is lying over you - the loss of that trademark making you forget that he’s practically a patented figure at this point. Until you catch sight of his blue eyes or his little curled lip and you’re reminded all over again. He strokes up from your waist to your neck and then back down, gentle fingertips dancing over your skin. He leans down to kiss you and your arm winds around his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve never felt a hunger like this. Desire like this before. You’re suddenly desperate to be closer, forgetting to play it cool you’re tugging at his shirt,

"C’mon get this off!" He laughs at you again, but stands up, ignoring your request. You lie there on your back looking up at him as he assesses you. You can’t help but puff your chest out a little and curve your back. Then he bends to grasp your left ankle, slipping your heel off. You yelp at the unexpectedly quick motion but the relief is almost immediate. He grabs your other ankle to take the other heel off, flinging it against the wall of the plane. Then his hands are immediately going to your black tights, he tries to pull them from the ankle but quickly realises that’s getting him nowhere, unable to get a proper purchase on the slippy material. So he works his way up to the waistband, grasping it and tugging it down. His finger catches by your knee, the rough bitten edge of his nail snagging and you hear the tell-tale ripping sound of them laddering, He laughs as you groan,

"Oh, no! Those were my last good pair; they cost me nearly seven dollars!" It only makes him laugh harder as he tears them off of you.

"Tell you what, honey, I’ll make sure you have ten new pairs by the time we land." He throws them somewhere near the rest of your clothes and turns his attention back to your stomach, only to be surprised when he’s met with another pair of pantyhose — this time in a sheer nude.

"Lordy! How many layers’is there?" You laugh at him, as he begins the process of rolling them down too — lifting your hips to allow them to come down easier than last time; it’s not that you don’t believe he would replace them, but just in case you’d prefer not to rip these too.

"Not meant to be being touched am I, Mr Presley?" It’s like, as he exposes more of your skin, he can’t help himself from pausing — the tights stay rolled around your knees to allow him to kiss your thighs, or the patch of skin between your belly button and your panties. You lift your leg, allowing him to roll down the last of the hosiery. He rubs over the arch of your foot and you moan at the relief — you may be getting used to the heels now but it didn’t mean that your feet didn’t still ache as soon as they came off. He gives the same attention to the other foot, rubbing firmly, before physically pushing you up the bed.

"Oh darling, call me Elvis." He strokes up your calves, before he stops again at your feet, "God, has anyone ever told you you’ve got real pretty sooties, Lordy these little toes are gorgeous." You wiggle them at him, you’ve never given much thought to your feet other than deciding what colour to paint your nails. He pulls your foot towards him, lifting your leg up. He kisses along the ball of it, before taking your big toe into his mouth.

You had never, ever, been turned on by the thought of someone playing, or sucking your feet, but suddenly it’s like electricity zapping up your legs to your tummy and core — you can feel yourself growing damp just from his gentle tongue lapping around your toes and you can’t help little moans falling from your mouth. You’re normally ticklish but this time the sensation forms little jolts through your tummy, making it flip slightly, and butterflies form. He lets go with a little pop, his lips forming the perfect round little ‘O’ of suction and the warm wet heat is suddenly released, causing the air to feel colder and your feet more sensitive than ever before. When you look at him standing there, holding your ankle, caressing your calve you have a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a man — and suddenly you think you can understand why men love being sucked so much. The sight of him, his lips red, your toes wet, is overwhelmingly erotic.

He keeps going - right up your foot, before he holds your leg up, kissing up it before he put his knees on the bed again, lowering your limb to allow him to kneel over you. He places little kisses up your thighs, and you can feel his chin rubbing against your stomach as he kisses his way up there, he uses one elbow to lean on, keeping himself somewhat horizontal, but his other hand is following his lips.

"Time to prove it to you, little bun-bun." He whispers against your sternum, before turning his head, licking a line across your breast and capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches to squeeze your other, pinching the nipple until it hardens into a little nub. He pulls off of where he’s been sucking and blows onto you. The cool air over your wet nipple sends a jolt straight to your pussy — it’s clearly an education for you tonight since you’d also never before known how sensitive your chest really was. He laps at the other side, giving it a similar treatment, palming the breast around it. While you gasp and wiggle underneath him you can feel his length straining in his trousers, and the slight feel of his lowly buttoned shirt, allowing you to feel a slither of the hairs on his chest and tummy is enough to send your arousal into overdrive. You start tugging at his top and trying to feel around his waist to undo one of the belts that had become synonymous with his image, far more insistently than before. Demanding he takes it off, even as the words fail to make it out of your mouth alongside the moans and gasps caused by his ministrations. He pulls back, planting one last kiss on the side of your chest and laughs at you when you beg.

"Please, gotta see you, wanna see all of you - please Elvis, dreamed about this, gotta see it." But still, he complies with your request, sitting himself up to strip off his shirt; unbuttoning the last few buttons and then standing to kick off his trousers, pulling off his belt. You stare at him. Incapable of doing anything else. He’s carrying more weight than before, especially around his middle, although he’s still clearly a man of generally slim build, padded tummy over muscle. But regardless of his weight, or maybe because of it, he’s still beautiful. You reach for him when he lies back down, stroking the hair on his head - the hair that ensures you recognise that this is no longer the slicked-back hair of his Hollywood days and that he’s no longer a boy in anyway but a man and you need only look at his chest to remind you of that. The few sparse hairs that used to be there have been joined by a collection covering his chest and stomach in a soft carpet.

His hands move back down the sides of your body and he whispers to you, "Lift up baby," as you would while trying to undress a child to pull your panties down and off of you — throwing them god-knows-where also. You wriggle, nervous and self-conscious as he stares at you. He’s flushed pink down his face and chest, and he looks you over, assessing. He nods, clearly satisfied and smiles when you breathe a sigh of relief. You bring a hand down, and he follows with his own, going to stroke you.

"God Bunny, you’re dripping." And it’s true, your inner thighs were already sticky with your own slick and you’re genuinely not sure you’ve ever felt this wet without having even touched yourself. He brushes over you lightly, circling your clit, before going to press a single finger into you. Your own hand rests on top of his, ostensibly as if you were guiding him, but really being dragged by him. You let out a moan as he pulls your hand down to join his, directing and tugging your finger to join his, pulling them both out and pushing them back in together as if your two hands made one. It feels wild, it’s so out there, your soft hand intertwined with his rougher fingers pressed against one another as they delve into your most intimate place.

You’re not unused to the sensation in general but his singular finger alone was similar to two of your own and so you can feel a slight burn at your entrance, a barely-there sting that cuts through the pleasure. Like a pinch of salt atop a cookie, it only enhances the flavour — the feel andyourhips circle around as his thumb finds its way up to rub at your clit.

"Gotta make sure you’re nice and loose for me huh baby, just like a new set’a wheels gotta grease you up." You moan at his words, the objectification for some reason really doing something for you. He uses his other fingers to stroke gently at you and the tickling sensation is almost enough to tip you over the edge. He seems to hold you there for a miraculously long time, and you realise you probably ought to be trying to return the favour so you reach down to tug at his hard cock. It’s a different feel than what you were used to, you’d never been around an uncut penis before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it other than pretend that it was exactly the same as the two others you’d touched. He winces slightly when you roll your palm over before his foreskin has retracted back causing you to roll the skin around, pinching him as you try. He bats your hand out of the way, pumping himself. You take note and recreate his actions as best you can, and you know you’ve hit the sweet spot when his own hips jerk and his hand tightens around your wrist. He pulls his fingers out from you, dragging your hand back with him and flings your arm away, before going back down with three fingers, he prods them at your entrance, testing the boundary before slowly sinking them in. You whine at him, panting,

"Please, god, Elvis, you gotta, I’m ready for you, I swear I’m ready for you," he pulls his fingers out, and pushes your hand away from his cock, rolling you firmly onto your back and kneeling himself up again.

"Ok, Ok, Bunny, ok, I hear ya, I can feel you’re ready for me, just, just didn’t wanna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good little Bunny." He pulls your hips towards him and lines himself up.

He thrusts into you, pulling you onto him and you whine as you feel his sticky head stretching you open. Despite your claims of being ready for him it has been a while. His stomach is resting on yours, his tummy pressing down on you. It’s almost like he’s smothering you, he’s entirely enveloping you. His hands are holding your waist, bracketing you to him. If it were anyone else you think you might find it claustrophobic, so close together that your breath is mingling, you can see his pores, feel his belly button. But for some reason it just makes you want even more of him, getting as close as humanely possible, desperate for however much you can get. His taste, his smell, his everything.

"Oh god," as he pushes in further, devastatingly slowly, "Tight as a fucking virgin aren’t ya… you sure you haven’t still got your cherry? Sure I’m not about to - ah - pop it ‘gain?" You moan, trying to relax your breathing from its quickened state as you adjust to him inside you. He moves one of his hands to touch you, feeling where you’re spread open and up to press your clit, and you buck up involuntarily at the contact, forcing a few more inches of him in. He groans at the unexpected tight pressure and heat. You clutch at his shoulders as he responds with his thumb speeding up on you. He drives into you, and you clench down as you start to feel his fingers doing their job, along with his cock jabbing against your internal walls. You don’t recognise the noises coming out of your mouth, they’re not the practised noises that you might expect from a woman of your occupation, but the very real moans and groans from a woman surprised at how this could feel.

He’s breathing heavily, and you can see the sweat starting to form, but he keeps the pace — clearly, his near-constant performances have maintained his stamina. A bead of it starts to form on his brow and you watch it drip, slowly, down his cheek towards the little patch of sideburns. You suddenly yearn to taste it, it’s sure to be salty, and maybe a little sweet, but his musky smell is already filling your nostrils and you can’t help but want to lick it. You try to distract yourself, don’t want to embarrass yourself like that, how unbecoming that would be. You try to look at a point beyond his shoulders, but you fail when you feel his hot, large, heavy, hand on you - cupping your cheek and drawing your eyes back to his face.

"Where ya going little Bunny?" He huffs, "Stay with me." He’s pleading with you and it immediately catches your attention. You nod, frantically, as his hips rock back and forth into you. He grips your waist and hips tight and leans closer, pausing in his rutting to press into you, deep, and catching your mouth with his. When he pulls off of you, he goes to kiss the side of your face, curving over himself to kiss your neck and you can see another drip of swear forming. It’s too much to take and you reach with your hands, both of them cupping his head, pulling him back up to your eye level from your shoulder. He looks up slightly confused at why you’ve stopped him but his eyes quickly roll closed as you lean forward,

"Wanna taste you, let me taste you daddy." He nods, and you hold his head in place, kissing the side of his mouth, before licking his cheek, little kitten licks before a broader stripe up to his temples, where the sweat is forming. You were right; it’s sweet and salty, manly. His hips stutter a little and you can feel him twitch inside you, your own walls fluttering and clenching a little in response to his feel and taste. He pulls back a few inches, about to thrust back into you but you put a hand on his chest. He frowns down at you, disappointed that you were blocking his movements.

"Let me, let me — can I, wanna ride you." His eyes roll back and his bitten, pouty, lips fall open in pleasure as he doesn’t say anything but starts to remove himself from you. When his cock pops out, bobbing between you he rubs it against your folds, cockhead bumping your clit. You grind against him, before moaning at the loss as he sits himself at the head of the bed, sliding down to be in a semi-reclining position.

"C’mon then doll, have at it." He gestures with both hands at his crotch. "Hippity hop little Bun." You grin, you don’t normally love the bunny jokes and comments — you’re not ashamed of your job and in fact, you’re normally quite proud of your career, but you do like to keep it separate from your private life; it’s still your work, and you’re more than just a playboy bunny. But coming from him? If Elvis wants to call you Bunny, he can call you a bunny — hell you’d hop about the room, eating a carrot, until he was satisfied if he asked.

You sink down onto him, your slick and his precum have lubricated your entrance enough by now to make it far easier than his first push into you, although your mouth still falls open at the feel of the stretch. You moan at the feel of the different angles, hitting different parts of your walls as you bottom out before rising back up, only to rock yourself back down again. You try to pay attention to his face, work out what feels the best for him but honestly you’re too distracted trying to get the angle right for yourself. He seems content, though, to let you do the work, offering you a near-constant stream of praise;

"Uh-huh that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.” You circle your hips in response, grinding down and he’s moaning at you, telling you that you’re "treating’ me so nice, oh god, oh yes." You bounce on him until your thighs are shaking and you’re so close, but you just need a little more something. You’re about to say so, and you’re reaching down one of your hands that had been on his shoulders to touch yourself when he says,

"It alright bunny if Daddy takes over again now?" You feel yourself clench, his slightly condescending tone for some reason heightening your arousal even further, and you nod rapidly. He lifts you off of him, his forearms flexing, and manhandles you into turning around - pushing you down onto all fours. Your arms are a little shaky and you lean down onto your elbows to compensate.

"Arch your back baby, that’s it." You comply with his request, feeling a little like a whore and how strange it was to feel, as fucked open as you were, the air running past your pussy. He grips your hips and lines up again, one hand staying around your hipbone while the other strayed around to hold you close to him, palm splayed across your lower stomach as he pushes into you again.

He slides in, the stretch lessening each time — you can still feel him, of course, but it’s less of a burning sensation and more of a gentle pull now. He’s constantly talking — praising you, telling you you’re "so goddamn fucking pretty" that "you were born to take this," and that you were "such a good girl." You’re not used to the noises he pulls from you, and you probably should be more concerned about how thin the walls are - he reminds you a few times that you "gotta be quieter baby, gotta quiet down, be a quiet little Bunny for me", but when his balls are slapping against you, his tummy knocking into you, and his cock is stretching your hole you lose the ability to stay quiet.

A stream of swears and words of approval coming from your own mouth, "C’mon, please Daddy, please, that’s it, that’s it, give it to me Daddy."

He reaches around, stroking you and rolling his fingers over the little silky soft patch between his cock and your clit, feeling around where you’re joined. It’s filthy - and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and when he reaches down with a hand - rubbing his fingers over you just so you’re reminded that you’re not the second person he’s ever fucked. He seems to know all the right moves to get you where he wants you, your head turned against the bed, gasping. You’re knocked momentarily silent when he pulls out, rubbing his cock up and down your folds, jabbing it against your clit before he presses a hand agaisnt your back, forcing your ass up higher and presses back inside you. This time he’s aiming, going deeper than his shallower thrusts before, and he knows he’s aimed true when you wail as he hits the bumpy little spot inside you. He breathes a laugh like your reaction is amusing to him — perhaps because of the sheer shock in your tone and he continues at the same pace. Hitting that same spot and focusing his fingers once again on your clit.

He circles his middle finger and thumb around, moving closer and closer before eventually, finally, brushing directly over it. It’s enough to make you cry out, thrashing around a little, legs jerking, as you come — your hole clenching around him causing him to groan in time with you. Your body goes slack against him, as he continues to pummel into you, although he does slow down, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm back down. He shifts slightly, pulling you up, and holding you by his grip on your waist and pussy as he kisses the sweat on your collarbone. Before abruptly shoving you back down onto the bed. Your face rubs against the fur as your arms give way, and you grab fistfuls to hold onto as he grips your hips, so tight you’re bound to bruise, and starts to pound away at you. You’re oversensitive and his rapid pace is a little uncomfortable, but as he starts to swear, and you can feel him drawing near he reaches down with his left hand, and nudges your folds open again. He rubs your clit at a pace that would normally have made you shove the guy off of you, so little attention given elsewhere, but that matches his own hips perfectly and is apparently just the right amount of abrasion to send you careening to the edge again. You convulse on his cock at almost the exact same moment you can feel him rapidly pulling out, to shoot his own cum across your ass and back.

"Now you got your own little white tail Bunny." He doesn’t let you rest. As soon as he’s stopped spurting he’s pushing you over, rolling you onto your back and diving between your legs. He tongues your sloppy, open, hole and he licks his way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on that little nub and sending your oversensitive self straight through to a third orgasm. You scream, unable to remain quiet any longer, clutching at his hair and holding him tight to you as you writhe against his mouth. He licks you out like a man possessed, like he’s been told it’s essential for the good of humanity, and you’ve never had someone do this to you before; you had no idea this was how this felt, but to have someone so dedicated to the task was a feeling almost as heady as the orgasm itself.

He flops back, resting his head back onto your inner thigh, and you pat gently at his head, still breathless and unable to speak as you blink away black spots in your vision. He’s breathing heavily and you can feel his sweaty forehead on your fingertips. You can’t believe it’s his soft, sweaty hair in your hands. God, you wished this plane would never land. He sits up, and looks down at you, patting at your pussy lightly, as you would a pet, affectionately. You look over at your clothes, wondering if you’ll even be able to contain your puffy folds in the tiny gusset of the corset teddy when he distracts you by leaning down and pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"If it’s alright with you, darling, I think I might request you on my crew every time I fly."

#elvis fic #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction

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thefamilybruno · 4 months

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A Slice of Humble Pie

Pairing: Gaston/Adam

Summary: When Adam feels the urge to unwind with a cocktail, he finds himself at The Christmas Corner Bar and immediately starts crushing on the insufferably arrogant, impossibly handsome brute who runs it.

Tags: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Funny, Silly, Banter

Adorable artwork by @thatdoodlebug :)

click below for excerpt

As Adam made his way to the bar, still in a bit of a daze, a tall, ridiculously handsome man wearing a Christmas sweater adorned with way too many aggressively flashing Christmas lights pushed past him and hooked around to the other side of the counter. Just when Adam thought that the man couldn’t look any more absurd, he snatched a Santa hat out of a drawer and threw it on. Across its white trim, in green capital letters, it said: NAUGHTY.

Oh, Adam liked him already.

Adam walked the rest of the way to the bar, unfastening the buttons on his coat as he did, and found a free stool right in front of the most delicious candy cane he had seen in years. As the scrumptious-looking man took a moment to admire his own reflection in the horizontal bar mirror, Adam unraveled his scarf and set it on the counter. What were people supposed to do with scarves when they went to bars or restaurants anyway? Even if his bar stool had been a regular chair, he couldn’t have hung it on the back of it. It would have become a trip hazard in minutes.

After a few seconds of deliberation, Adam reached for the scarf, thinking maybe he’d better leave it on his lap instead, but then the beautiful man behind the bar snatched it and draped it around his own neck.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling brilliantly.

Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.

Or so Adam hoped.

“First time,” Adam said. “I’ll have an Old Fashioned.”

The man laughed like Adam had asked for pizza at a Chinese food restaurant.

“If you’re gonna order a mixed drink, you have to order one of our seasonal cocktails.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Have to? Like, it’s required?”

“It’s not required,” the man said with a slight roll of his eyes. “But you can’t come in here looking like Scrooge McDuck and then order something as dull as an Old Fashioned.”

It was curious that the man had referenced a Disney bird instead of the actual character created by Charles Dickens.

Adam attempted a Scrooge impression, “I don't make merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry.”

The gorgeous man shook his head in confusion. “What?”

“Never mind,” Adam said. “Isn’t that what Scrooge would order, though? Something boring?”

“Come on, you’re the only one in here not wearing Christmas colors. At least order a festive cocktail.”

When Adam looked around, he was surprised to see that it was true. Most people were wearing Christmas sweaters. Or even Christmas pajamas! Not only ‘Christmas colors’ as the man had said.

“Alright,” Adam relented. “What’s the closest drink you have to an Old Fashioned, then?”

When the man rubbed his chin to think, Adam noticed his adorable chin dimple. He had the sudden urge to press his thumb into it.

“Hmmm….closest is probably the Humble Pie.”

“What’s in it?”

“Five spice infused brandy, rye whiskey, taro root, pear, coconut, and vanilla bitters.”

“That is the holiday cocktail that’s closest to an Old Fashioned?”

“Yup.”

“Kris Kringle,” Adam cursed in a playful manner. “Fine. I’ll try it.”

“You’ll love it,” the man crowed. “I invented it myself. I invented all of our seasonal cocktails.”

“Wow, you’re a talented bartender, aren’t you?”

“I’m a talented bar owner,” he corrected with a smug smile, one that made Adam want to punch him and kiss him all at once.

#batb fanfic #beauty and the beast #disney fanfiction #beautyandthebeastfanfiction #batb 91 #gaston #adam/gaston #beauty and the beast 1991 #beast/gaston #the beast #holiday fic #christmas fic #christmas fluff

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midnightfire830 · 7 months

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I’m bored, it’s late, and I’m not feeling great (like usual), but I don’t have the energy draw anything for asks so imma just hammer ya’ll with headcanons and ideas from cyberpunk because I feel bad I haven’t been talking about it as much. I have so many cussing ideas for this AU but I’m running out of ways to express those idea. Yay. ✌️

Anyway! Here’s some thoughts and little tidbits about Cyberpunk!

- Dr. Flug is a genius cybernetics designer and helped create all the tech that the cupbros use. And he’s behind all the programming. As instructed by the Devil. Hat of course helps Flug a lot with the tech. (The demon race is especially well known for their advancements in cyberware technology. The other races also specialize in certain things of course, but demons are known for cyberware.)

- Black hat also does own a casino. Although the tables are usually operated by androids plus a lot of gambling machines and coin slots. And an antigravity dance floor that Bendy really, REALLY wants to try.

- Mugs has a literal teleportation device that works with his dash charm. It gives him a larger range and more control on direction. It’s powered by his magic and his charm and it only requires him to throw down a specific piece of tech where he wants to go and he’ll teleport there. He can only carry one person.

- Mugs also has a support item. I drew it a few times in some drawings. You’ll notice in his character designs he wears two scarves wrapped around his forearms. Hat imbued his favorite scarf with some cyberware tech (and some magic) to turn his scarf into a capture weapon that works a lot like Aizawa’s capture scarf in My Hero Academia. He uses it as a non-lethal way of fighting. And for better range.

- Holly is the guy in ther chair. Whenever anyone goes on patrols she’s on commas tapping away on her screens. She hacks cameras remotely so that the boys don’t get caught, listens in to police radio and tell them where any crime might be happening.

- The Devil had decided to cut off majority of the Quester’s money access. He put pressure on the Quester’s usual buyers to not purchaser their products, so money is currently tight.

- Tho they get by by mostly selling to smaller companies and oftentimes regular people anyway so it doesn’t really matter.

- Food in their world is kinda crap. Oftentimes they have to buy prepackaged food to reheat. Everything is always processed food bc they can’t afford much more than that. (That is to say fresh produce is RIDICULOUSLY expensive). Only the rich can really afford it. I wonder who’s fault THAT is…

That’s a few little tidbits for now. Enjoy!

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koravelliumavast · 1 year

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I posted 4,761 times in 2022

That's 4,731 more posts than 2021!

2,053 posts created (43%)

2,708 posts reblogged (57%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dustbringermoash

@lordofscars

@isdalinarhot

@stardustravens

@jewishdainix

I tagged 3,814 of my posts in 2022

Only 20% of my posts had no tags

#cosmere - 727 posts

#brandon sanderson - 619 posts

#stormlight archive - 479 posts

#books - 241 posts

#mistborn - 221 posts

#kaladin stormblessed - 186 posts

#adolin kholin - 155 posts

#tlm spoilers - 149 posts

#kelsier - 129 posts

#the lost metal spoilers - 116 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#chem lab practical. this is one of the exams but i’m confident that i may know what i’m doing but i also don’t know what it’s about exactly

My Top Posts in 2022:

Screw the whitespine uncaged THIS is one of the best parts of words of radiance

See the full post

688 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

When people bash tua because every seasons the same and why is it another apocalypse and blah blah blah just admit you’re boring and don’t like fun and the irony that no matter what they do to fix the timeline and shit, they’re still going to have an apocalyptic world ending event caused by one of them.

747 notes - Posted July 16, 2022

I love that almost instantly after the Percy Jackson book was announced that people were like Percy could just say I saved you like a shit ton of times, you offered me immortality easy but COLLEGE LETTERS is where you draw the line and make me go on a quest?

754 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

Probably The best Stormlight Archives review I’ve seen because it’s complaining about everything that I liked about the series but it’s also hilariously true:

“This book is mind-bogglingly bad. I'm always looking for fantasy books and I knew this was very popular so, after a few years I've decided to try it. I can stomach the childish depiction of characters but I cannot bring myself to accept the utter idiocy of the setting. The opening is painfully bad: an all powerful assassin kills a king and his guard by having superpowers taken straight out of videogames. Then we are introduced with the hero, who, of course, rejects the greatest conceivable honour in the world out of pure spite. He is then spared his life out of sheer plot armour, and the reader is left wondering why he hasn't been killed for constant rebellion. His mates are all killed, but he survives because, oh, he's sooo special. Slaves are paid a living wage so that there is a way for the hero to earn money because it's needed by the story. When the hero screws up, his senior officers are killed immediately but he's instead given a chance to survive, and, not very surprisingly, he does. Then there is a war in the Shattered Plains: for six years the warriors, instead of fighting, go looking for overgrown shrimps to steal the enormous emeralds that grow inside of them. I kid you not, this is the primary purpose of the war: not beating the enemy but killing the shrimps while they're pupating (to turn into what, an enormous blowfly?) before the enemy slays it. The entire strategy works like this: the entire army is sitting idly, wearing fashionable scarves and drinking wine. A horn sounds in the distance announcing that a shrimp has been found. The warriors scramble to arrive first, before the enemy but, more importantly, before the other commanders. The moronicity of the portable bridges defies belief. The idiocy never seem to finish: soldiers with organic armour, illiterate kings with learned wives, even the regular storms that make magic. The hero, of course, discover magic that has been hidden in plain sight for countless years. In a specific kingdom, people live with feet constantly in two inches of water. In another, people eat horns and shells. For some reason, on a different planet, people know of Japanese katas. I could go on for hours: avoid this book.”

875 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

You know what isn’t talked about enough? The fact that Adolin is terrifying. Because in fanfics Adolin isn’t super scary but Adolin made his enemies summon fearspren when he was outnumbered 4-1. In Sadeas’ pov after the duel it says that Adolin TERRIFIED Sadeas.

976 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#the almost 150 tlm spoilers posts is fucking HILARIOUS to me

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kurolini909 · 3 years

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When you [Undertale] so much u automatically put on a scarf with the ends tied backwards and everyone at your class stares at u like you don't know how to work up a scarf.

#mood #kuro909 #lmao I blame it on Ink - Papyrus and like 2 of my own characters #i swear it wasn't intentional #scarf #scarf problems #wearing scarves in the regular way is just so boring :(#they dont wave behind u when u walk #I like clothes that do that #undertale #undertale au #fandom

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madeofstardust17 · 2 years

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Could you pls do 5, 14 and 26 for Isaac?

You see this is why I like you so much, you give me fun questions about our favorite boy.

4. What can be found in his pockets on a regular day?

Okay, off the top of my head: change for the bus, but it happens less and less frequently bc Scott insists on giving him rides everywhere. Also for some reason I think Isaac likes to draw, so a small pencil, worn with age, with which he doodles on any surface he can find. Also lint from his scarves. I know I'm boring but bear with me, the guy wears a lot of wool.

14. Does he remember faces or names easier?

I think he remembers faces, bc as a child of an abusive and volatile father, he got into the habit of examining faces closely, studying expressions so that he knows what to expect. So I think he doesn't really care to remember names, but he's good at faces bc he remembers people's quirks and emotions.

26. How is he with children?

I don't think he's had a lot of experience with little kids, so at first he'd be kind of awkward, not really knowing how to entertain them. But that's the great thing about kiddos, they just need you to validate their interests, so as soon as they start talking, Isaac would be the kind of guy who keeps saying "no way" and "that's cool" and the kids would eat up all his attention. Also I figure he'd be protective of the quiet ones, probably bc he was one of them when he was little bc of his dad's abuse.

All in all, I don't think he'd do a bad job, although I dont think he would BELIEVE he did well.

Thank you for the questions I had a lot of fun thinking about these! <3

#teen wolf #ask me things #isaac lahey #ask game #rhyslahey

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celticrune · 3 years

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I forgot to send an ask but I'm here now!! Can I get some, hmm. 7 on the usual criminals + Althea? 20 to be nice and 21 to be mean? :3c

i love you but curse you for making me do fashion

7: How they like to dress Keiji: Already answered! You cannot trap me!

Val: They live at this intersection I've just coined called formal biker fashion. They have a beat-up biker jacket that's their comfort jacket and they like dressing to match it, in sturdy boots and a black skinny jean or a cargo pant so they have room for more knives. They wear a lot of scarves when it's cool enough for it, because they like the face hiding potential and it makes them feel less exposed.

Then on the other end there's a nice fitted waistcoat, slacks, and leather boots for when they're at work or school or just want to look professional. or a proper suit, with levels of formality depending on the occasion. It depends on where they are between "Perceive me as professional and capable" and "Do Not Perceive Me"

Tanwen: Colours, florals, and all the dresses and skirts. Also wears hairbands cause they're cute. Her bodytype's changed a bit since i made this but it's still v accurate to her fashion sense, so here she is in the Sims 4

Jay: Boring. Plain and functional, favouring clothes with a lotta pockets because he's a magpie when it comes to collecting rocks. Also usually on the more worn-out side because he wears clothes until they're literally falling apart

Althea: Slut, but make it classy. She likes to regularly go shopping and keep an eye on what's in fashion, with bonus points for good cleavage or a boob window. She's got the money for big brands and likes to spend it, though she fortunately does have enough taste to not buy clothes just for the logo. She's got a strong sense of style, even though I don't really know how to describe it other than 'when i see a fun femme outfit and think oh fuck that's hot'

Oh! Also heels, she's a monster about wearing heels. Which is fun cause she's already 180cm, so she's the tall gf dream

20: Their reaction to a mystery love letter Keiji: Laughter because this has got to be a joke, then mounting confusion and disbelief when he actually reads it and it's. not?? a joke???? He is that anime guy who laughs at the confession letter while the confessor is just around the corner so their poor heart is broken and then later realises oh

He'll make a big ol' deal about not caring and roasting anyone else for thinking he's a good target to confess to, but also? he's keeping it and hiding it, not that he'll ever admit to that or ever act on it

Val: *concern.jpg*. They are quite wary about relationships (they know they're a handful), and someone who would write a letter seems like someone admiring them from afar, who therefore... would not have an accurate image of them and who they actually are. They will take it as the compliment it is but, if they know or find out who it's from, with a gentle rejection.

Tanwen: A letter?? For her?? Oh gosh that's so sweet but who could it be that's so strange oh gosh oh no it's really sweet and really really flustering why did they not sign it?? Now she's going to have no idea who it is?? It could be anyone!!

Aka she's going to be so flustered and awkward the next time she's at school/where she got the letter and she's gonna try to be a very clumsy detective and find out who sent it. And probably only end up flustering more in the process, but fortunately that's nothing new.

Jay: ".......Huh."

Althea: :3 Someone has a cruuuuush~~ :3. She's going to have so much fun playing detective and trying to figure out who it was (and then probably flirting with said person and flustering them terribly but never actually doing more than stringing them along, because she doesn't do relationships and emotional vulnerability is scary, and anyone shy or romantic enough to write a letter instead of saying something is likely not someone she'd actually take note of)

21: How they react to pain [physical pain edition, cause emotional pain is too variable to give one easy answer] Keiji: ;)))))))). Boy's a) stubborn b) usually pretty used to pain c) really really bad at letting himself be vulnerable and d) a masochist.

He only admits or shows something hurts when he stops being able to hide it, which means by then it's bad. He's very much like a cat in that sense, you gotta keep an eye on him or he'll hide every injury until it goes away on its own or he physically cannot hide it anymore.

Then there's the [NSFW] part of him being a masochist and kink being a good way to get at his issues and to force him to let his guard down, and especially pain being a good way to overload his senses til he's proper down and vulnerable. But that is a whole separate conversation, and not so much purely about how he deals with physical pain.

Val: They're not as tough as Keiji, but they do tend to have experience handling pain and maintaining their calm throughout. They recognise when injuries would be or become debilitating and make sure they receive medical treatment before that point, but if there is important work to be done they do have a tendency to push past their pain or discomfort to get said things done. They are at least sensible enough to follow doctor's orders though, so that puts them decently high up in the list of self-care capable OC's

Tanwen: She doesn't like pain!! She doesn't get Val or Keiji!! She will easily ignore her own discomfort while there are other people hurting, but she's a crybaby when it comes to her own pain. She tries to play it tough but it doesn't take a lot to get her eyes watering, or to actually make her cry

Jay: A tank. Similar to when it comes to illness, he's so used to being the caretaker and the one that others rely on that he forgets he sometimes needs to be taken care of, too. He'll wrap a bandage around it when he remembers too, but it's definitely not a priority. He's also gotten a pretty good pain tolerance from working the forge, and the accidents that inevitably happened there

He is the guy that will stagger on his feet well after the battle is done and touch a hand to his stomach so it comes away stained with blood, and he just manages a surprised/exasperated curse before he stumbles back against a nearby wall. It's tasty

Althea: Does not like pain 2.0. Also the least experience with first aid, she knows how to stick on a bandaid and vaguely knows cuts need to be cleaned?? That's about it, she's a sensible regular human being who just goes to the doctor when something's wrong. She won't easily cry from pain, but she will complain a lot and demand attention for her terrible suffering

#keiji #val #tanwen #jay #althea #asks #ocs #there we gooo #last one done #this was a fun one #fashion complaining aside #ty babe <3

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sunlithope · 2 years

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hw task 10: wardrobe

describe your muse’s aesthetic in five words or less.

Unremarkable; forgettable above all else.

does your muse spend a lot of time on their outfit and appearance? how long do they spend getting ready in the morning?

Usually around forty-five seconds, and most of that’s waiting for enough water to fall in the shower. If he didn’t have superspeed, he would still only take around twenty minutes at most; he doesn’t have many clothes, they essentially all go with each other, and they’re all laid out very neatly. His biggest time expenditure is taking a longer shower every few days (five whole minutes instead of thirty seconds) because he’s paranoid about his downstairs neighbors thinking he doesn’t shower.

does your muse consider the way they dress to be trendy? would other people agree?

Clark and his Ma designed his entire wardrobe to convey a message, and that message is “wow is this guy boring.” He isn’t noticeably unstylish, he isn’t noticeably stylish; he just isn’t noticeable. If other people bothered to look at him, they’d probably agree.

how often do they buy new clothes? are they the type to keep a outfit for years or replace it after one wear?

Clark lost his entire wardrobe on arrival except for the suit (and the Suit) he’d been wearing, so he’s been doing a fair bit of thrifting. Once he’s got a modest wardrobe together he replaces items only as needed. He’s gotten quite good at small repairs like sewing buttons (having to rip off your shirt several times a day helps give occasion to practice), but it’s the rare piece of clothing that lasts more than two years without getting stained, ripped, or torn somehow in the course of his day.

is your muse the type to accessorize? how much?

He typically carries around a beat-up messenger type bag with essentials in it (see below), and of course the glasses almost never leave his face. Back home in the wintertime he’d occasionally show one (1) scrap of personality by wearing a scarf or two that Ma knit for him over his Unremarkable Winter Jacket, but the scarves didn’t make the trip. He misses them.

how much time do they spend on skin care/makeup/grooming?

A few minutes to heat-vision off stubble every few days. Clark considers himself lucky his hair doesn’t grow quickly, because if ‘shaving’ is a little tricky, haircuts are a whole entire Mess. One time in high school he accidentally gave himself a mullet and almost burned the house down because he couldn’t figure out the right angle for the multiple mirrors to get to the back of his head.

if money and societal expectations were not a concern would your muse dress differently than they currently do? if so, how?

If fashion wasn’t one of his most important tools in keeping his secret, he wouldn’t mind experimenting a little more. ‘Experimenting’ for him would be wearing some actual bright colors, or letting himself outside his apartment in a t-shirt that actually fits for once. He does have a few casual comfortable items but they’re all for staying in. As for money, it’s a pretty big limiting factor - he doesn’t earn a lot, and he absolutely needs the privacy of a single, so almost all of his small salary goes into affording that. As a result most of his clothes are from thrifting.

would your muse wear the same outfit two days in a row if they knew they wouldn’t run into any of the same people?

No, he’s regular about rotating through his clothes. You could be forgiven for thinking he’s wearing the same outfit, though, since all his outfits exude similar vibes. (’meh.’)

have they started dressing differently since arriving in washington? was the transition difficult? do they prefer the clothes here or back home?

Much to Clark’s irritation, it’s been difficult to find clothes that are ‘his’ size secondhand - clothes just large enough to conceal his build, but not so large that you can tell it’s on purpose. So unfortunately, right now a fair few of his shirts and one suit jacket actually fit him properly.

Clark’s bag has one large pocket with his work tools - reporter’s pad, pencils and pens, laptop, voice recorder, press pass, wallet, and water bottle (for show). The side pockets have a LOT of just-in-case items. Three handkerchiefs, a suspiciously extensive first aid kit complete with ibuprofen, insulin, and antihistamines, two prepaid visa cards with 25 dollars apiece on them, about fifty dollars in small bills, a burner phone sewn into the lining, chargers for his phone, the burner phone, iphones, and androids, an external battery pack, flashlight, a little sewing kit, a glasses repair kit, and two small bars of Emergency Chocolate (Tony’s Chocolonely, and miss him with the dark stuff, Clark is Team Milk all the way). Yes, all of these items have backstories as to why he’s carrying them.

top center picture with grey suit from Lois Lane & Superman in “Glasses,” written by Jeff Loveness, pencils by Tom Grummett, inking by Cam Smith, coloring by Adriano Lucas, lettering by Tom Napolitano, middle left panels showing casual to disguised from Superman: Birthright #3, written by Mark Waid, pencils by Leinil Francis Yu, inking by Gerry Alanguilan, upper left and middle right publicity stills from Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, bottom middle and bottom right open source stock photos, dialogue from Superman: The Movie (1978), Kryptonian cipher font from kryptonian.info.

#hwtask10 #long post tw #food tw #(small food mention at the very end)#this is so many words to say clark kent's wardrobe is SO boring #unflavored yogurt man #offbrand wonder bread aesthetic #beige paint drying style #the edgiest his style gets is the three folds of his pocket square at formal galas and even then one of the folds kinda droops #me defending him from the fashion police: your honors i love him #musings: clark kent

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

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The Bianca Nureyev Detective Agency

This was an anniversary present for my wonderful girlfriend @spiky-lesbian who is just the most wonderful girlfriend ever and I love her a lot!

Juno tries to entertain his and Nureyev’s daughter on a slow day in space...

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Being a space pirate did sound good on paper. It sounded like a life full of narrowly dodged laser bullets, sprawling on beds of golden creds, witty one liners delivered to fallen foes in the smoking ruins of their empires that you’d just toppled and large, audacious hats.

And it was like that, about twenty percent of the time. But what they didn’t tell you was that the other eighty percent was a hell of a lot of waiting. It was a lot of snail crawling through deep space, killing days upon days worth of time in cramped metal hallways, eating stasis food and absorbing simulated sunlight. Planning your next big twenty percent could only take up so much time.

And it only got harder when you also had a three year old space pirate to entertain.

“Mamaaaaaaa,” Bee Bee poked her head up over the edge of the sofa, looking like some burrowing animal resurfacing, “I’m bored.”

Juno lowered the case file he’d been reviewing, eyeing his daughter with the tired amusement only a parent could muster, “Oh?”

Bee Bee scrambled up onto the family room’s busted old soda, sinking down beside her mama. She peered at him for a moment, taking note of the way he was sat, one ankle folded over the other and tried to copy him as best she could with her chubby little legs.

“Space is boring,” she declared, “There’s nothing to do.”

Juno set the files aside, silently accepting that he wouldn’t be getting back to them anytime soon, “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Nope,” his daughter gave a forlorn sigh, “Nothing at all.”

“Well then,” Juno shrugged, sinking down into the sofa so they were level even if it would be murder on his back later, “We’ll just have to think of something to do, won’t we, kiddo?”

Bee Bee giggled, “Yes. What was mama doing?”

“Oh,” Juno looked to the files he’d piled on the arm of the sofa, “Nothing interesting. Just looking into cases where other people have tried to do the same job we’re going to do.”

“And what happened to them?”

Juno winced. It wasn’t as if their daughter was unaware of the dangers they faced in their line of work. Pirates weren’t exactly famous for operating within the confines of the law, even in her storystreams. And since she’d been born, she’d seen her daddy at work, often getting a birds eye view of it all from a wrap slung across his chest.

“Well. Jail mostly,” he admitted, knowing he didn’t have to hide the truth from her even if it didn’t feel good to.

“Huh,” Bee Bee hardly blinked, swinging her legs, “Well, Auntie Buddy’s way way smarter than all of them. And Auntie Vespa is faster and Auntie Rita is better and Uncle Jet is cooler and my daddy is the best at stealing ever ever in the whole galaxy. And my mama’s the best detective. So we’ll do just fine.”

Juno grinned, reaching over and stroking back her curls, “Yeah. We’ll do just fine.”

“So can I help Mama? With being a detective?” her eyes sparked excitedly.

He knew that look, once her mind was fixed on something she’d follow it to the far side of the universe. She was like her daddy in that. But she wouldn’t exactly find much interest in going through old case files that somehow managed to make jewel heists sound boring. Though the tactics these failed thieves had used didn’t have an awful lot of pizzaz to them. Probably why they’d flopped, or at least that’s what Buddy would say.

“You know what?” Juno snapped his fingers like he’d just had a fantastic idea, “You’re just the kid I need for this very important case!”

“I am!” Bianca beamed, not a question. She had perfect confidence in her own abilities.

“It’s a classic head scratcher, kiddo,” Juno announced grandly, mostly to stall for time while he decided just what this case was going to be, “I’ve been at it for years and I’ve never been able to crack it but with your pluckiness and my brains we might just solve the case of...uh...the case of daddy’s missing glasses!”

Bee Bee gasped appreciatively, “Daddy’s always losing his glasses!”

“He is,” Juno snorted, “And we’ve got to go help him, right?”

“Right!” she jumped onto her feet, bouncing up onto the couch cushions and promptly tumbling, Juno just about managing to catch her. It didn’t seem to diminish her enthusiasm, as her legs windmilled wildly, “Let’s go!”

“Okay,” Juno grinned, “Well, first thing is to examine the scene of the crime and…”

“No, mama!” Bee Bee frowned, looking at him like he was profoundly stupid, “First thing is to dress up.”

“Of course. My mistake.”

Apparently no detective work could be done until Bianca was wearing her mama’s old coat, the one he’d hung onto for sentimental reasons even after he’’d been unable to really call himself a detective. And long after the leather had worn on the elbows and there were none of the original buttons left on it.

It needed to be rolled up quite a few times to even get the tips of her fingers poking out of the sleeves and the bottom of it looked like a mad kind of wedding train but Bee Bee grinned in delight and it was pretty good to see the old thing getting some use again.

“Now we go to the scene of the crime,” she declared, waving her arms, “Daddy and mama’s room!”

“Come on then, co-detective,” Juno laughed, “Lead the way.”

If Nureyev was surprised to see them burst through the door, it didn’t show on his face. He didn’t scare easily. He only smiled and tilted his head, quickly shoving the book on pregnancy he’d been reading far under Juno’s pillow. They weren’t quite ready to broach that subject with Bianca yet.

“Hello, my loves,” he hummed, “What adventures are we on today?”

“We’re playing detective!” Bee Bee toddled up, clambering on the bed to give him a quick hug before anything else, “Going to find your glasses.”

“Oh could you!” Nureyev smiles pleasantly, “It does seem I’ve misplaced them again, reading is something of a chore without them.”

Juno arched an eyebrow at his husband, “You wouldn’t possibly be deliberately reading that book without your glasses so you could claim you have while not retaining any information or looking at any of the diagrams?”

“An outlandish notion,” Nureyev flicked his fingers at him airily, turning his attention to Bianca who was now crawling around the bed, bent over so she could scrutinise every inch of the sheets like a bloodhound with a scent, “Please, dear little detective, will you take my case?”

“We on the case, daddy!” Bee Bee assured him, hurrying over to give him a hug, now just because she wanted to, “We’ll find the glasses.”

“You gotta question the witness,” Juno advised, “Build a timeline.”

Bee Bee nodded, looking up at Nureyev with a sudden fierce seriousness, “What is your timeline, daddy?”

He couldn’t help but smile down at her as he pretended to think, “Let’s see...well, I went to the kitchen for breakfast...then I had to collect some floorplans from Buddy’s office, I read them over in the family room with my wife...then I had an appointment with the physician. Then I came here to have a nap and do my assigned reading.”

Juno rolled his eyes at that last one.

“We’ll track 'em down!” Bee Bee declared, barrelling off the bed onto the ground. Again, her mama only just managed to catch her, “Come on, Detective Mama! Before the trail goes cold!”

Juno chuckled, pausing briefly to lean down and kiss Nureyev, before he followed his daughter, not needing to hurry too much, one of his strides matching about five of hers.

Their trail through the ship took them most of the rest of the afternoon, clattering through the winding corridors, the two of them making up wild twists and turns whenever suited them, inventing new characters, dastardly schemes that had happened off screen, speculating wildly on new threats. Buddy of course joined in enthusiastically, she was a regular and beloved playmate of Bianca’s. Just searching her room turned into a frantic search to disarm a bomb left by this mysterious glasses thief, a bomb that turned out to be in Buddy’s chest which could only be fixed by a hug from a plucky little detective.

Vespa was less willing, they caught her in the middle of disinfecting all of her scalpels. But even she wasn’t immune to Bee Bee’s charms, eventually playing her role with grudging grace. And Juno was able to get a quick whispered update on Nureyev’s check up, feeling a little better that it wasn’t just him and his husband who knew, that he had someone to offload all his anxiety on, the same anxiety he was trying to shield said husband from.

Even better, they ran into Rita in the kitchen and the game then swerved happily into the wildest corners of two vast imaginations, going off on a tangent that somehow involved werewolves, a falling moon and a galaxy wide ring of prolific glasses thieves (it turned out Rita had lost her pair too, though they did turn out to be perched on top of her head).

It was when Bee Bee was rolling happily around on the floor that she suddenly froze and squealed in triumph. She bounded up to the side table next to the old, sagging sofa, less than an inch from where Juno had been sitting earlier.

“Here! Here’s the glasses!”

Sure enough, there was a pair of cat eye spectacles on a silver chain resting there. Even Juno couldn’t raise much of a grump when he realised they’d been inches from their goal at the very start of the job. Some cases just worked out that way.

“We’ll have to take them back to your daddy, huh?” he panted, collapsing next to his daughter on the sofa. Somewhere along the way he’d picked up glitter on his black turtleneck, a rubber glove from the infirmary stretched over his head like a mad hat and one of Buddy’s scarves wound around his neck.

“Yes! And then get paid,” Bee Bee nodded, making Juno slightly nervous about what sort of payment she was going to demand. She’d asked to be paid in ice cream last time they’d played this game.

She plopped down next to her mama, leaning against his arm, adding more glitter to his favourite jumper, “Mama? I don’t think daddy is very happy right now. I think something’s up.”

Juno froze, “Uh...what makes you say that, kiddo?”

“Well…” Bee Bee wrinkled her nose, “He just seems...floppy. Always flopping on you and he looks pale and he doesn’t sleep good, mama. I think he’s sick.”

Juno tried to keep his face carefully neutral, “Your daddy’s fine, honey, I promise.”

“Hmm,” she replied, in that way she had that let him know she didn’t believe him in the slightest, “But it’s okay. Because we found his glasses and that’s gonna make him happy. And then we’ll help him more and we’ll do detective and find his happy.”

Juno relaxed, wrapping his arm around her, “Oh yeah?”

Bee Bee beamed and nodded, “Cos I’m the best detective ever! And mama helps!”

Juno sat back, laughing mostly to himself.

“You know what, kiddo? I thought I was pretty good but I think you really might be the best ever.”

#the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #fluff #please reblog and comment if you like this!#tw: trans pregnancy

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 14

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 14 - Lecture

For most people, it was just like any regular Monday afternoon. The temperature was high and there hadn't been any rain in over a week. A black Audi stopped at the entrance of the school's auditorium and really stood out. In the distance, he saw a big red banner at the entrance of the building: "A warm welcome to Professor Chen XX, appraisal researcher from the Palace Museum, for holding a cultural relic appraisal lecture in our school."

The auditorium had been recently built in the past few years. The entrance hall was very magnificent, with a light blue dome and wall, and the entire wall near the gate was made of glass. From the outside, he could see the crowds of people in the hall. Different from the usual modern style, the overall layout of the hall was more reminiscent of ancient designs. There were two large vases with impressions of a Ming Dynasty maid enjoying spring peaches. The promotional posters were framed by carved wooden windows. It was almost like walking into an antique shop.

The air-conditioning in the hall was turned too high and Lin Yan rubbed the goosebumps on his arms as he stood in the queue, staring at the posters to pass the time.

The professor on the poster looked like an unopened file folder, and even the reflection on his glasses looked like the transparent plastic wrapping paper on the file folder. Lin Yan was stumped, and then suddenly realized why he thought he looked so familiar. This person is the editor-in-chief of "Research on the History of Ming Dynasty Clothing". You could see his headshot when you turn to the first page of the textbook. It was said that he was quite famous in both professional research and folk antique auctions. He had probably seen him in a treasure appraisal program. Lin Yan recalled that he hadn't met him during the internship. Maybe because he had been an irrelevant excavation member.

On the other hand, why would someone ask him to participate in the excavation of a Ming Dynasty tomb?

"There are still 20 minutes before the doors open. Please wait patiently in the queue. Our staff will provide you with an introduction pamphlet for the event and free drinks." A sweet female voice came from the lobby intercom. Not far in front of Lin Yan, a tall boy who had been playing on a PSP with his head down turned his head and smiled wryly. He said to the person behind him: "The girl's voice is so sweet."

What's peculiar is that this person is wearing a modified Hanfu outfit, tailored to fit his body but with wide sleeves. With his pimples on his face and the PSP in his hand, he looked very strange. Lin Yan glanced around the room and was surprised to find that not only the PSP guy was dressed up, but many others had certain ancient style elements in their outfits. One girl even had her hair curled, and the ebony crested hairpiece swaying down by her sideburns.

Lin Yan stared, bored, outside the glass wall, and a familiar figure in a blue cloth robe caught his eye.

It was the little Daoist priest, squatting by the flowerbed not far away, feeding a lazy big yellow cat with some ham in his hand. The yellow cat curled up with a comfortable look, and his chubby figure resembled a large snail with a lot of privilege.

As soon as the little Daoist looked up, he saw Lin Yan beckoning to him. He threw the rest of the ham to the yellow cat in a hurry and ran into the hall with his schoolbag on his back. Lin Yan stepped out of line, and the cold surrounding him moved with him, although it seemed a little reluctant.

"At least A-Yan is a living person. You don't know how long you've been dead." Lin Yan couldn't help muttering. The series of events such as the exorcism and giving him talismans made Xiao Yu disgusted with this little Daoist priest. Every time in the past week that he had called A-Yan to ask about sending away spirits, well, his reaction was clear.

"Come here and wait." Lin Yan greeted the little Daoist priest who had just rushed into the hall. "It wasn't eating well, so I brought some ham for it." A-Yan was still holding half of the red plastic container in his hand. His face suddenly flushed red and he looked at Lin Yan with bright eyes.

His arm was squeezed by a cold hand and it pulled him away from the little Daoist priest. Lin Yan was already uncomfortably cold by the air conditioner, so he frowned and pushed down Xiao Yu's hand.

The lingering cold leaned against him, and abruptly shook against him. Lin Yan thought he must be really angry. When he looked up, he saw a group of students dressed in ancient costumes coming out of the golden gate of the auditorium. Unlike the people wearing the modified Hanfu costumes, these dozen or so people wore put-together Ming Dynasty outfits. Boys wore blue or white cloth with trimmed edges and silk scarves on their heads. Girls wore outer coats with gold and jade pendants and outer sleeves with beautiful embroidery. Some blouses and moonflower skirts were plainer for everyday Ming women, and some of them dressed as graceful ladies with big red sleeves. They each held a plate. There were small disposable paper cups inside, which the staff brought out to distribute.

Something wasn't right with Xiao Yu. His whole body was trembling against Lin Yan. Lin Yan was startled. He tried not to move his lips too much and asked him in a low voice, "Did you remember something?" Xiao Yu didn't answer, but Lin Yan remembered when he saw the ghost on the computer screen for the first time, he was not wearing a high hat at all, it was a futou.

"I'll take over, you guys go on break," a clear voice rang out. Lin Yan was shocked. A familiar figure stood in the staff's team, with short hair set against the various pieces of brocade. While distributing black tea, she turned around and laughed with her acquaintances. No matter how she changed her style, Lin Yan would never mistake that it was Weiwei.

Lin Yan wanted to lower his head and pretend that he hadn't seen her, but Weiwei had obviously noticed him. After a second of pause, Lin Yan called out and walked straight over to the buffet table. The colours of the rice farmer outfit she wore were interlaced and she was wearing very little makeup. There is a small Hetian seed around her neck, which is kind of chunky and stiff, which made a very natural look.

"Long time no see, are you here alone?" Weiwei smiled and handed a cup of black tea to Lin Yan. "Do you want to join us?"

Straightforward people like Weiwei never took embarrassing memories to heart. Lin Yan couldn’t do it. He always felt that he could never be friends with his past love affairs. Since they broke up, he did his best to avoid any situation where he might run into Weiwei, whether it was class reunions or birthdays, he always went with someone else. Of course, there were times he couldn't escape her, such as right now. Lin Yan reluctantly raised his head, forcing a laugh.

"No, no, I came with A-Yan." Lin Yan's face felt very hot, and he hurriedly pulled the little Daoist priest to hide behind.

Probably because of the little Daoist's strange reputation, Weiwei glanced at A-Yan in surprise. She quickly adjusted her expression, took a cup of black tea from the plate and handed it to A-Yan. She also gave Lin Yan two laminated pamphlets. Shee said: "This is the biggest activity of our club this semester. I have been busy preparing for more than two months. I'm losing my hair from how tired I am."

"Sounds great." Lin Yan's answer was a bit awkward.

"I hope you like it." She grinned.

A team of staff members rushed forward as they called her name. When they saw Weiwei and Lin Yan standing face to face without speaking, they began to mock: "Hey, is this the guy you used to go out with?" Shu Shengfu gave Lin Yan a once-over, shifting their gaze from the plaid shirt with good texture to the CK label on the jeans. He said, "You know how to pick the lookers. Such a nice little boy."

Weiwei didn't get angry. She simply turned around and said calmly: "What kind of look? This was the man I almost married. It doesn't matter what kind of person he is, he will marry into someone else's family." Everyone's face changed into realization in the shift of tone, and there was a wave of awkwardness. Shu Shengfu had a grimace on his face, and he pat Lin Yan on the shoulder. "So that's who you are. You had such an amazing girl get away from you. Too bad we don't have time to catch up" The words were addressed to Lin Yan, but his eyes kept staring at Weiwei.

Lin Yan smiled and said faintly: "If you want to know my methods, it'll be 100 yuan per lesson. Although you should look at my state now to see how it turns out."

There was another burst of laughter. Weiwei was a little embarrassed. She glared at Shu Shengfu and turned her face to Lin Yan and said with a straight face: "Don't pay attention to them, they're just fooling around. By the way, you two don't need to line up here. There are a few rows of seats reserved for the staff. We all have to be on duty at the door and can’t go in. It’ll be a pity for them to be empty, and it doesn't look good for the photos. Go sit there.” She pulled out two blue tickets from the bottom of the pamphlet tray, which were similar to those in Lin Yan's hand, except that there was a small yellow VIP logo in the upper right corner.

Lin Yan instinctively wanted to refuse, but when Weiwei said that there was a question-and-answer session in the lecture, she was too nervous to sit in the front row and talk directly with the professor. He clutched the pamphlet hesitantly but eventually accepted the tickets.

"However. . ." Lin Yan thought for a second: "I need three seats, can I?"

Weiwei glanced sharply at the girl behind Lin Yan. Lin Yan shook his head with a strange expression: "No, my friend hasn't come over yet."

Weiwei asked the girl next to her for a ticket, She seemed reluctant to ask, but she whispered: "Lin Yan, are you. . ."

A large group of well-dressed girls swarmed behind him, and the one who took the lead was surprised when she saw Weiwei, gesturing to the handsome guy that was in front of her. Weiwei glanced at Lin Yan helplessly. She wanted to say something, but Lin Yan suddenly interrupted her: "I'll go now if that's alright. My friends are still waiting for me."

A group of people huddled Weiwei and she continued to hand out drinks. She was a very social person. No matter where she went, people always flocked around her. Lin Yan was the opposite. Although Lin Yan was popular, he felt more at ease alone as opposed to being in the crowd every day. Lin Yan handed the three VIP seat tickets to the little Daoist priest, and the two walked along the red carpet to the staff seats together.

The backstage corridor was completely different from the front hall. The western-style decoration was magnificent. The gilded flowers float across the wall. After staring at them for a while, they seemed to jump off the wall. Lin Yan stroked the wallpaper with a finger, unsure of what to feel. He was a little embarrassed, a little nostalgic, he didn't know what expression he should wear. He wasn't sure what to do with himself.

His life shouldn’t be like this. Lin Yan looked up at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling. He had felt that the world was splitting apart when he and Weiwei broke up half a year ago. In a normal world, he and Weiwei would have been the ideal couple, standing at the door of their home together to welcome their guests. Here, he walked down the corridor alone in a daze, and fell into an abyss behind the main entrance of the lecture hall, falling endlessly to the ground.

The cold fingers touched the back of his hand. He held his wrist a little harder. His thumb slid into the palm of his hand and opened his fist, giving his hand a light squeeze. Lin Yan paused and sighed, his fingers curling back around the other's hand. It was as if holding Xiao Yu's hand was natural. It was cold, firm and slender, like holding a piece of porcelain. Xiao Yu turned around and wrapped Lin Yan's right hand in his palm. He didn't know why he suddenly felt so calm. He thought it was always good for someone to stand by him through the most embarrassing moments, regardless of whether or not that person had been dead for almost 500 years.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei

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gizkasparadise · 4 years

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cdrama rec: goodbye, my princess

Master drama rec list.

Series: goodbye, my princess / the eastern palace Episodes: 52 (regular) 55 (director’s cut--this is the version i watched) Genres: tragedy, romance, train wreck, historical, political, costume porn, scenery porn Spoilers in the Rec: for the set-up If You Like, You’ll Like: “what are you going to do, stab me?” says man stabbed, moon lovers but make it worse, empress ki, a show where literally every love confession ends with someone using a knife, a v fucked up deconstruction of the “runaway princess” trope

Rank: 9.5/10

^ yes this looks v. healthy, soak those clothes in the cold water of the river styx it’ll be fine

PREMISE

xiaofeng is a very bubbly and naive princess from western liang state, where she’s grown up happy and sheltered. her father is pro-peace with the li empire, and makes an arranged marriage for her to their crown prince. being a Precocious Naive Young Royal with a certified Thing for her teacher, gu jian (who seems Stoic but is actually a Softie), she eventually convinces him to run away with her so she can avoid the marriage.

little does she know that gu jian is actually a sleeper agent for a disgraced family of the li empire who are willing to do anything to get power VENGEANCE honor again.

wow, this will be fun she said. this will be good, she said.

meanwhile...

prince li chengyin, the 5th prince, is accompanying his elder brother, the crown prince, to western liang in order to broker a marriage with their princess. on the way they are ambushed by what look like members of the danchi--a nomadic, warrior state. the crown prince is killed, and the 5th prince is left for dead. eventually, chengyin makes his way to western liang, where he learns about the history of his mother’s family, the gus, and meets his cousin gu jian. together, they vow for power VENGEANCE honor as well as a way to uncover the truth about the murder of the crown prince

one way to do that is to figure out a way to infiltrate the danchi

conveniently, gu jian knows a runaway princess whose grandfather is their leader.

ope. i came out here to have a good time

gu jian and chengyin conspire to have chengyin pose as gu jian’s Totally Normal Cousin Who is Definitely Not An Enemy Royal as they help the princess “run away” from an unwanted marriage to the “safety” of her grandfather’s people.

ah. ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. hah.

MAIN CHARACTERS

xiaofeng

our titular princess!!! omg does she have a wild fucking ride of character development. happy and sheltered! oh no. oh no. oh, god. happy again! oh god. no. oh fuck.

she’s awesome. growing up in the desert (her father’s people) and the steppe (her mother’s people), xiaofeng’s lived a pretty great life of mischief and riding horses. incredibly kind and extroverted, she makes friends everywhere and a lot of them are women and that is Awesome. not a mean bone in her body. wine-child who likes to cross dress. cdrama’s best dressed.

prince li chengyin / gu xiaowu

the 5th prince of the li empire and wants power VENGEANCE honor for his momma. he infiltrates xiaofeng’s Runaway Marriage Camping Trip in the hopes of uncovering military secrets of the danchi, to get vengeance for his brother and also some military merit so he can get more vengeance. 2 vengeances for one betrayal--sweet deal. however, on the way to the danchi, he hardcore falls for xiaofeng even though he’s lowkey trying to bring about devastation for her family. ruh oh.

falls in love with the Mark, betrays people constantly and then wonders why they’re mad at him. the show/narrative never, at any point, tries to hide the fact that he is making some Severely Fucked Up Decisions and it’s amazing. genuinely loves xiaofeng very, very much. epitome of “you made your bed now lie in it.”

gu jian

xiaofeng’s teacher and also her first love. he has feelings for her back, but he’s Bound by Duty to the gu family and subsequentially the li empire. he chooses duty, and orchestrates the meeting between xiaofeng and chengyin “xiaowu” in order to get chengyin in the door to the danchi tribe. he then watches them fall in love, fully knowing the fucked up shit that’s about to go down and how much pain it will cause xiaofeng.

wears oversized scarves because a dude’s gotta accessorize. dramatically observes people from tall places like a sailor moon villain. whistle baby whistle baby let him know

SOME SUPPORT CHARACTERS SELECTED BY HOW MUCH THEY ARE MY FAVORITES

a’du

Q U E E N. a member of the danchi tribe, and xiaofeng’s best friend and bodyguard and girlfriend. xiaofeng says punch and a’du says how hard. the two of them are ride or die together, and a’du would do anything for xiaofeng. does not approve of any of her boyfriends in any capacity because LMAO she has eyes.

general pei

the Strong, Silent type and a general who is loyal to the li empire and serves chengyin. he befriends xiaofeng and genuinely cares about her. she teaches him the flute and he plays it for her whenever she’s sad and it’s precious :(. unclear whether or not his feelings for her are platonic or romantic, but it’s all v Pure and Well-Meaning. the ladies love him

he shi

(far right) a’du’s brother and the danchi’s best warrior. look he’s barely in this but i have a thing for friendly giants and this one plays the flute

mi luo

spy-turned-bar owner from western liang, who becomes one of xiaofeng’s best friends. she’s just a really cool lady and she keeps everyone absolutely hammered throughout the story, which they all need. to cope.

OTHER SUPPORT CHARACTERS THAT ARE NOT MY FAVORITES BUT ARE IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT AND/OR I WAS TOO LAZY TO MAKE A SCREENCAP OF

zhao se se. a noblewoman in the li empire who has been in love with chenglin forever

the empress. basically every cdrama empress you’ve ever encountered. moving on.

khan tömür. ACTUALLY one of my favorites but i was too lazy to get a screencap. xiaofeng’s grandpa and leader of the danchi. loves his grand daughter so, so much. does not approve of any of her boyfriends either because he also has eyes.

ming yue. a famous courtesan in the li empire who xiaofeng later befriends. she’s a perfectly fine character i was just bored w/ her subplot.

gao yuming. every Evil Minister you’ve seen in a cdrama, although he gets extra points for having one of the most annoying, blatantly evil voices of all time

second prince, li chengye. i actually liked him a lot too. the crown prince after the first crown prince dies, chengyin’s brother. anything else is spoilers

Drawbacks

there were a couple of subplots that i had 0 interest in, which is what kept this from being a perfect 10 for me. i didn’t care about anything related to minister gao + the empress, but that’s admittedly because im not all that into palace politics. the ming yue stuff was also not that interesting to me because i’ve seen that subplot a billion times.

nothing else enjoy the fucking ride.

Reasons to Watch.

this show makes no secret that it’s not going to be a good time. you jump in fully aware that it’s a tragedy and knowing that ahead of time makes it so much better. you see chengyin start to gradually lose his shit and it’s amazing. it’s so good.

character development! almost every character grows (or destructs) based on what’s happening around them and i was really impressed with it. xiaofeng’s in particular.

ACTING. omg both the leads killed it. you can see the switches flip and it p much defines the show-not-tell i love it

music! it’s really pretty ;;

FEMALE FRIENDSHIPS. FEMALE FRIENDSHIPS EVERYWHERE. xiaofeng makes so many friends and it warms my heart

if you’re into fucked up romances that also have moments of genuine cuteness/softness this is 100% your thing

The Aesthetic. costumes and scenery are on point, behold a parade of images:

(the Red Dress is iconic but this ^ is actually my favorite costume of hers)

Final Thoughts

#goodbye my princess #the eastern palace #chen xing xu #peng xiaoran #shawn wei #cdrama #gizka does kdrama #gizkarec #i should change that tag lmao i watch way more cdrama than i used to #!my post #enjoy hell everyone

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skepticalcatfrog · 4 years

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Aurora High School (Introduction Part One)

Introduction Part One Introduction Part Two Masterpost

Summary: After starting their junior year in high school, the Jones twins find themselves meeting new people, setting them on a track towards new friendships, new romances, new heartbreaks, and many new adventures.

Pairings: (Eventual) Scarlett Jones x Finian de Seel, Tyler Jones x Saedii Gilwraeth, and Aurora O'Malley x Kaliis Gilwraeth

Word count: 4,708

Author's Notes: This is the new project I've been raving about! I've been very into this book series lately, and I was feeling inspired. However, this won't be like my other two projects, so it won't be in the regular rotation! Instead of being a chaptered fic, this is going to be a series of oneshots that gets developed as people request ideas. I do have some more ideas up my sleeve, but I will be accepting requests very soon!

Important Author's Notes: This story contains a character who uses a wheelchair. I did do some research, but since I don't experience it, it's virtually impossible for me to be an expert on this topic. If you are more knowledgeable about this than I might be, and you notice an inaccuracy, please let me know what it is and I'll try to fix it!

It was a Friday in October. October was one of the best times of the year in the opinion of one Scarlett Jones. It was after September, so everyone had already gotten used to being at school. But it wasn't quite December yet, so you could go outside without having to wear eight jackets. Plus the slightly warmer fall months were some of the best times of the year for fashion, and Scarlett would know. She had plenty of experience in that field. The amounts of people wearing scarves and sweaters increased tenfold, which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on the rest of their outfits.

But the fashion habits of her classmates didn't really matter, despite the fact that she could go on and on about the topic. What mattered slightly more was the fact that her brother was desperately trying to get her attention as they approached the school.

"Scar? Scarlett?" Tyler waved his hand in front of his sister's face.

"Hm?" She quirked an eyebrow. "I wasn't listening, what was that?"

Tyler rolled his eyes and adjusted the way his backpack was resting on his shoulder. "I was saying that I need you to tell Coach de Stoy that I can't make practice tonight. I've got too much work to catch up on, and I don't want to fall behind this early in the year."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Mr. Tyler Jones, star player on the football team, passing all his classes with flying colors." Scarlett nudged her brother, not hard enough to hurt, but just hard enough to be a little annoying. "Careful, or you'll make everyone feel bad about themselves."

"Oh shut up." Tyler smiled, standing up a little bit taller to look for someone in the crowd of people flooding through the front doors. When he spotted her, he raised his hand high above his head and waved.

Cat Brannock slowed down her walk to fall into step alongside the twins. Somehow, despite the cool and cloudy weather, she was still wearing a short sleeved shirt that showed off the tattoos on her arms. She had the most tattoos of any high schooler Scarlett had ever seen. But they were very well done, so she could understand why her friend wanted them to be visible. Cat had skipped the 5th grade, so she was a senior even though the Joneses were juniors. She was already looking towards college. Neither of the twins were looking forward to her leave. It would be weird to not have her around all the time, the three of them were rarely very far apart since they'd met in kindergarten. But they couldn't really do much to stop her from going, after all, college was what she wanted.

"Hey, kids." Cat smirked. "Let me guess, Tyler's fretting over his errands and Scar's making fun of him for it?" She gestured to each person as she mentioned them.

"Just the daily routine." Scarlett winked, linking elbows with her friend.

Cat laughed. "Do you two ever get tired of doing the same shit every day?"

"Never. Routines are what lead to mastery." Tyler said proudly.

"Just say 'practice makes perfect', Ty." Scar shook her head. "If you try to get too fancy with your words, no one's going to know what you're talking about."

"That's easy for you to say, no one ever knows what you're talking about." Tyler retorted. Scarlett stuck her tongue out at him. "It's not my fault that-"

Tyler was cut off by a girl bumping into him. She'd been very absorbed in whatever she was doing on her phone, so she didn't see him coming. The shock of bumping into someone made her look up, giving the rest of them a better look at her face. The first thing you'd notice about her would be that she had a streak of white dyed in her otherwise black hair. The second thing you'd notice would be that one of her eyes was dark brown, and the other one was really light blue. Almost colorless. She hugged her notebooks close to her chest.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going. I should've been watching." She apologized sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine. I should've been paying attention too." Tyler shrugged.

"Oh… thanks." The girl looked slightly confused, as if she expected someone as intimidating-looking as Tyler to react less calmly. But despite his appearance, he was practically the human embodiment of a golden retriever. "Well, I should really get to class."

And just like that, the mystery girl was gone. Scarlett couldn't help but notice that she'd never seen that girl before. It wouldn't have been surprising if she just didn't like to be the center of attention. Or maybe they just didn't have any of the same classes. Either way, Scar would be lying if she said that she wasn't intrigued.

A few minutes later, Scarlett and Tyler were sitting at their desks in the first class of the day while the morning announcements droned on in the background. Scarlett knew the girl who did them every day. Her name was Zila Madran, she'd been Scarlett's tutor in freshman year. They still talked occasionally, but they ran in very different circles, so they didn't see each other often. Eventually, the announcements ended, and the second bell rang. The first bell was always more of a warning, like 'okay, you'd better at least be in the building'. But the second bell was the 'get your asses to class' bell. And if you were still in the hallway after the second bell, then you were screwed.

Scarlett was fully prepared to fully zone out and stare at a guy across the room for the entirety of class, until of course Miss Mystery walked in. She looked like she was going to just sit down at a free desk and call it a day, but the teacher stopped her.

"Ah, Miss O' Malley! I see you've found your way here. Class, this is the new student, Aurora O' Malley. She will be joining us for the remainder of the year." The teacher explained. "Please make her feel welcome."

Oh, so she's a new kid. Scarlett thought to herself. That's why I haven't seen her around before.

Frankly, Aurora looked quite embarrassed after the surprise introduction. Maybe Scarlett had been right about her not enjoying the spotlight. Whatever the case, that was the last interesting thing that happened for the entire rest of class. The rest of it was spent going over poetry… or was it a play? She wasn't paying any kind of attention, it could've been fractions and decimals for all she knew, despite the fact that they were in English class. She didn't need to know about Shakespeare and all of his friends, it wasn't like she was ever going to meet them. She had better things to do anyway.

Time ticked by slowly. Scarlett was sure she almost dozed off once or twice. She was only fully awake again when the bell rang, then she practically jumped out of her seat. It only took her a minute to put her notebook and pen back into her bag, but by the time she'd finished, Tyler was already talking to Aurora. Scarlett listened in on their conversation.

"I was just wondering if maybe you could show me around?" Aurora asked. "I know we don't know each other too well, but you're the only person I've talked to all day, and I get lost really easily around here."

"Sure. This place is like a maze to anyone new, so I'd be happy to show you the ropes." Tyler nodded.

"Well that was fast. I didn't even have to tell you that you get to skip two class periods." Aurora smiled.

That had Scarlett's interest piqued. It wasn't that she didn't like school, but she was feeling especially done with the world that day. A two-period break sounded like exactly what she needed. "Do you mind if I tag along?"

"Oh, um, sure." Aurora nodded. She looked back at Tyler. "You know her, right? I saw you guys walking together this morning."

"Yeah, I know her. This is my sister, Scarlett." Tyler gestured to his sister.

"Nice to meet you." Scarlett smiled. "I like your hair, by the way."

"Thanks." Aurora looked a little surprised at the compliment, but not in a bad way. It had done a good job of breaking the ice.

The next two hours were okay, if not slightly boring. Scarlett had severely overestimated how fun this would be. She was at least glad that their absence from class was officially excused. That was the bright side. The first place they went was the multi-purpose lab, which was used for most of the science classes. Next, they went to all of the important classrooms. Math, Social Studies, the works. Then on to the important but less necessary rooms, like the auditorium, the cafeteria, and the gym. They only briefly went over the principal's office, figuring that she had to have been there already. Just as they were finishing their tour, the bell rang to signify the end of period three. Students began flooding out of classrooms.

"And I guess that's all we have time for." Tyler clapped his hands once. "Welcome to Aurora High School."

"You know, I just realized how weird it's going to be to go to a school that I share a name with." Aurora glanced at a nearby banner that had the school's name on it.

"You'll get used to it eventually." Scarlett tapped her on the shoulder.

For a moment, things were looking up. Their little tour was over and done with, there were only six periods left in the day, and Scarlett had gotten to miss math and a study hall, one of which was one of her least favorite classes. But that little bit of optimism was quickly shot down. As the three of them rounded a corner, everything exploded into a burst of noise and motion. Faster than you could blink, a fight had broken out. It had to be about four or five guys, all beating the absolute shit out of each other. It didn't take long for a crowd to gather. Tyler took it upon himself to see what was going on. He pushed through all the people to get to the center of things.

"Hey! What's going on here?" Tyler barely had time to finish his sentence before he got decked in the face. Apparently this group didn't take kindly to people trying to mediate things.

Aurora gasped as Tyler was dragged into the fight. Scarlett felt for her. It was only her first day, and things were already going wrong. That must not have made her feel too good. Her mismatched eyes darted back and forth as she tried to keep up with all the flying fists. Scarlett suspected that she'd never seen a real fight before. She looked nervous.

"I'll… I'll catch up with you later." Aurora decided, turning around and speed-walking away. Scarlett watched her leave.

When she turned to face the action again, she saw Principal Adams making his way through the crowd. Three of the guys had fled the scene, leaving just Tyler and one other boy to take the blame. She didn't know who the second guy was, but he was taller than Tyler, which wasn't the easiest thing to be.

"What do you two think you're doing?" Adams crossed his arms.

"I'm sorry sir. I was just trying to stop the fight, I swear." Tyler's shoulders sagged. The other boy stayed eerily quiet, but still stood tall, seemingly not as ashamed of himself as Tyler was.

"Yes, well, joining in on the fight isn't really stopping it." Adams shook his head. "I'm afraid I'll need both of you to pay a visit to my office." He looked around at the rest of the students. "The rest of you, get to class. There's nothing to see here anymore."

It took a minute for everyone to leave, but eventually they did, until the last one left was Scarlett. "Ty, do you want me to come with you?"

Tyler nodded. Whenever possible, if they had to face a potentially scary situation, they would do it together. It had been that way since they were little kids. At that point, it had become a reflex for them to ask if the other needed support.

"Alright Miss Jones, you can come, but I will need to talk to these two separately. You weren't a part of the fight, so you don't have to be a part of the punishment." Adams told her. He began walking away, and the three of them followed.

A moment later, they found themselves in the waiting room of the principal's office. Tyler and the other boy sat next to each other on one end of the room, and Scarlett sat next to a different boy on the other end. Tyler mostly just stared at the floor, but he would occasionally glance at the guy next to him. This dude was very tall. Even Tyler was pretty intimidated, and that was completely unrelated to the fact that he'd just been beaten up by this guy. He had long black hair and dark blue eyes. He looked like someone straight out of a fantasy novel. And apparently, he was also very attentive, because he noticed Tyler looking at him.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" The boy asked. His voice was deep and serious, and he had a faint accent that Tyler couldn't quite place.

"Oh. No, not really." Tyler offered his hand. "I'm Tyler, by the way."

"I am aware. My name is Kaliis, though my friends call me Kal." The boy answered, not shaking Ty's hand and instead opting to ignore it.

"You put up a real fight back there, Kal. Do you do sports?" Tyler asked him.

"I don't participate in school sports, no. I take fencing lessons outside of school." Kal said.

"Cool." Tyler nodded appreciatively. "But if you ever wanted to join the football team, I'm sure we'd be able to find a spot for you."

Kal smiled, but just a little. It was barely noticeable. "My sister would kill me if I joined the football team. She thinks all of you are buffoons."

"Wow, harsh." Tyler laughed. "But hey, no harm no foul. Do you have any paper I could use?"

"I don't. Why do you ask?" Kal raised an eyebrow.

"I'll write down my number, maybe we could hang out sometime." Tyler looked around for a second, then got up to grab a napkin and a pen. He wrote down his name and phone number, then handed the napkin to Kal. "There you go."

"Thank you." Kal folded the napkin up and put it into his pocket. They both looked up as the door to the principal's office opened.

"Tyler Jones? Kaliis Gilwraeth? You can come in." Adams gestured for them to follow him, and they did.

Scarlett had been eavesdropping on Tyler and Kal's entire conversation. It seemed like Tyler had made a new friend, which was good. And also strange, given the fact that they'd met during a fist fight. But good nonetheless. However, when they vanished into the principal's office, she became eternally bored. She turned to look at the boy next to her. He was busy scrolling through the homepage of some website on his phone. She couldn't quite tell what it was, so she looked up at his face instead. He was quite possibly the palest person she had ever seen. It looked like the sun had never touched his skin. His hair was a light, light blond to match. The only thing that threw off his whole snow prince vibe were his eyes, which were such a dark brown that they almost looked black. She couldn't tell the difference between his irises and pupils. He wasn't the most impressive guy she'd ever seen, but all things considered, he was a little attractive.

"Whatcha doing?" Scarlett asked, leaning towards him and resting on the arm of her chair.

"Checking notifications. I've been in here for a hot minute and Adams still hasn't found time for me." The boy shook his head. "I guess two guys beating each other up is more important than little old me."

"Well what are you in for?" Scarlett brushed her hair out of her face.

"Someone locked three teachers' car keys into their cars. They assumed it was me because I kept leaving class." He shrugged.

"I'm going to take a wild guess: it was you, wasn't it?" She smiled.

"Oh, yeah, totally." He laughed. "Frankly, I would've been intimidated if it wasn't. I like to think that I'm the only guy in this whole school who can pull off a stunt that awesome."

"How did you do it?" Scar crossed her legs.

"You ask a lot of questions. This isn't an interrogation, is it? Did Adams put you up to this?" The boy smirked. He switched the tab on his phone to a time killer game.

"Don't worry, I'm not a secret agent. I'm just curious." She said coyly. The boy's smile dropped. He looked genuinely surprised that anyone would actually want to listen to him, which made her feel kind of bad. But she would've felt worse if he was actually looking at her instead of at his phone. "Anyway, what do you do around here? Outside of this room, I mean."

"I'm on the tech crew for the school play. I used to go to robotics club too, but I dropped out after I realized that I was making everyone feel bad about themselves." And just like that, his sarcastic facade was back up.

"With what, your skills in robotics or your charming personality?" Scarlett retorted.

"Why can't it be both?" He pointed out.

"It can be both when you tell me what I'm supposed to call you." She countered. "I'm Scarlett. Scarlett Jones."

"Touché." He turned off his phone for the first time since they'd started talking, and looked up at her. The moment he saw her face, his eyes widened and he sputtered like a broken engine for a moment before finding his words. "I'm single. Are you Fin?"

Scarlett tried her absolute best to hold back a laugh. This was something she'd witnessed many times before. He'd been trying to ask if she was single, but had failed miserably. "I'm actually not Fin, but I think you might be."

"...Oh." Fin realized his mistake. He shook his head a little to get himself back on track. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm Fin. Finian if you want to be fancy about it. Or Finian de Karran-de Seel if you're mad at me."

"I'll try not to be mad at you then, because that's a mouthful." Scarlett nudged his shoulder with her own.

Fin shrugged. "Yeah, it's hyphenated. It almost never fits on the line when I have to write my name on an assignment."

Scarlett smiled. "I'll tell you what, how about I put my number into that phone of yours, and I'll text you later?"

"Sure." Fin was quick to open up his contacts and hand over his phone.

"Do you have a habit of handing your phone to complete strangers?" Scar asked, typing in her name and number. The phone looked very new, and very expensive. There was no denying that.

"Not always. But one time I gave my phone to one of my cousins expecting him to give it back right away, and he didn't give it back for eight days. He's older than me, so I couldn't really do anything about it, but my mom and aunts got mad at him." Fin rambled. "He's kind of an ass, to be honest. Not to mention that I owe him a favor from one time when he washed the dishes for me. He's been holding it over my head for weeks. And I borrowed twenty bucks from him, so I owe him that too."

Scarlett handed his phone back to him, and just as he finished talking, the door opened. Tyler and Kal stepped out. Fin looked them over and let out a low whistle. Scarlett decided to do a science experiment, and glanced at him. He was checking out her brother. She made a mental note of that.

"Have you been chatting it up out here, Scar?" Tyler asked.

"Maybe." She stood up. "Don't worry, he didn't ask me out."

"You say that as if I would assume that he did." Tyler smiled. Scarlett conducted another experiment, knowing that Ty's smile had quite the fanbase. Fin was leaning back in his chair, eyes slightly widened. Yeah, he was definitely checking out her brother.

The door to the principal's office opened a second time, and Adams poked his head out. "Finian de Karran-de Seel?"

"Well would you look at that. I guess our time together has come to an end." Fin started to go towards the door. "But I'll see you around, hopefully."

Scarlett hadn't noticed before, but when he moved, she saw that Fin was in a wheelchair. She hadn't taken the time to really look, so she'd just assumed he was sitting in the same kind of chair that she was. She'd assumed that he was just wearing gloves because he liked them. Evidently, she was wrong. It was honestly pretty interesting, and she had plenty of questions, but figured that it would probably be best not to ask them. They'd only known each other for about fifteen minutes, it wasn't necessarily time to get super personal.

"Yeah. I'll text you later." Scarlett waved to him, and he waved back.

Then she, Kal, and Tyler left the office. As soon as the door closed behind them, Tyler let out a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad we're out of there. I don't know how much longer I could deal with Adams' 'disappointed' look."

"What'd he say?" Scarlett asked.

"He said that he was not mad, only disappointed, and that the two of us should have known better." Kal explained briefly.

"We got off with a week's worth of after school detention, starting Monday." Tyler frowned.

"Who would've thought! Star student Tyler Jones, in detention? Unbelievable." Scarlett pretended to be indignant.

"I know, it's not-" Tyler caught on to her sarcasm. "Oh, okay, I get it. But don't expect my sympathy if you ever get detention for a week."

"I wasn't expecting it anyway, you absolute child." She tapped him on the shoulder.

"Scarlett, you are three minutes older than me." Tyler said, gesturing with his hands out of frustration.

"Yup, three very long and important minutes." Scarlett nodded. "I'm glad you're with me on this one."

"I feel like this is not a conversation that I need to be a part of." Kal decided.

"Yeah, probably not, but we still like having you around." Scarlett winked jokingly.

The three of them walked down the hallway together, parting ways only when they had to go to their separate classes. Tyler had gym, Kal had math, and Scarlett had social studies. It was one of the only classes that she actually enjoyed going to. It might seem strange to some people, considering the rest of her personality, but history had always fascinated her. She liked learning about different conflicts and how they were solved. That was why she joined the debate team. She liked arguing when she knew it wasn't for real, and she was very persuasive.

Periods five, six, seven, eight, and nine crawled by slowly. When your day had been as exciting as Scarlett's had, anything less interesting was boring. After social studies was art. Then lunch. After that was science. And finally, gym. She hated going home after gym, because her hair and makeup would always get messed up, then she had to go on the bus that way. She wished that Coach de Stoy would let them take a few minutes after class to get cleaned up, but instead the class always went right to the bell. It was annoying. Plus, then she had to run to the bus every day, which was like a second gym class.

The bus ride home wasn't very eventful, thankfully. Usually there would be at least someone in the back yelling, or playing their music too loud, but not that day. And frankly, it was very refreshing.

When Scarlett and Tyler got home, they took off their bags and jackets and hung them on the hooks by the door. It was quiet for a moment, but not a long moment.

"Welcome home, you two." A voice called from the living room.

"Hey, Adams." The twins responded in unison.

They'd been living with Principal Adams since their father died when they were kids. The two had been close friends, and since their mother wasn't around, he was the next highest choice. The Joneses were also the only ones with permission to call him by only his last name. They usually tried to keep school and home separate, except for a few rare occasions. That day was one of those occasions. Upon walking into the living room, Tyler got another one of those disappointed parent looks. Scarlett took this opportunity to sneak upstairs.

"Tyler. Why, exactly, did you think that trying to intervene in a fight was the right choice?" Adams asked, putting down the book that he was reading.

"I don't know, they were really hurting each other! I had to do something!" Tyler raised his voice a little.

"You don't need to get upset with me. I'm not upset with you. I'm just worried about you." Adams clarified. Tyler pulled up a chair to sit across from him. "Sometimes you do have to try to help. But you also have to pick your battles."

Tyler sighed. "I understand."

"Good. That's all I needed from you." Adams picked up the book again. Tyler put the chair back and went upstairs to his room.

He sat down on his bed and picked up his phone from where it had been charging on the nightstand all day. He never brought it to school, it was a distraction. Upon opening it, he saw that he had a message from a few hours ago.

Kal G: Hello. This is Kal.

Tyler added him to his contacts and slid the notification away, then moved on. He opened up the chat he had with Scarlett.

Tyler J: Adams gave me a talking to.

Tyler J: I thought the talk today at school was enough, but I guess not.

Scarlett J: Is he mad?

Tyler J: He said no, but I think he is.

Scarlett J: Maybe if we get out of the house for a while, you'll feel better?

Scarlett J: Fresh air could be good, we should go to the park.

Tyler J: Could we invite some friends?

Scarlett J: Yeah, you text some people and I'll text some people.

Scarlett J: Meet me downstairs in 5?

Tyler J: Got it.

Tyler hit send on the last message, then switched chats. He sent messages to Kal, Aurora, and Cat.

Tyler J: Scarlett and I are going to the park, want to come with?

He got responses from each of them in no time.

Kal G: I am free for the rest of the day. I will have to bring my sister though, if that's alright.

Cat B: I bet I'll get there faster than you.

Aurora O'M: Can you tell me which one? If so, I'll be there.

After quickly responding to each of them, he got up and put his phone in his pocket. He speed-walked down the stairs and grabbed his sweatshirt. Scarlett was already waiting for him, having donned a light jacket and scarf. She was using her phone camera to reapply her lipstick when Tyler came down. After a final touch-up, she zipped her phone into her jacket pocket and smiled at her brother.

"Ready to go?" She asked.

"Ready." Tyler nodded. Then, they were out the door and on their way to the park.

Taglist: @taco-taco-belle

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nomadmilk · 5 years

Text

Why the God Isn’t Bored on Midgard - Loki x F!Reader Drabble

Summary: ... It was all because he saw you.

Word Count: 2K (yIkEs)

Warnings: None? Partying? Jerk ex-boyfriend?

Author’s Note: I don’t know why this sounds like an essay... Maybe because I’ve written a lot in the past 3 years so it’s kind of pouring out onto my creative writing too?... This is also post-Ragnarok with IW & Endgame non-existent... Let me know if I should continue this, cause’, I mean, the end of this sounds like it’s going to be in chapters... I’m just stuck between Loki smut chapters or one-shots *Shrugs*... Hope you like, anyway ^^. Also, as of 02.06.2019, it’s been edited slightly, cause some parts bugged me ToT

Here’s the links to the next parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 (First Half) Part 8.5 (Second Half) Part 9

Thor had been busy trying to find homes for his people, alongside Brunnhilde and Bruce, and, whilst Loki did his part as Prince of Asgard to help as much as he could, Thor knew the nature of his brother. Since his reappearance on Earth, Nick Fury and Stephen Strange had made regular visits to him since his arrival.

Obviously, they didn’t trust him due to past events, despite Thor’s protest of his good behaviour and little evidence of this. On the other hand, Loki was pretty sure he was on good terms with himself now.

He realised that humans forget as fast as they lived, compared to Asgard and Asgardians. He was able to sit in libraries and cafes without getting any harassment for what he did in New York. After a few days or so, he was quickly able to find a café he could attend. After a few more times of visiting them, the employees had begun remembering his order.

He sat down on his usual spot; an area where the café was able to open its walls and extend itself with a roof hood to provide shade for the customers. He positioned his seat halfway underneath the extended roof of the place, and halfway inside the shop, where he could enjoy the outdoor Summer weather without being amongst the crowd that it brought about. His feet would cross, legs spread, and his book rested in one of his hands. His coffee would be brought over, and he’d dip his head in gratitude before taking a sip of his drink.

Although on one day, he got distracted by a woman; her tears were flowing over her cheeks, but she was listening intently to the person opposite her… Her brother? Her boyfriend?

After surveying for a while, Loki guessed that it definitely was her boyfriend; she had tried to hold his hand, but he had swiftly avoided her touch by leaning back into his chair.

Despite the short distraction, he thought nothing of it at the time. It just confirmed a quality all humans seemed to have; attachment to sentimentality.

As he left, and a waiter awkwardly brought over one crying girl two hot drinks, Loki could finally tear his eyes away from the situation and back into his book, although, he had lost where he was on the page.

Being on Earth, without bringing hostility from anyone, became a bit dull, and Loki wasn’t sure of what to do with the spare time he had besides reading a good book, and having a hot beverage. When Thor made it mandatory to attend one of the Avengers outings, Loki absolutely protested. He almost got away from the occasion, but Brunnhilde had punched his copycat illusion of himself so hard that his real self could feel it in the library he was in.

So, Loki went socialising, to a club with the people he once fought quite violently with. Before anything, he was warned by a lot of people to not get into any trouble, and so, with a gritted smile, he followed his brother to a large building with booming thuds of music and lights blinking in and out of the windows. They were escorted through by bodyguards managing through a sea of people, some of which recognised the famous faces. As the Avengers gave waves, and Tony Stark couldn’t help but take pictures with some of them, it made the trip through the club slower, and annoying, and the more agonising for Loki. He couldn’t hear anything or anyone, and just wanted to focus on walking with the others to go where they were meant to go.

And then he saw you, again.

You had not noticed the Avengers, not bothered to take a picture with any of them. None of it seemed to make you pay attention as you were clearly distracted by the beat of the club song. He was surprised he recognised you; the last time he saw you, your hair was tied in a low bun, you were wearing a woolly jumper, and your face was blotched in red with all the sobbing you had done. But tonight, you had completely transformed; a dress that fitted you, your hair was styled, and your face no longer blotched from the tears.

There was a man, not the boyfriend, dancing really close behind you, and you welcomed it by clasping his arms around your waist.

The notion kept his eyes on you; your lips were covered with a matte red lip, and they spread to a smile. He saw your head lean back and rest on the man’s shoulder, closing your eyes in full bliss.

Loki couldn’t tear his eyes off you this time. This was different. He couldn’t remember exactly when he last saw you, but it wasn’t too long ago. Your break-up seemed terrible for you, and now you’re out here, grinding against a man you don’t know, as if there was nothing bothering you at all. The way you were swaying and in rhythm to the music; it was a careless, and a messy solution to an otherwise meaningless problem.

On the other hand, it was almost chaotic, and began to intrigue him about humans.

“Loki, get a move on.”

He feels Thor’s familiar grab hold onto his arm, and he drags them to where everyone else is. Loki had ordered a glass of red, which was mediocre compared to drinks he had on Asgard. The room they were in was a balcony with glass walls, where it was quieter and a more tolerable atmosphere than the one beneath them. He settled himself in a corner, checking on the people below as the rest of his group mingled. He scanned the floor, flitting his eyes through some faces.

It was way past midnight. He was tired and tipsy; although, not as tipsy as the others. Thor, as per usual, could handle is liquor along with Captain America. On the other hand, the spy, the marksman, and Tony Stark, especially, had to be carried out by the others, and Loki had to do his part by opening the doors for all of them.

As Tony’s bodyguard pulled over in a large vehicle, he caught you one last time for the evening, leaning against a wall, the man’s body pressed close to you. The sober Avengers were busy trying to put the drunk Avengers into the car, so Loki knew he has a bit of time to check up on what you’re up to.

He sees you frown and jerk your head away as the man leans in for you. Usually, Loki wouldn’t think about other people’s business, but he felt his blazer collar tighten. He loosened it, unbuttoning the coat, beginning to stride towards you.

But then he sees it; you punch him in the face, keeling from the pain from your knuckles. The man laughs, and Loki’s strides become longer and faster, until another thing.

He sees you knee the man in the worst place possible, and Loki couldn’t help but flinch and stop in his tracks. He watches, the man shouting profanities at you, as you hail a taxi and go into the first one the pulls over.

In all of Loki’s weeks on Earth, nothing has ever made him smirk as wide as you had made him.

“Hey! Gothic Gandalf!” Stark’s voice made Loki’s eyes roll. The billionaire was slurring and didn’t have very good nicknames because of it. “You better not be doing some trouble!”

When the night was over, the next day Nick Fury arrived at the tower for his regular examination of Loki’s behaviour. So, after a couple questions, and a scrutiny of his behaviour in the past few days, he had agreed to lessen his visits now that Loki had worked out to be a functional civilian.

“You’re ready for a house.” Nick said. “But it’ll be chosen by us and monitored by us.”

Thor agreed with a smile. “Well, it’s something.”

“Might as well just put me in a prison.” Loki replied.

“Well,” Nick stirred his coffee, “that is Plan B.”

A week later, Loki, Thor and Nick went through several estate agents to find an apartment. They entered a few buildings within the city, however they all had to meet to an agreement; Nick wanted to make sure that the place wasn’t close t anything that could give Loki any ideas, Thor just wanted to know if it’s within distance with his house he was planning to get, and Loki just wanted to know why he couldn’t just stay with his brother because all the places he saw was not to his standard of living.

By the time they got to the seventh building, it was at a quaint corner of the city, ad Loki had long decided that he wasn’t going to agree until Fury had actually taken the time and been aware of his terms.

The place was the most decent than the others. He couldn’t hear any neighbours, the floors were evenly spaced, so that guaranteed even living in one of the apartments meant that he could get a decent night’s sleep, and that meant he didn’t have to conjure up anything to fix noise problems.

The Landlord of the place was really overselling it; he flourished in hand movements and waffled in adjectives that complimented the building; he could have just stated that all the apartments had new bathrooms instead of explaining it over five flights of stairs.

He unlocks the door, letting the three of them in. “And, here is the apartment.”

The apartment was occupied with books, a television, a soft sofa, a couple of shoes on the side of the shoe rack, some scarves and jackets on pegs, and the kitchen was sectioned out by a counter, and had a jarring pale orange and black colour scheme.

As the landlord gave information to Fury, who took interest for him, Loki was not impressed.

“It’s a good apartment – that’s the bathroom over there, looking beautiful – and this-“ the landlord opens another door. “And this is the bedroom.”

As soon as the landlord opened the door to the next room, Loki couldn’t believe what he was seeing; it was you, again.

Your expression was in absolute ire and bewilderment the moment they had opened the door. You begin to raise your voice at the landlord, and the landlord begins to save face by angrily putting a front.

Thor crosses his arms, watching you increasing in anger at a situation you weren’t prepared for. “I don’t think this place would be good for you, brother.”

Loki was still stunned by your presence; you were beginning to shout, and Nick Fury was trying to dissolve the situation.

“I liked the previous apartment better.” Thor continues, making sure no one heard him besides Loki. “The person head of the building there didn’t understand us much, but you could definitely tell she was stubborn, and she wouldn’t be putting up with your…“

Loki drowned his brother out in the background. It was mere coincidence that he saw you in the café, in the club, and now in your own apartment. And his brow furrowed at the pattern of it. Was this Strange’s doing? Was this Fury’s? Either way, he wasn’t happy with it being all planned, if it is.

Who are you? And why are you reoccurring in his life?

As his thoughts trail as he looks at you, you catch a glimpse of him, only to immediately look back to him; for the first time, you see him too.

“…Y/N. Just Y/N…” He catches wind of your name as you turn back to Fury.

The rest of your words flew over Loki’s head; you were too wound up with the argument that you didn’t acknowledge your lack of pants, and the fact your blouse was loose around you. You looked as dishevelled from the last time he saw you, like you hadn’t recovered from the club. He couldn’t admit to himself that he was staring at you. He’s seen you get angry, and sad, and messy…

What else have you got?

“I’ll take the place.” Loki said. “I can move in as soon as possible.”

It was rich seeing your jaw drop.

Nick Fury stopped protesting, realising the change in Loki’s behaviour towards you; if he’s distracted, he should be less of a problem.

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