#it’s more so the double standards behind them
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oh yeah so i was slightly delirious earlier and i made this on impulse. oh boy. why did god give me a writing ability
“Pick up the knife.”
Is this fuckass creature serious? They stared at the knife, which had the Milgram logo emblazoned on it. Bro that shit’s ugly, I ain’t killing myself on that.
Seriously, who the hell designed this logo? I’m finna join Amane’s cult, at least the branding looks somewhat artistic.
Damn, wait, I can’t, she’s dead. I don’t know why the hell the voices voted everyone guilty this trial.
“C’mon, Es, let’s end this.”
Bro wants this to be symbolistic. “Um… you first?”
“What?” Jackalope was surprised by their sudden resistance. “Es, I’m still the keeper of this place. This isn’t a double suicide, it’s just you who’s supposed to die.”
“Pussy.” A word that Yuno often called Futa. It was fitting for the situation.
“What. I’m a male jackalope, what-”
Es was tempted to throw the knife at him, to let the intrusive thoughts win, but they assured themself, I’ll do that later. With more planning.
Mf killed all of my prisoners, I ain’t letting him leave this alive. I’m going out with a bang, and I’m gonna take him down with me.
If I gotta die, Milgram’s gonna die with me.
Es was a bad-
Shut, you.
WIth the power of the fourth wall, they somehow bit the voice. Wanting to die really brought out another side of people.
(The person behind the voice was sent to the hospital due to the bacteria from their bites. This child might have gotten rabies, somehow.)
They grabbed the knife, which Jackalope let out a sigh of relief. “Okay… okay! Es, c’mon, if you want to be a good warden, then just end it now.”
Es stared back at him, and grinned. They started to abruptly maniacly laugh, which scared the shit out of Jackalope. “I’m already a horrible warden; my prisoners died for crimes they didn’t deserve.”
“I- but that’s what you-”
“I have different standards than the voices. Those weren’t my verdicts.” Es broke the fourth wall again, threatening to give rabies to anyone who dared question their truth.
“Es, just-”
“The people have decided.”
“Who-”
“Chat GPT Chair oomf and crab.”
“Es. what the fuck are you talking about.”
They stared directly into the camera. “T H E Y know exactly whan I’m talking about. They have given your guilty verdict.”
His eyes widened, as he realized what they were talking about.
“Die.” Es grabbed the knife, and immediately killed the rabbit.
His hat fell off, revealing his horns to be fake. Lmao.
They stabbed him more times than necessary. Their uniform was completely bloodstained; they were essentially a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Wolf analogies… would Kotoko be proud of me? I’ll meet her in hell ig.
They giggled like a maniac, and got kidnapped by an angel like a cat being picked up by its scruff because the author is tired of making Es kts / attempt. (this is totally not foreshadowing)
Why the hell am I in heaven? Girl I swore enough to kill an army of faries.
Despite their confustion, they lived happily ever after. Not many to none of the prisoners were in heaven with them.
I cannot disclose who wasn’t in heaven due to wishing to not be cancelled.
The End.
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stans always say that antis moralize shit too much, bringing up concerns about the ic’s actions when it’s “not that serious”, but these are also the same people who will cry about how terrible tamlin and nesta are because he locked feyre in a house and nesta let feyre hunt.
meanwhile, feyre’s destabilized an entire fucking court and felt proud of that — which is not only a war crime, but caused the invasions of summer and actively contributed to the fall of the wall because she made the utterly dumb decision to destabilize the ONE court keeping hybern from his goal.
rhys terrorizes the vast majority of his court like the dictator he claims is jUsT aN aCt. he legit sold them all out to amarantha, letting her torture them so he could protect one freaking city that was already hidden from her view. he groped and debased feyre utm, and he twisted her broken arm and forced her into a deal with him. he is constantly lording his power over others, especially the other high lords, which is just freaking pathetic. he’s got no damn respect for others, clearly shown from his insistence on taking the book from tarquin instead of asking. not to mention that whole pregnancy subplot in acosf.
don’t even get me started on the rest of the inner circle. like, you wanna like them? sure, i don’t give af. im not gonna go around calling you an abuse apologist for liking rhysand. but don’t sit here and say we’re unnecessarily moralizing shit in a book about murderous faeries when, in the same vein, the author herself (and a lot of stans) legit does the exact same thing. like there is no world in which maas can stuff a moral scale into these books and not be a hypocrite without it being anything beyond the characters’ own spite. but guess what? SHE DOES IT ANYWAY.
so yes im going to keep talking about how terrible rhys is as a character. yes im going to keep talking about how much the ic sucks. and 80% of the time, idec when characters are horrible people, but when the author herself and the freaking fandom sit there and say with their full chest that they’ve done nothing wrong, that’s when im like ???no??? ESPECIALLY when they call other people abuse apologists for liking characters they constantly try to moralize like no just no.
so keep your stupid contradictory morality in these books idc, but it means that i am going to judge the absolute unapologetic fuck out of your favs.
#it’s not even like the characters themselves that i really care about#it’s more so the double standards behind them#like one of your mains legit tortures people#and the books choose to bully a depressed twenty five year old war veteran over that guy#like no that’s just not logical in any way shape or form#and even if it was biased povs#everyone hates tamlin even though this is the guy who prob took in a lot of refugees from their courts during amarantha#who worked his ass off to fight against her and get an edge over her#who never gave in against amarantha#like i can understand them being wary due to his shtick with hybern#but you’d think they wouldn’t be so outright disdainful without hearing him out first lmao#especially considering refusing Hybern clearly would’ve resulted in his Court being attacked and ultimately defeated#there’s no contradictions ever given that Nesta doesn’t suck#and idc how biased your POVs are#if there’s no proof that those POVs are biased#in that people called them out#it doesn’t count as a biased pov because it’s like every character bends to their reality#anti sjm#pro tamlin#astrababyy#anti rhysand#anti feyre#going on a rant cause acotar reddit is getting on my damn nerves
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𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐒
· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ ` ` How does Charles Leclerc pull more girls than me? ` ` ⊹ ‧₊˚
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃?: Yes! (Part of 1K Event!)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ Y/N loves Alex and Charles. And Charles and Alex happen to love her too. Problem? People don’t know that she doesn’t just love Charles, but both of them.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ Charles Leclerc x Alexandra Saint-Mleux x Fem!Ballerina!Reader
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ GOOGLE TRANSLATED FRENCH (I DO NOT KNOW FRENCH AT ALL 😭😭), A LOT OF ONLINE HATE, accusations. POLY COUPLE! (I know this is not everyones thing, so as a just in case before the start of the fic.), this is not timeline accurate!!
𝐀/𝐍 ୨୧ Dear anon, I have no clue who you are but the fact we had the same idea proves wonders. I had a Alex and Charles fic planned almost identical to what you requested! The only difference I made was that the reader does ballet 🩷 Tysm for this request! I just love alex sm 🩷😫
1K EVENT MASTERLIST
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y/n.silvousplait
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, lesballetdemontecarlo and others
y/n.silvousplait back in the studio 🩰 🪞(+ art piece alex shared with me! fitting isn’t it? 🫣)
tagged ; alexandrasaintmleux, lesballetsdemontecarlo
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username1 is this the girl charles keeps getting spot with when alex is gone??
username2 charles… get behind me and alex…
username3 the fact you guys are hating on a girl who could literally be his friend is insane…
alexandrasaintmleux je te ressemble beaucoup haha ! (very much like you haha!)
→ y/n.silvousplait 🥴🥴
→ username4 haha!! no!! go away y/n!!
→ username5 alex we know what you’re thinking
→ username6 DRAG HER!! 🗣️ 🔥
→ username7 alexandra >>>> whoever tf y/n is.
username8 no because i don’t trust this girl…
→ username9 fr like why are you hanging out with someone elses man??? 💀
→ username10 because she is friends with charles and alex??? she got alex flowers with charles to help support her…??? AS LITERALLY SHOWN IN PHOTOS?? you all act as if they don’t know about each other when y/n and alex have known each other for forever… fake ass fans just all a bunch of mob mentality.
charles_leclerc ✔︎ 🤍
→ username1 UHM.
→ username2 Chalres Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc.
→ username3 not a good look buddy 💀
→ username4 don’t hang out with that bitch anymore 💀 you have a gf charles
→ username5 don’t break alex’s heart for some rando :(
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y/n.silvousplait
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y/n.silvousplait fun in the sun 🌞 🌊
tagged ; alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc
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username11 put a damn shirt on no one wants to see you
→ username12 putting a photo of her and alex together as if she wasn’t seen with charles earlier this month is actually INSANE.
→ username13 NO BECAUSE THE ABSOLUTE AUDACITY…
username14 the photo of charles is just the cherry on top.
username15 no yeah this girl so fucking two faced 💀
alexandrasaintmleux la plus jolie 🩷(Translation: the prettiest)
y/n.silvousplait et toi 🫶 (Translation: And you)
charles_leclerc ✔︎ les plus belles filles du monde!
→ username16 men.
→ username17 commenting this on your gf’s friend’s post is crazy.
→ username18 the double standard here is unhinged.
→ username19 @ username18 NO BC EVERYONE IS HATING ON HER AS IF CHARLES ISN’T THE ONE DOING THIS SHIT TOO. NONE OF HER POSTS SHOW HER TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC WITH HIM AND THEY ARE ALL GOING FOR HER…
→ username20 leclerc fans are just deluded.
y/n.silvousplait
liked by charles_leclerc, rebeccadonaldson, franscica.cgomes, and others
y/n.silvousplait with my favorite piece of art 🖼️ 🩷
tagged ; alexandrasaintmleux
4,791 comments
username21 using alex like this is such a bitch move
→ username22 no because the way she’ acting like nothing is happening…
username23 never her using alex she’s also using charles
charles_leclerc ✔︎ vous me manquez tous les deux au Qatar ❤️ (Translation: missing you both in qatar)
→ alexandrasaintmleux et nous à vous ! y/n s'impatiente avec les courses.. 😅 (Translation: and us to you! y/n is gettin impatient with the races..)
→ y/n.silvousplait ahhhhh mon bébé je l'ai fait pour éviter que tu ne me balances 😰 (Translation: ahhh my baby, don’t rat me out!)
→ username24 both? tf you mean both 💀
→ username25 sooo… is he with alex or y/n?
→ username26 @ username25 i guess we will never know 🤷 🤷
→ username27 saying you miss your gf’s bff along with her is a bit…
→ username28 @ username27 scandalous?
username29 is… everyone just ignoring that she said “with my favorite piece of art” and tagged alex in the first photo..?
→ username30 maybe it’s not charles she’s after…
lesballetsdemontecarlo ✔︎
liked by nycballet, hjballet80, garrettkeastconducts and others
lesballetsdemontecarlo Nous sommes heureux d'annoncer que Miss Y/N L/N jouera le Swan Blanc dans notre performance sur le Lac des Cygnes ! 👏 🦢
(Translation: We are pleased to announce that Miss Y/N L/N will be playing the White Swan in our Swan Lake performance!)
tagged: y/n.silvousplait
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username31 did she cheat her way into getting this role like how she made charles cheat on alex?
username32 undeserved.
username33 could have picked ANY woman to play Odette for Swan Lake but they had to choose the one that fucks up relationships 💀
username34 man someone just get her a cardboard cutout of charles so she can get away from him
→ username35 LMAO NOT THE CARDBOARD CUTOUT
username36 odette? homegirl should be playing fucking odille with her skank ass
→ username37 LMAO
→ username38 FR SHE’S SUCH A HOMEWRECKER
→ username39 maybe charles shouldn’t be hanging with other women????
→ username40 everyone talks about y/n but not charles 💀 such a double standard…
y/n.silvousplait
liked by lesballetsdemontecarlo, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and others
y/n.silvousplait the little girl in me would be jumping up and down 🩷 thank you to those who have supported my dancing career and gotten me where i am today. Merci 🥹🩰
tagged ; lesballetsdemontecarlo
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lesballetsdemontecarlo Je ne peux pas attendre le spectacle! (Translation: Can't wait for the show!)
alexandrasaintmleux tellement fier de toi! 🫶 (Translation: so proud of you!)
charles_leclerc ✔︎ tellement mérité! 🩷 (Translation: very much deserved!)
y/n.silvousplait @ alexandrasaintmleux @ charles_leclerc arrête, vous allez me faire pleurer tous les deux! 🥹🩶 (Translation: stop you both are going to make me cry!)
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charles_leclerc mes amours 🩷
We the photos of Y/N first surfaced, we never believed the hate would grow as big as this. And for that, we both as partners owe her a apology for not stepping up for her properly. However, on behalf of both me and Alexandra, we would like to say that we love Y/N and that she is the world to us and the way everyone treated her once she was found out not as a lover, but simply as a friend of us both was astonishing. Y/N is the kindest, one of the most talented, most beautiful person we know and to see her slowly fall apart broke us because of how strong she is. We don’t wish her anymore hate than what she has received.
All we wish is for her to be as respected as me and Alexandra are. Thank you to everyone that has showed her support. And for those that do not respect Y/N, Alex, or our relationship can leave. You are not my fan is you believe that they aren’t worth your respect.
tagged ; alexandrasaintmleux, y/n.silvousplait
2,301 comments
username41 OH???
username42 i know that charles leclerc did not just bomb this on us
landonorris ✔︎ how does charles leclerc get more girls then me 😞😞
→ carlosainz ✔︎ lando… i suggest you look in the comments of every single post you make..
username43 the way we all owe y/n a apology :(
→ username44 we all ??? who tf is “we all”
username45 i’m so happy for them the way they supported y/n throughout all of this shows that they love her.
y/n.silvousplait arrêtez-vous tous les deux, je vais pleurer 🥹🩷 je vous aime tellement tous les deux ! (Translation: stop you two im going to cry! i love you both so much!)
→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ nous vous aimons tant ❤️ 🫶 (Translation: We love you so much)
→ alexandrasaintmleux n'écoute pas ce que les autres disent, nous t'aimons et c'est tout ce qui compte ma chère (Translation: don't listen to what anyone else says, we love you and that is all that matter, my dear.)
#☆ﾟ user ↳ theyluvkarolina ◝#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#formula one x reader#f1 imagine#f1 smau#formula one x you#charles leclerc x reader#alexandra saint mleux#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#formula one scenarios#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc#formula one imagine#f1 fic#f1 wags#alexandra saint mleux x reader#charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux
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Prison-tech company bribed jails to ban in-person visits
I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!
Beware of geeks bearing gifts. When prison-tech companies started offering "free" tablets to America's vast army of prisoners, it set off alarm-bells for prison reform advocates – but not for the law-enforcement agencies that manage the great American carceral enterprise.
The pitch from these prison-tech companies was that they could cut the costs of locking people up while making jails and prisons safer. Hell, they'd even make life better for prisoners. And they'd do it for free!
These prison tablets would give every prisoner their own phone and their own video-conferencing terminal. They'd supply email, of course, and all the world's books, music, movies and games. Prisoners could maintain connections with the outside world, from family to continuing education. Sounds too good to be true, huh?
Here's the catch: all of these services are blisteringly expensive. Prisoners are accustomed to being gouged on phone calls – for years, prisons have done deals with private telcos that charge a fortune for prisoners' calls and split the take with prison administrators – but even by those standards, the calls you make on a tablet are still a ripoff.
Sure, there are some prisoners for whom money is no object – wealthy people who screwed up so bad they can't get bail and are stewing in a county lockup, along with the odd rich murderer or scammer serving a long bid. But most prisoners are poor. They start poor – the cops are more likely to arrest poor people than rich people, even for the same crime, and the poorer you are, the more likely you are to get convicted or be suckered into a plea bargain with a long sentence. State legislatures are easy to whip up into a froth about minimum sentences for shoplifters who steal $7 deodorant sticks, but they are wildly indifferent to the store owner's rampant wage-theft. Wage theft is by far the most costly form of property crime in America and it is almost entirely ignored:
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2023/jun/15/wage-theft-us-workers-employees
So America's prisons are heaving with its poorest citizens, and they're certainly not getting any richer while they're inside. While many prisoners hold jobs – prisoners produce $2b/year in goods and $9b/year in services – the average prison wage is $0.52/hour:
https://www.dollarsandsense.org/archives/2024/0324bowman.html
(In six states, prisoners get nothing; North Carolina law bans paying prisoners more than $1/day, the 13th Amendment to the US Constitution explicitly permits slavery – forced labor without pay – for prisoners.)
Likewise, prisoners' families are poor. They start poor – being poor is a strong correlate of being an American prisoner – and then one of their breadwinners is put behind bars, taking their income with them. The family savings go to paying a lawyer.
Prison-tech is a bet that these poor people, locked up and paid $1/day or less; or their families, deprived of an earner and in debt to a lawyer; will somehow come up with cash to pay $13 for a 20-minute phone call, $3 for an MP3, or double the Kindle price for an ebook.
How do you convince a prisoner earning $0.52/hour to spend $13 on a phone-call?
Well, for Securus and Viapath (AKA Global Tellink) – a pair of private equity backed prison monopolists who have swallowed nearly all their competitors – the answer was simple: they bribed prison officials to get rid of the prison phones.
Not just the phones, either: a pair of Michigan suits brought by the Civil Rights Corps accuse sheriffs and the state Department of Corrections of ending in-person visits in exchange for kickbacks from the money that prisoners' families would pay once the only way to reach their loved ones was over the "free" tablets:
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/03/jails-banned-family-visits-to-make-more-money-on-video-calls-lawsuits-claim/
These two cases are just the tip of the iceberg; Civil Rights Corps says there are hundreds of jails and prisons where Securus and Viapath have struck similar corrupt bargains:
https://civilrightscorps.org/case/port-huron-michigan-right2hug/
And it's not just visits and calls. Prison-tech companies have convinced jails and prisons to eliminate mail and parcels. Letters to prisoners are scanned and delivered their tablets, at a price. Prisoners – and their loved ones – have to buy virtual "postage stamps" and pay one stamp per "page" of email. Scanned letters (say, hand-drawn birthday cards from your kids) cost several stamps:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve
Prisons and jails have also been convinced to eliminate their libraries and continuing education programs, and to get rid of TVs and recreational equipment. That way, prisoners will pay vastly inflated prices for streaming videos and DRM-locked music.
The icing on the cake? If the prison changes providers, all that data is wiped out – a prisoner serving decades of time will lose their music library, their kids' letters, the books they love. They can get some of that back – by working for $1/day – but the personal stuff? It's just gone.
Readers of my novels know all this. A prison-tech scam just like the one described in the Civil Rights Corps suits is at the center of my latest novel The Bezzle:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle
Prison-tech has haunted me for years. At first, it was just the normal horror anyone with a shred of empathy would feel for prisoners and their families, captive customers for sadistic "businesses" that have figured out how to get the poorest, most desperate people in the country to make them billions. In the novel, I call prison-tech "a machine":
a million-armed robot whose every limb was tipped with a needle that sank itself into a different place on prisoners and their families and drew out a few more cc’s of blood.
But over time, that furious empathy gave way to dread. Prisoners are at the bottom of the shitty technology adoption curve. They endure the technological torments that haven't yet been sanded down on their bodies, normalized enough to impose them on people with a little more privilege and agency. I'm a long way up the curve from prisoners, but while the shitty technology curve may grind slow, it grinds fine:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware
The future isn't here, it's just not evenly distributed. Prisoners are the ultimate early adopters of the technology that the richest, most powerful, most sadistic people in the country's corporate board-rooms would like to force us all to use.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/02/captive-customers/#guillotine-watch
Image:
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KGBO
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#pluralistic#prison#prison-tech#marty hench#the bezzle#securus#captive audiences#St Clair County#human rights#prisoners rights#viapath#gtl#global tellink#Genesee County#michigan#guillotine watch#carceral state#corruption
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trouble, j. miller | chapter one
mob!joel miller x fem!reader
chapter summary: after getting fired from your job at the bookstore, your grandparents introduce you to the man who’s been helping them out for awhile: joel miller. now, it’s his turn to help you.
chapter warnings: reader swears and has dry humour (she’s a bit of me x), mentions of vip’s getting touchy but it’s hypothetical if that makes sense?? reader calls her grandparents ‘pops’ and ‘nonna’, no beta cause i cba, blah blah blah that’s it
also no hate to anyone who reads romance/physical smut books, the hate is simply towards minors who read them & their parents for allowing them LOL
word count: 2518
(series masterlist)
you really don’t know how much longer you can do this.
you’re six hours into your ten hour shift. you’re bored, you haven’t had your lunch break, and your phone is charging behind the desk where you were watching criminal minds before two teenage girls walked into the bookstore.
you’ve watched them for the past twenty minutes. they practically ran to the romance section, picking up books and flicking to certain pages you know had the most pornographic scenes in them before they’d giggle amongst themselves and add it to the pile they were building.
can teenage girls even afford this many books? you had been working since you were sixteen, and you’d barely get enough money to buy yourself two books whilst the rest would be stored away for college. and is this what people were reading nowadays? a male character that exudes toxic masculine standards whilst the author plays into the whole “innocent, virginal” female character who hadn’t the slightest clue about sex or life? is this what parents were allowing their children to-
“we want these books.” a demanding voice speaks to you, and you almost have to do a double take when you see the two teenage girls stood before you at the counter. god, you couldn’t even rely on the younger generation to be polite these days, especially not when one of them is judging you for your oversized hoodie and sweats and the crocs that sit on your feet.
“of course.” you force a smile, biting back on the insults you wish to hurl upon them. but, your boss is in the back. probably doing jackshit like she usually does, leaving you to work your ass off without any breaks.
the scanner scans the barcode on the back of every book before placing them in two bags. dante’s nine circles of hell sounds more appealing than this. you might just grab one of the books and hit yourself with it, hoping you hit so hard you might pass out and get to leave early. not like your boss would allow it, but the thought of having a hot shower and slipping into bed sounded nice.
“and your total is $194.68, is that going to be cash or card?” you rest your hands on the counter, looking at the two girls. one of them whips out a card, so black and matte you almost feel the courage to ask her if: it’s her fathers, and if so, is he single?
you hand her the card machine where she taps the card, and once the payment is deemed successful, one of the girls takes the bag, looks into it and frowns. “these aren’t in the right order.”
“excuse me?”
“the books aren’t in the right order.”
there’s a right order to put books in. none of them were even a series, and even then, does it really matter if your fucking fairy porn trilogy is separated?
“did you ask for them in a certain order?”
the girl gives you a look. “no?”
“so then why would i know what order to put them in?” you’re so done. you’re so fucking done, mentally, physically, and in the eyes of your boss, as well. the girls look at you, mouths agape, probably because they didn’t think they’d be spoken to this way, but you always said that the second a customer is rude to you, you’re being rude back.
the duo scowl at you as they leave the store, muttering insults under their breaths like it was a middle school friendship break up. you sigh, going to turn around to grab your phone when you jump back, spotting your boss leant against the wall.
“you’re fired.” she states.
“yes!” you fist pump the air sarcastically, grabbing your stuff and practically racing out the store. you didn’t even care if you were supposed to wait until the end of your shift to fully leave your job. you were hungry, tired, and your pops and nonna had told you that pops’ infamous burgers would be made for dinner and you were eager.
on your walk home, you listen to your music. it was relatively dark outside, and ideally, as a woman, you shouldn’t be wearing headphones in the dark. but you had always been more frightened by the noises you could hear rather than the ones you couldn’t.
you step into your home, taking your shoes off by the door and walk into the kitchen. you stop at the sight. your pops and nonna were stood in the kitchen talking to a man you have never seen before and you’re almost offended that your grandparents hadn’t allowed you to meet him because jesus christ and all things holy, that man is beautiful.
he’s tall. scarily tall, actually. and not to say you have a thing for muscular men but you would not mind letting this stranger throw you about. he leans on the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest as he eyes you up.
“he. who is he?” you point to the man, looking at your grandparents.
your nonna tuts your name. “he is joel miller, helps us out where we need it. why are you home so early, sugar, i thought you had a ten hour shift today?” nonna embraces you, kissing your cheek as she taps your arm, signaling for you to sit down at the kitchen table.
a faux laugh escapes you. “heh, well, you see-”
“don’t tell me that damn boss of yours ‘s been givin’ you a hard time again.” your pops speaks up this time, interrupting you this time. your pops was a scary man. he used to be involved in a lot of shit back in the day, constantly being chased down streets and alleyways by the police, always having them on his doorstep which would cause his mother to scold him. you can’t count the amount of times he’s threatened to come down and give your boss an earful on both hands.
“she actually fired me. apparently addressing one’s stupidity isn’t allowed. however, i am more focused on joel. joel, what is your purpose in this here house?” your head turns to look at the man as he addresses you, and he gives you a small smirk, walking over to the table and sitting across from you.
“she got a mouth on her, don’t she?” he asks your grandparents, and your nonna chuckles.
“always has. only started living with us when she was eighteen because of college, but she’s always had something to say.”
“something that’s gotta be shared with everyone.” your pops adds, and you give him a playful pout.
“right here guys, right here.” you announce. “back to the topic at hand. joel, why have you interrupted my pops’ burger night?” you’re facing each other now, your eyes analysing his face but all he does is smirk and since when was smirking so attractive on a man?
“well, your grandparents here mentioned how you hated your job, and i just so happen to have one that needs filled at one of my clubs.” his texan accent was prominent and full as he spoke, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “‘s if you want it, of course.”
“what club?”
“apocalypse.”
you slam your hands on the table with a wide grin. “i’m sold. when do i start?”
joel chuckles. “no questions about the pay, the shifts?”
you shake your head. “nope, don’t care. you know how hard that club is to get into?” you turn your head to look at your grandparents. “extremely fucking hard, i’ll tell you that right now. and i’ll get to work in there? god, life is so generous to me sometimes.” you exhale lightly, jokingly.
joel doesn’t stay for your pops’ burgers, but he’s given some to take home anyway. you decide to walk him to the door, being the ever so kind woman that you were, ready to see him off when he stops.
“ya’ start at five p.m. tomorrow, alright? i’ll have someone show you around, get you your uniform ‘nd all that before the club opens.”
nodding your head at joel, you bid him goodbye and watch as he makes his way to a sleek, black porsche, get in, and drive off.
____
“what do you mean you’re working for joel miller?” alicia asks you. alicia was the first friend you made at college after you chewed her ear off for the entirety of your first class. a girl who followed gothic fashion and was an absolute sweetheart compared to the people you’ve known in the past.
“i mean exactly what i said, babe. he’s apparently been looking after my grandparents for awhile and he offered me a job at apocalypse after that old bitch fired me.” you shrug, taking a bite of burger you got from dining hall.
“but joel miller is…he’s dangerous! everyone says his clubs are just money laundering schemes to hide his actual money.” naomi spoke up this time. ever the worrier, she was.
“money laundering would mean that no one was using his clubs and they were just there, naomi. the clubs are exclusive. i mean, we’ve all seen the lines to get in. we’ve been in those lines!” alicia somewhat comes to your defense even though you know she’s fully against you working there.
“my friend tina, the one from the political science class, worked there last year, and she says the pay is amazing!” a woman with black curls approaches your trio, another close friend of yours: georgia. “don’t get me wrong, she said some shady stuff happens in the v.i.p. lounge, but probably just guys gambling or something.”
you embrace georgia. “see, good pay and all i have to do is not ask questions. i’ll be fine, guys. and you,” you look at georgia “need to meet me at our cafe so you can tell me about that little masc lesbian of yours.”
you finish the rest of your burger, and pick up your bag. “gotta get home, but i’ll fill you all when i see you.”
you wave goodbye to your friends, walking out of the building as you scroll on your phone. when you get to the street, you bump into someone, about to apologise until you look up and gasp dramatically. “you! are you stalking me. god, joel, i didn’t know i was worth being stalked. that’s so flattering.”
joel scoffs, and opens the passenger door to his black porsche. “get in. ‘m gonna drive you down to the club.”
“don’t have to tell me twice.” you get into the passenger seat, placing your bag down in between your legs and joel closed your door. he rounds the front, getting in beside you and starts the car.
“ya’ hungry?” he asks, driving away from your college building.
“i ate just before i left. had a cheeseburger. not the most edible thing i’ve ever had, but it worked.”
“if you’re hungry when we get there, i’ll take ya’ down to the kitchen and grab you somethin’ there. house mom might have some snacks for ya’ too.”
brows furrowed, you turn to look at him. “the fuck is a house mom?”
“older woman who works with the dancers, takes care of ‘em in between dances. she’ll have snacks, spare outfits or shoes, hygiene products. helps ‘em all like a mom would.”
“nice.” you nod your head, and soon you’re in the private parking lot for the club. joel gets out first, rounding to your side and opening the door up for you. “gotta love a southern gentleman.” you snicker, walking into the club behind him.
he walks up a set of marbled stairs, heading to the second floor. “you’ll be working in the v.i.p. lounge, ‘s where all the dancers are and most of our staff.”
the second floor of the club is lit with red led lights, creating a sultry atmosphere. there are private rooms scattered all around, but there are booths scattered in the middle. joel walks you down to a hidden room and opens the door.
“this is my office. you can put your shit in here.” you walk in and place your bag down on the cushioned sofa, taking a seat beside your belongings. “i’m here when i’m not in the booths doing business, but if anything happens out there, ya’ come and find me, alright?”
you nod your head at him.
“all v.i.p’s know dancers and staff aren’t to be touched, but you gotta promise you’ll come find me if that rule is broken.” after promising, he continues. “i’ll take you down to adele and see if she’s got any spare uniform for you. she’ll walk you through anything else.”
joel guides you down the haul with a hand on your lower back, and if there was a camera following you, you would’ve hand an office moment with this simple touch.
“momma!” joel yells, knocking on a pink door.
the door opens, and an african-american woman opens it. she looks at joel, then you, and embraces you in a tight hug. “welcome, baby. this the new girl we’ve been hearing about?”
“yes ma’am!” you answer before joel can, shooting him a shit-eating grin.
joel speaks your name, and your eyes meet his. “go inside while i talk to adele, she’ll be back to help you in a minute.”
as you step inside the room, you’re met with an abundance of dancers. some are singing, doing their hair and make up, zipping up their heels, and others are lay on sat around eating some snacks.
“hi guys!” you wave at everyone, and they all squeal when they see you, immediately asking questions.
you answer them as best as you can until adele comes in. “now, i gotta get her some heels and her uniform, and when i come back-” adele glances around the room, pointing at an east asian woman with pin straight black hair. “lucy, do her make up, just so she knows what the standard is. your hair is fine, baby, don’t need anyone touching that.”
lucy smiles and waves at you, and you return it as adele leads you into the changing rooms. “uniforms are simple. black shorts, black long sleeve, and…what size shoe are you, baby?”
you respond, and she goes over to a rack of black, leather heeled boots. they’re platformed, shiny, and you know your feet are going to hurt the second your shift is done. “and these. i’ll let you get changed and you just come straight out when you’re done. help yourself to some snacks as well.”
“i don’t have to pay you for them?”
adele chuckles. “no, baby. joel gives me the money to buy the snacks. anything for you girls, joel pays for.” and with that, she leaves the room.
you sigh, looking at the mirror in front of you. this was a new job, with a hot boss, and from what you could tell, the rest of the girls in there were lovely.
this was your life now.
____
a/n: first chapter mother fuckers let’s GOOOOO
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#joel miller x reader#joel miller fluff#joel miller x you#the last of us#joel miller series#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller au#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#mob!joel#mob boss!joel
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I think people have been accustomed to couples being in that honeymoon phase when they’re shown onscreen together. We ALWAYS see that with newly-established couples in pretty much any type of media… But that’s not Chaggie.
Charlie and Vaggie have been together for years. Their honeymoon phase has long past. They’re not doing outlandish displays of affection. They’re just, comfortable. Doesn’t mean they love each other any less, just that those sappy moments aren’t as common anymore
Yes! also the way a lot of people are surprised that charlie and vaggie aren't only best friends is such a good example of the double standards wlw ships get. thinking they aren't dating is understandable. Overlooking that Vaggie and Charlie were meant to at least be shipped together is INSANE.
If i never knew they were dating already, i and so many other sapphic ship lovers would be eyeing tf out of Vaggie and Charlie's relationship. Lookit some of the things that happened/are established before the "she's my girlfriend" line in ep 5
- the newcaster lady made a homophobic comment towards Charlie, saying she "doesn't touch the gays" when Charlie tried to give her a handshake
- THIS
- just all the times Vaggie would soften up as soon as she sees Charlie smiling or being her dorky self despite being previously upset/angry
- Vaggie's whole friggin verse in Whatever It Takes is very obviously meant to be romantic
- Charlie being worried about Angel Dust while Vaggie gives her the most "i love you and im sad that you're upset but i love that you're upset over something like this because it shows how amazing of a person you are" look at Charlie as she tucks her hair behind her ear
- Angel: I think this belongs to you *hands Charlie over to Vaggie*
- just all the casual touches they do that would totally be read as shipping fuel AT LEAST if it happened between a male/female duo or two men
- the fact Vaggie woke up?? Looking beside her to find Charlie?? To show that they sleep in the same bed?????
- Vaggie offering her hand unprompted when Charlie was having a stressful phone call with her dad and Charlie readily accepting it
And I'm sure there are people who'd go "But it's always shown from Vaggie's end! It looks so one-sided!" So? Aren't there tons of ships out there that seem one-sided but yall are perfectly fine shipping? And it's harder to see Charlie's love for Vaggie because Charlie at her core is a very loving and affectionate person. Of course it's gonna be more obvious for Vaggie since she's so prickly towards anyone else.
If all these things still happened without any of us knowing that they were actually girlfriends, we'd have a certain section of the fandom shipping it hoping they DO become canon while others would be claiming we'd be ruining a perfectly good platonic friendship by making it gay. They'd say we're reading too much into things.
But they ARE a couple. we aren't reading too much into things because it was meant to be read as romantic. And yet we're still the delusional ones for thinking an already established sapphic couple is "cute and interesting" because now they're claiming they simply dont have chemistry. It's frustrating.
Of course I have my criticisms too. The show could portray more of how Vaggie is more special to Charlie than anyone else, have them flirting more overtly or something. But any argument that they're "so boring i thought it was het" is invalid to me because i damn well know if at least one them was a dude a lot of them would be saying otherwise.
#asks#sorry you probably didn't want me ranting#but i am sick and tired of the 'theyre boring and have no chemistry' argument#they're just saying that because they can't say the 'theyre just best friends' line any more
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My biggest pet peeve in Transformers media and fanfiction sometimes is that Transformers aren't treated as aliens. They are referred to as aliens, they obviously are aliens, but they never feel like they are aliens because they are always written or seen as having all human mannerisms or features usually. Human posture, human noses, human mannerisms, humanoids...
What about TFA's cat noses or TFP's helm noses? One of the reasons I think those two shows have peak designs is because they have this lack of uncanniness to humans design wise. I'm not looking at a human being as a robot, I'm looking at an alien robot, ones that have claws, ones that have different body types that blend with their vehicle modes, ones with horrific mutilations and designs impossible by human standards. I love seeing that type of stuff in Transformers because to me, it makes them feel alien without completely changing the premises of similarities to where we can't compare their culture or likeness to humans. The films (mostly 1 and 2) showed off this as well.
Another thing I really would like to see in Transformers media is non-human interactive qualities. What do I mean by that? One thing I've noticed is aside from techno-organic species, regular Cybertronians do have a few qualities found in animals. Engine humming I believe was once used as a form of purring in the films and in some of the cartoons. Humans can't purr; cats can, and that small detail is always interesting to come across because it's like "wow, they have this feature that shows off a trait found in Cybertronians. That is so cool." You have them with multiple voice boxes for mechanical, natural, and human-like tones which is also an animal trait. Bumblebee is self-explanatory in most universes being able to still make sounds yet not talk. They have sensors across their body that don't act like the basic human receptors. Most animals can do more than just feel through certain points of their bodies. They can taste, smell, or even hear a hundred times better than a human being throughout various body parts, and Transformers have been hinted to have this ability too, especially through their servos. It's stuff like this that expands upon their existence as aliens.
They have extreme durability, their body morphs to extremes and can also double as a moving weapon (most obvious of course), some of them can make ungodly roars and creature-like noises to warn or show their threatening demeanor (Megatron's dinosaur-like growling), some can have two rows of teeth (a flat base in front and fangs hidden behind), and some of them have mimicking animal-like features (Starscream's bird-shaped feet with visible expansion the same as organic foot padding with similar distributive weight physics in a few universes) despite having no beast mode. There's probably more I can't think of on the top of my head in canon, but all those things are not heavily used as they should be to make them feel alien. They can still hold some relation to the humans they interact with, but I think a lot of Transformers are more than just metal "humans", you know?
Depending on the universe in fanfiction and who you encounter who writes it or not, you have several things that are always cool to see. They have to sparkbond (merging of hearts) above everything else to create a sparkling's life force with interface as just the extra for physical coding features. I've seen people use the non-canon heat cycles which are, of course, our fandom way of making a type of breeding euphemism akin to an animal's cycle. You have the common phrasing of nuzzling, heightened senses, armor and certain parts of the helm acting like fur or ears where it raises and flattens per their mood, and some Transformers have limb dissonance where if necessary, they can convert between bipedal and quadrupedal stances (best example is Bulkhead and Lugnut from TFA who have long arms but short legs and they have the bulky structure where they could possibly run like an animal briefly and the physics of it would work).
So, you have all these different things a common Cybertron most likely would be able to do or have but a human couldn't, and it's never utilized to their full potential. I would like to see people address the nature of Cybertronians as alien and not be afraid to make them alien. I think that's the biggest flaw in our franchise is that everyone is scared of making the Transformers not the humanoid "norm" and getting ridiculed for it. Like, they're aliens, you can make them act however animal-like or completely batshit insane as you want them. You can give them powers, animal-based senses, and behaviors hidden among a human thought process. And technically, you wouldn't be wrong to what they could be as a living creature in the universe by doing so. They aren't humans; they look humanoid, but they aren't us. Why should they have to be in every regard?
Thank you for reading my TED Talk.
#transformers#transformers prime#transformers animated#bayverse#knightverse#transformers g1#transformers robots in disguise#transformers idw#megatron#bumblebee#tfa#tfp#bulkhead#lugnut#tigressa talks#personal#ranting#fanfiction
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concert, part 1
part 1 here (cw: age gap)
👑 (king): can I come pick you up?
Me: yeah, sure, I’m almost ready
👑 (king): good, be there in 10
I look down at his text, smiling to myself, then I get myself ready. Checking my makeup, checking if I have everything in my little bag. Then I wait for him, nervously tapping my foot, thinking about our interactions over the last week.
I haven't seen him since the bar, we've just been texting and my god. He isn’t the biggest texter, but he never fails to answer a single one of my messages. Setting a new standard for sure.
My first message he answered within five minutes, making it a deal and asking me for the details on the concert. And then I had to send him all of my favourite songs, not just by Lorna Shore, but all the bands I talked about that he didn’t yet know. We were just talking about all the topics we could think about.
Like I wanted to know what accent it was that laced through his words when talking English and he told me that he actually was from Austria. I’ve never met someone who was from this country, so naturally I was curious. Especially why he lived here then and didn’t go back to Austria for his leave, which he just answered with a simple “I don’t have anything to go back to.” I didn’t want to pry, so I left it at that.
And he asked me what I did for a living and all my little hobbies. I could talk about those all day long, so there was a lot of back and forth (maybe a little bit more back from me than it was forth from him). I still was curious about his job as well, but I was too afraid to be called nosy again.
By the third day I got confident enough to accompany my messages with pictures. And no, not that kind of pictures. I just snap moments during my day and just them to him. My morning coffee, some scenery from my commute, a screengrab from the game I’m playing in the evening. Because I want to show what’s going on during my day.
It’s nice. It feels nice to talk to him. And we’re still kind of shy, holding back, but some of the texts even get flirty. My favourite thing to do during last week was to call him old every chance I got. Just to get a rise out of him.
I can’t help but feel that the last message has a double entendre. Like I should be the one worrying about keeping up. With him.
The doorbell rings and I go to open my door. It swings open and I almost rear back when his hulking figure towers over me. My god, I have forgotten how huge he is. I mean, I only saw it once when he got up from the table.
He's wearing the same worn leatherjacket and a shirt underneath. A Lorna Shore shirt. He got it right on time for the concert. I know because he sent me a picture when the package arrived.
"Hi.", I say looking up at him.
"Hi yourself.", he answers with a smile. "Looking good."
"Thanks.", I say as I do a little twirl for him, my skirt swaying while I do the turn. When I land on my two feet again, my DocMartens stomping onto the floor, I see his gaze wander up my body.
His lids are hooded, his mouth is slightly opened and I can see the row of strong teeth blink through. Our eyes meet and I feel a zap of excitement running down my spine. It just got harder to breathe. Because he looks at me like I would taste good. It’s actually making me a bit nervous. And I don’t think anybody ever looked at me like that.
“What?”, I throw in his direction, swaying from one foot to the other.
"Nothing…” is all he says, shaking his head. But it doesn’t feel like nothing. “Come on, let's get going. You have the tickets?", he asks.
I point at the little bag clasped to my belt. "Got everything in here." He nods and gestures me to exit the flat. I do so and lock the door behind me, following him down to the street where his car is parked.
It’s a Mercedes G-wagon. A fucking G-wagon. I don’t know which car I suspected, but I guess not this one. Although it makes sense when I see him right next to it. The kind of military look of the car, the colour (black, of course), it being quite an expensive brand, but also an older model, judging from the wear on the outside. Also a spacious enough car for a big man like him.
He stops at the passenger side and opens the door for me. And I can't help but melt a little. The gentlemanly gesture with him looking just like he looks. The big stature, the worn leatherjacket with the tattooed hands showing, the slight aura of danger around him that makes much more sense since I know he’s a soldier, that part of him not fully vanishing even when he’s on leave. The timid smile he gives me when I thank him for holding the door open for me emphasizing the contrast between his hard looking exterior and the softer core.
He waits for me to climb up into the seat, shutting the door for me and going around the car, to the driver's side. I snuggle into the leather of the car seat and look around a bit. His scent engulfs me, a warm, manly note, and I suppress a sigh. This man is just too much, and I'm going to a concert with him.
He gets in and starts the car which also turns on the sound system and a flurry of guitar sounds, drums and the distinguished voice of Chuck Schuldiner blasts from the speakers. I recognize the song instantly. "Oh, I love Spirit Crusher. The whole album actually."
He grins at me. "I thought so, that's why I put it on." He hands me the CD sleeve. "I bought this when I was like... maybe 16 or 17?"
"Oh my god, really?", I exclaim, inspecting the case. I turn to him pointing at the release date on the back, a mischievous grin forming on my lips. "That's the year I was born."
He sighs and rolls his eyes, snatching the CD case from me. "Yeah, yeah, we've already established that I'm old, ancient even." I bite back a laugh, doing a bad job at it. He leans forward, inching closer to my face. “Now what’s so funny, huh?”
I shake my head still grinning. “Nothing.” I pause for effect. “Old man.”, I add teasingly.
His gaze is burning into me. “Uh-huh, ain’t that right.” The slightly threatening undertone is not lost on me and it makes me shift in my seat.
He doesn’t say anything else, just pulls out of the parking space, and drives us to the concert location. The atmosphere gets a little bit more relaxed when he asks me about how work has been today (because we haven’t texted about that yet). I go on a rant because work really has been kicking my ass lately and my boss keeps getting on my nerves. So the car ride to the venue is filled with me explaining all of the details of what’s going on which would’ve have been too much to type out.
I’m still complaining about my boss’s antics when we enter the tall concert building. I show our tickets to the security guys at the entrance and they check us for stuff that you can’t bring into the venue. Well, they check me without hesitation, the security lady patting me down and taking a look into the little bag I have with me.
The security guy that has the pleasure of checking him hesitates for more than just a bit and I can see the little grin on König’s face as he’s towering over him, almost a head taller, and looking the most intimidating I’ve seen him yet.
“Don’t worry, he doesn't bite.”, I joke with the security guard who rolls his eyes, but finally goes to pat down the big guy.
König’s grin turns mischievous, looking down at him while he’s being checked. “Only if asked to.”, he says, glancing at me. And then he fucking winks. And I almost trip over my own feet. I steady myself, going down the stairs, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. Because that planted an image in my head I wasn’t ready for.
He catches up to me. “I’ll drop my jacket off and then we can get a beer?”, he suggests and I nod, following his lead. His hand drops to the small of my back, guiding me as we maneuver through the crowds of people. And I try to ignore how this light touch is making me feel.
We get in line at the bar and something I wanted to talk to him about burns at the tip of my tongue. Especially now that I’ve seen the expression on his face when somebody pushes past me, accidently brushing against me.
“Can you promise me something?”, I ask, putting on my nicest face to heighten the chances of him agreeing to it.
His lips curl into a sly smile when he sees the way I’m looking at him. “That depends on what you want me to promise.”
“Please don't stomp on any of the people if they bump into me.”, I tell him.
“Hm, I don't know if I can promise that.”, he answers with an honest tone in his voice, but the mischief in his eyes is telling a different story. “I have to look out for my concert companion, don’t I?”
“Well, can you at least leave them in one piece? I wanna leave the concert a free woman and not an accomplice to murder.”, I explain, not even taking myself seriously.
He laughs. “I think, we can arrange that.” He playfully nudges me with his arm and I almost topple over because I didn’t expect that. An “Oh shit” drops from his lips while his hands reach for my waist to steady me, and my first reaction is to hold onto him. His arm to be exact. My fingers grab onto his lower arms and I can feel the strong cords of muscle beneath my fingertips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“, he says.
I shake my head, interrupting him. “Don’t apologize, it takes more to break me.” Which sounds completely wrong and dirty in my mind, now that I think about it. But the sentence already left my lips. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his heated gaze on me, even when I don’t look up at him, still holding onto his arm when we reach the front of the line. Ordering beers that he pays for, just like we agreed to. I snatch up the two glasses and head to a quieter corner.
König isn't a big talker, although he seems more relaxed now, so it's still mostly me yapping about stuff that comes to my mind while we wait for the concert to start, him asking questions in between, nodding along, listening, and sipping his beer.
"I'm sorry, I feel like I’m talking too much.", I finally interrupt myself, smiling up at him apologetically.
He shakes his head. "No, it's fine, don't worry about it. I like hearing you talk." And his words make me blush and actually shut up for a brief moment where I can just smile into my beer and bask in the compliment.
“I think they’re starting soon, you want to go in?”, he asks me, smiling down at me.
“Yes, we can do that.”, I nod and we make our way into the hall. It’s already packed, but with König it’s easy because the crowd parts, looking up at the tall man when he passes. We find a spot that’s more in the back of the room, so he doesn’t obstruct the view of too many people.
I stand right in front of him, looking up at him, to see him scanning the people around us, observing every little bit that’s going on. His arm wraps around my waist, in theory a small little gesture. But his touch makes me light up, his fingertips softly digging into my hips. His fingers stroking ever so slightly, skimming over the fabric of my skirt, seemingly not even thinking about it. And I take the chance to lean myself against him, feigning the same innocence as he does.
Suddenly, the symphonic part of 'Welcome Back, O’ Sleeping Dreamer' starts playing over the speaker and the concert begins. I smile up at him and jump up and down all excited, pulling at his shirt to get his reaction. He laughs, even though I don’t hear the sound because the whole room erupts in cheers and shouts, only getting louder when the band comes on stage and the drums and guitars set in.
I get the impression that he’s enjoying it as well and the smile on my face gets even wider when he starts headbanging with the crowd. And it makes me happy to see him like that. The music sweeps me up and carries me away and I start to move with the harsh sounds blasting from the speakers.
What I don't know or see is the way he's looking at me when I scream the lyrics from the top of my lungs. How mesmerized he seems when I jump and mosh to the next song, dancing without a care in the world. How my wild and energetic euphoria of being at a concert infects him, even if he's still being a bit self-conscious.
It's been a long time since he actually has been to a concert. And he hasn't been all too sure why he even offered to go with me other than seizing the opportunity to see me again. But right now, standing in the crowd experiencing the thrill of live music once again, he remembers why he enjoyed it so much when he was younger.
to be continued - the concert is not over yet!
part 3 or more stuff in the Masterlist
#metalhead!könig#she likes the dark#könig#könig cod#könig mw2#konig#konig cod#konig mw2#könig fanfiction#cod mw2 smut#könig smut#konig smut#cod smut#könig x reader#tw: age gap
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note (1): inspired by this ask. i literally do not know what this is !! i just know that i'm in a bit of a writing slump and i just wanted to post smth, so this is just word vomit lol. yes, i am aware that it is god awful ok bye
note (2): implied dancer!minho but not necessarily idol!minho bc i rarely ever write with them as idols in mind
you're used to late nights at the dance studio.
you often stop by after work and wait for minho to wrap up a session so you could go home together. sometimes, if it's a tougher choreo that he needs more time to really nail down, you'd bring him dinner and observe as he takes the extra hours to really study the movements.
you're sat in your usual corner tonight, watching your boyfriend with mesmerized eyes.
you've been watching him dance for years and yet, you're still blown away every time you see him in his element.
it's a little mind-boggling, a little incomprehensible just how graceful minho is, how he moves like water, how he makes every move look so effortless and poised.
he pauses the music suddenly, stands in the middle of the room for a few seconds to catch his breath, then calls out to you.
"c'mere."
"are you done?"
"no. just come here. wanna show you something."
you go to him out of curiosity. when you're within reach, he turns you to the face the giant mirror. "dance with me."
"what? nuh uh. nope. you know i physically cannot do the things you can."
"this one is easy!" he tries to reason. "it's slower. c'mon, just for a little bit."
of course you're hesitant, even though there's no one else around but the two of you. he's a miracle of movement and you basically have two left feet, zero sense of rhythm and sometimes trip over air.
he pouts a little, presses his lips against your cheek. "i'll show you how."
you bite the inside of your cheek. he takes you into his arms and kisses your face again.
"fifteen minutes tops, yeah?"
minho is cute about it though. he's always cute about it when he wants something.
"ugh, fine. but you can't laugh at me!"
the music starts from the beginning. you watch carefully by his side as he tries to slow down his movements to make it easier for you to follow but jesus it's hard.
"5... 6... 7... 8..."
you look like a cat on cocaine trying to walk like a human.
again, two left feet and absolutely no sense of rhythm at all.
he ends up laughing a little, when you fail to copy the way he skillfully maneuvers his legs and step on your own foot. you wobble for a few seconds trying not to fall on your ass.
"i told you not to laugh!"
"i’m sorry," he apologizes in between giggles. "you're cute. come here."
minho comes stand behind you then, taking your arms and moving them how they're supposed to move, kissing your cheek and the side of your neck whenever you slightly turn your head to follow your movements in the mirror. you blush every time.
it's easier than before, but that's probably just because he's literally operating your limbs like a puppeteer.
"look, you're nailing this."
you roll your eyes. "thanks."
the music dips, the melody flatlines. the song ends. he starts twirling you around a couple of times like you're ballroom dancing, which takes you by surprise a bit, makes you gasp when you finally land against his chest.
he's got his arms around you and a soft smile on his face, even as you look up at him with narrowed eyes, almost a squint.
"that was embarrassing."
"no, it wasn't. you're adorable."
"i was not. i looked like dori on catnip."
"and dori on catnip is adorable."
"that's not the point. when hyunjin misses the beat for half a second, you look like you could murder him on the spot but you call me adorable. check your double standards."
minho just laughs before he ducks down to kiss you sweetly, despite how you try to squirm away from him, complaining that you're starting to get hot even after just 15 minutes of moving around.
"of course i have double standards when it comes to you," he says after breaking the kiss, "you're literally the love of my life."
permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 (italicized = can’t tag)
#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#stray kids imagines#stray kids fic#lee know x reader#lee know x you#lee know imagines#lee know fluff#blurbs
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red looks good on you [e.de almeida x reader]
prompt: you find it hot when elisa gets angry on the pitch
author notes: been missing writing for my babygirl elisa 🥳 she's injured right now, so this is me trying to get over the fact she isn't playing with psg right now. enjoy it!
word of the fic: "anger" chosen by the loml @moonystoes
there are mainly two types of players. some are more clean and try their best not to foul anyone. while others are more aggressive. finding joy in not only fouling, but tackling and even obviously yellow card offenses on the pitch. elisa was definitely the second. the french woman had no problem pushing, colliding hard into, or taking the legs right under from her opponent. it was a part of the fun of the game and a way for her to be over competitive.
you didn't mind seeing elisa act like this on the pitch. it's entertaining, that's why she has so many fans. you often tag along with the paris saint germain feminines team when you weren't in classes. living the wag life was fun and you have gotten close to almost all of the girls on the team expect for a certain blonde.
however, sometimes elisa went too far. she would get so angry, her play would get aggressive enough that it showed she obviously didn't care if a red card was put up by the ref directed at her. you knew in the back of your mind when you see elisa starting to push a player a little too much you should disapprove; knowing damn well that if some other player was doing that to elisa, you would not like it. at the same time, can you really be blamed for finding it attractive when her aggressiveness is ramped up.
it's not your fault you have double standards. blame the attractive woman you call your girlfriend.
it's around the 71st minute in the match against lyon. the game has been intense since the first minute with the two clubs being huge rivals in the french women league. players on either side were getting desperate to break the 2-2 deadlock that was going on. sakina has been working particularly hard, but she just keep losing the ball. you remind yourself to buy her some cookies after the match for her efforts.
all the psg players on the pitch are trying to absolute hardest to beat the other french soccer giant. your eyes are glued to elisa as she passes the ball to chawinga who almost gets the ball into the back of the net, but one of lyon's players come in at the last minute. kicking the ball and causing it to fly away from the net. you can tell that elisa is getting more frustrated as the minutes passed. lyon was letting up and she didn't plan to either. putting on the hardest defense she could manage. the expression on her face along with how tense she looked already told you everything you need to know; elisa was about to snap if something happened.
and something did. as elisa was running to stop a ball coming near the psg's goal, she collides with danielle. sending both her and the smaller woman to the ground. danielle is able to stand up quicker than elisa, already ready to shout.
"watch where you're going!" the dutch player shouts out after elisa stands and comes close. elisa looks down at danielle, just narrowing her eyes. the ref quickly comes over to defuse the situation, but the moment danielle pushes elisa, it all goes to hell.
elisa is quick to push her back, sending danielle to the ground. her lyon teammates rush over to defend their teammate. ellie helping danielle up and pulling away from the small crowd of players. it only takes two minutes for sakina to reach elisa from where she was on the pitch. holding onto her as the french player glares over at danielle.
the ref doesn't even lecture elisa before holding up a yellow card. pointing at danielle before pointing at elisa; neither of them were about to walk off scoot free. then the game is allowed to continue on.
it seemed like the situation was put behind everyone as the players put more attention towards trying to score in the last ten minutes of the game. however, you can tell from a far that elisa wasn't over it. this is confirmed when elisa takes selma's feet right from up under her after selma tried to foul eva. was elisa's action out of self defense of her teammate or just her trying to get out some annoyance? we'll never know.
when the ref comes over to hold up a yellow card then a red, elisa acts clueless. throwing her hands up as if she's confused on why the ref is going after her. the rest of the psg players run over to elisa's defense, but it's no use. she walks off of the pitch and into the tunnel so she could go straight to the locker room; ignoring the psg coach who was trying to offer her water.
you just sit back and sip on your drink, watching the rest of the match unfold.
lyon wins with a late goal in the 87th minute, making the score 3-2. the fans in the crowd were not happy and you couldn't agree anymore, but nonetheless lyon came out on top.
you wait for the fans in the stadium to clear out before making your way into the tunnel. not even having to go into the psg locker room as elisa is standing right next to the door. she's leaning against the wall, her usual taper fade is slightly wet. after being sent off, elisa must have showered to cool off her anger.
"i know what you're going to say," she says, leaning off of the wall to pull you close. nuzzling her face into your neck.
"what?"
"that i should control my anger and that i costed my team the game?" she mumbles into your neck. you chuckle before kissing the side of her head.
"i'm your girlfriend not a soccer critic, babes," you say. your words make elisa giggle. she pulls away slightly to look at you. a smug smile on her lips.
"so..?" she says. you roll your eyes at how quickly her emotions can flip; finding that smile on her lips annoying but very attractive.
"so?" you say back to her
"so.. what do you think about it?"
"i thought it was pretty hot," you pull her closer by the collar of her shirt. giggling once you two's noses bump against each other. "yeah?" she says. you don't reply, just pulling her into a kiss.
the kiss only lasts for so long when sakina pops her head out of the locker room. scrunching her nose once she sees what you two are doing.
"have some public decency," she says before rolling her eyes, "elisa come get your cleats off my bag."
elisa pouts at having to stop kissing you, but still what sakina says goes so she pulls away. dragging you along with her into the locker room after sakina.
© thinkingaboutjaedyn
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The Same Shade Of Red
Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader
Warnings: monza 2020 (double dnf for the boys in red), so much angst sorry, redbull comparisons for seb, the magic that is monza, the disaster that is ferrari and their team, talks of seb's races in monza, a few harsh/sad thoughts from seb, mentions of retirement, charles's crash in monza 2020, mentions of the pandemic, reader is the most loving wife to which seb is her perfect match, britta is sooo over you guys after years of this.
Word Count: 2.2k
Author's Note: would I be me if I didn't take monza race weekend and turn it into an ode to seb? no. ferrari seb you will always be my most beloved and fuck you ferrari for hurting my husband fr. (also this gif is so sexy I can't explain it. well I can but I will be banned from tumblr dot com)
---
Monza held a special place in the heart of your husband, in yours and in anyone that was a part of the Vettel family.
Sebastian had proven his worth, winning his and Toro Rosso's first ever Grand Prix in Monza during the 2008 season.
It was no different when he moved to Red Bull from Toro Rosso, his era of dominance brought him win after win and two of which were in Monza; the home of Ferrari.
Ever since that first win, Sebastian held a special love for Monza, as did you. There's something magical about the place; it might be the atmosphere or the fans but it has always been good to you and Seb. Whatever it was, it was nothing if not remarkable every single time.
The Tifosi held their drivers to the highest of standards, some would say next to God. Something happens to Italy when motorsport comes to town; everything changes and every single person you meet is so passionate. They live and breathe for Ferrari, they'd die for their drivers if it meant they could see them on that top step.
When Sebastian moved from Red Bull to Ferrari, he counted down the days to Monza.
It had always been his dream to drive with the red team, just as his childhood hero and friend, Michael, had done. Sebastian's first year with Ferrari was the epitome of picture perfect.
Despite coming in P2 behind Lewis and Mercedes, being on the podium at home for Ferrari meant everything to the German driver. This wasn't the first time he had gotten on podium for Ferrari, in fact he had already won twice with them that season; in Malaysia and then again in Hungary.
Monza was different; magical, special. There was something in the air, the energy was indescribable. Sebastian grinned, waving to the team from the second step.
You smiled, watching as your fiancé at the time hummed along to the Italian anthem, a country he quickly counted as his second home.
Sebastian was the king of the world that day, even though he hadn't won.
He had returned to the garage with the biggest grin on his face, trophy in one hand and the bottle of champagne in the other. He passed them over to his engineer, making a beeline for you. The man's covered in champagne and sweat and confetti, and he smells like gasoline and engine oil but he picks you up, squeezing you tightly.
You remember telling him how much you loved him and how proud of him you were. Sebastian responded with a kiss, you can taste the champagne; a familiar taste that slowly became more scarce as his days with Ferrari went on.
Unfortunately, things took a bit of a downwards dip for Sebastian after that. He was hungry to win, he was constantly in a fight for the championship every year and it was killing him that he wasn't there yet. Yes, he had won races with them and broken every record he could possibly break but if he couldn't achieve the one thing he really set out to do, the one thing he had always dreamt about, then what was the point?
Monza seemed to always have Sebastian in its grasp, tricking him as the years went on. He almost always was there, he could reach out and touch the win and yet, it slipped through his fingers. Winning in Monza meant more to a Ferrari driver than winning in Monaco would - unless you were born and raised there like Sebastian's teammate, Charles.
You were the king of the world if you won there; your name written in the history books from now until the end of time.
Sebastian longed for his name to be in the book of the greats; Sebastian Vettel, Monza race winner.
A dream that slipped through his fingers as did his hope of winning the championship with Ferrari.
After coming in P2 in 2015, things just kept getting further and further from the finish line for him. P3 in 2016 and 2017, P4 in 2018 and last year was the final shove before the cherry on top this year; P13 while his new teammate, Charles, stood on the top step as race winner, basking in the magic that is Monza.
He was happy for him, beyond happy actually and any win for the team was great but oh how he wished that was him.
Now you're back in Monza, the season had been delayed due to the pandemic and this was the first race you had been able to join him for all season. It was weird being there with the track empty; just the teams and the occasional celebrity guest that was rich enough to pay their way in.
The car has been giving Sebastian a hard time all weekend, practice was shit and he placed P17 in qualifying. It wasn't a good weekend for your husband.
"Be good," you told him while he was getting ready for the race. Sebastian nods, a witty remark about him always being a good boy slipped past his lips and you waved him off, your cheeks red as you walked back to the garage.
Watching him start from the back of the grid was breaking your heart, you knew he could manage much more than that but it's the stupid car that was giving him trouble.
He barely got a grip on the car before he drove off and into the blocks that were in the run off area. Your brows furrowed as you watched him speed through the blocks, his voice coming through the headphone - "brakes failed."
Your heart drops, eyes fixed on the screen as Seb pulls the car into the corner as best as he can without disrupting the race. He finds his way back to the garage after the marshals come for his car, Sebastian gives your hand a squeeze as he passes through and into the back hallway to his driver's room. You figured you'd give him space to cool off and you stayed in the garage to watch a bit more of the race.
It was barely 20 laps later that you saw the other Ferrari slide into the wall. To no fault of Charles, the car had understeer which caused him to lose the back half and send him into the wall. You stood there, waiting to hear if Charles spoke before you took your headphones off.
Once you hear that he's okay, you step out of the garage and make your way to your husband's driver room. You knock on the door, peeking in before he answers.
Sebastian gives you a sad smile, you can feel your heart breaking as you step in and shut the door behind you. He's sitting on the bench and you walk over, joining him.
"Charles is coming in."
"What? The race isn't over, is it?" Sebastian looks over at you before glancing out the window. You shook your head, "it's a red flag now, Charles' car has understeer, went into the wall."
"Is he okay?" He asks and you nod, "he's a little shaken up but he'll be okay."
Your hand finds your husband's, interlocking fingers. "I always admire that even when you're going through it, you still look out for others."
"I know what it's like to be in his position, it's tough."
You hum, glancing down at the racing boots that were tossed to the side, Seb's sock clad feet slide back and forth over the floor. "You know what happened today wasn't your fault, Sebastian. It was mechanical."
He's quiet for a bit, nodding at your words. "I don't know how much more of this I can take, baby."
You look over at the man, "of Ferrari or of racing?"
"Both," he answers truthfully.
Sebastian and Ferrari had come to a mutual agreement - a publicity term - that they would not be renewing his contract. You weren't opposed to it, you knew it was killing your husband to go but if Sebastian was good at one thing, it was that he knew when it was time to go, he had to go. He wanted to win with them, you think a part of him still held a tiny sliver of hope that he would find his way back to the top step as champion of the world but he also knew being there was killing him.
Mentally, physically, emotionally; he couldn't bear the pressure of staying there any longer.
"It's just a few more races, love. You can do it."
He nods, "I know but.." "Don't even go there," you tell him, shifting to face him. One of your legs hanging off the bench as the other folded in front of you.
"Monza's special, you know that." He says, "I just.. I feel like I failed." He sighs, his head hung and if your heart wasn't already broken, it was broken now.
It was days like today that made you hate the team that your husband so dearly loved.
"You didn't fail, you never failed them, Sebastian." You squeezed his hand, the man looked up at you. Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, your thumb rubbing over the few days old stubble on his cheek. "If anything, they failed you."
"You have the talent and the skill, and the drive to win and to be a champion; it's them, babe. They couldn't give you a car that was worthy of you, you can't blame yourself for that." You look at your husband and the man sighs again.
"I should have been able to, though. Been able to get the best out of the car."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Seb, c'mon. Be for real right now, it's their shitty ass car, it's not your fault. You know Lewis's car is basically a rocket ship, plus it's not like your strategies are A1 over here."
Seb tosses you a glance, a look of disapproval on his face. "You're so not helping right now, darling."
You raise your hands in surrender and your husband smiles - his first genuine smile all weekend. You smile back, holding his face again. "I love you, Sebastian."
"I know," he grins and you shake your head, laughing. "This is usually the point where you say I love you back."
"Oh, sorry." he chuckled, "I love you, y/n."
You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss. "Good, now come on. You need to get dressed, go check on your teammate," you patted his thigh, getting up to find a shirt for the man. In the meantime, Seb pulled off his race suit and fire proofs, slipping on a pair of shorts.
"Do I really have to go?" He sits on the bench again, shifting to lay down, his arms tucked behind his head. You roll your eyes, looking through the small cabinet off to the side. "Yes, you know they'll make you out to be a villain if you don't."
"And if I wanna be a villain ?" He asks, looking over at you.
You sigh, tossing the shirt at him, "Sebastian, don't start with me right now."
The man laughs, dropping the shirt on the bench before standing up. Sebastian grabs your hand, pulling you flush against his chest. "Ew," you fake a gag, "you're sweaty."
He smiles, ignoring your comment. "I don't know what I'd do without you, I can't thank you enough for being here for me all these years."
Your hand rests on his jaw, giving him a kiss before smiling at him. "You don't need to thank me, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat but.. if you do wanna thank me, you can buy that purse I liked."
"Show me when we get back, you can take my card and order it."
"I was joking," you look at him, and Seb shrugs. "It's the least I can do to thank you for being the perfect wife."
"It's easy to do when I have the perfect husband," you smile, kissing him again. There's a knock on the door, causing you both to look in the direction of it.
"When the two of you are done being perfect, you're needed for press, Sebastian." Britt's voice from the other side of the door, making you both laugh.
Seb gives you one last kiss before grabbing his shirt, "I'm coming!" He calls to her, pulling it on. He was on his way out but you stopped him, grabbing his hand.
He turns back, looking at you as he waits to see what you wanted. "I'm proud of you, no matter what," you tell him.
Seb nods, smiling at you. "I love you."
---
taglist: @dragon-of-winterfell @benedictscanvas @elisaa-shelby @hnmaga-blog @czechoslovakiandisco @dr3lover @troybolton14 @Lovingroscoee @compulsiveshit @somanyfandomsbruh @damnyoulifee @barzysreputation @vickyofalltrades @yeolsbubbles @barzysreputation @thybulleric @valkyrie418 @ricsaigaslec @idkiwantchocolatee @sessgjarg @molliemoo3 @bisexual-desi @sunf1owerrq @alwaysclassyeagle @coldmuffinbanditshoe @sillybananamaker and @oconso cause she was fucking with the preview I sent her
#sebastian vettel#sebastian vettel x reader#sebastian vettel x you#sebastian vettel imagine#sebastian vettel fanfic#sebastian vettel fluff#sebastian vettel one shot#f1#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 fluff#f1 imagine#f1 one shot#formula one#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fanfiction#formula one fic
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Dirty Work 14
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.
Characters: Loki
Note: Pretty sure I'm getting another sinus infection.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You realise a little too late that you have no idea if you should do more than pour the brew into a mug. You recall Frigga mentioned Mr. Laufeyson took his tea black but was it the same for coffee? You never drink it so you wouldn't know better. You hate to presume.
So you find a small tray, setting the mug on it with the dish of sugar and a little porcelain milk urn. You balance is all and climb the staircase tremulously, the task made heavier by the dread nipping at your ears.
You come down the hall and stop before the study door. Your hands are occupied so you gentle tap with your toe. Without an answer, you try again. Still, you're met with only silence.
"Mr. Laufeyson?" You call through, "I have your coffee--"
The door a few feet down opens instead and you turn to face the dour occupant. Mr. Laufeyson beckons you wordlessly with a curt gesture before he disappears behind the door frame. You follow as you let a breath slowly out your nose. Inside, he sits at the writing desk, the laptop open as he tilts his head at it. He has your notes open, shamelessly perusing your reminders.
"Here you are, Mr. Laufeyson," you put the tray on the desk.
"There we are," he accepts tersely and sits back, swiping up the paper from atop the gold and white folder. He eyes the estimate left by the carpenter with your signature at the bottom. "So, what are we to do about that infernal thing?"
You fold your hands and wait for his answer. You realise he does not want one from you. He sniffs and slips the paper over the keyboard, letting it drift slightly over the edge. He sits back and look at you.
"It is the last of your worries, surely," he says flippantly, "firstly, this..." he taps the laptop, "you leave it here. As if you do not care."
You purse your lips. You won't argue. If he wants you to take it home, certainly you can, but you don't have wifi or a need for it beyond these walls.
"What if something should happen? You would want to have access to all your..." he eyes the screen, "clutter."
"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Noted."
"Noted?" He scoffs and unfolds his arms, "right."
He moves the paper back to the folder and types swiftly, much quicker than your chicken pecking. He sits back proudly and once more sets his sights on you. You clutch your hands tighter and await further remonstrance. This is his vengeance. You can't help but feel you deserve it.
He reaches for the mug, disregarding the milk and sugar, and blows over it. He watches you as he sips.
"Mm," he considers the double-walled cup, "bit strong..."
"Mr. Laufeyson, I could try again--"
"It'll do," he dismisses, "as I said, other concerns. And as I also said, several times, and how you know I do hate to repeat myself, this..." he points at you, flicking his finger up and down, "attire."
You look down at yourself and shrug. The clothes aren't that bad, only plain. Maybe not to his standard but you don't see how they're so wrong.
"Mr. Laufeyson, I don't know--"
"You don't know much, do you?" He challenges, "well, you better catch up."
He pauses to take another sip, cheeks straining as his throat tightens. He can barely choke down the coffee, making you feel even worse. Is it that bad?
"Are you not curious why I've returned early?" He sets the mug down as he leans forward.
You're quiet. It's not that you don't care, you just wouldn't dare ask. Not after last night, you wouldn't want to bring up bad feelings.
"I see you had my return marked in your calendar," he continues, "I suppose I spoiled your plans, hm?"
"No, Mr. Laufeyson," you assure him.
"So you are happy for my return?"
Your cheek twitches. It's an odd question. One that has no right answer. A trick.
"If you're happy, Mr. Laufeyson, then I am too."
He seems surprised by your answer as his brows arch and his lips part slightly. He closes his mouth and narrows his eyes as he watches you. He chortles and stands.
"How..." he struggles to find a word, "foolish."
You're struck equally by his response. The threat that underlines it and the rebuke in his tone. You dip your head down.
"Call the carpenter," he orders as he retrieves the bill, "I'll sign off on the repairs."
He struts by you as you stare at the tray and his unfinished coffee. Another to-do: you'll have to figure out that machine.
🧹
It isn't until you sit down to work that you realise the door is still open. The one adjoining the library to Mr. Laufeyson's study. You can hear the subtle tap of keys as he sets to work. You hunker down to do the same, overly mindful of each little noise.
You'll make your call to Ronan elsewhere so you don't disturb the silence. You go through your list, marking down what can be done today in your phone. You get up and slowly move towards the door.
"Sneaking off? You are so good at creeping around? Like a little cat," Laufeyson intones before you can let yourself out. You look back as he stands in the other doorway, "I have an appointment shortly. You will let them in when they ring and show them up."
"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you agree.
"So you won't stray far."
"I won't."
He waves you off lightly and disappears into the study once more. You turn and quietly shuffle into the hallway. You go downstairs and pace as you dial the phone. Your nerves are a swirl. Mr. Laufeyson is suffocatingly observant.
"Ronan Carpentry," the voice comes from the speaker.
"Oh, ach, hi," you nearly choke on your tongue, "hi, um, I'm just following up on an estimate."
He asks for your name, you give your own but add Mr. Laufeyson's as he would be the leaseholder. The air is static as the man is silent on the other end. He hums and finally speaks again.
"So you would like to go forward with the work?" He prompts.
"Yes, sir."
"When would be best to begin?" He's straight to business. You can appreciate that.
"Hmm, well, I could do most days except Wednesday but the owner would be here."
"Would he be handling this or would you?"
You trace a fingernail with your thumb, "me, I guess."
"Thursday works for me," he confirms, "if it suits you, miss."
"Great," you sigh, "yeah, Thursday works."
"Nine good?" His deep voice is smooth like syrup as it drips through the phone.
"Nine," you confirm with a squeak, "thank you, sir."
"Of course. Have a good one."
You eke out a 'you, too' and hang up. You exhale out your nerves. You're even more jittery and you don't know why. Usually getting phone calls out of the way is a relief.
You do your best to focus, working down the list until the doorbell buzzes. You jump, taking a moment to recall the expected visitor. You rush out the front door and down the steps. You come up to the gate but find a car waiting by the bigger door. You hit the button so it rolls open and lets the brown vehicle through.
The man that gets out has gray hair and pale blue eyes. He looks around curiously as you cross the lot back to the house. He gives you a friendly smile as you approach and offers his hand, "Loki hanging around here?"
You daintily shake his hand, a gesture you're unused to. His grip is firm but not harsh.
"Mr. Laufeyson is upstairs in his study, I can show you in--"
"Mr. Laufeyson?" He repeats, amused, "in his study? I can find my way," he lets you go, "he didn't tell me he had a lady friend."
Your mouth forms a surprised squiggle, "I'm the house manager."
"Ah, house manager," he clucks, "interesting. Well, can't keep him waiting, I'm already late."
He shoots you with a finger gun and rushes past you. You frown as you turn to watch him. He's not what you expected. You don't see Laufeyson as tolerating someone like that, not that he puts up with much.
As you enter the house, you hear the man's voice upstairs. You're not used to signs of life. His gregarious greeting is soon smothered behind a door. You carry on.
At one, you take a short break in the garden to have your peanut butter sandwich. You thought of eating at the counter as you usually do but being inside is starting to feel oppressive. You chew the dry bread and thick spread, staring at the foliage without seeing.
Your eyes are drawn up as you sense movement and you find curtains being drawn back on the second floor. A figure lingers behind the pane before backing away. You're certain it's Mr. Laufeyson. You hope he's not bothered by you being out in the garden.
You finish the crust last, your stomach mulching up the food violently, and you dust off your fingers. You take out your phone and check the list. No time to waste. You had your ten minutes. You can get through a few more hours.
🧹
Tuesday comes and goes in a similar slog. Your hours are whittled away as you find yourself under the omniscient eye of Mr. Laufeyson. Each time you think you're alone, he appears. He looms but doesn't speak, lurking and waiting, for what, you don't know. At the end of the day, you still don't know. You go home, just as you do every night, without a farewell.
Home sees you just the same. Leslie's finishing up as your father sits over a new puzzle. It's been ages since you've seen him so consumed by anything besides his cigarettes. You sit and have dinner at the nurse's insistence and bid her off.
Your father stays up as you go up to shower and settle into bed. The last six days hang off your shoulders like sandbags and needle in the muscles between your shoulder blades. You lay down and fall asleep almost as soon as your head meets the pillow. You've never been so exhausted in your life.
You wake up, less refreshed than groggy. You make yourself get out of bed, wanting to get stuff done on your singular day off. After you have your tea and get your dad his coffee, you get to the chores that you couldn't do throughout the week. Mopping and vacuuming, then laundry.
As you work on the second floor, your father sits with his puzzle. He's fidgety as he hunches over the table. You watch him as you sweep the floor around the couch. He catches you as he glances up. He scowls and shakes his head.
You gather the dust and dirt into the pan and dump it out. You check the time. It's nearly lunchtime. You wash your hands and check the cupboard. There's a can of tuna leftover from your last grocery trip. You'll try to do another on your way home from work tomorrow. You take out your phone and add it to your reminders.
You go back to the living room as your dad holds a handful of pieces and tosses them one at a time onto the wood as he searches for a particular shape.
"Are you hungry at all?" You ask.
"I want a fucking smoke," he growls.
"Well, I'm sorry, I don't have any," you tuck the phone in your pocket and push your hands behind you, clasping them tightly. The weight of it presses against your thigh.
"Don't be a fucking smartass," he throws the pieces left in his hand at you and they scatter on the floor. "Maybe if you got off that phone , eh?"
You kneel down to gather up the pieces. He snarls and hits the table. You pluck up the last few and set them on wood as you stand.
"Where'd you get a phone like that, huh? Expensive? You been buying yourself all this nice shit and I'm sitting here on a stinky fucking couch rotting away," he accuses.
"It's for work," you say, "I'm gonna make tuna sandwiches."
He sits back and huffs, swiping up the remote and jabbing it through the air towards the television. He sets the volume on blast so your eardrums pulse. You step back as he jams his thumb into the buttons.
“Makes me wonder what kinda job affords you a fancy phone like that?”
“Huh?” You grimace.
“Well, you got no schooling, got no skills,” he sniffs, “only got one thing of use.”
He can't mean… that. You're his daughter. Your eyes sear and gleam as you shake your head.
“I… I'm a house manager,” you croak, “dad–”
“Sure,” he guffaws, “what kinda idiot would want you managing their house? They probably haven't seen this dump.”
“Please, I'm trying–”
“You always gotta fucking yammer!” He barks and a hot pain bounces off your arm.
You grunt and look down as the remote hits the floor. You rub the tender spot as you let out a shocked ‘ow.’
“Go fucking cry about it. I can't hear the TV over your whining.”
You hold back the wall of tears and pick up the remote. You set it by his puzzle and back up. Yo wiggle your nose as you sidle out of the room. hiding your face.
You move tentatively like prey avoiding the vicious eyes of a hunter. Your arm throbs as you feel a welt forming. It's better to hide before you get more.
You forget about the tuna as your hunger evaporates. You can only think of the pain that goes much deeper than flesh. That rent in your heart that can barely contain your despair. It splits wider as the stress of the week threatens to overflow.
You retreat to your room as the salty tears begin to stream, catching along your nose and dripping off your chin. You close the door and hurtle yourself towards the bed to bury your face in the pillow. A hard shape presses into your leg, a corner stabbing you bluntly.
You lift your hip and fish around in your pocket to free your phone, tearing your pocket inside out. As you go to put it on the nightstand, you notice the timer in the corner. Didn't you lock it before you shoved it away?
You sit up and gulp back sobs, shaking as you stare at the ongoing call. Mr. Laufeyson's name is blazed across the screen. You put it to your ear and whisper, “hello?” You swallow and make yourself speak louder, “hello?”
The line clicks and you pull the screen back. The call's ended as the option to return the call pops up. You blacken the screen and turn the phoje face down, dropping it onto the night table.
Did he hear all that?
#loki#dark loki#dark!loki#loki x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#maid au#dirty work#mcu#marvel#thor#avengers
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Do you have any idea why people are so fixated on Biden’s age but not Trumps? I know he’s 81, but Trump isn’t exactly far behind at 77: in fact he’s the second oldest. This keeps stumping me: it’s not a big gap in age
There are a few reasons for this, yes. As you might imagine, all of them are very stupid.
First and most critically is the way Trump's violent extremism has been completely neutered, mainlined, and normalized by the mainstream media. That's why we still have said media largely treating this as a normal presidential election, instead of that of a successful incumbent against literally the most deranged, unfit, treasonous, criminally and civilly liable, already-led-an-attempted-coup, deep-in-hock-to-Russia, adjudicated rapist, 91-felony-counts-indicted career cheater, grifter, and failed businessman who nonetheless appeals to the still-very-powerful isolationist, racist, white supremacist, and Christian nationalist elements in this country. Crucially, he also appeals to the billionaire class that owns the media and who will benefit from Trumpian tax, economic, and labor policies (especially now that Biden used the SOTU to once more call for a minimum 25% corporate/billionaire tax rate). The media also openly wants Trump back in office, as all the shitass insane things he did (and will do) are good for ratings, and allows them to act like the Principled Truth Tellers, instead of shilling so hard for a greasy orange fascist that we may well lose our 250+ year old democratic republic if he, God forbid, is elected again. Profit is more, well, profitable than truthful reporting, so the media has been completely disincentivized to cover this in any accurate way. We presume they will all wake up with shocked Pikachu faces when Trump packs them off to concentration camps with everyone else he hates, as he has openly promised to do.
Because we're also starting from an underlying premise that everything is the Democrats' fault, this means the party should be blamed for running said successful incumbent for reelection, even if he has low poll numbers which have in fact largely been produced by the media's relentlessly stupid and dishonest coverage. I was reading an article in the AP today about how 15 major student/youth groups have endorsed Biden and plan to work for his reelection; even so, the author could.not.stop going on and on about how Zomgz Old Biden was and how supposedly most Americans thought he was mentally unfit for the job (which is a straight-up lie produced by the endless "Zomgz Biden Old!!!!" handwringing have been subjected to without end. Weird how that works). That is also why we have all those idiotic "Biden should step down!!!" opinion pieces by Very Smart Pundits, notwithstanding the fact that a) it would be completely insane, b) it would be completely insane, and c) somehow nobody seems to think that hey, maybe the Republicans shouldn't nominate an openly seditionist generally god-awful fascist shitweasel who has already been the worst thing to happen to American politics in the twenty-first century (I'd say also the twentieth century, but unfortunately that was when we had Reagan).
In other words, Trump is just taken as a given, while the media spends all its time attacking Biden, calling on Biden to step down, amplifying "concerns" about Biden's age, producing idiotic narratives about Biden, distorting or ignoring the things Biden has done, and then writing concern-troll navel-gazing pieces earnestly wondering why people don't like Biden. (Apparently people's opinion of Biden drastically improves when they learn what he's actually accomplished, but the relentless parade of lies somehow makes it difficult for them to learn what those actually are. Again, weird.) Likewise the endless coverage we get of Biden's smallest slips or stumbles, while the media resolutely ignores Trump's full-on recent descent into absolute raving dementia. Hello, double standards!
This is also fueled by a heaping helping of racism and misogyny, because if God forbid Biden does die in office, what happens? The vice president takes over! We have a clear and constitutionally established precedent for this that has happened many times before! Except, oh no scary!!!, Biden's vice president is a brown woman, and that means SHE WOULD BE IN CHARGE!!!! TERRIFYING!!! So all the scaremongering around Biden's age, aside from being generally dishonest and stupid, has as its implicit message that sure, maybe you're fine voting for an old white man, but are you really comfortable doing that if it means a brown woman might also have the chance to be president?? I DON'T THINK YOU SHOULD BE!!!!!
Anyway, yes. It's a complete straw man argument, it's fueled by bad faith and stupidity, and as with most things in the current American media environment, it's geared toward helping Trump win. Because you know. Something something BUT HER EEEEEEEEEEEEMAILS BUT BIDEN WAS OOOOOOOOOOOOLD.
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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI
tags: @illiana-mystery
warnings: swearing, crime, betting
“Tim!” I called as I ran down the hallway. “Tim! Wait up!” Tim paused and turned to look at me as I slowed down before I crashed into him.
“what’s up?” He asked as he put a hand out to steady me. “Something wrong?” I shook my head as I took a deep breath.
”grey wants me to ride with you today.” I explained. “Something about testing under pressure.” I smiled at him.
“grey…” Tim muttered as he ran a hand down his face. “Alright come on.” He handed me his bag and headed off in the direction of motor pool. I trailed behind him and checked out the shop while he put everything in back.
“so you want to tell me what this is about?” I asked once we’d rolled out. “Grey seemed to be holding back laughter when he told me what was going on.”
“Grey has a bet with Harper and lopez. At least that’s what Angela told me. That we wouldn’t be able to work together under pressure. So expect the worst of the worst calls today.” Tim sighed. I nodded and looked out the window. "I can't believe they pulled you into this."
"From what I've heard, it sounds like a standard practice when two cops start dating from the same department." I offered. "We don't outrank each other or anything so they just make sure we can still do our jobs. Apparently."
"Doesn't mean that I have to like it." Tim shot back. I nodded.
"Oh I know." I agreed. "And the fact that there's a betting pool on all this also pisses me off." Tim nodded as the radio went off.
"7-Adam-19, robbery in progress. Corner of South Spring Street and West 5th Street." The dispatcher came over the radio. Tim sighed as he picked up the receiver.
"7-Adam-19, show us responding." He said as I turned on the siren and we took off.
"Who would want to rob a book store?" I mumbled as Tim picked up speed.
"A book store?" He asked, glancing over at me. I nodded.
"Yeah. That's where the last bookstore is." I said. "Either they are dumb as fuck or they got their hands on something really expensive."
"I'm going with dumb as fuck." Tim said as we pulled up. The robber ran right in front of the shop and I took off out the door before Tim had even put it in park. The door slammed shut behind me as I tackled the robber. Tim slowed to a stop next to me as I handcuffed the guy and read him his rights. "All this for college textbooks?" Tim said as he picked up the books that had fallen in the tackle.
"I mean they're expensive for sure." I said with a shrug. "But there are other ways to get them."
"Not when the college wants double." The robber mumbled.
"My man," I said with a pat on his shoulder as I lead him to the shop. "Amazon is your friend. Buy it used. A million times cheaper." The robber sighed as I helped him into the back seat. "One down." I said as Tim closed the door.
"A million more to go." He finished. We got back into the shop and drove back to Mid-Wilshire. Throughout the day, we continued to take the roughest calls. Thankfully none of them ended in a shoot out. "And that is end of shift." Tim sighed as he pulled the shop back into motor pool.
"Shall we go see how those odds ended up?" I asked as I stretched once I got out of the shop. Tim nodded, reaching out for my hand. I took it happily before we went to find the two detectives. "Alright. So how'd we do?" Angela and Nyla both applauded us as we walked over.
"What?" Tim asked.
"Thanks to you two, we just got a bonus and Super Bowl Sunday off." Angela said with a smile as Nyla patted Tim on the back.
"Wait you both bet we would handle it?" I asked, looking between the two. "Fuck."
"Of course." Nyla said.
"Who would bet against the two of you?" Angela said with a smile. "I mean aside from Grey but he doesn't spend as much time around you guys as we do."
"The two of you are powerhouses on your own. It only makes sense that you would dominate when you work together." Nyla said with a shrug.
"Then I expect part of that cash." Tim said, smirked over at the two. "And getting Super Bowl Sunday off. Especially if the Rams play." Angela and Nyla nodded as Tim nodded with a smile.
"I swear..." I laughed. "This department." Tim wrapped his arm around me and I leaned into his side. "How do we ever get anything done?" Everyone laughed as Tim looked over at me. He leaned down and kissed me softly.
"How do we?" He asked quietly.
#tim bradford#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford fanfic#tim bradford fanfiction#tim bradford imagine#eric winter#eric winter imagine#eric winter fanfic#eric winter x reader#eric winter fanfiction
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ok listen right
please don't take the implication of what i'm about to say the completely wrong way, there's a point i have to make here
there's this gross thing that happens in LO that's been definitely talked about numerous times (by many people) where fashion is used to label a character's like, "alignment" between "good" "bad" "pure" "tainted" etc. this is something that comes up a lot when discussing Minthe and Persephone because there are a LOAD of double standards in how Minthe was treated and viewed for dressing like a "slut" but then Persephone wears the exact same fit and suddenly she's a queen-
(image courtesy of @anoldplace on Instagram, I'll be showing a couple of their posts in this because they show off a lot of the great - and frankly disturbing - parallels in LO, whether intended by Rachel or not)
-but can we talk about how the "bad ending" version of Persephone where she ends up with Apollo slaps WAY FUCKING HARDER than anything we've seen her dressed in since she got with Hades ??
fucking hello?? where's THAT fit ??
you're telling me this girl is queen of the underworld and the best she can do in the fashion department is looking like a color-swapped version of Hera ???
and I WANNA MAKE THIS PERFECTLY CLEAR, this isn't me trying to say "Persephone would have been way cooler if she got with Apollo", that is FAR from the point, more so just pointing out the pattern of Rachel aligning "bad" with "dresses with more flavor than an extremely out-of-touch conservative boomer". Even when she tries to draw Persephone in more "out there" clothing it just comes across as ... tacky? And only at her own detriment?
Like, how the fuck is this supposed to be Persephone being drawn through a literal male gaze (Apollo):
And THIS is supposed to be Persephone being drawn from a female gaze (her own because she dressed herself):
Like literally how? How does this happen? Especially when the latter is STILL being framed from a male perspective (the green guy behind her, "Jeffrey") but we're supposed to believe it's some "boss babe" moment for Persephone to just be walking down the street while getting oggled inappropriately by a male onlooker? How could these scenes be any more different and yet more alike? She's still being objectified for the characters around her and the audience, but we're supposed to believe the second is better than the first one because... she chose to wear that?
Sure, one could argue that at least she dressed herself and that definitely gives her agency, but it's really Rachel telling on herself where her priorities are in trying to write a "feminist comic" that she had Persephone dress herself and then STILL have its only purpose be for men on the sidelines to stare at and objectify her. When you just know this same outfit would have undoubtedly been used to slut shame characters like Minthe or Thetis or Leuce.
I don't even know, man. The intentions in LO's writing are so confused, contradictory, and ultimately pointless. It's trying so hard to be "feminist" and a "deconstruction of purity culture" but then it turns around and reinforces all that same shit it's claiming to be fighting against anyways. Persephone would be an evil slut if she was with Apollo, look at her outfit! But not here, not the banana purse dress being oggled by strangers on the sidewalk, not now that she settled down with her old rich husband who she only knew for a couple weeks before being separated for 10 years but their love was just so strong and the thirst for dick so real that she and him loyally waited for one another until she was old enough to make it "not be creepy" anymore for them to hook up, but only after marriage. She's definitely not a gold digger like Minthe or a vapid slut like Thetis or a homewrecker like Leuce, nah.
I just wish she'd dress herself, for the love of god. Let her dress herself with her own input and not the influence of the people around her or the tone of the comic's own internalized misogyny that demands "woman must always be objectified for better or for worse, that is The Rule!"
Of course she can't "dress herself" though. She's an extension of Rachel and Rachel herself writes like an out-of-touch boomer who will and has gladly gone about how men are just clamoring at the bit to stare at her and get to her... but then claims she "didn't realize sexism was all that bad" until she started working on LO.
Sorry, this post got very long and very mean, I initially just wanted to make the comparison in a very silly haha "wild how bad ending Persephone has way more visual personality than good ending Persephone" way, but then I thought about it too long and pissed myself off LMAO
And no, I don't want to go back to beating the dead horse of "banana dress bad" because honestly, I think in any other context or comic, sure, it would be very cute to see her walking around in an outfit she chose herself even if it's "objectively" not a great outfit, it shows agency and not caring what other people think which is VERY freeing. But we're not reading that comic, we're reading LO, where a woman's worth and value is only determined by how the men around her react to her and only Persephone is allowed to be empowered by wearing outfits that would otherwise be treated as "slutty" if worn by anyone else.
I don't want the message to be "Persephone looks like a dumbass bimbo" or, on the flipside, "Persephone looks boring and out-of-touch", I want the message to be "Persephone is valid for dressing how she wants, just like how the women around her are valid for dressing how they want regardless of whether or not they're protagonists or antagonists."
Quit using women's fashion as an alignment chart, quit using these "not so sly for a misogynist guy" dogwhistles as a way to "other" the women around the power fantasy main character. Women deserve to dress how they want without shame or objectification - all women, not just the women you like.
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Their Twist In Time
[Time-travelled Human!Alastor x Time User!Reader]
You were the only child born into this generation’s time masters. The pressure was always on you to do this well and do that well. Even more so when you had to hide your time-travelling powers. You mostly travel to the past and only for a short while so you don’t disturb the timeline and whatever nonsense your parents drilled into your little child mind
Perhaps you should have paid attention
The lack of siblings to carry the burden with you means all that power solely rest on your shoulders. Lose control and well, you can have dire consequences. This time being you bringing back some rando with you to the present
Big oops
So here Alastor was, strolling in the Bayou when suddenly, he was now in another place! People hold black metal things and something in their ears as they walk along. Oh, and the giant metal that would travel in the streets! Almost as big as a house, if not 3 times bigger! People gave him weird looks and he had to hide in an alleyway to wake himself up
Back to you, you were panicking. You obviously brought back someone, who? Probably a small time fry. But either way, you need to find them. Just your luck that your powers weren’t working, but there was enough residual to locate the person that was out of place or time
Double luck because you couldn’t exactly contact your parents or anyone else to ask about your situation until it was that period of the year (something like a witching hour but even rarer and is cater to time masters). You were on your own for a while, long while
First things first. Locate the target. Technology was on your side at least, there had been posts and pictures of a man out of the ordinary sighted around your area. How could you not notice this man behind or near you? He was holding a hunting gun, or shotgun? For crying out loud!
“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Your voice boomed as you went forward and grabbed him by the wrist, nudging him to follow. He’s stronger than he looks, given his skinny build. “Friend, are you still upset we can’t play that new game?”
“What on Earth are you talking about? Release me or I’ll be forced—”
“I’m trying to get us out of the spotlight, so just follow along, I’ll explain things once we’re somewhere private.” You whispered as your eyes darted to the nosy people with their phones out. The man got the message and came up with some story on the fly, going along as you requested
Safely the two of you made it back to your rather secluded home and you sighed, exhausted. The man more so physically and you mentally. Before you could even move from your spot, the barrel of the man’s gun was pointed in your face, him threatening you for answers
You raised your hands and explained, there was honestly no way around it, you had to tell him that you accidentally brought him to ‘the future’ in his perspective with your powers over time. When he demanded you do the same in reverse, you shamefully and embarrassingly admitted you were still inexperienced and had to wait for your parents to teach the method to you
“Why can’t you do it now?”
“They’re dead and I need to wait for that time of the year to contact them.”
“...My condocenses.”
“Thanks.”
The first few days, after the introductions and the living situation was settled, the two of you avoided each other. Only talking when the man, Alastor, wanted to know where he could find things and the like while you were still busy with your college life
Both of you were glad you didn’t have to see the other majority of the time. Since you were outside with school and part-time job, Alastor had the place to himself. Your place was big, by modern standards, and he had plenty of space to roam around. All but your room and study were off-limits to him
Unspokenly, there was a routine. Alastor would have made food by the time you were back and you’d have restocked the necessities. Then there was Alastor’s constant checking of whether you found a way to bring him home on your own and your answer was always the same ‘No, sorry’
It took one minor incident to connect you two and start opening up: Home invasion
One reason or another, the burglar thought you were an easy and perfect target since you were the only one in and out of the house, plus your place was big
The burglar forced open your door when you were entering and pinned you to the door since the two of you were inside, a hand covering your mouth to avoid attention. Your nearest neighbour was far, still better safe than sorry, right? “Give me all your valuables and money and no one gets hurt.”
Your home was your sacred place, there were traps and spells all around to ensure no one would find out your family’s secret. In fact, why Alastor was allowed to just stay at your place alone when you were out was because of your charms and traps. Any suspicious action made, you’d know and it would be dealt with
Before you could activate one, however, the burglar’s eyes rolled to the back of their head and their hold over you loose. You were grabbed by the wrist and yanked away before the unconscious body of the burglar flattened you. You looked up to your rescuer, shocked to see Alastor with his gun
“You didn’t kill him, right?”
“Only knocked him unconscious, dear.”
The process was slow, but eventually you two were enjoying meals together instead of up in your respective rooms, Alastor even followed you out and stayed around your campus to explore while waiting for you to be done with your activities
You also learned about his fancy with radios and his job as a radio host in his time, again you expressed your blues about his situations, but unlike before, now he seemed happy. What made you blush was his flirtatious words, “My dear! I call it a lucky accident! If it weren’t for your mistake, I’d have never met a gal such as yourself. You’re truly one of a kind, dear.”
In modern times, you’d rarely hear these cheesy ‘dear’ or ‘darling’ name callings, it was mostly for dramas and novels. In a way, it suited him. If he wasn’t calling everyone (girl/lady) he met that, you’d have been head over heels for him
It puzzled the Radio Host to no end, his feelings towards you. He was going to watch and see if you could defend yourself against that burglar, not rescue you like a knight in shining armour. But something ached in his chest and heart when he saw you getting manhandled like that. He needed to put that no-good crook in his place
He didn’t even realize he took a hold of his hunting gun or what he did until he had you in his arms. You were supposed (and is) to be all-powerful. You control time for heaven’s sake. A trainee time master, but still powerful in your own right. You were no damsel and you deserved some misfortune for what you did to him
Yet he still protected you and held you close. Was it because you offered the best hospitality you could offer? Bring him meals with your hard-earned money? Buy him new clothes and daily necessities because he didn’t want to share yours? Catered to his wishes when you could have ignored it all? Maybe those play a part. But what took the cake was your efforts to correct your mistake behind closed doors
He noticed late into the night the noises from your room connected to the study. You were keeping quiet, but his trained hearing could catch you rummaging around to find anything to help your/his situation. The next morning, you’d have food ready for him and give him a smile to leave for school and work
Ah. It was that smile that slowly got the better of him. That’s why. A familiar smile to hide the troubles of the mind
Note: There's part 2~ Hehe ᕦ(ò‿óˇ)ᕤ
Will be updated to Masterlist when part 2 and the random moment is out as well~! Enjoy my other stories until then! Happy reading!
Circe Y.
MASTERLIST
#alastor imagine#alastor x reader#alastor x y/n#alastor x you#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor#alastor headcanons#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel oneshots#Circe's Nighty Writings#Their Twist In Time#human alastor
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