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ladyquietus · 11 months

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watching Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and knowing Hobie Brown has gotten me feral. Could not stop thinking about being that man’s lover and oh the things he could do. Jesus.

Getting Real

Hobie Brown x Fem y/n: Smut Read

AN: a bit older y/n from another dimension, some smut, fluff, cussing, nicknames, semi age gap, the works.

W: I apologize if I’ve made any mistakes, English is not my first language.

Minors, ageless blogs do NOT interact.

>> Long read ahead

“Oh, I bet you think your honey taste like sugar. But honey, sugar don’t taste that bitter~ Baby, you ain’t sweet. Look at what you did to me~…” y/n sings to the lyrics, tapping her foot on the floor. The music blaring from her headphones, getting distracted from doing homework infront of her.

She adjusted the frames of her glasses, licking her lips and continued humming to the tone. Failing to notice the flashes of bright, sharp lights beaming through the bedroom window behind her.

It was heavily pouring outside, the shut window slowly rutted opened. Slim fingers appeared on the frame, pulling a bit more force Til the figure could come through the window.

The masked vigilante made his way inside, patting off droplets of rain. He took off his mask, letting his full blown hair pop up.

He smirked at the sight of y/n, sitting infront of her desk, Clueless about this presence. The music she was listening and the loudness of the rain made y/n unaware of Hobie approaching her.

Hobie posed finger gun on his right hand, pressing the tips of his fingers on y/n’s upper back.

“Hands where I came see em’ lil’ lady” he jokes, feeling her tensed.

Y/n quickly pulled off her headphones and spun around, looking at a chuckling Hobie in disbelief.

“You ass,” she glared at him, pushing him off.

“You’re gonna get robbed easily love, I won’t be around you for that.” He holds his hands up in defense.

“Luckily, we’ve got another Spider-Man here huh, what’re you doing here anyways?” She questions, crossing her legs on the office chair she was sitting.

Hobie plopped down on her bed, wincing a bit when he noticed a small stain of blood on his shirt on the left side where his ribs lie.

“Shit.” He cussed, pulling off his leathered spiked jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n stood up concerned, slowly made her way towards him and sat beside him.

“Just a graze, don’t worry. Must’ve gotten caught a crossfire between these crime families back home, what nasty lil’ shits.”

“And you didn’t feel that until now? You must’ve been in a load of adrenaline, It must be wearing off.” y/n sighs, kneeling down beside the bed and pulled out a storage box. She took out a first aid kit and sat back again beside Hobie.

“You’re cute when you’re concerned doll, it’s like you’re forgetting I have massive pain tolerance.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, feeling her worry for him a bit made his heart swell.

He always kept his heart up on his sleeve, meeting y/n months ago somehow changed that despite they’re still friends. He also knew that she was older than him, two years older in fact and it must’ve set her back.

They met when he and Gwen came to her dimension, looking for their villain of the week that somehow skipped across dimensions and landed on hers. She was a med student, walked in a parking lot alone at a convenience store. Not knowing she was being followed a creep whom Hobie took action on.

The rest was history.

“Putting your schooling in good use aye?” He jokes again, taking off his shirt after seeing her getting crossed.

Thou shall not poke a pissed off y/n.

“Glad you find this funny, what would happen if you got hit somewhere serious huh Hobie?” She clicked her tongue, throughly disinfecting his flesh wound.

“Relax, you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”

Hobie’s relentless teasing didn’t lighten the situation, it just made y/n worry more whenever he’s not around. She would never really know the next time he’ll come back.

He felt it, she was always the worrywart. Somehow he could read what was going on through her pretty little head.

“I’ll always come back to you, my love. So please stop worrying, I’m here with you right now and I promise you I’d want to go through everything for you.” His voice softens, his gaze never leaving hers.

He leaned just a bit closer, caught a whiff of her lavender shampoo and declared that it was his favorite scent.

“Hobs…” she quietly says, feeling the tension between them. Her eyes meeting his, couldn’t help but noticed he kept glancing on her lips.

“Mhm, yes mamas?” He couldn’t help but inch a bit closer, grazing his lip on hers.

Just a lil bit of tease.

The slight cold of his steel lip ring had made y/n’s skin crawl with goosebumps. His rough, firm hand radiated a lot of warmth on hers. Yet his thumb caressing the top of hers made something stir up inside her.

The new nickname he gave her wasn’t helping, she felt a bit guilty she wanted to hear it more from his lips.

He was waiting for her, he didn’t want to freak her out if he was too forward. But he was too damn excited, he’s been wanting to kiss her for a while now.

It was eating him up inside.

y/n closed the distance, letting her lips connected to his but it was only quick and subtle. She was nervous as hell, the last time she kissed someone was her ex-boyfriend a year ago.

“Babe that’s not enough, not enough at all.” His voice was heavy with need, in need of her.

Hobie raised his left hand, enclosing his slender fingers on her jawline. Grasping it softly and pulled her closer, wrapping his other hand around her waist to pull her on top of him.

Y/n squeaked In surprised, Instinctively holding on to his broad shoulders.

“Hobs-”

His lips immediately crashing to hers, he loved how soft it felt and the taste of earl grey tea still lingered on her tongue.

y/n moaned on his mouth, it was music to his ears and he wanted to listen to it more.

The kiss was sloppy, y/n was struggling to keep up. Her nails dug into his skin, making him grow excited beneath her. She surely felt it and subconsciously started to grind on it through his leathered pants.

“Mm mas, You’re making it hard to stop,” he says in between kisses.

She grew too fond of it, she didn’t care if her lips had start to swell or bruised. It was addicting to make out with Hobie Brown.

“Mmm,” were the only sounds she left out. Taking the lip ring between her teeth and pulled slowly.

Hobie’s grip on her waist and thighs got tighter when she did it, almost made him cum on that spot. He swore this woman was gonna be the death of him if she keeps it up.

y/n’s hands started to trail, from his shoulders to his chest. Feeling every detail of him, how warm he was despite the nonchalance he always gives off to most people.

She reached right above his pants, Hobie was sensitive to what she has touched.

y/n dragged a finger over the tent, her wetness grew at the feeling of how hard he was of her.

They both finally pulled away, heavy breathing. Hobie leaned against the headboard, still not loosening his vice on her as if she were to disappear any moment.

Looking at her all disheveled and swollen lips, her eyes kept screaming at him to just take her then and there.

“Love, I’d want you to shoot me in the head if I ever say no to you but have you even done it before? I wouldn’t want to rush you to something you’re not comfortable with.” He reassures in a soft voice despite his lustful gaze.

y/n couldn’t care less anymore, she had too much pent up frustration. She was still a virgin, the only farthest thing she had done with her ex was giving and receiving oral sex.

“Hobs, if you won’t fuck the living daylights out of me- I will be putting a lock on that window the minute you leave.” she huffs, palming his hardness.

“Damn mamas alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckles, both of his hands crawling their way to her ass. A bit frustrated that she was still covered in shorts and a baggy shirt, it may look cute on her but Hobie preferred much that she wore close to nothing at all.

“Gonna need these off first,” he mumbles, burying his face on her neck, leaving lazy kisses and soft bites.

“Couldn’t agree more,” she replied, closing her eyes and biting her lip to moan out loud.

Hobie ripped out her shorts, tugging the cloths away and was surprised to feel her wearing a thong.

“Jesus, love.” He smiles against her neck, immediately groping her cheeks and slapping the right.

He pulled on her thong, making her wet slit grind against the thin fabric.

“Fuck, Hobs…”

“You’ve been wearing this kind of panties around me all this time?” Another slap on her right cheek.

“Mmm sometimes,” y/n started to enjoy this too much.

Another slap before his firm fingers started to spread her cheeks apart, groping and gripping them all around.

Without warning, Hobie pushed her over on her back. Making them switch sides. He was on top, wouldn’t even stop smiling at her.

“Do you know how many times I keep thinking about you being underneath me?” He caresses her cheek, placing a peck.

He lowered himself more, placing more and more small yet sweet kisses. Raising the disruptive shirt to her chest til her breasts were on full view to his pleasure.

Hobie already loves them, they were perfect to him. They weren’t too small nor too big, mouth started to salivate at the size of her areolas.

Letting one arm to support himself, he cupped one of her breast and kneed on the erected bud. Licking her lips for another neediness.

“Something tells me it’s gonna be more than once,” y/n managed to whimper out, Hobie taking the whole bud in his mouth.

His hand caresses it’s way to her swollen pussy lips, eating the thin line of cloth. He could feel how needy and wet she was for him, and God she was soaked.

She squirmed, bucking her hips for more of his fingers. Meanwhile, Hobie’s mouth was occupied- switching between one tit to another.

His fingers itched to plunge deep inside her ache, he pulled the thong to the side and started rubbing her clit.

“Hobs… fuck, that feels good,” she mewed, kept on squirming.

Hobie hummed in pleasure, feeling her wither from his touch made him smirk.

Y/n’s body jerked when she felt a sharp and pleasurable pain when Hobie softly hit one of her nipples.

“Hobie!” He chuckles, licking the aching nub soothingly.

“If you’ll let me mas, I need to taste you. Need to fill my hunger for you right now.” He left her chest, licking and biting his way down to her abdomen. Leaving so much marks, he’s gotten too proud and wanted to mark her more.

She couldn’t say anything but whimpers. She nodded her head in response, but this only wanted Hobie to tease her more.

Without warning, both of his fingers plunged inside her. Feeling the walls tightening around him, it was so warm- he started imagining how amazing it must feel if it were his cock.

“Use your big girl words, love.” He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made y/n grip her hands all over his body.

“Hobs- eat me out please,”

Hobie didn’t waste any time, he’d gotten too needy- placing his lips on her sex. It reeked of desperation.

Both his left hand and mouth enjoyed giving y/n too much pleasure, His right gripping on her inner thigh to keep her open for him. Y/n still kept on squirming, her legs begging to close in on his head.

It was too much.

She bit her bottom lip too hard, she swore she was already seeing stars as Hobie kept on abusing her pussy with the combo. She couldn’t help but let her moans out, a few cusses and whimpers of “Hobs” kept escaping from her mouth.

She felt this wave, this urge for release.

“Wait Hobs- Hobie! I’m gonna pee- stop,” she started to pull away, gripping on the sheets as if it were to help her.

Hobie didn’t say anything but looked at her, meeting her eyes but didn’t stop. He went faster, flicking his tongue all over her wet sex and fucking it with his fingers.

“Hobi- Hobie,” she couldn’t escape, Hobie kept on pulling her back. The more she struggled- the closer the release.

“Hobie” her toes curled, letting the wave overcome her.

It came in spurs, she started squirting all over his mouth and face. Hobie immediately started lapping her up, trying to drink every little drop.

That’s a first, even my ex wasn’t able to do that with me. Her chest was heaving, thighs still trembling from the aftermath.

“If I knew you tasted this good, I would’ve done this sooner.” He smiles, giving her pussy one last kiss before kissing her lips a few times.

“Mmm- sorry, I made a mess on your face,” she breathes out, pussy still sensitive as Hobie’s huge girth was pressing against it.

Hobie unzipped his pants, quickly taking it off and freed his aching cock from his boxers.

“You’re gonna have to make another mess, mas. Whole lot more,” grinding the tip at her wetness, giving special attention to her swollen clit.

“Hobie… I just came,” she glanced nervously at his size, it was a good guess of 6-7 inches with a bit of a wide veiny girth.

“Better then, I’ll take care of you darling. Don’t worry, you’ll be wanting it more soon,” Hobie slowly pressed on his hips, the tip slowly making its way inside her folds.

As he leisurely pressed it inside, she could feel him stretching her out. Her walls adjusting to his size, but surprisingly she only felt a scale of 5/10 pain.

“You okay, my love?” Hobie asks, each of his hands holding her hands down. Kissing her cheek and neck to reassure her.

“Mhm, just keep going. Is it even fully in yet?” She groaned.

“Not even close, but fuck I’m only half way through- the tip’s kissing your cervix already.” He laughs a bit, then groaned at she kept gripping around him.

The pain started to retreat, and all she could feel how full she was of him, and he was right- she could feel his hard tip pressing on the entrance of her cervix.

“Hobie, move. Please.” She begged, looking at his pained expression.

“Mmm, love. You’re still adjusting,” Hobie groaned, hearing her say those words almost made him pound into her to oblivion.

“Please Hobs, start fucking me. I won’t say it again.” She says sternly, something inside her grew excited. Her nervousness soon started to diminish and was replaced with yearning.

He looked down on her, wringing her wrists together above her head and slinging his web- bounding them together.

“As you wish.”

He placed one of his hands under her ass, pulling her up a bit and started to pull his length out before plunging it back in her.

Y/n’s bound hands immediately placed themselves at the back of his neck. It was a slow pounding but she was hitting it too deep, the tip pounding her cervix at every thrust.

The squelching noise that both of their sexes made overwhelmed their senses, their animalistic groans filled the room. Both couldn’t care less if their neighbors could hear them fucking away.

Their sweats began to mix, everything what they’re doing made them intertwine with one another. Y/n’s wetness was already covering Hobie’s cock, pummeling her has gotten easier and more of his length disappeared in her.

“Shit, mas, Your pussy’s swallowing me. I can’t stop.” Hobie gritted his teeth, being inside her made him addicted.

She felt that familiar urge again, but it was stronger. Hobie’s merciless pummeling edged her closer.

“Hobs,” she whimpered.

“I know, I know love. Cum all over me, make a mess.” He connected his lips to hers, muffling her loud moans as she let herself succumbed to his commands. Her whole body bucked and quiver against his.

Hobie hissed, sensed he was nearing to his end. But he wanted to finish feeling all of her crumbling first, then pulled out. Just barely, spurs of his hot cum landed on her stomach.

It took them a moment, giving them both time to come back to the real world.

Hobie plopped himself on top of her, she didn’t mind the weight. It was rather comforting, feeling him against her.

Hobie placed himself beside her on the bed, pulling her in- not caring they were both buck naked. Ripping off the web on her knotted hands.

She snuggled closer to him, knowing there was no turning back after what they’ve done.

“I know I’ve said I don’t believe in labels and consistency but, I’d prefer to make an exception for you, my love. Only you. I want this to be real for us,” Hobie broke the silence, playing with the strands of her hair and caressing her back.

“You better keep your word, Hobs. I have liked you for quite some time now.” Y/n started to trace her fingers on his chest, savoring each moment they have.

“I think we’ve gone way past using “like” love, doesn’t really match the way you’ve been needing me earlier.” He teases, groping an ass cheek.

#hobie brown #spider man atsv #hobie smut #spider punk #hobie x Reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown fanfic #spider punk fluff #marvel #smut #hobie brown fluff

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nanabrainrot · 10 months

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A Private Affair [Husband!Miguel]

Hobie and Pavitr are convinced you and Miguel have a loveless marriage. Gwen insists they just don’t watch you two hard enough.

Husband!Miguel x Wife!Reader (just fluffy and playful miguel being flirty w u <333)

“What do they even talk about?” Pavitr quipped once as the rest of the team left the room with him.

While opposites attracted, you and Miguel carried a similar energy: serious and stern. Miguel was grumpier and prone to losing his cool compared to you, who was known for your aloof attitude right after being known for being Mrs. O’Hara.

“No clue,” Hobie grunted as he crossed a threshold past a number of anomalies, “might be a loveless marriage. Never seen ‘em hug or kiss like couples do.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Of course you boys don’t see the subtlety of it.” The boys paused before huffing at the suggestion that their gender of all things obscured them to any nuance between you two: you never really touched, never dwelled on conversations beyond missions in front of them, and were never affectionate. It was just like seeing two coworkers and no more than that.

“What subtlety?” they inquired in unison, matching Gwen’s storter strides as they went toward the cafeteria.

“Just watch them more. Harder next time.”

“Earth-349’s anomaly is clear. Canon event still occurred at proper time and Earth-56’s anomaly is just awaiting transport. Went smoothly,” you reported, hands across your chest as you looked up at Miguel. His eyes weren’t on you though, just the screen. You weren’t missing the way he kept glancing though.

“Something on my face?”

“Nothing,” Miguel coughed, that shy way he did when he wanted to be close to you but couldn’t be. Smiles are saved for private, the facade of professionalism thinly veiling the tension between you two: you both just really wanted to go back home and get some rest, be close again.

It’s so hard to not just sink into his arms and coo at him like a cute puppy and coddle him with kisses as his wife but it generally was agreed upon to just be as controlled around each other as possible. It was destined to go downhill if you both got too touchy feely; he’d look like a lovesick fool instead of a leader and the same applied to you. Work is work and home is home.

“You keep looking at me though.”

“I can’t look at you?”

“You can if I have something on my face,” you retort with the smallest smile in the word - the corners of your lips tense as they slightly rose. He was funny in his shy nature like you weren’t married for years. His love was so cat-like, having to let him be skittish before he leaned into you.

“Then you do have something on your face,” he replies typing absentmindedly.

“I do?” you ask, genuinely worried you’d been clambering around with food on your face as a leader in the medical center.

“Yeah,” he said, “you’ve got pretty all over it.”

A slightly bigger smile. A professional one. “You got empanada on yours.”

He stands straight. “Really?”

“No,” you chuckle, “but you thought you did for a second huh?”

The way you stand by each other leaves room for Jesus, Hobie thinks. Miguel has to crane his neck down to look at you and you need to crane your neck up. The banter on the height difference is barely out of earshot when he hears you two as he stands outside of Miguel’s office: your voices all friendly and calm.

“Can’t you sit when I talk to you? You’re hurting my neck, Miguel,” you start, foot nudging the rolling chair to him.

“You’re hurting my eyes,” Miguel shot back quickly as he grabbed the back of the chair rolling at him.

“Calling me ugly now?” you snort with an eye roll, arms crossing in that closed off pose even with just your husband.

He narrows his eyes, that cheeky smile, “No. Just hurts to look at the sun, y’know?”

Hobie thinks he’ll throw up.

Gwen and Pavitr had seen you in the medical bay, Miguel sitting in a chair by your desk with some stitches in his forehead. Gwen and Pavitr only really needed a dash of hydrogen peroxide but you recommended they stay seated and drink water before they headed out. It’s just adjacent to your desk, separated by the thin hospital curtain - thin enough to hear you. Gwen’s fingers pressed to her lips as Pavitr went to speak (as he always did) and she gestured to the direction where your desk was.

You and Miguel were whispering… just loud enough for them to make out what you both were saying.

“You’re getting real old… coming in here with that gash,” you murmur, “swing faster. I never wanna see you bloody again.”

“Thought you said you wanted to grow old with me. Swinging slow so the arthritis doesn’t kill me,” he scoffed shortly.

“Hysterical,” you snip back in a low voice before pausing and saying, “but I just hate to see you hurt. Even if I get to see you in my unit.”

The murmurs stop as some shuffling is heard, the sound of little peppering kisses to his hair barely audible. “I just need a magic kiss and I feel better though. Get right out of your hair…” he chuckles lowly.

They can’t see you smiling.

“I won’t give you one then,” you start, “just cause I want to take care of my husband a little longer.” The little giggles and cooing from across the barrier are just a private moment overheard but it does enough.

Hobie and Pavitr just fake gag behind your backs now when they see your hands or shoulders brush against each other. It’s the little things of a marriage that are the most important, at work or at home.

#spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x y/n #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #nana writes spiderverse #nana writes

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sopiao · 9 months

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could i request a human heat pack reader with our favorite 141 boys?

i’m very unusually warm. like every time i travel to russia to see family my mom and brother always use me as human heat pack.

have a great day!!

i just had this idea >:0

(great minds think alike >:)).

it would be so cute, they’d be so unconsciously touchy just to try to warm their hands during a mission in a cold area. where? Siberia. i don’t know that was just at the top of my head.

(Callsign: ‘Shark’ :3)

When they first land their all already swaddled like babies in layers of clothes. A long sleeve, whatever t-shirt, thin jacket with a thicker one over it, extra layers of socks. Whatever could spare them of the harsh winter of the country.

Their all huddled in a position to try and conserve warmth. Except for Price who insist that “It’s not that cold” and to “Get over it already”. But they can all see his subtle shake in his crossed arms pose.

“You got a heat pack or something?” Gaz asked, cupping his hands over his mouth, hoping to get some warmth from his breath. Seeing Shark’s still and relaxed figure like this weather was nothing. Gaz was hoping that they’d had an extra one and could toss one to him.

“No?” They shook their head and began to look around. Kicking snow to kill time when they hear their captain speak to a local about directions.

“Jesus, fuck. How are you not freezing you’re arse off?” Soap asks, pulling the collar of his jacket higher to cover more of his neck. Shark just shrugs. They really don’t know how. It just didn’t bother them as much. It was sorta cool since it fit their name, sharks can change their body temp to a certain range to adapt to their surroundings.

Gaz wasn’t even thinking, just desperate for warmth. Taking his chances for even a bit of comfort, he stood closer to your side, leaning on you with his cheek to your temple. Once he felt the small relief from the sudden cold, he leaned in more, covering more body surface. Relaxing, the more he did the more toasty he started to feel.

“Ahh-” Gaz sighed silently, Shark patted his back to further comfort him. Soap and Ghost looked at the two, who looked like a couple trying to keep themselves warm as an excuse to cuddle in public, then back at each other, silently questioning what to do or say, or if they should.

Soap shrugged and did the same to your other side, sighing in relief when the harsh and tight coldness of the snow felt like ice cream melting in the sun when he felt Shark’s body heat. Shark didn’t move but just shifted their eyes to see him. Couldn’t do anything but accept their fate.

Ghost is naturally a cranky and grumpy guy already and chilly, an understatement, atmosphere didn’t simmer him down a bit. He didn’t even try to fight it or reason with his thoughts and subsided. Wrapping his arms around their middle and resting his chin on the top of their head. Sighing when he felt his comrade’s warm back defrost him (hehe). Sighing for them was like the unconscious ‘ding’ to the microwave when your food finishes heating up.

Shark can’t really move even if they wanted to. Plus who wouldn’t wanna be sandwiched between three beefy guys?

“A’ight team. It shouldn’t be too far from here—” Price cut himself off, seeing his soldiers surround one like an overstuffed burrito. He crossed his arms, not registering that they were using Shark for warmth and just randomly decided to simultaneously bear hug them at the same time. Even Simon was joining in.

“Wha— Why?— What’s happening?” Price chuckled slightly, more out of confusion than amusement, crossing his arms once again with the subtle shake from the natural instinct of his body to find energy for heat.

“Warm” Only thing that Soap says, short but filling explanation. Causing Price to chuckle even more. Shark brings their hands forward, offering a fraction of their warmth to their captain, since it’s really the only thing that’s not occupied. Price holds their hands, at first to humor them, once he felt how unusually warm their hands are at this weather. He unconsciously lifted their hands up to his face, toasty palms pressed up against his cheeks.

—

“Fuckin’ hell” Price whispered under his breath before thanking the citizen for her time and cooperation, grumbling about the lead being a dead end. Price calls out for his teammates, signaling to continue on.

“Back to bloody square one” Soap grumbled, cranky from all the running around they had to do to catch one guy.

Both Price and Gaz immediately reached for your hand. At this point they didn’t even care, or notice what they were doing. It was just a natural instinct to swarm towards anything slightly warmer. Shark didn’t mind though, swinging their hands as they walked.

Two girls walking past them. Having to do a double take when they see the three. Before looking at each other wordless message of ‘How lucky!’.

—

During the cramped car ride, both Soap and Ghost had their heads resting on Shark. Soap resting his head on their shoulder, having to slump down slightly, while Ghost rested his temple on the top of their head. Both soldiers clinging onto and hugging on their arm for more cozy protection.

—

As Shark, Gaz, and Price watched and waited Soap and Ghost from across the building. They finally got a lead on the perp but if they all went in at once it would seem suspicious. They all watched intently, Gaz starting to get more bored.

Price unconsciously wrapping his arm around Shark, pressing them close to keep himself warm, resting his head on theirs as he got bored too. Shark figured out a while ago not to be too bothered with how clingy their being, figuring out that their just a human heater for them.

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graves4girls · 7 months

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Johnny x celeb reader n there’s a party for other celebs etc. and there’s a bunch of paparazzi, a day or two before Johnny n reader had a quarrel and reader shows up to the party in a revenge dress. basically giving a show for all the paparazzi while avoiding johnny

up to u on how it ends! (sorry if my request didn’t make sense😭😭)

☆ paparazzi | johnny cage

✮ wc. 1.3k ⚠︎ warning(s): fem!reader

lowkey wanna do a nsfw part 2 but idk i'll think abt it ⟡ be sure to check out my work on ao3 → gravesforgirls !!

He'd been pissing you off all afternoon, whining about how you shouldn't have even taken the role because your co-star was way too friendly with you. He'd spam his socials with selfies of the two of you, you'd get swarmed by paparazzi for grabbing a coffee together in between scenes, and there were even rumors floating about that you'd dropped Johnny for him. Of course, all of it was utter bullshit to stir up drama and get clicks, but you didn't think it'd get to Johnny the way it did.

"Oh, c'mon. He was all over you the whole goddamn interview!"

You roll your eyes, pressing a manicured finger to your temple. "Jesus Christ, Johnny, I'm not in the mood for this right now. You know there's nothing going on."

He huffs as you plop down on the edge of the bed to pull off your heels.

"Do I? Cause the more shit that leaks, the more it looks like there is something going on. He's always touching you and shit."

"C'mon Johnny, do you really think I'd cheat on you with some guy I met five months ago?"

He sucks his teeth, staring down at you with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Y'know, I don't really know what to think right now."

You gape at him for a moment, scoffing as you stand from the bed.

"Are you seriously accusing me of cheating on you? Oh my God, you are such an asshole." You move to walk out the door.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"The guest bedroom. Come talk to me when you're done being a dick."

He's still out of the house by the time you're stepping out of the bedroom, the satin of your mini dress hugging every curve perfectly, heels clicking against the shiny tiled floor as you make your way out of the house. You knew he'd be blowing up your phone the minute he gets home and realizes you're gone, but you're too worried about getting to the party on-time to think about it too much, slipping into the sleek black limo parked in front of the house.

You walk down the moonlit street, arm locked around your co-star's as the cameras flash behind the barrier, snapping any and every angle as you wave to the crowd. You stop for a minute to scribble a couple signatures and pose for some selfies before you're escorted into the venue, giggling to the girl clinging to you as you make a bee-line for the bar. You part ways as you lean against the varnished counter, tapping your nails against the wood as you order a drink.

"Hey! I didn't know you were gonna be here!"

You turn to the voice, grinning at him as you pull him into a short hug.

"I wasn't planning on it actually, but there was a little trouble in paradise so…"

He hums softly, giving you a sympathetic nod. "You're still with Johnny?"

You swipe your drink from the counter, taking a sip as you nod. "Yeah, despite what the media thinks. God, I can't believe people actually think I'd ever cheat on him. It really pisses me off."

"Yeah, it's shit. But you're here to have a good time. C'mon."

You roll your eyes with a small laugh as he pulls you away from the bar, letting him drag you into the crowd.

You're posed for a photo op when your phone buzzes in your clutch, and you can already guess who it is as you step away to check the notification.

where are you 8:05 p.m.

You close the message with a sigh, tucking your phone away to join your friends back in the booth.

You hadn't noticed the constant buzzing of your phone as you go about the rest of the night, too busy dancing to pay attention to the device. It's only when you step away to touch up your makeup in the bathroom that you pull out your phone, sighing at the onslaught of messages that cover your lock screen.

where are you 8:35 p.m. where are you 9:03 p.m. are you still mad at me 9:42 p.m. missed call 10:01 p.m. call me 10:04 p.m. missed call 10:16 p.m. missed call 10:36 p.m. please call me 10:53 p.m. missed call 11:04 p.m. are you okay? 11:05 p.m.

You're about to turn your phone off when it buzzes again, and you huff out a small sigh as you answer the call, eyeing your nails as his voice cuts through the phone.

"Jesus Christ, why don't you answer your goddamn phone? I've been texting you all night. Where are you?"

You lean over the sink to prod at your makeup in the mirror. "Relax, babe. I was busy."

You can hear him grumble something under his breath. "Relax? My girlfriend disappears and doesn't answer the phone for four hours and I'm not supposed to get worried?" He pauses for a second. "Is that music? Where the hell are you?"

You roll your eyes, fixing your hair.

"I'm at a party, Johnny. Am I not allowed to go out alone?"

"No, I just would've liked a heads-up that you were gonna be out so I didn't freak out. Are you coming home soon?"

You hum as you think for a moment.

"Probably not, so don't wait up for me. I gotta go."

"Wait, are you–"

You hang up before he can finish his sentence, grinning at your friends as you emerge from the bathroom.

You're sat on one of the uncomfortable bar stools when you feel a tap on your shoulder, and your expression tightens as you turn around.

"What are you doing here?"

He gives you a look, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Can we talk for a second?"

You glance between your friends and his cute little frown, sighing as you slip off the stool.

"Make it quick."

He ushers you away from the crowd and out one of the back entrances, eyeing your outfit for a moment before he speaks.

"Since when do you go to these kinds of parties?"

"Since tonight. Why do you care so much that I'm here? It's not like you never go to parties." You lean back against the cool brick of the building, mirroring his posture.

"Look, if this is about last night, I'm sorry. Those stupid rumors got to me and I was being an asshole. I was planning on going out to dinner tonight actually, but obviously that fell through..." He steps closer to wrap a hand around your waist, the other tucking some hair back. "Can we just go home and go to sleep? I really don't want you to be mad at me."

You push his hand down with a small scoff, but you lean into his chest as you stare up at him. "You're so stupid. C'mere."

Your hands come up to cup the sides of his face, pressing a short kiss to his lips that he chases, pressing you against the wall as his other hand settles over your hip. Your arms curl around his neck to pull him impossibly closer, fingers combing through his short hair as he hums against your lips. He draws back for a second to run his eyes all over your figure, raising an eyebrow as you let a small grin pull at your lips.

"Where'd this pretty little thing come from?"

He leans in to drop a couple kisses to your throat, hands slipping over your hips to grab at your ass through the silky satin.

"I was saving it for a special occasion."

You tug at his hair to pull him away, sticking a quick kiss to his lips as you push a hand against his chest. "Let's get out of here before we get caught."

#j.cage #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk #mk1

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izzywantscheesecake · 5 months

Text

the gingerbread competition

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN! Reader 🕸🕷🎸 Quick Synopsis: Hobie and Y/N compete with Miles and Gwen to see who can make the best gingerbread house. Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, reader can be male/female or none, friends to lovers, Romantic tension between Hobie and Reader, Implied MilesxGwen, fluff, Christmas themed

Hobie Brown didn’t celebrate Christmas.

He didn’t hate Jesus or was part of a different religion, in fact, he preferred to keep himself unlabeled in terms of his religious ideology, but he just thought the meaning of Christmas had lost its definition in the past few decades.

Essentially, Christmas existed to celebrate the birth of Jesus by sharing thoughtful gifts and spending time with loved ones.

But the ‘spending time with loved ones’ part had been erased and the holiday was dumbed down to seeing whoever could get another person the most expensive gift without any thought.

So he didn’t fully celebrate it.

Sure, he’d make his friends a handmade gift they were sure to like and he wouldn’t be rude and reject a gift, but he would never partake in the usual activities like hanging the mistletoe, buying a christmas tree, or building a..

“..Gingerbread house! Let’s make gingerbread houses! And it can be a competition, too,” You grinned.

It wasn’t actually Christmas day, it was two days before. But this was the only day all of you could hang out before attending to plans you actually had on ol' Christmastide.

It was just you, Hobie, Gwen, and Miles, sitting on Hobie’s couch at his flat in his dimension. He mainly resided in his boat, but it was too cold to stay there that month.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I mean, those gingerbread houses are usually super expensive to buy at the market,” Hobie said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, they are. So we can just make them ourselves. I mean, you practically got everything we need in your pantry besides frosting and candy.. Okay, maybe we will have to go outside and get some supplies,” Gwen shrugged.

“Ugh, really? It’s mad brick out, don’t you see all that snow?”

Miles pointed to the window, showing everyone the winter wonderland that once used to be the streets of Camden Town.

“We got coats, we’ll be fine. So, all in favor of making gingerbread houses, raise your hand!” You said, lifting up your hand immediately.

Gwen and Miles both raised their hands, albeit Miles more reluctantly. Hobie kept his arms crossed, scoffing.

“It’s three against one. We’re doing it.”

Hobie dropped the pose. “Fair, I guess. But I get to pick the movie we watch once we’re done.”

“You’re gonna pick Freaky Friday, and not even the Lindsay Lohan version,” Gwen sighed.

“Who?”

“Anyways, to save money and dishes, don’t you think we should be in teams of two?” Asked Miles.

The four of you decided on your team names. You and Hobie would be "The Barely Adults" vs Miles and Gwen with "Stuck in Algebra II."

There were many different stores along the main streets of the neighborhood, so your group and the other group spread out, agreeing to stay in the neighborhood.

You and Hobie stepped into a candy store a few blocks away from his flat, and were immediately greeted by the warm air of a fully heated establishment and the scent of various confectionaries and ice cream.

A happy looking woman sat by the front counter, reading the daily newspaper. She made eye contact with Hobie, and you watched as the wrinkles in her face became more prominent the bigger her smile got.

"Hobart? Is that you? My, my, you've gotten so tall!"

You snorted, noticing the slight embarrassment that had planted itself on Hobie's face. His expression quickly shifted into a smirk.

"Mrs. Winters.. You just saw me at the farmer's market a few weeks ago."

"I know, I know. But every time I see you, you get bigger. It feels as if just yesterday I was making you and your mates stay behind and sweep my store for stealing all the gobstoppers."

"Well, that's not surprising," You inquired out loud.

"Whatever. We were jobless, rambunctious kids."

Mrs. Winters turned her attention to you, still keeping that friendly smile she had on her face when you walked in.

"And who's this lovely person you've brought in with you today?"

Hobie slung his arm around you, crouching down slightly to meet your height. His face was dangerously close to your right cheek.

"They're my friend, Y/N."

Mrs. Winters stared at the two of you skeptically.

"Oh. Well, alright, dearie. It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N."

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Winters, was it?"

"Mhm."

She turned to the giant selection of candy behind her. There was practically every sweet you could think of stored, from jellies, taffies, licorice, rock candies, chocolates, and even freezers full of whipped cream and frosting, which was convenient.

"So, what do you feel like buying today?"

"Anything that would make a gingerbread house taste good."

"We should get candy corn."

You stuck your tongue out in disgust. "The hell kind of suggestion is that? You eat gingerbread with candy corn?"

"Yes. I like to be unconventional."

Mrs. Winters snickered. "Well, if you guys are making a gingerbread house, I'd say just get the regular bunch, like gumdrops and whatnot."

You and Hobie walked out of the candy shop with a tub of frosting and random ziplog bags full of different candy. Some of them you were going to put on the house, and some were just gonna be sitting at Hobie's place in general.

When you got back to his flat, Miles and Gwen weren't anywhere to be found.

"Huh? Where are they? We just said to get candy and come back."

"They're kids in love. They're probably using this time to have a de-facto date."

"Well, that makes it easier for us to win. I guess you could say we're also having a de-facto date, right?" You joked.

Hobie turned to you with a sensual grin on his face before setting his boots to the side and walking towards the kitchen.

Before you left the store, Mrs. Winters had given you and Hobie a recipe for gingerbread houses, as none of you were going to buy the cheap ones that always tasted like plastic.

"Okay, preheat the oven to about 375 degrees fahrenheit." You said, reading off the sheet of paper.

"Celsius, please."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um, that'd be around.. 190? Yeah. That sounds about right. And keep it in there for three to four minutes."

"Mhm." He closed the oven door.

On the corner of Hobie's mouth was a small patch of frosting, it presumably got there when you two tried to open the package at first and it exploded.

"Hey, look at me. You've got something on your face."

You moved closer to him, using your thumb to wipe the frosting off. Once it was gone, you stopped cupping the side of his cheek, and now you were both looking at each other, face to face.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, watching how his eyes softened the longer you two stayed in that position.

Suddenly, the door kicked open.

"We're back!" Miles yelled. You heard the shuffle of multiple bags and quickly moved away from Hobie to see what was going on over the counter.

Gwen was holding a bag from a candy store on one arm, and on the other arm were bags definitely acquired from a boutique.

Miles also had a candy bag, but held a bag from a Nike outlet in the same hand.

"So I was right. You two did go on a side quest. Thought we agreed to stay in the 'hood."

"I mean.. Technically, we did stay in the neighborhood... The outskirts of it."

"Hey, did you guys already start without us?!"

"What else were we supposed to do? Sit and talk?"

You and Hobie laughed in unison, as Gwen and Miles scrambled to put everything they bought away.

After a few hours, both teams had finished their gingerbread houses. Miles and Gwen had opted for a cutesy, traditional design, while the architecture on your house was flimsy, and you ran out of gumdrops at some point.

Hobie also used black food dye to create makeshift graffiti on the walls.

"So, how are we gonna judge who won?"

"Shit.. I never thought of that."

"Wouldn't it be whichever one tastes better?"

"Then ours totally won!"

"You didn't even taste it yet.."

"Guys, guys. Let's all agree that the true winner here was the power of friendship."

"Bro.."

"I'm playing!"

In the end, unfortunately, Miles' joke had some truth to it. There was no winner, no prize, no anything. But everyone all had fun that day, just bonding over making a confectionary house.

After being forced to watch the 1976 Freaky Friday, Miles and Gwen pretty much were knocked out.

They laid down across from each other on air mattresses in Hobie's living room.

As for you, you decided to take up the couch.

You were in Hobie's bathroom, brushing your teeth, when you saw him standing behind you, leaning his lanky body on the doorframe.

"Hey."

You rinsed your mouth out, drying yourself with a paper towel, before turning to face him.

"Hi."

"Did you have fun today?"

"Yeah, of course I did. It's always fun doing Christmasy stuff. You get the hype now, huh?"

He smiled, a genuine smile. "Mhm. We should bake more together."

"We?"

"Yes, we."

You walked away from the sink and stood across from him in the doorframe.

"Look what we're standing under."

He looked up, surprise evident on his face.

"Did you put that there?"

"No, I think it was Gwen."

He sighed. "Well, I ain't even brush my teeth yet. I don't want to do that to you."

You felt your heart twinge slightly, though he was right.

"Oh, no no. It's fine."

He nodded.

As soon as Hobie closed the door, you were out. You got onto the couch as quickly and quietly as you could.

You were mortified as to what you tried to do.

You thought that it was the perfect timing and all your questions had been answered, but you guessed they weren't.

Without moving an inch, you listened to every little movement coming from the bathroom and faced your head away from the hallway when you heard the lights turn off and the door open.

However, instead of Hobie's footsteps turning to the left, closer to his room, you listened as he walked down the hallway towards the living room.

His footsteps got closer and closer, until eventually, you were able to recognize him standing right in front of you.

He leaned down slowly, placing a peck to your cheek.

"Night."

A/N: i'm gon be on life support for the next two days cause why did this take 7 hours for about 1759 words :sob:

#hobie brown #atsv #across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #spiderpunk #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x gender neutral reader #christmas #miles x gwen #gwiles #implied ship #fluff #fluffy #happy christmas #merry christmas #im never writing again

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lexosaurus · 1 year

Text

Phic Phight: how to make a deal with the devil

For @kinglazrus

Title: how to make a deal with the devil WC: 2814 CW: corpse au Summary: In which Dash goes trail running only to find Phantom hovering over the dead body of his classmate.

[ao3]

****

“What do you want?” Phant—Fenton(?)’s eyes bore straight into Dash, his expression dark. Meanwhile, Dash was too busy flickering his attention between the pissed-off ghost and the…

…

“Well?” Phantom folded his arms.

“Uh…what?” Dash asked.

“What do you want? A lifetime of free passes to beat me up? Me to do your homework for the next month? What is it?”

“Um…” He tried to peel his eyes away from the gruesome sight before him, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop seeing the protruding bones, decaying flesh, holes, wrinkles, burns.

Jesus fuck.

And Phantom—Fenton, it was Fenton—towered above him, his simmering aura murky despite its bright glow, his eyes blistering into Dash’s skull.

He…wanted something? From Dash?

But why?

Dash was never the smartest person in class. He never got the best grades, he never knew all the answers. So maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to understand, or maybe it was a little fucked up that there was a dead, decaying corpse between them and Fenton-Phantom didn’t seem the least bit phased by it.

“I’m sorry, I—uh—what the fuck?”

Phantom slapped his hand to his forehead. “I’m asking what you want in exchange for keeping your mouth shut.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. So, you know, just name your price.”

Dash swallowed thickly, his nose burning from the smell. He finally tore his eyes away from the corpse to see Phantom bristle, crossing his arms once again. Dash was sure that if the ghost had legs at the moment, he’d be tapping his foot with impatience.

He just…he didn’t understand. Why was Fenton’s corpse here when he was standing—floating—before him? How was this possible?

And how the fuck was Phantom really Fenton?

“Are you dead?” The words stumbled out of Dash’s mouth before he could stop himself, and his face instantly flushed in regret.

Phantom’s eyebrows pulled in, and his lips thinned. Dash watched as one of his gloved hands tightened its grip on his arm.

Shit, shit. Was that rude? Wasn’t it a cardinal sin to ask a ghost about their death?

But then the fear zapped through him and disappeared once again. Because really, truly, he was just confused. He didn’t get how this was possible, how Danny Fenturd, the loser who he had been picking on since the sixth grade, was the town hero.

Well, they did look sort of alike. Now that Dash had seen the transformation with his own eyes, he had mentally slapped himself for not spotting their similarities earlier. Even if the whole Phantom is a ghost and the glowing aura had made things a bit fuzzier.

But their face shape, general height, and haircut were where those similarities ended. Because everything else was drastically different. So different, in fact, that Dash was still reeling at how the fuck this confident, angry ghost with his shoulders back and threatening aura spilling from his pores could be the same weakling who ran from Dash at every minor thing.

Seriously, what the fuck?

“Well?” He found himself pressing. “Are you?”

Phantom took a long, deep breath like he was about to lecture a group of children. “I’m not explaining myself to you.”

Dash blinked.

Of all the answers, that hadn’t been one of them.

Especially since…

Dash pointed to the corpse on the ground. “I think you have to.”

He wasn’t sure exactly where he was getting the balls to pry from, but Fenton-Phantom didn’t look particularly surprised.

But instead of responding, Phantom posed a question of his own. “What the hell were you even doing out here?”

“Training,” Dash said simply.

Which hadn’t even been a lie. These hiking trails were some of the best around for conditioning running.

And that one line also seemed to slice through the last of the spell in Dash’s mind. The ice melted in his body, and he felt like he could move again, and then the questions poured out of him in a tsunami. “Seriously, what the fuck, Fenton? Why the fuck do you have a corpse of yourself here? How are you Phantom?”

“Why do you think I have a corpse of myself here? For fun?”

“This isn’t fucking funny. Are you really dead? Have you been disguising yourself as a human all this time?”

“I’m not actually dead. I’m half dead. That body is only half of me.”

Dash was no expert, but it certainly looked and smelled like the full thing.

“It was my parent’s portal accident. I was inside when it turned on, and it killed me and brought me back to life. But not all of me made it.”

Jesus. That didn’t sound better than what Dash had been thinking. He tried to picture his soul ripping from his body, but refusing to let go, still clinging onto the scraps. It sounded horrific.

Was that even possible? Was Fenton just delusional?

“Why the hell did you take it from the ground?” Dash said instead.

“I didn’t! The stupid rainstorm flooded this area and eroded a bunch of dirt. I guess I didn’t bury it deep enough the first time so now I’m fixing it.”

Fixing…it…?

What the HELL was there to fix?

“You mean you’re not going to tell the police?”

Dash could have sworn the temperature dropped several degrees. But maybe that was just the chill from Phantom’s now-blazing aura which seemed to dim the world around it.

“We’re not talking to the police.”

It was a statement. A threat.

…Oh.

Dash understood the question from before.“What do you want?”

What Dash wanted was to dial 911, but that was supposedly no longer an option. Still, he couldn’t help but run his big, dumb mouth as he said, “What will you do if I report this?”

Because he knew he’d done a lot of stupid things—a lot of stupid things—but being complicit in covering up a dead body?

Jesus Christ.

And now his mind was reeling once again.

He could picture it. The day the police found the body. Forensics running DNA analysis just like they did in the crime shows and extracting a single strand of Dash’s blond hair. They’d pull him into the interrogation room, and a mustached man wearing sunglasses would interrogate him for hours as if Dash were the murderer, citing reports of Dash wailing on Fenton in class, saying that he had the motive and the evidence to lock him up for life. Dash would have no choice but break down and tell them the truth, that he’d been running in the woods, he stumbled across Phantom bent over the dead body, that he’d screamed and had tried to run away but Phantom was quicker, he cornered Dash not even five steps into his attempted escape, and he’d transformed into a living copy of that same corpse rotting in the ground to try to prove that he wasn’t dead.

Would the police even believe a crazy story like that?

Either way, Dash would be fucked. He would either be locked away for murder, or he’d be locked away in aiding a cover-up. And that was something he couldn’t do.

No.

No way.

No matter how much he loved Phantom…his hero…

Shit. Fucking shit.

“Well? What will it take?” Fenton-Phantom said

“Fenton, I—”

“I will do your homework for the rest of the school year.”

The offer was tempting, Dash had to admit it. But it wasn’t like Fenton’s grades were much higher than Dash’s at the moment.

“No, that’s—Fenton, I’m serious.”

“And so am I.” Phantom’s stare was dead-on. “Do you know what the government will do to me? If you report this?”

Dash shivered. Had it always been this cold under the shade?

“Ghosts aren’t citizens of the United States, Dash. They’re not human. They’re not given the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It doesn’t matter if I have a heartbeat and a pulse when I also have a ghost core. Do you understand? They will kidnap me and I will become the government’s personal lab rat for the rest of my life.”

Nausea swept through him, and his fingers felt numb despite their obvious trembling.

And Phantom was slowly creeping closer across the path. A trail of frost followed the dirt under him, and static seemed to crackle in the air.

“Do you know what branch the Guys in White fall under? The Department of Defense. You know, like the military. You really want the military to have unlimited access to a level seven ectoplasmic creature’s core? One whose powers could easily level an entire city block?”

Had Fenton always been like this? Threatening? Fierce? Was the scared, aloof idiot that Dash had seen every day in school just a persona that he’d been wearing?

“Ghosts are highly manipulative creatures,” Dr. Maddie Fenton read off a paper. She stood in front of the class dressed in her signature teel hazmat suit, a whiteboard with GHOST 101 written in large letters splayed behind her. “They will do anything to satisfy their ghosty obsessions. They’ll play any role, and they will sweet talk, argue, challenge—whatever they need to do in order to fulfill that obsession. They are semi-sentient, true, but they are not sapient. They do not have the same brain functionality that you or I do. They cannot truly learn, grow, or feel empathy to others. They can fake it, they can express a whole range of human emotions, but at the end of the day they are nothing but imprints of ecto-electricity.”

But no…he had never really believed that, did he?

He always loved Phantom. Looked up to him. He couldn’t…he wouldn’t…

“What about Phantom?” Dash asked, too impatient to raise his hand. “More powerful ones are different, right? So what about Phantom?”

“Power doesn’t lead to sapience. It doesn’t necessarily mean wisdom, the ability to learn and grow. Ghosts can only act on their impulses, and their impulses tell them to do whatever it is that will satisfy their core. They’re a bit like mosquitos, just ones that can talk,” Dr. Fenton responded.

“I don’t know, Phantom clearly loves me!” Paulina said. “He saved me from a ghost last week, it was so romantic! He even remembered my name!”

“Because interacting with the younger generation benefits him. He wants to be seen as the town hero, so he will do whatever it takes to get there.”

But now, that can’t be right. Phantom wasn’t like that, he was different. He was telling the truth about being a half-ghost! Even though that was impossible….No, he wasn’t just faking it to manipulate Dash. He was different. He was a hero.

“So let’s make a deal, Dash. What do you want in exchange for keeping this quiet?”

He wouldn’t lie to everyone about this. He was telling the truth. He wasn’t manipulating anyone.

“Um…” Dash felt his brain short-circuiting.

God, was that…burnt lime coming from the corpse? Why did it smell like that?

He felt his eyes prickle, and he blinked away any shininess that was threatening to appear. He couldn’t let Fenton-Phantom see his emotions, could let the ghost-not-ghost(?) see the cracks within him.

But not because he believed Dr. Fenton—even though she had a PhD in ecto-biology and certainly knew more about ectology than Dash—but it was because he needed to look tough! It wasn’t…just in case.

“How about this? I’ll never tell a single soul about your bad habit of wailing on the nerds, and I’ll offer to be your free stress-reducing punching bag for the rest of high school. In exchange, this stays between us. Deal?”

This was wrong. No, Dash couldn’t make this deal.

This was so so fucked up.

He didn’t know what happened. He didn’t know the full story. All he knew was what was in front of him, and that was the dead body of his (former?) classmate, and his ghost hovering above it with the typical goofy, carefree expression swapped for something far more dangerous.

“Okay,” he breathed, his tongue barely moving. “Okay. Deal.”

Fenton-Phantom uncrossed his arms to extend a hand out to Dash, who only hesitated for a moment before meeting him halfway.

He suppressed the shutter as his body was plunged into a freezer at the contact.

But he’s still half-alive…right?

“Good.” The carefree smile was back on Fenton-Phantom’s face, the tension in his jaw melting away its sharp angles and his blazing aura reducing to something more shimmery, more heroic. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to put my half-corpse back into the ground.”

Dash couldn’t stumble away quick enough, and despite the lactic-acid beginning to build in his legs, he found himself all but sprinting away once he was sure he was out of Phantom’s eyeline.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Dash had made a deal with Phantom. He had made a deal with a ghost.

No, a hero.

Phantom was a hero.

But he didn’t look like a hero when Dash saw him. He looked stressed, his green eyes were too shifty. And even when he’d transformed to Fenton to “prove” that he was still alive, for the first time, he didn’t really seem that alive. Dash could still feel the hints of the chill, he could still see the way Fenton’s teeth looked a little too sharp and the tips of his ears were a little too narrow and his skin just looked a little too olive-green.

God, how had he been so stupid? How had he not seen it before?

How had no one noticed?

Was Phantom just really that good at fooling everyone? Had he put the town under a spell?

Dash reached the edge of the forest and bent down, panting. He hadn’t even realized how much his throat was screaming for more air.

Fuck.

He fumbled in his pockets and ripped his phone out.

He had just made a deal with Phantom about hiding a dead corpse.

Dash was many things, but this?

He pressed the ringing phone to his ear. His heart pounded in his chest, and every ring felt like a century.

But then the other line clicked on, and relief washed over him as he heard the famous, “911, what’s your emergency?”

“I just found a dead body.” Cold plunged through Dash as he realized what had happened all over again. “I found Phantom hovering over a dead body. I think…I think it was his.”

There was a pause on the other line.

“What is your location?”

“I’m at Rosemary Park. It was about a half-mile in from the parking lot, right off of the diamond path. I…I think Phantom was burying the body again. It, god, it was Danny Fenton. Fenton is Phantom. He’s dead.”

“Okay, please stay calm. Emergency services have been dispatched to your location. What is your name?”

“No, I can’t stay here. Phantom will kill me if he knows I called.”

“Sir, did he see you?”

“Yeah. He would know it’s me.”

“Please stay on the line. Can you get to a safe location?”

“I…” Dash felt the world tip, and he forced it to righten. “I can get to my car. I’m sorry, I need to get to my car. I need to go.”

Dash hung up, despite the protesting on the other end.

He needed to get out of here.

He ripped open the door to his car, threw himself inside, jammed the key into the lock, and all but floored it away. It only took a few minutes down the highway before he began to hear the sirens in the distance.

Shit, fucking shit.

If Phantom wasn’t caught…

He swerved to the first exit.

If Phantom found out that Dash tattled, he would kill Dash, and no one would know what happened because no one would know that Dash was the one who called.

So Dash needed help.

He needed people to know who he was.

He needed protection.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“It’s me again. The one who just called in Phantom’s body. Uh, Dash Baxter. I’m…coming into the station. I think he’ll try to kill me if he gets away.”

“Alright. What station are you driving to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you currently?”

“I just pulled off of exit fourteen.”

“There is a police station about two miles from you. Do you know where the Verizon building is?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“There’s a station right next to it. Can I transfer you to their building?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, please hold,” the voice said.

The silence was deafening.

And then a voice appeared in his ear once again. And Dash could have shuttered in relief because it meant he was going to be okay.

Sorry, Fenton. But I had to.

I had to.

****

[read more of my writing]

#danny phantom #phicc #phic phight 2023 #my writing #corpse au #angst

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mx24 · 10 months

Text

NOELLE CHRIST MASTERPOST

taken straight from a reblog i made, here are various things and imagery in and out of game that displays Noelle Holiday's correlation to Jesus Christ.

CW: Weird Route and Christianity.

to start, just off of her personality, Noelle very much has a martyr complex. constantly giving her own comfort up for other's.

she abides her mother's wishes and cannot say no, she gives herself over to Queen willingly to save Berdly, she pushes her own feelings down and hides them to keep other's from worrying.

much of the characters in Deltarune do this kind of stuff too, however, Noelle's also got a lot of other things that lends directly to her Christ theme.

like her name.

Noelle is the feminine form of Noel, which translates to Christmas. the birthday of Jesus Christ, n all that. Holiday also fits.

also, her appearance.

she's got golden hair, which is a relatively common, yet incorrect portrayal of Jesus.

her antlers have an intentional shape, too; they resemble crosses.

her robes in the Dark World are plain and white. people often attribute this to it being a "snow angel" joke, which it is, but miss out on how it also resembles the stereotypical white robes Jesus is oft depicted in.

near the end of the Normal Route too, we also see Noelle posed exactly in a crucifix position. (the blue hand may as well be alluding to the Weird Route.)

so. as for the Weird Route.

the route itself, the way it plays is suspiciously similar to Jesus' final moments before his own crucifixion, but i'm going to gloss over that mostly in favor of directly visible canonical info. of which is this.

the Thorn Ring, or as Spamton phrases it, "[Ring] of [Thorns]" is a word for word parallel to the Crown of Thorns. the crown was an object of mockery created by the Romans and placed upon Christ's head right before his crucifixion.

... i know i said i wasn't gonna talk about it, but i think it's fair to mention how Kris, a trusted friend of Noelle's, is the one to "betray" her and "sell her out" (Dark Dollars for the ring) in the same way Judas Iscariot, trusted disciple of Christ, sells him out in trade for silver. they are also possessed by the Player, which in one of the Gospels it is said Judas was possessed by the Devil.

now for canonical information outside of the game.

in the Spamton Sweepstakes, particularly Icepalace-Glaceir, the room of which she explores in Dragon Blazers is icy, and more importantly, cross-shaped.

it being an ice area and shaped like that is, i would say, an intentional detail.

ehhhh alright. this is all i can think of off the top of my head, but this girl is a certified Christ Figure.

#mx rambles #deltanalysis #deltarune #weird route #snowgrave #undescribed #[ decided to make this it's own post so i can reference back to it later if i need or whatever. ]#[ also i didn't proof read this too well. ignore any kinda weird wordin n stuff. ]#christianity cw

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maithefluffychicken · 1 year

Text

Centerfold

Rated T, fluffy, meet-cute/ugly, photographer Steve meets rockstar Eddie. Ao3 link

Enjoy!

“When were you going to tell me?” Dustin confronts him, arms crossed tight over his puffed chest. He’s angry and glaring at Steve.

Steve has no idea why, though.

“To tell you, what?” Steve asks, eyes lazily coming back to the screen of his computer. He has been working on a photoshooting made earlier, a boring model for a top brand just changing outfits and shifting from pose to pose quickly and efficiently; basically he’s sorting the best pics to send them to the editor and retouching lights and shades and shit.

“As if you didn’t know it already!” Dustin accuses him. Dustin is one of the youngest photographers in the agency, and he had the luck to be the one assigned to one of the fiercest journalists, Erica Sinclair, they both cover the best shit and they’re hyper competitive and clever. They’re made for each other, if you ask Steve. Meanwhile, Steve is lucky if he can work on one of his photo reports between photoshoot and photoshoot.

For some reason, though, Steve is fond of Dustin, maybe because they’re both only children and Steve kind of adopted Dustin, to the point of exchanging extremely complicated and elaborated secret handshakes that makes everyone roll their eyes in annoyance. Not like they mind it.

“Henderson, I have no idea what you are talking about, I need a coffee for your antics if you’re going to yell at me first thing in the morning,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to get up, but Dustin doesn’t let him leave the chair.

“You’ve been assigned to do a photoshoot for Eddie Munson!” Dustin yells, face red and eyes wide. “Don’t try to deny it because the Boss told me already, she didn’t care that I begged, she was adamant that you’d be the one doing the job!”

Fucking great.

“I’m not denying it, Henderson,” Steve sighs again, feeling exhausted. “Yeah, Nancy assigned it to me, and I have no idea why, who is this Eddie Munson?”

Steve knows who Eddie Munson is, he’s the lead guitarist and singer from this band, Corroded Coffin - Jesus Christ, what a name - and that they’re pretty popular right now, their new album released and, because of the recently acquired fame, basically every magazine wanted to interview the band and, above all, they wanted Eddie Munson.

What Steve wants to know is why everyone, including Dustin, seems to be so besotted with this Eddie Munson.

“Ok, ok, since you’re all asking so nicely…” Eddie smiles, the quality of the video is not great but Steve can see that the man has a pretty face and a thin frame, and he’s holding his guitar in a way that is almost indecent. And the first notes of the song start playing, the crows cheering and whooping. Steve barely recognises it, a cover from an eighties’ rock band or whatever, he thinks - based on the title of the video.

“Who is… You’re asking me who Eddie Munson is?” Dustin gapes, incredibly offended. “You have no right to be the one working with him, Harrington! It’s not fair!”

While Dustin is angrily muttering about how unfair life is and that Steve is an uncultured swine, he pushes Steve’s chair to the side and takes control of his computer, ignoring Steve’s weak protests. Dustin opens a tab and writes “Eddie Munson Master of Puppets cover live Indiana”. Clicking the first link, the video starts playing on and it shows Corroded Coffin on a stage, the stadium full of people, and Eddie Munson is at the front, black shirt open, showing a hairless chest, and silver chains catching the light of the spotlights. Dark curls clinging to his face with sweat and he smiles, smirks at his audience, who is yelling at him, chanting “Master of Puppets” again and again like just one voice, hands raised and clapping.

“Corroded Coffin’s leader, Eddie Munson, was playing his guitar in this hole-on-the-wall somewhere, you don’t care where anyway, and he started playing Master of Puppets and then James Hetfield himself stood up and joined him singing! The man was there and Eddie was awestruck, and the fucking Metallica helped him to start, dude, it’s the most amazing story ever…” Dustin is talking fast and without taking a breath, as he always does when he’s hyped about something. “And they let him play their song every fucking time, like, imagine to know your hero like that…”

Steve hums. And frowns.

“Hey, you told me I was your hero, kind of a role model for you, that you started studying photography because of me…” Steve pouts, and Dustin’s cheek redden a bit.

“Well, yeah, but, it’s not the same, like, they’re actual rock stars, Steve…” Dustin mumbles, and then he starts writing again and the video stops to show another one, recorded with the camera of a phone and the shittiest quality ever. Steve tries to not overthink about what Dustin just said.

Eddie Munson, a year or two younger, with the same long brown hair in disarray, and wearing a denim vest over a leather jacket, overdressed in comparison with the other video. His on-stage persona is still magnetic, the small crowd already making the chorus, it’s the same song, Master of Puppets. Steve keeps watching and, in the video, people start gasping and a loud Oh My God! can be heard when a man older than Eddie, with short blond hair and broad shoulders stands up and reaches the stage and starts singing with Eddie. Eddie seems a bit stunned for a second when he realizes who the man is, and then he nods, smiles and stops singing so the man - James Whatever, Steve can remember the name Dustin just had told him a moment ago - can take the mic and Eddie keeps playing the guitar, a wide grin on his face.

They both seem like having fun and the older man pats Eddie on his shoulder and tells him something, Eddie nods enthusiastically and, grinning wide, he starts playing another song.

“I hope you take this seriously, Harrington,” Dustin admonishes him. “Everyone wants to work with him and to take the best photos of him, and they always say how amazing he is, so, can you, please? Take it seriously?”

“Nancy, our editor,” Steve reminds Dustin, “already told me that, and I always do a good job, Henderson, no matter who is in front of the camera.”

“But this is important, Steve,” Dustin urges him one more time. “This work could change your whole life, dude!”

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs, watching Dustin walk towards his own computer to actually do his job, and Steve takes the opportunity to stretch his legs and pours himself a mug of coffee. Once again in front of his screen, Steve lips his lower lip.

He doesn’t like to work with celebs, not all of them play nice and not all of them listen to Steve, usually they complain about their schedule or are simply… plain and boring. That’s why Steve prefers to do his photo report about interesting things or places, there are a lot of stories out there waiting to be told.

“What do you mean there’s no brand behind him?” Steve asks, deflating in the chair. At the other side of the table, Nancy Wheeler, the editor, is organizing some papers.

Nancy shrugs, and looks at Steve with a brow arched.

“His manager says that she’ll give us the different outfits, but that they’re not interested in any specific brand or name, Eddie has a penchant for the eighties, glam-rock, old rock stars vibe, and there’s no brand that can provide that nowadays,” she explains.

“Well, if his manager is going to give us the clothes, I don’t care, as if he wants to show up in pajamas, honestly,” Steve says bitterly.

“If you don’t care then leave me work, Steve,” Nancy smirks and Steve grunts, standing on his feet again and ready to leave Nancy’s office.

“Why do you hate him so much?” She asks before Steve can leave. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t hate him…” Steve says, and it’s true. “I just, ugh, all celebs are just the same, proud and so self-satisfied, they’re usually mean and petty.”

“That’s a lot of prejudice and hate in those words of you, Steve,” Nancy huffs. “He seems nice, his manager is very sweet, or that’s what Robin says at least, and God knows she’s even pickier than you with people.”

“That’s why we both get along so well,” Steve smiles. “Why me?”

“Hm?”

“Henderson wants the job, he’s a fan, why not him for this session? He’d be so happy, Nance, and he’s even better than me at this point.”

Nancy studies him for a moment, considering her options.

“I would give him this assignment, but I can’t,” she sighs. “Eddie Munson wants you, he asked for you specifically, Steve. And we already signed the contract.”

“What? Why?” Steve asks, confused and feeling hot all over, angry at the celebs and their fucking idea that the world spins around them.

“I have no idea, Steve,” Nancy sighs now, too. “But Eddie Munson is the big thing happening at the moment, and he wants us, he wants you, this can change…”

“Change my life, yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Steve closes the door behind him with more force than needed.

Eddie Munson, just like the rest of the celebs Steve has worked with, is late. Of course he is. A big rock star like him surely has better things to do than appear at the hour he has been told so Steve can do his fucking job.

He has everything ready to start, the camera settled, the fucking lights, the screen and, ok, maybe he wouldn’t be this upset if he wouldn’t made his job so fucking thoroughly even if he knew it was going to lead him to another disappointment. Steve is good at his job, he takes it seriously no matter what Nancy and Dustin say, and that’s why he asked Robin to call Eddie Munson’s manager and to get him some information. And then, he did some research and called some friends.

In just a week, Steve found several leather jackets, tight enough that no matter how thin Eddie is, he couldn’t wear a shirt underneath, just as his metal heroes did back in their days. Just as tight jeans ripped at the knees, even a few ones with animal print: zebra stripes over red, leopard dots over blue. Denim jackets with spikes at the shoulders. Oversized shirts with ruffles, very pirate-y. And all kinds of jewelry and bijou and chokers and chunk rings, bandanas, chains, everything a eighties-lover metalhead could want and more.

And guitars and their amps - just in case. Steve owes several favors now for a fucking photoshoot just to offer this guy different guitars to pose with. He hopes the man arrives sooner or later, he has to return all the clothes and guitars tomorrow first hour, so for the first time that week, Steve wants Eddie Munson here and now. A part of him, the part that he doesn’t want to listen to and that has been devouring every video of Eddie Munson available on Internet, wants desperately that Eddie likes the set Steve has made for him, and that’s the other reason why he hopes the man will appear any moment now.

It’s easier if he says to himself that he just wants to do that perfect photoshoot, far too easier than to admit that the guy looks hot on every fucking interview and has the habit of winking at the camera. It’s easier if he says to everyone that he’s just a greedy photographer who wants a raise, a chance to prove himself, or whatever other lie he can think of.

Being late is not very hot, in Steve’s opinion.

There’s a rustle behind the door of the studio and then two figures storm in, a cute blonde young woman with her hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a black blazer and jeans, and right by her side, Eddie Munson himself.

“Steve Harrington?” The woman asks, a bright smile in her pink lips, and she offers her hand for Steve to take. “I’m Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie’s manager, I’m sorry we’re late, we got stuck in traffic, I tried to call you to the number Miss Buckley gave me last time, but it seems like it’s not working.”

Steve takes the small hand in his and, fuck, he had silenced his phone earlier because Dustin was texting him non-stop about Eddie Munson and Steve forgot to check in just in case. Well, I’m an idiot for that one, Steve admits while shaking Chrissy’s hand and smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Cunningham, and don’t worry, traffic it’s awful in this city” he says, trying not to look like an idiot, and his eyes find Eddie Munson behind her, worrying his lower lip shyly, eyeing him up and down. “Mr Munson.”

At being called, Eddie takes a step forward and offers his hand to Steve, smiling nervously. His hand is warm, if a bit sweaty, smaller than Steve’s but with long fingers and calloused palms, and Steve realizes he’s thinking too much about said hand, releasing it quickly, shoving all his current thoughts down, crumpling them like a ball of aluminum foil and tossing it at the back of his mind for later examination, or not. Better not.

“Mr Munson is my uncle, please, call me Eddie,” he says, nervously and shivering. “And damn, the pleasure is mine, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Steve blinks several times before his brain registers Eddie’s words, as if their roles were reversed and Steve was the rockstar and Eddie Munson was a fan. Steve can’t help but notice the soft pink that paints Eddie’s cheeks.

“Ehm, same,” he says confused, he was the one believing that Eddie wouldn’t appear after all.

“No man, and I’m so sorry to be late, I hate driving in the city,” Eddie laughs, rubbing his neck and drawing a complex expression on his face. “I hope we can still do the photoshoot today? I’m free and all for you, I mean, to make out with you… To do you! To do the photoshoot! Damn, Munson,” Eddie groans, embarrassed and laughing awkwardly. Steve is having a crisis, or a stroke, or the weirdest dream of his life; he laughs too, his mind racing with very inappropriate images but honestly, he can just blame the stress and the anxiety for doing this job. Eddie recovers, though. “I’m sure you have better things to do, more appointments or something, and if you want to reschedule or something… Chrissy, help, please?”

Eddie Munson rambles when he’s nervous, his cheeks are a bit flushed, and he’s making Steve second guessing everything he thinks he knows about Eddie. And it’s making his knees feel like jelly.

“What Eddie is trying to say is that he asked for you to be the photographer for this session, and if that our delay is an issue, we’ll do whatever it’s on our hands to do it any other day, and of course we’ll cover the inconveniences for today,” Chrissy smiles softly, looking around the studio. “You have the whole set ready, and I know all the hard work you put in here. And if you still have time today, we’ll love to keep the plan.”

“It’s ok, don’t worry, we have time,” no, they don’t. “I don’t have any more appointments today.” It’s not a lie, but he does have work to do that needs to be finished. And yet, now that Eddie is here, Steve doesn’t want him to leave, and it’s not that late. Steve is getting better at lying to himself, then.

Also, what Eddie has to do is just stand there and look pretty, the bitter part of him that is still annoyed snaps to himself, only to be answered with the other part of himself with: damn, he’s already very pretty.

Steve shakes his head and shoves down both thoughts, annoyance and awe can wait until the session is over. Or like, forever. They’re just two more foil balls bouncing at the back of his mind with the previous one.

“We can still do the session today, sure,” Steve reassures them, smiling and nodding.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Eddie says, tugging at a stray curl and putting it in front of his face, hiding from Steve. He has no right to be this sweet, where’s the annoying, overconfident rockstar Steve was expecting? Steve feels his body melting because of Eddie, and that’s not good.

“You’re not a bother, just… We can start when you want.”

Eddie grins, dimples showing and eyes widening, Steve feels the sudden need to clear his throat and drink some water.

"It’s settled then, I need to make some calls, be good, Eddie, ok?" Chrissy says, looking at her tablet and smiling smugly. "Mr Harrington, thank you for this, and if he misbehaves I'll be out there, just scream for help." She adds with a wink before leaving and closing the door behind her, and Eddie makes a sound that it’s too much of a squeak.

"Ok that was... unnecessary," Eddie laughs awkwardly again, and yet he looks comfortable on his own skin while Steve is fighting to maintain his professional composure. "She's just teasing me because, uhm..."

"What, a rock tar like you that doesn't like to be in front of a camera?" Steve asks, a bit awestruck if he's honest to himself, and flirting without noticing. Or, noticing it just a bit.

"I prefer to be on stage, yeah, but, ehm... " Eddie huffs. "I've been waiting for this for a long time, and I want to thank you for having me here today."

"How's that?" Steve asks, smiling, unable to imagine Eddie Munson all shy and flustered, and yet here they are.

"Oh, because I wanted you to make out with me... To have a session with me! With the camera!" Eddie rambles, his cheeks incredibly red and Steve is sure his own are burning now, he can’t even chuckle at this, not when he’s the one imagining it now. Great. "Oh fuck, I'm already making a mess... Ok, fuck it, ok, I've been following your work and I’m kinda obsessed with your style."

Steve can't help but giggle this time, shock running down his body, this is all so absurd, a proper rockstar that stands in front of thousands of people stuttering and praising his work as a photographer. Also, said rockstar admitting to being a fan of his own work. If Steve had a nickel for every time that has occurred to him, he’ll have a one single shining nickel, though.

"You kidding?" Eddie asks, big Bambi eyes widening. "That story about Indiana's Queer secret nightlife? Or the one you did about the abandoned Hawkins lab? You're insanely talented, man, and when I heard you were working as a photographer for this magazine, I begged Chrissy to get me a session with you."

"You like my work?" He asks, incredulous, shaking his head in disbelief.

This can't be real, there's no way a man like Eddie is praising a dork like him.

"Wow, Munson, damn," Steve laughs now, the praise making him feel like he’s floating, and rubs the back of his neck with his hand, his cheeks burning like never before. "I don't even know what to say, thank you, I..."

Fuck, Steve can't lie, he had a lot of prejudices about Eddie, and he doesn't like metal music... Ok, great now he's feeling like a jerk.

"Just saying the truth, dude, and I hope you don't mind me fangirling about you," Eddie smiles, dimples showing, and Steve's breath catches in his throat. This man is a dream, sweet, and incredibly handsome, wearing the simplest clothes: just a white short sleeved shirt and jeans, his long hair in a messy bun. And fucking praising him.

Steve forgets about all his troubles to get the different outfits for Eddie, now he wants to photograph him just like this, all flustered and unhinged in the most beautiful, honest way. In horror, Steve realizes that he’s developing a crush on the man in front of him, just after what, four minutes in his presence? And ok, that’s a new record for him.

This is bad, this is really bad, this is too embarrassing, and once again and for completely different reasons, Steve wishes that Nancy had given Dustin this job.

"I... I want to say that I love your work too but, ehm..." Steve rambles and Eddie's grin widens. "I don't want to look like an idiot, because you're being amazing and nice with me and..."

"Hey, I get it, metal is not for everyone, and I'm just happy that you accepted to work with me, no harm done," Eddie's smile falters a bit but it's still here, chocolate eyes pining Steve in his place.

Steve’s resolve resurges, he decides that he was right putting all that effort in this session after all, and he’ll make it up for Eddie with the greatest photoshoot ever.

"Ok, so," Steve claps his hands. "Before we start, I have a selection for you, clothes and accessories and some guitars, I guessed based on your, ehm, videos and all that, if you want to follow me..."

Steve leads Eddie and shows him the place, and delights in Eddie's gasps and squeaks with almost everything Steve picked for him.

"Ooooh fuck, this can't be real! This is a Carvin JB24 Jason Becker Tribute? Fuck me, Harrington, is this for me?" Eddie yelps, his hands wrapping around the slim, long neck of the guitar. "I always wanted the blue one he always used, you know? But well, I found my Sweetheart, and that was love at first sight," Eddie smiles fondly. "Do you believe in love at first sight, Harrington?"

Fuck, I do believe now, Steve thinks almost hysterically when Eddie winks at him. That leads them into a conversation about Steve's cameras and his own collection, and it's easy to talk with Eddie, he understands Steve and his passion and Steve can understand him now. They both tell stories to the world, Eddie uses his music, Steve his sight.

It’s time for Eddie to choose some outfits for the session and once again, praises Steve for his good eye, for taking him seriously even if he’s a silly man with a guitar, and Steve frowns. He craves Eddie’s praise, sure, but he doesn’t like the way the man talks about himself.

"For a man who claims he doesn't like metal you got me a lot of great stuff, Harrington... Oh shit, this jacket is just like Yngvie Malmsteen’s, can I...?"

"Eddie, we have time," Steve smiles, ignoring how ironic it is that he didn't want this job and now he just wants to spend the whole time with Eddie. "You can try all the outfits."

What a fucking worst-best idea.

Eddie is stunning in every one of the outfits, and he's kind of goofy, making a lot of different poses that makes Steve guffaws behind his camera. It’s fun, and easy, to have Eddie posing for him and following Steve’s instructions and tips. They try different outfits and guitars, and Steve doesn’t want the session to finish.

Steve is happy he just settled his video recorder too, he does that always, the celebs like to have the behind the scenes video, but this? Eddie making him laugh and enjoying the session so freely? Steve is so fucking grateful, he's going to buy Nancy a bouquet of roses or something.

Every five minutes or so, Eddie remembers some iconic photographs of his metal heroes, including Jason Becker, Yngvie Malmsteen and James Hetfield among others Steve is not going to remember their names, sadly, and shows them to Steve asking if they can recreate them.

Steve is happy to indulge Eddie.

"I can make your pics look like they're from the eighties, y'know?" Steve smirks, and Eddie's eyes get even bigger, Steve is not going to survive the weight of that gaze on him.

“Really? Can we… Can you do that?” Eddie asks, almost gaping.

"Yeah, pretty easy, just take the .RAW file and then convert it to .TIFF and just add some gaussian blur..." Steve knows he's rambling but Eddie is smiling openly at him, looking at him like he's doing something amazing for him, even if Eddie has no idea what he's talking about.

"You're so fucking precious, Harrington," Eddie whispers, still with that tight leather jacket wrapped around his torso, the chains hanging from his neck, and he's to close to Steve, so fucking close…

"I..." Steve wants to say that he's only doing his job, but it's not true, not anymore, Steve doesn't bother to try and lie to himself at this point, when he can just lean in and kiss Eddie Munson. "You're so happy with all this, that I want to..." To it be perfect for you.

Steve wants to do something that is not at all professional of him, that it could cost him his job, his whole career, and even Eddie's, if he's taking this all wrong, if Eddie's not looking at his lips the way Steve is almost sure he's doing it.

But Jesus Christ, Steve wants to kiss him, so fucking badly. Maybe the whole shit about rock stars being a chicks magnet is true - Steve just called himself a chick and doesn’t even care, for fuck's sake…

They stand like this for a moment, leaning into each other, something powerful tugging at them, pulling them closer.

"Edward Munson, stop annoying this poor man! It’s been three hours already!" The studio’s door opens then, they both jump and take a step back, Chrissy stepping inside and looking at them with a bright, startled look. "Oops! Oh, f- I'm sorry! I'll wait outside, but, Munson..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm… We’re almost done, I'm sorry Chris," Eddie smiles sheepishly.

Chrissy leaves them again, and Steve is losing his mind, his heart hammering in his chest, breathing heavily and needy like when he was a teenager.

"Guess I should go, then," Eddie says with a sigh, and leaves Steve to hide behind the screen to change into his normal outfit again, and Steve’s heart breaks a little. He hasn’t felt like this in years, Eddie has gotten under his skin faster than anyone else before, and Steve doesn’t know what to do with this feeling.

So Steve starts watching the pics on his camera screen, smiling at himself at the antics of this Eddie Munson. Hot and humble, a goof, always winking at the camera- no, at Steve, and some of those winks show in the photographs.

"Hey I look good in that one," Eddie whispers in Steve's ear, standing behind him and propped up on his feet to look over Steve’s shoulder at the camera. Steve tilts his head and shifts so that Eddie can look better at the photo. Eddie's hair is free from his bun, all bouncing messy curls framing his handsome face, wearing an open maroon button up shirt, he's holding his Sweetheart and kissing the neck of his guitar, eyes closed. The photo is extremely hot and tender, and is one of Steve's favorites too.

"You look good in every fucking photo, Eddie," Steve whispers too, giving up, showing up his cards.

He turns his head to look at Eddie, short sleeved white shirt again, but open, just like in the photo, his chain hanging from his neck and hairless chest on display, but good Jesus, his happy trail is of light brown, soft looking hair.

It’s the first time Steve can see all of his tattoos, too. The bats and the puppet master, the wyvern, in his arms. A zombie head and a black widow on his chest. Steve wonders if he has more tattoos hidden under his clothes.

Steve’s fingers itch with the need and want to touch the man in front of him.

"May I... like this? In your casual outfit?" Steve asks, shyly. He's being greedy, but Eddie grins at him wickedly.

"Only if I can have your personal number, it's only fair."

Steve smiles brightly, his heart hammering in his chest, nodding too fast, imagining Eddie texting him, calling him… Eddie poses a few more times for Steve, and Eddie saves Steve's number in his phone.

"Oh, Harrington, just one more thing..." Eddie says, Steve by his side, before opening the door for him. Steve looks at him, basking in his presence for a few more seconds, and hums, urging Eddie to keep talking.

Eddie leans in and closes the distance between them, kissing him softly, chaste, lips meeting lips, and Steve's hands fly to Eddie's waist, fingers digging in his pale skin and making Eddie’s breath hitch.

"I'm free tonight, if you want to..."

"I'm out at seven," Steve rushes to answer and Eddie smiles against his lips.

"I'll be here to pick you up, and we can have dinner together,” Eddie offers shyly, as if he’s still doubting that Steve wants to have a date with him. Steve reassures him, deepening their kiss, tongues sliding together easily and sending shivers down Steve’s spine.

When they part, Eddie’s cheeks are delightfully red and he seems just as affected as Steve feels, already counting the hours until they meet again later.

WIth a last shy peck, Eddie opens the door and leaves, turning just one more time to wink at him, and Steve grins.

Dustin was right after all, this session surely has changed his life forever.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington

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powderblueblood · 2 months

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Okay so we're just going to pretend that billy is practically neighbors with the doevski's now and he hasn't tried to make a move on lacy's milf mom?

i need him to get rejected so fucking hard it's not even funny. I need his ego to get hit so bad it ends up in a full body cast

DID YOU THINK I MFIN FORGOT ABOUT YOU BABY i didn’t. thank you for sending me this thank you for caring thank you for letting me write some gloriana and helping me ease back into the headspace of writing this fuckin fic lol

warnings: farm to table billy hargrove slander, gloriana doevski outwardly hating her daughter

part of the hellfire & ice universe, natch.

“does this work for you, usually?”

billy hargrove had shown up outside gloriana doevski’s trailer, a vision with a swollen eye on an unseasonably hot day, and had asked her something about having her window boxes weeded. ‘there’s supposed to be flowers in those things, y’know. nothing’s getting a chance to grow.’

tell her about it. gloriana had been locked up inside, the way she spends most of her time these days, which is badly. divorced from the world but not from her husband, steadfast in her commitment for half of the day and considering calling a tip line and fleeing the state for the other.

challenges like billy hargrove could have been sent directly from ray doevski’s prison cell, the convenience at which they showed up. testing her loyalty.

“does what work for me?” billy asks, gardening gloves the only piece of clothing he wears on his upper half.

if this is the challenge, consider gloriana insulted.

“the blue movie setup,” she leans against the door frame, tapping ash from her dunhill onto the step. “the double entendre. nudging yourself into frame, any excuse to take your shirt off. that kind of thing.”

with a ‘heh,’ and a glance to the ground, billy performs knowing bashfulness. it pisses her off.

“depends, i guess. is it working for you?” he looks up at her with his good eye, the one that’s not swollen.

“no, i asked you first. does it satiate the appetite?” gloriana poses, “all of the bored housewives, with whom you’ve lumped me in erroneously, must be fascinated with you. walked right out of their riskier book club novels, didn’t you?”

billy opens his mouth, tongue primed with another smooth line but gloriana stops him short, cigarette arched in her fingers. if he was going to show up half naked, she may as well undress him the rest of the way.

“but does it satiate you? welcomed into the bosom of another woman that doesn’t really want you, other than in a motel six? does that desire make you feel powerful? or does it make you feel cheap?”

“jesus christ, lady—“

“i’m just wondering. innocent question.”

“i see where she gets it from,” he murmurs through an embarrassed choke, an effort that gloriana’s sure is meant to be out of her earshot.

and this could turn into a conversation about lacy, that wretched, double-crossing bad seed of hers whose mud-spattered cheerleading uniform gloriana was clinging onto like a talisman for blackmail, but she’d much rather it didn’t. all it had been since ray had gone to prison was lacy, lacy, lacy, how is lacy, what’s lacy doing, how can we properly utilise lacy. if the girl didn’t come out of gloriana’s very own cunt screaming, she’d bump her off herself.

just for some peace and quiet. and a little attention.

“what happened there?” gloriana leans a touch further out of the door to see the way the sun catches billy’s bruises. they were gnarly, like someone had hit him with a meat tenderiser.

billy snorts through his nose, amorous nature waning into a more comfortable state of sullen dickheadery. “funny story,” he says, “had a run in with your neighbor.”

munson kid, obviously, because it was hardly that decrepit uncle.

gloriana prepared to roll her eyes. “oh?”

“managed to catch a two week suspension for getting between him and his girl.”

if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.

gloriana steps out of the doorway, hip dropping like the heavy end of a seesaw. she gets in billy’s face, in his space, close enough to see the blotchy coagulation of blood underneath the arch of his eyebrow. close enough to smell the richness of his pheromones. close enough to see the gaps in his moustache.

he’s bored, she’s bored. this should be as easy as he thinks it’ll be, right?

“if this is the part where you think you’re going to make me guess who his girl is or hold that information hostage til i invite you inside for a glass of lemonade or a blowjob, you’re heartily mistaken, sweet boy.” gloriana sighs a stream of smoke oh-so close to his mouth. “the only way that daughter of mine could embarrass me any more is if she was sneaking around with you.”

billy might be trembling. this gives gloriana something of a rush. it’s fun to talk down to people when you don’t have a public-facing husband around, admonishing you for it. forcing you to remember your game face.

“you sure about that lemonade?” he asks, dry lips smacking, bewitched.

she’s still got it.

gloriana smirks as the fuck-ugly roar of the munson van draws closer from up the lot. she stamps her cigarette out into the flower box billy is pretending to weed.

“bring me that kid’s fucking head and i’ll think about it.”

#powder room talk #Anonymous #hai brainrot #published by powder

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drconstellation · 6 months

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The Passion of Jimbriel

Part 3: Resurrection

Part 1: The Entry to Soho

Part 2: Trials and Denials

The story of events leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus, and the days following, until his ascension to Heaven, are collectively known as the Passion narratives. It comes from the Latin "to suffer," or "to endure."

In Part 1 of this series we looked at the three temptations in the wilderness during the 40 days of fasting, before the entry to Jerusalem on donkey. Then there was the Cleansing of the Temple and the Anointing of Jesus. I matched up the various scenes in S2 that mirrored these parts of the narratives.

In Part 2 we had the Last Supper, before moving to the Garden of Gethsemane and predicting the Three Denials. The burden of other's sin was taken on, the kiss of Judas was received and Jesus was arrested. Then there was a trial, the first of two, before the Three Denials actually happened. Now we are off to the palace to meet the Roman Governor of Judea.

Just a note: Part 3 isn't any easier than Part 2. Now is the time to save it to read for later, if you aren't in a safe place.

The Court of Pontius Pilate

Jesus is taken to Pilate to be judged again, as the priests want this troublemaker executed, but on questioning Jesus Pilate can find no fault with him. Pilate asks Jesus if he is King of the Jews, and Jesus replies "You have said so," which is not really an answer. Pilate is not sure what to do.

AZIRAPHALE: ...So, you don't know who you are? GABRIEL: Oh, yes. AZIRAPHALE: Ah. GABRIEL: I'm me. I just don't know who me is. AZIRAPHALE: I see. GABRIEL: But you know me. You recognized me. AZIRAPHALE: Well, I ah… know someone who looks like you. GABRIEL: That's probably me then. I think that's one of the main ways you can tell.

Pilate can't see any reason to convict Jesus, since he does not lay claim to any earthly kingdom, only a spiritual one, so he sends him off to King Herod.

Herod questions Jesus as well, hoping to observe one the miracles he has heard about. He gets the same non-responses from Jesus, so sends him back to Pilate.

Hey, it's me! King of the Jews! Gabriel! Don't you recognize me?

It's also worth noting Jimbriel's actual pose as he exits the book shop and how he holds his fingers. He holds his pointer and middle fingers out, and curls his ring and little fingers in on both hands (and this is not the only time he does this in the series.) This is a classic "preaching" pose, and he is mimicking an iconic pose of Jesus here.

There is a small question about whether at this point in the narratives whether it is the soldiers of Herod that dress Jesus in the robes of a king to mock him at this point, or its done a little later, after the release of Barabbas, so lets just mention it here, as it seems to happen twice in our story.

It also might be worth taking a small digression about the performer Liberace here, who inspired the ostrich feather coat, and who reigned as a king of entertainers in the post-WWII era. He was famous not only for his over-the-top flamboyance (as well as being queer) but also for his signature candelabra. You know, one of these:

The Release of Barabbas

Pilate was in a bit of pickle now. He really didn't want to condemn Jesus to death, but the priests were still pushing him to condemn Jesus to execution, so he decided he would give the people the choice instead. He offered them the choice of releasing Jesus or a prisoner called Barabbas. Whether they were stirred up by the priests or not they had only one choice.

They chose...

Actually, I think there are two choices for the release of Barabbas here - one is Gabriel, as I will explain below, and the other one -

Release Bwian!

Er, release Barabbas Mr Brown!

Pick a card, Mutt? While you're dressed in robes that are a throw-back to biblical times? What kind of ineffable games are being played here by the Almighty?

The Way of Sorrows

(Also known as: The Stations of the Cross, The Way of the Cross)

Oh, yes, its this bit. And you thought it was just a bit of silliness.

Lead the way, soldier!

Some of the narratives have the Roman soldiers who take him from Pilates court strip him and robe him in either red or purple, give him a crown of thorns and call him "King of the Jews!" again in mockery before he is forced to walk to his place of execution.

Wait, who's execution are we walking towards again?

Crown of Thorns. ✅ Mocking garb.✅

I had already mused in the past that Crowley had dressed like this to mock the Archangels in my big colour meta (under silver,) and I have also bumped into pre-release comments that thought he was doing that as well, so I 'm glad to see I'm not the only one on this train of thought! He's gone a bit over-the-top with his outfit, which is similar to Saraqael's (a hint to the connection there) plus he has a tactical turtle neck on to go with his master spy work he's undertaking (but so does Saraqael!) It also tells us its a level of rank he's quite familiar with.

Oh, hang on. Gabriel didn't get away from doing anything here.

The Three Stations of Gabriel's Cross Bearing: The first in 1827, when Crowley shows it to Aziraphale on a midnight date, the second when Aziraphale comes across it again in the present - and tells Crowley "I think I've found some clues," and the third when we see Gabriel showing it off to Beelzebub.

OK, one more bit of mocking...

The Crucifixion

On arriving at the top of Golgotha, Jesus was stripped of his clothes and nailed to the cross. A sign was placed above his head declaring him the king of the Jews. On either side two other criminals were also crucified that day.

This is the one part of the narratives that did not fit into S2, so it got given to us separately.

In S1 we had the scene at Golgotha in S1E3 Hard Times, where we are shown Aziraphale and Crowley meeting to witness the event. Aziraphale remarks that he is "not consulted on policy decisions," while Crowley relates that he carried out the Third Temptation on Jesus not long before this.

A red cloth draped on the ground symbolizes blood in S1. In S2 we have red tomatoes spilling across the road as Gabriel walks past on his way to the bookshop. They take us back to S1 and tell us its repeating again. I would expect another iteration in S3.

Then we have the two classic poses that were given to us, that are not in any scene from S2. When these were first released a number of ops posted about the similarity to the iconography of the Madonna and Jesus on the Cross.

On the left, is Aziraphale, posing as mother Mary, in the "Stabat Mater" pose, or "the mother was standing." This is Mary standing at the base of the cross, and she is traditionally shown on the left hand side. She is but a spectator to the scene.

On the right, is Crowley, posing as Jesus nailed to the cross. He is a sacrifice of one, to save many, in his present day costume.

What intrigues me is they chose to have Aziraphale wear his Job minisode costume for this shot. The angels were dressed in white and gold to show their "divine majesty," to fit in with the vivid 1950's style colouring. But it was also where he had to chose very carefully what he said, and he chose to lie to save lives.

A scene from the Job minisode, A Companion to Owls: Sitis and Job on the left - Sitis is Aziraphale-coded and Job is Crowley-coded. on the right are the divinely-glowing angels. Gabriel stands on the demonic-sided left of them, but Aziraphale is on the far left, the most demonic angel there. He was lying, after all, and that's what demons do, isn't it?

While Jesus is often called the Lamb of God, as sheep were considered more respectable to Christian ideals, and Jesus is said to have gone willingly to his death, it is perhaps a better way to consider what happened as the scapegoat ritual - where two goats are chosen, one is burdened with the sins of the group and released into the wilderness to take those sins with them and die, and the other to be sacrificed to God. In the Passion, it was Barabbas that was set free, and Jesus that was sacrificed.

The question then becomes how to view this through the lens of the Good Omens story. If we didn't get a crucifixion scene in S2, when is this occurring in the story? If Crowley is Jesus, who is Barabbas? If Aziraphale is Mary, just witnessing the execution, and not able to intervene...what could be the long term implications of that?

This is where I feel like I've done a Crowley on myself, spreading a field of sharp tacks across that shiny clean aisle in Heaven I was sauntering blithely down and stabbed myself unexpectedly in the foot.

Because the answer to the second question there is Barabbas is Gabriel. (hey, wot, didn't you say Mr Brown was Barabbas??) S2 spent quite a bit of time trying to tell us how similar Crowley was to Gabriel, and the two characters appear to be acting as "foils" to each other this season. Indeed, they have been interchangeable in their roles as Jesus throughout this three-part meta (thinking about another meta to expand on this.) And right at the end Gabriel gets to run away into the interstellar wilderness to ostensibly never be seen again - and Crowley stays to be emotionally slaughtered.

Which still leaves us with the first and third questions.

When did happen? The problem is, as already stated - this scene did not fit into S2, so we were given it separately. I know one could argue that the end of the above scene, and the following moments, could count as the crucifixion, as Aziraphale was bound seemingly helplessly by the manipulations of the Metatron to leave Crowley behind, and in doing so to sacrifice him for a greater good. This goes someway towards leaving Aziraphale as the witnessing Mary, but he is still far too involved for my liking here. And we've already put the label of Judas on him in Part 2 of this meta. He had to betray Crowley to get him to stay behind for his own safety.

The more likely scenario is then it happened in the past. I'm going to quote a passage from @vidavalor's meta "The *Original* Original Sin Theory as they say it best, really:

Aziraphale doesn’t need to see Heaven’s files to find out what happened to Crowley when Crowley fell because he was there. S3 is going to be about preventing the Second Coming and so plot allusions to the crucifixion (which had its own Crowley & Aziraphale scene in S1) will likely abound. Aziraphale was there when Lucifer and The Gang were tossed out of Heaven. To be fair to Aziraphale, there is basically nothing he could have done to prevent this and the best possible situation is that he didn’t even have the chance to. The worst possible situation is that he’s literally Judas and sold Crowley out, out of fear of being tossed out of Heaven himself. I tend to think it’s more that he just didn’t stand up and say anything in support of Crowley to prevent himself from being seen as on the side of the eventual demons. Still, just as Crowley thinks the punishment for Adam and Eve was harsh, Aziraphale thought that asking questions and being curious wasn’t enough to send Lucifer and everyone around him to Hell to be damned for all of eternity but it caused an obvious existential crisis in him that he still struggles to totally resolve.

And that is basically how I see it, too. Heaven (the Jewish priests), through the Metatron, wanted the inquisitive, questioning angel!Crowley gone, possibly because he'd found something he shouldn't have seen. Lucifer and the guys (Rome) didn't care much for angel!Crowley either, as I showed back in this meta, and were happy for him to be the scapegoat that got made an example of for punishment. And Aziraphale, as Mary, kept his mouth shut and just watched, because he wanted to be a good angel and not get thrown out of Heaven himself. Maybe he did know something that could have absolved angel!Crowley, maybe he lied to escape being thrown out himself, but what ever happened, he's been carrying a sense of guilt about it ever since.

As for Crowley, he was not a willing lamb at all. We see him question God about his fall, about testing Earth to the point of destruction and he gives the goats in the Job minisode a soliloquy about their impending doom that seems an obvious reflection of his own experience as a scapegoat.

Now we have the Second Coming in S3. Jesus will be back. So will mention of the crucifixion. There is still plenty of dirt to be dug up and aired on this yet.

Maybe someone did die, after all...of embarrassment!

Burial of Jesus

Joseph of Arimathea was given permission by Pilate to remove Jesus' body from the cross, wrap it in white linen, and place it in a tomb. Even though Jesus was considered a criminal, he should still be buried before sunrise the next day.

I'm going to admit, this is the one bit of the narratives I'm not sure about. Was it the burying of Gabriel's essence in the fly? Or the burying of Gabriel's location under the 25 lazurii miracle?

There also a section called the Harrowing of Hell here, where Jesus was said to have descended to the Underworld, or Hell (because that is what Hell means, after all, the Underworld - that's why it's in the basement of the celestial corporate building!) and liberated those caught in Hell up until that time.

This could be why we get the scenes with Beelzebub stressing over the disappearance of Gabriel and lack an any sign of where he has gone. They look more "harrowed" as the days go on.

Resurrection

After three days, Jesus rose from the dead. This act is seen as a guarantee that all the dead (on the "right side" or those whose names are in the Book of Life) will be also resurrected when the Second Coming occurs. It is also known as The Parousia, which we see mentioned inside the cinema on the wall during the opening sequence in S2.

After three days, some women approached the tomb to finish preparing the body, because they had not been able to earlier due to the sabbath day occurring. As they approached, they found the stone that should have blocked the entrance rolled back, and an angel clad in white sitting there telling them not to be afraid, but to go tell others what had happened.

Well, Gabriel had left the building, but the last thing was they were going to do was tell everyone about it!

SARAQUEL: I don't trust him. Can we begin the memory wipe now? MICHAEL: What, without him here? [nods] Good idea. SARAQUEL: Right. I can't… I can't find his memory anywhere. In fact, I can't find him in the building. He's left Heaven. Should I sound an alert? METATRON: Oh, don't be so wet. No, you're all just going to have to find him. That's all.

Humph. You're being the wet blanket, Metatron.

On one side of The Resurrectionist sign for the pub in Edinburgh we have Jesus standing outside his tomb. He is dressed in red and blue. The red represents his connection to humanity but he is wrapped in the blue of divinity. It looks like we are looking out of the tomb into the world. The entrance is supposed to match the "gate" of Eden that Aziraphale sent Adam and Eve through, so if it looks familiar, that's why.

We something similar when Gabriel regains his memories from the fly. We start out with a red transition, then move towards blue as he regains his angelic divinity, then he is finally back as his lilac royal smugness self on the last.

I did take a very long look at @embracing-the-ineffable's The Ineffable Detective Agency's presents: Gabriel's Memory and the quick transition sections, but didn't come to any firm conclusions, other than the colours. Although this may be why Death appears four times.

Ascension to Heaven

Accounts vary - some say it was the same day, some say after forty days - Jesus ascends to Heaven.

See you later, guys!

You know you can never return, right? Right?

Um, so, what about this little thing called the Second Coming, then?

Wait and see? nngggkk...

Here endeth our journey through the Passion narratives.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #aziraphale #crowley #gabriel #beelzebub #the metatron #saraqael #mr brown #the eldritch ball #liberace ostrich feather coat #jimbriel #the passion of jimbriel #the resurrectionists #job minisode

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starksvinyls · 1 year

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Title: I Know What This Looks Like Rating: Mature Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark Tags: Attempt at Humor, Cock Rings, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Masturbation Gone Wrong Summary: Tony walks in on Bucky and Steve in a compromising position. Notes: for @bingowinteriron B5 “I know what this looks like.” & @buckybarnesbingo B1 "Humor" AO3 Link

“Ow!”

“Quit movin’!”

“I can’t help it!”

“Well, try.”

“What the hell?” Tony was frozen where he came around the corner. Steve was standing facing away from the the hallway, basketball shorts pulled down under his ass, and someone (Tony guessed it was Bucky based on the voice) was kneeling in front of him.

Steve’s head tipped back, looking to the heavens as if that would save him. “Oh, god.” He groaned.

Bucky leaned to the side, head popping out around Steve’s hip. “I know what this looks like, but it ain’t that.”

Tony walked further into the room, doing his best not to stare at Steve’s pasty white ass. He didn’t even know asses could be that white. “Then what is it?” He asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Stevie here got a-“

“Bucky, I swear to god.”

“-cock ring stuck around his dick and can’t get it off and he’s too chicken to go down to medical.”

“It would be embarrassing!” Steve honest-to-god squeaked.

Tony blinked, and then burst out laughing. He was nearly doubled over, holding himself up with his hands on his knees. Steve was saying something, but Tony couldn’t hear what over his own cackling. His stomach was starting to hurt from how much he was laughing, but he couldn’t stop! Mister Golden Boy got his dick stuck in a cock ring. It was the funniest thing Tony had encountered in his four-plus decades on Earth.

Eventually, Bucky called out “Alright, alright, calm it down over there.” Though there was humor in his tone. “We need to be more sympathetic to Steve’s plight.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, before both of them burst out laughing. Steve huffed and awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest, his patented ‘I’m disappointed’ pose, though the affect was lost since his pants were down and his dick was out for the whole room to see.

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” Tony chuckled, getting himself back under control.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and took a breath, slowly blowing it out to give himself another few seconds to try and reign it in. When he glanced at Bucky, the other man was giving Tony a look that clearly said 'I know you’re not even close to being done' and he was kind of right. Tony would be laughing about this for a long, long time.

“In all seriousness, how do you get it stuck? It should slide right off once the - ah - swelling goes down.” Tony pointed out.

“It won’t, though. Go down, I mean.” Steve was blushing so hard Tony was a little worried he’d start a fire. “I think the ring was too small, or something, because it’s, just…well,” He sighed. “You mind’s well look.”

Tony snorted and then came to stand next to where Bucky was kneeling on the floor. Steve’s dick wasn’t hard, it just seemed swollen. The cockring was definitely too small. Also metal. Tony sighed and then walked off towards the kitchen. He grabbed a bag of frozen peas and tossed them at Bucky when he came back.

“Try that.” He smirked.

It took a moment for it to click for both Super Soldiers.

“Oh, no. No. You are not putting that on my-”

Bucky pressed the bag of frozen peas to Steve’s junk.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Steve yelled, quickly backing away from Bucky. His hands were protectively covering his dick. “What the hell?”

“Did it work?” Tony asked.

Steve turned around, making both Tony and Bucky roll their eyes. When he turned back around, the ring was in the palm of his hand and he was attempting to pull up his shorts with his other hand. “We never speak of this again.” And with that, Steve was hurrying back towards the elevator.

Tony offered a hand up off the floor to Bucky, and when they were eye to eye, Bucky grinned.

“You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Nope!” Tony replied sunnily, already planning on gifting the Captain a leather snap-on cock ring.

#bingowinteriron #bingowinteriron2023 #bbb2023 #winteriron #starkbucks #winteriron fic #starksvinyls fic

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amadayus17 · 1 year

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The Christian and Her King

*This is my first in-depth-ish smut soooo yeah. Also, it’s not proofread so there might be some grammatical errors*

-----

The spring months always were favorable to the farmers of Wessex, mainly because the crops flourished, but it also seemed to bring the Northmen whose only goal was to raid and pillage our beautiful country. However, I try not to think about it too much. All I can do is pray to our lord and savior Jesus Christ, and hope whatever he has in store for us won’t be too bad.

The King has sent soldiers to every village as that is the Viking's main target. This makes it hard for me to sneak out of the protective walls to get some peace outside the village. But lucky for me, there is a tree whose branches hang over the walls that allow me to climb up and over.

My feet hit the hard earth as I grunt trying to regain my balance. Finally, some peace and quiet. I begin my short walk to a clearing in the forest where there is a rock that is shaped kind of like a chair. It’s here where I feel like myself, I don’t have to worry about the chores at home or my mother and father trying to find me a husband. It’s here where the only sounds are the birds and nature, not the noises of my busy village.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as twigs snap behind me, I immediately freeze hoping that the rock is big enough to give me some cover from whatever or whoever is behind me. The thing behind me began to make its way to the rock, my heart pounds faster as horrible thoughts flow freely in my mind. What comes out from behind the rock is a crippled man, no older than myself. He passes by me without noticing me, thanking God I pray that he will give me an opportunity to escape from the cripple without being detected.

My breathing picks up with increasing fear as he heads for my village, though I’m not sure if he poses as much of a threat. Nevertheless, I can’t let him reach my village. I stand up causing some leaves to crunch under my weight. He snaps his head back and his eyes show a hint of fear before they’re taken over by anger.

The man slithers over to me, causing my fear to get the better of me I stay in place.

“Hverr eru þú?” He says in a language unfamiliar to me. I give him a confused look as he rolls his eyes and says it again this time in my language, “who are you?”

Stunned I say nothing as I observe him tilting my head and narrowing my eyes trying to decipher if he is a threat to me. He clears his throat pulling me from my inner battle, I stay silent for a moment longer before coming to the decision that he is not a threat.

“Agatha.” He nods his head and eyes me up and down, “and what are you, Agatha, doing here all by yourself in the forest?”

Still fighting my inner battle, I choose to tell the truth because he can’t do anything to me anyway, at least not with the legs God has given him. “Trying to find some peace and quiet, but you ruined it.”

He lets out a light laugh, “þú're kourageous.” He says once again in his native tongue.

“I can’t understand your odd language,” I state and cross my arms. He looks me up and down again smirking, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

I shake my head no, “I am Ivar the Boneless, King of Norway.” That’s when it hit me, the slithering and the odd language. I try to back away but trip over my own feet. Landing on my butt he crawls between my legs to get a closer look at my face.

As he’s observing my face I can’t help to study his own. He’s got strikingly blue eyes and a very handsome face to go with them. He hums and takes a small section of my hair to twirl it in his fingers, “beautiful” he mutters under his breath. My cheeks turn a light shade of red and an unfamiliar feeling shoots through my body to his comment.

My hands begin to move on their own as they reach to touch his face. Right before my fingertips touch his cheek his hand is on my wrist to stop it. I jump trying to find the right words to tell him that I won’t hurt him.

“Please, I am not going to hurt you,” I say as I pry my wrist from his grasp. I return to my previous task and this time he lets me touch him. For being a Viking his skin is surprisingly soft. Wanting to feel more of him I move my hands ever so slowly down his shoulders to his biceps. He sucks in a sharp breath and stares into my roaming eyes.

Mustering all the courage and strength I could find I flipped him so that he was leaning against the rock. He froze for a second then reached for his axe, but before he could pull it out of its holster I smashed my lips against his. I have no idea what made me kiss him but I couldn’t stop.

Clearly in shock, he stiffened before he gave in and began moving his lips with mine. After a while, I had to pull back to breathe. “I don’t know why I did that. I’ve never kissed anyone before.” I turned around with panic setting in. I just made out with England's sworn enemy, I am going to Hell for sure. I start to get up and run away when he grabs my wrist, “you’re not going anywhere.” He smirks and locks his eyes with mine.

Ivar pulls me down to him and kisses me again. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m already going to Hell so might as well make the most of this because if anyone finds out about this interaction I will be ruined. But fuck it, he is attractive so might as well. I move myself to sit on his lap moving my hands to his chest wanting to feel all of him.

He moans into the kiss as I feel something hard beginning to form. I’ve never seen a dick before let alone touch one, but curiosity gets the better of me and I try to unbuckle his pants. He stops me and does it himself struggling a bit, I chuckle and help him pull them down to his knees. His cock springs free and I can’t help but stare at it curiously.

My hands move on their own and I touch the head. Ivar grunts in response, I’m assuming that it felt good so I close my hands around it stroking it slowly a few times earning more moans. Just as he’s about to come he tells me to stop. I look at him confused, “did I do something wrong?”

Ivar shakes his head, “no. But I’m not going to let my seed go to waste.” I look at him confused until it clicked, he wanted to have sex. My cheeks redden again and I reluctantly slide my dress up and line his cock up with my entrance. He slams my hips down and I let out a cry of pain, tears swelling in my eyes. He tips his chin up so that I’m looking into his strikingly blue eyes, “shh, don’t worry it will feel good soon.” Ivar whispers and tenderly kisses my lips while moving my hips up and down.

I wasn’t sure I could believe him when he said it would feel good but I’m starting to believe him. Eventually, I started moving my hips on my own, the pain turning into pleasure. After a few more thrusts I feel a knot forming in my lower abdomen, “Ivar, I’m close.” I moan.

He moans in my ear and moves his hand to find my clit. He started in slow circles that turned into rapid ones. That was enough to push me over the edge and I scream out his name as he finishes, spilling his hot seed deep inside me.

For a moment we stay in this position catching our breath. “Ivar!” I hear another voice call out in the distance and I freeze. Ivar breathes out a long breath, before the other man, comes into view.

“Líthvatr ek vitumk!” The man yelled and another man came into view. They looked at us and chuckled saying more things in their native tongue. “Ivar, who are they and what are they saying?”

“They’re my brothers and they’re saying that they can’t believe that I found a woman who would lay with me.” I look at them and glare. Ivar may be a cripple, but he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

“Ivar, þú skulu share hanmeðr oss!” The older-looking brother says. I look at Ivar again and he says that they want to share me. A look of disgust covers my face, “tell them that I want you and only you.” I say and return to glaring at them.

Ivar tells his brothers and they look at me with pity after he shoos them off. He turns his attention back to me and asks me if I would go back to his camp with him.

“As much as I want to I can’t. If I don’t return they’ll sound the alarm and send an army to find your camp.” He sighs and kisses me. “Do not be afraid my sweet Agatha, your king's army does not scare me, they can send all the soldiers and I would kill them all to see you again.” With that, I get off his lap and give him one last kiss before going back to my village.

#ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless smut #vikings #ubbe #hvitserk

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archerygun · 17 days

Text

Guys I’m sorry. A single person asked me to elaborate. I’ve gotta elaborate now. I have permission from an internet stranger. Also, yes, I think I should be locked up and studied for science but exposing my insanity on the internet is the next best thing. @dye-it-rouge-et-noir this one is for you buddy.

This is a follow-up/part 2 post. If you’re seeing this post before part 1, part 1/the context is here = https://www.tumblr.com/archerygun/749484004313579520/alright-i-was-chatting-to-a-friend-about-james?source=share

(Splitting it up into sections because I want to try and contain myself from rambling nonstop for five straight minutes)

DESIGN EXPLANATION/BREAKDOWN

Sean Connery - A friend of mine did most of the design, I added the bottom half, the gun, the colours and a couple of motifs. I chose Thunderball as the film of focus because my friend mentioned his swimsuit was traumatising, and also because it’s the film with the jetpack in it. Generally focused on circular shapes and tear shapes because y’know… water. He’s orange because of the orange swimsuit that my friend called out lmao. And the flower on the neck bow is supposed to look like the one from the iconic white dinner suit that I tend to default to drawing Sean Connery Bond in because when he isn’t in dinner suits his dress sense is generally not as fun as I would like. The gun is based on the one from the James Bond image. You know the one.

I put simultaneously not enough thought and too much thought into this Jesus Christ. I think he’d have some sort of jetpack power-up or something. George Lazenby - He only did one film, so that did limit sources of inspiration. Fortunately, OHMSS is my favourite Bond film because everything about it is earnest and completely insane. I had to include his bowler hat from the intro because it was amazing and not enough Bonds wear hats, so he’d at least look distinctive. It’s set in an icy location for most of it, so that’s where most of the theming came from, the colour, etc; the diamond motif might have suited Sean Connery better all things considered but too late now. I took some costuming inspiration from his kilt outfit because it was strange and iconic and I think all Bonds should be made to wear it. He only really has one promo shot with a gun so I had to give the position of tiny gun guy to George Lazenby. He wields it well.

Roger Moore - I kinda just took the fact that he was the first Bond in space and ran with it. Used stars as a motif, etc. Particular inspiration was taken from this outfit:

And partial inspiration from his weird marine navy commander-style getup (for the shawl thing). It was legitimately way too hard to find a gun that wouldn’t accidentally cross over with a gun from another Bond so I picked the most Seventies gun I could possibly find for inspiration assuming that no other Bonds would ever use something similar. The upper body pose as usual is directly from the reference image. I felt like if I put all the Bonds in skirts, it’d get a bit repetitive and start looking bad, so I figured if any Bond was going to get trousers it would have to be the one that actually wore flares.

CHARACTER EXPLANATION/BREAKDOWN

Basically just how I’d pitch the three Bonds I’ve done so far if they were a group dynamic instead of solo iterations. Gonna do it in bullet points so it’s more comprehensible. (I don’t have any rhyme, reason or lore for this. It’s literally just me assigning three Bonds distinct personalities).

Sean Connery:

The group leader/group elder/tired old man

He can still be a slut if that’s what you want but minus the creepiness. Mutual engagement in passive flings? No problems with that.

Seen so much shit that he’s sorta nonchalant about everything and believes he’s overqualified for just about anything he’s asked to do.

✨War trauma✨

Suaveness and charm level 100. He’s a crabby old man most of the time but he’s so charming that the group let him get away with it.

He’s desensitised to like, literally everything. He will not hesitate to kill a man in cold blood if the situation demands it.

Pretty much believes that human beings are fundamentally bad, himself included.

Ultimately the one that’s willing to make the hard calls.

George Lazenby:

Like his actor before him he is the least qualified and probably lied to get into the secret service.

Optimistic, perceived as naive, ready to try and fight the narrative to change his fate.

The group child (and the youngest).

Quit the secret service after his new wife was assassinated on their wedding day and only comes back because shit has hit the fan (plot reasons. I don’t have a plot, I’m just speaking as if I’m pitching a TV show).

Doomed By The Narrative™️

Ridiculed or forgotten by everyone except the other Bonds

Sean Connery’s Bond respects him a great deal and secretly envies his more idealistic worldview, but won’t let him make the tough calls because he sees him as too naive and too unstable (willing to risk everything)

Roger Moore’s Bond HAS adopted him.

Roger Moore:

Literally feral

Master of British understatement (“Oh. That’s a bit of a shame.” as the world is literally ending around him)

He’s besties with Sean Connery’s Bond as the other sort of group elder

Despite how manic and wired he appears, he is terrifyingly competent and capable of being very serious

Team leader when Connery’s Bond is out of action

Dad figure. Not just to the other Bonds, but as a default personality. He will go parent mode on anyone he thinks he’s capable of saving.

Although if he doesn’t think you’re saveable he will not hesitate to shoot on sight if he runs out of options.

As far as ideas for the other three, Timothy Dalton is going to look evil and edgy but he’s just an enthusiastic dork and Daniel Craig is a stone cold killer with trust issues draped in bright pink bows. I haven’t seen any Pierce Brosnan movies so far so I might just have to vibe check him based on plot synopsis.

Closing thoughts? I want my brain removed and replaced with a better one. I’m sorry for everything you have witnessed today.

Also, these are based exclusively on the movies and not the books. I’m more digging into what makes each actor and era special and distinct.

If you sat through all that, well done, thank you, please don’t report me to the asylum and enjoy this image of Sean Connery.

#james bond 007 #james bond #007 #magical girl #pitch #writing idea #concept #sean connery #roger moore #george lazenby #ohmss #on her majesty's secret service #thunderball

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