#red wrestling trunks
Text
Yes I still have a man crush on Zack Clayton, even though I believe he is no longer wrestling for AEW. So I appreciated seeing a compilation video recently posted to YouTube focusing on his past punishments, defeats, and humiliations.
My man takes some massive abuse in his snug little red trunks. Why do I always enjoy it when they hurt the ones I love?
#zack clayton#red wrestling trunks#hunk in trunks#my hero defeated#suffering male#punishment in pro wrestling#squash compilation video
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
DOCORONPA R
CHAPTER ZERO
(1/3)
Drummer awoke, her eyes slowly focusing in on the decaying wooden planks suspended just above her face.
Turning to her left, a scream nearly escaped her at the sight of a muscular stranger sitting up in the bottom bunk accross from her. The stranger, meeting her eyes and lurching forward, held a finger to her mouth.
Drummer began to take in the features of this girl: tall, robustly muscular, orange hair spilling over her face. The girl leaned forward toward Drummer, whispering to stay quiet. She was seemingly vibrating with excitement.
The girl silently pointed a finger just above Drummer, guiding her attention to the bunk above hers.
As the girl whispered, Drummers eyes began to drift around the room. Her eyes quickly locked onto the camera mounted on the wall just behind the other girl. Her eyes darting across the room, she spotted several more dotting the walls.
Panic setting in, drummer sprang out of bed with a visceral shriek, frantically interrogating the strange girl where they were.
The girl instantly shot up to meet her, wrapping both arms around Drummer and masking her mouth. Drummer tried to wrestle out, and continued her now muffled screaming, but they were soon interrupted.
As the girls struggled, a third voice murmered from above.
Spinning around and looking up to the bunk above, they were met with a cautious stare from a beautiful set of baby pink eyes. Deep red braids framing her perfect face, she cautiously spoke, asking the girls who they were.
Drummer, mouth still covered, was too stunned to answer. The muscular girl, dropping Drummer to the floor, emphatically introduced herself as the Ultimate Personal Trainer. She manically extended a hand to the top bunk, eyes gleaming with admiration for the new girl.
Ignoring PT's attempt at a handshake, the girl looked down to drummer. Drummer, flushed from the situation, quietly introduced herself from the floor.
Before the new girl could introduce herself, PT exclaimed that she knew exactly who she was, the Ultimate Social Media Star.
Clearly being a massive fan, PT was thrashing with excitement. She barrated Social Media with questions and compliments, blocking all of Drummer's occasional attempts to chime in.
Drummer, giving up on socializing, began to analyze the room while the other two chatted.
She silently noted the lack of windows, the empty bunkbed above PT, the monitor in the corner, and most importantly, the many, many cameras dotted around the cabin.
Social Media, growing tired of the incessant praise, eventually found her eyes wandering to the cameras as well, immediately cutting her dialogue with PT short.
After Social media pointed out they were under survaillence, PT's attention was finally turned onto their situation as well.
With all 3 girls now in panic, they cautiously agreed that they would test the front door together. Unsure of what would be on the otherside, they approached the cabin door at a snails pace.
PT led the way as the three made their way out onto the front porch of the cabin.
Towering pines surrounded the girls on all sides, cameras darted along their trunks. Looking to their right, three other cabins followed parallel a wide trail curving through the forest, branching off into several smaller paths. The girls stood in silence, each taking in the foreign enviroment.
Suddenly, Social Star jumped, pointing out a lone girl sitting on the stairs of the furthest cabin, who had gone completely unnoticed by the other two.
She suggested that they go greet the stranger and possibly inquire about their situation, but Drummer disagreed. She insisted that the three stay at the cabin and wait for help.
After facing minor pressure from the other girls, Drummer caved, joining them in their trek to meet the strange girl.
As they approached the cabin, the girl sat straight up, wide brown eyes veiled behind large round lenses staring in fear.
Nervously gripping the ribbons in her hair, she shifted around on the steps, clearly very uncomfortable with the girls approaching. Nonetheless, as they approached, she shakely introduced herself as the Ultimate Marine Biologist.
After brief introductions, Drummer questioned Marine Biologist if there was anybody else in her cabin. Marine biologist cautiously explained that when she woke up there was one girl with her, and that the other two beds were empty when she awoke.
The other girl had apparently set off without her while Marine Biologist waited for others in the cabin. She had seen nobody else since then.
As the group hesitantly discussed their situation, a smooth, deep voice called out to them from much further down the trail.
The girls span, their eyes falling on a tall, slim man with long blonde hair, waving to them from a distance.
He approached the group through a clearing in the brush, his laid-back swagger already had Drummer uneasy. His laid back attitude continued as he introduced himself to the group as the Ultimate Salesman.
He explained to them that a small group had already made their way further down the trail and gathered at a nearby lake.
While Social Media and PT were thrilled by the prospect of other people, Drummer and Marine Biologist were not nearly as trusting of this mysterious stranger.
Casually explaining that he had come back to check the cabins for others, his cold eyes met Drummers, sending a chill down her spine.
Salesman quickly picked up on Drummers feelings toward him, calling her out on being so quiet through a smirk.
Drummer, not seeking a confrontation, exused her silence as nerves.
Caving once again to the pressures of the group, Drummer agreed to set off further down the trail to meet the others.
TO BE CONTINUED...
#danganronpa#dangan ronpa#oc#dangansona#fangan ronpa#fanganronpa#docoronpa#docoronpa r#my art#chapter 0
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
USA 1980's PART 3
Stills from the 'Pro Wrestling Sex' series of Wrestling Porn movies from the 80's.
Ex Pro wrestler turned Porn producer Raymond 'Dr Death' O'Sullivan (First image in the red trunks), had the bright idea of releasing a series of pro wrestling themed gay porn films. Using only real Pro wrestlers for authenticity, and knowing they always fucked after (sometimes during) their matches, all he had to do was show up with his crew and start filming, while the action unfolded. No direction needed! He would occasionally appear in these films too.
The fights and sex were unscripted.
Popular themes included Heel vs Jobber, Tag matches, 2/3 on 1, Bigger vs smaller, father/son tag fights, erotic sex fights, bloody battles etc
#beefy muscle#gay wrestling#big beefy bears#beefy daddy#pro wrestling#wrestling singlet#vintage pro wrestling#gay bear#bloody wrestling
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
[image ID: an oil painting of two wrestlers grappling on a dark red mat. the colours are quite vivid, complemented by dramatic light and shadows.
on the left, a figure lies on its side, facing right. its left leg stretches in the same direction, while its right is folded at the knee and rests close to the body. both its hands are raised and frame its face, crossing each other. the left hand is tangled with the other figure's right arm. it is dressed in black trunks and boots, as well as knee pads. the figure is painted quite realistically, with opaque layers of paint. its face is masked by shadows, and completely blacked out.
on the right, the second figure sits, facing left. its left leg is extended, covering the other's chest and pinning it down. its right leg goes behind the other figure's body, folded at the knee. its left hand is by its side, pressing on the first figure's leg. its right, tangled with the other figures' crossed arms, rests over its own left thigh. the figure is dressed in blue tights and boots, also wearing kick-pads. the graphic layer shows through, as it is painted as a few semi-transparent glazes, with no opaque base. its face is heavily shadowed, and largely covered by hair, such that few distinct features are visible.
the top-left and bottom-right parts of the painting each contain a rectangular panel, which has been left white. the panels intersect with the figures' bodies. the figures themselves are drawn, in black-pen, as anatomical diagrams - revealing the muscles and tendons. next to the diagrams, also in black-pen, is a schematic rendering depicting sections of Lou Thesz' NWA belt (also known as the tiny Takada belt). the belt sections are covered by a layer of vellum paper, which blurs them out. /.End ID]
my full piece for @moonsaultzine! i'm very proud of all we managed to achieve, and am thankful to have been able to participate. my piece was created while thinking about the symbolic collapse of persons into bodies in motion, and that collapse's relationship to the procedure of pro-wrestling and the artifice of all performances. it was referenced from multiple shoot-style matches (as well as allegedly fixed MMA fights) of the late 90s, particularly ones from UWF-I and RINGS.
76 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! I love your writing. As a request, can we get Tav helping/comforting kar'niss through a bad mental episode? I love fics out there that comfort him and help him, but I feel like sometimes people forget that progress doesn't always move in a straight line. Thanks!
Tav managed to drift off after a long day of travel, falling into peaceful slumber. This moment of repose would be interrupted by the heavy sound of pacing nearby, frantic stamping that seemed to increase in speed with time. They opened their eyes, vision still blurred, rolling over enough to see the darkened silhouette of the drider near the tree line. Tav crawled out of their sleeping bag to approach Kar’niss, observing the bizarre behavior with a frown. He was walking back and forth, his clawed hands clutching either side of his head while mindlessly muttering to himself.
“S-Silent, they must be silent! Be still damn you!” Kar’niss growled while clawing at his scalp.
Tav’s brows knit with concern, taking a cautious step closer to the agitated beast. “Shh Kar’niss, it’s alright.” They held up their hands defensively, not allowing themselves to bridge the gap too quickly.
Kar’niss didn’t seem to hear them, or perhaps he simply could not in this state. To him, Tav’s voice was just another of many vying for his attention and he couldn’t hone in on it. His legs bore into the dirt beneath him while he panted profusely, walking back and forth with no signs of slowing down.
“Stop, just stop! We are tired. Please, Majesty. Allow us rest. Too many speaking, cannot focus on an...an answer.”
Tav had seen this before since they pulled Kar’niss from the hold of the Absolute, one too many times. The artifact did well to block the Absolute’s influence but it could do nothing for the many voices that occupied his broken mind. They tormented him, followed him everywhere, and while some days he could block them out others were a hard won battle. They stood by and watched as he devolved into a fit of sobbing, his entire body dropping to the ground while legs scraped helplessly at the dirt.
“RAH! We cannot endure more! It’s agony, I beg you.” Kar’niss whined, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the moonlight. He began to dig his claws into his tender scalp, digging into the flesh which stained his white roots red.
Tav grimaced and rushed over to Kar’niss’ side, reaching up to grab at his arms in an effort to pull them away. “You’re hurting yourself, don’t!”
But he didn’t hear them, actively fighting against their hold in an effort to keep his head clutched. Tav continued to wrestle with the drider whose episode put them in high alert, adrenaline surging through his veins. He’d use his shoulder to shove Tav away with such force it made them stagger and fall onto their backside. Kar’niss snarled and raked his claws down his face nearly puncturing one of the eyes on his forehead leaving a trail of red lines in his wake. He’d lift himself and back-up at a rapid pace, his round abdomen crashing against a heavy tree trunk. A soul ripping screech ripped from his throat which echoed throughout the forest and beyond, a heartbreaking sound of anguish. He couldn’t hear or see anything else, consumed by the hallucinations dominating his perception.
They sucked in a sharp breath as they witnessed the display, devastated by the harm Kar’niss was doing to himself. Tav knew that they couldn’t get through to them with words alone while he was like this. They needed something else, something to break through the endless mantra which played in his head non-stop. They bolted away from him back to the camp where the commotion had stirred the others. Tav shook his head toward them to show that they had this under control, furiously digging through their bag until they found what they wanted. With item in hand Tav bolted back to Kar’niss, practically tripping over themselves along the way.
They’d return to find Kar’niss hovered over a nearby boulder scraping the side of his face against it as if that would somehow clear out the mental intruders. All the while he wept and contorted his body at an uncomfortable angle, slamming his fist in the side of the rock out of frustration.
“Fuck!” Tav hissed.
Tav couldn’t spare a moment more. They pulled out their flute, the same they had lulled Kar’niss with at Moonrise. With the instrument aligned with their lips they started to play a soft, gentle melody. They made sure it was loud enough for Kar’niss to hear but not so sharp as to compound an already fragile issue. They ventured close without invading his space, their gaze locked on him to judge if this would help or hurt him more.
At first it seemed as if the music had no effect. The drider shuffled his legs to push his torso against the boulder with more force which scraped what skin wasn’t protected by the chitin plating. A moment would pass and he seemed to ease up on the struggle, his eyes opening, startled. He grew uncomfortably still, his gaze searching the area as if confused, unsure. The music seemed to overpower the nagging chatter giving him something to focus on, something that wasn’t a voice. His upper lip curled, stained with crimson, his body steadily relaxing. He’d lean back and peel his upper body from the rough rocky surface, finally able to see Tav, truly see them. His hair was matted and bloody, his body scratched and marked, but all of it was damage that would heal.
Tav didn’t stop playing even when it seemed Kar’niss was coming around, knowing that the voices could return if given ample time to do so. Instead they opted to approach him, inching closer little by little, until they were at his side. Tav made eye contact with Kar’niss and he could see the well of emotion in their eyes. Both the relief that he’d ceased hurting himself as well as the fear of what would’ve happened if he didn’t. Kar’niss took in a ragged breath, still sitting on his belly, putting his attention on the music and little else.
“Yes...we hear them. What sweet melodies they play,” he rumbled, his muscles growing lax.
Tav nodded, their fingers hard at work to strike the right notes, keeping the sound soft but profound. This went on for several minutes allowing Kar’niss time to calm down and find his center once more, or as much of a center as his fragmented mind could maintain. He began to grow weary both from days without adequate rest and the number he’d done to himself during the violent episode. He leaned back over the boulder to give his torso proper support, lulled toward a relaxed enough state to fall into a trance. His eyes closed and with a shaken exhale Kar’niss drifted off.
They watched carefully, continuing to play for a bit after to make sure he was resting. Once they stopped they’d clamp a hand to their forehead, their body shaking and on edge. It had been a harrowing thing to experience much less be directly involved in. They needed their own time to decompress, a growing worry still churning within their belly. Approaching Kar’niss hesitantly they’d look over his body and see the damage done, frowning due to the carnage he caused himself.
“Oh Kar’niss…” Tav whispered.
They reached over and ran their palm over his blood stained locks in a gentle caress, deeply concerned for his well being. They wished to clean him up but also didn’t want to risk disturbing him now that he’d finally found respite. Instead they returned to camp to put their flute away and collect something else. They returned with a blanket and a pillow. With a cautious ease they lifted Kar’niss’ head, slipping the pillow beneath it so he’d not rest it on such a rough surface. They then draped the blanket over his back and shoulders to keep him warm. Tav leaned in and ghosted a kiss to his forehead, the drider shifting with a tired rumble to follow.
“I’ll help you through this, whatever it takes,” they murmured.
Tav then backed away and returned Kar’niss’ space to him, retreating to camp. After reassuring the others that all was well and to go back to sleep Tav found it was difficult to take their own advice. Even as they climbed back into their bedroll the harrowing scene they’d witnessed replayed in their mind without end. It was all they could think about, what could’ve been done differently, what could’ve gone wrong and how such episodes caused Kar’niss eternal grief. Tav wouldn’t be deterred, they wouldn’t abandon him like so many have. He would be taken care of like he deserved to be and loved in equal measure.
They’d make sure of that.
#baldur's gate 3#kar'niss#bg3#drider#karniss#baldurs gate 3#answered#my writing#tw: mental illness#tw: self harm#tw: psychotic break#kar'niss fanfic#bg3 fanfic#kar'niss x tav#gender neutral tav
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
think (harry/ginny) | a microfic
day 13 of @hinnymicrofic | prompt: think
He showers quick, tries to scrub the train off him. Snorts at the sight of Vernon’s large bottle of hair-thickening shampoo. Having stared at his uncle’s head all the way back from London, he reckons Vernon’s due a refund.
There's some lurid deodorant of Dudley's - hair gel, too, looks cheap and shit. He feels a stab of pity for whichever poor girl his cousin’s trying to scrub up for these days. Dudley trying to pull, he thinks with a laugh, Christ. But thoughts of pulling lead to thoughts of girls, which lead, inevitably, to thoughts of Ginny.
He shoves the hair gel back on the shelf. Adds Dudley pulling to the don’t think about it list he’d started making on the train, somewhere around the Cumbrian border, when Ron had offered him a Caramel Kappa, Ginny’s favourite, and he’d wanted to throw up all over the chess board.
The Dursleys had waited all of two seconds after he’d slammed the car boot shut before speeding off to dinner at some miserable gastropub off the M3. Suits him fine, wants to be alone. He stabs a fork through the plastic film of his ready-meal, makes sure to puncture the yellow reduced sticker Petunia's left on for his benefit, and watches the bright white of the mashed potato atop the shepherd’s pie whirling around in the microwave.
You know, it’s made from real shepherd, he’d said to Ginny once. That’s such a dad joke, she’d said, and he’d said I wouldn’t know and she’d said Potter you get one dead dad joke a day and you already used today’s up at breakfast. Shepherd’s pie is on the don’t think about it list, then, he thinks, just before he burns his fingers sliding the ready meal onto a tray. Probably best add cottage pie, too, same idea. Maybe all savoury pies, play it safe.
He flops down on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, eats straight from the hot plastic as he flicks through channels. The nine o'clock news is all budget this, Hong Kong that, Tim Henman out at Wimbledon. The nine o’clock news is not Dumbledore's dead, Snape murdered him, there’s a war on, Harry Potter's dropped out of school to go hunt bits of Voldemort's dismembered soul.
Dropped out of school, he thinks. Scandalous, delinquent. What d'you reckon? he asks the Ginny in his head. Harry Potter, troubled dropout? Do anything for you? The Ginny in his head laughs. It’d be fun if she were here, he thinks, curled up next to him on this ugly sofa, taking the piss out of Petunia’s cushion covers and Dudley’s wrestling trophies. Imagines taking her up to his bedroom, pointing out the lamp Dobby whacked himself around the head with. But then the Ginny in his head looks at him and says I never really gave up on you and I knew this would happen in the end, and it all bursts, shatters into a hundred dusty pieces.
He chucks the rest of the meal in the bin, adds dropping out of school to the stupid list. Might as well add the budget, Hong Kong and Tim Henman, why not.
Turns off the telly, goes upstairs and lies on his bed, fully-clothed, staring up at the ceiling, because on the walk from the living room to his bedroom the list has expanded to include his trunk (train, Hogwarts, Ginny), his jumper (still smells a bit like her on the left arm, pathetic), and Hedwig (how does it feel knowing your owl prefers me, Potter?).
He stares out of the window for a while, eyes next door's new extension, which sort of works - ugly nothing suburbia - until he remembers the twins and Ron at the window in a flying Ford Anglia, zooming him off to the Burrow where a little red headed girl is blushing and sticking her elbow in the butter dish and god, this really is shit, isn't it, they weren't lying. She knew then, of course she did. He's never been good at thinking of nothing, has he, and he's thought about her as he falls asleep every day since about October, so what chance does he have now?
He's dreading the dreams the most, knows they'll be unbearable. Almost hopes he dreams of lockets and green light and dead headmasters. Can't be worse than bright brown eyes, freckles on a bottom lip (how do you even get freckles on your bottom lip, Gin? Don't be jealous of my freckles, Potter, just because your skin's so boring), the smell of her hair (what do you mean my hair smells? What is that supposed to mean? Why are you laughing?) and the sound of her laugh and her gasps and the sound of her breathing, soft, lying beside him under the cloak on the lakeshore. Looking down under the table at dinner, seeing her thigh next to his on the bench, hand on his knee, body drawn to his, magnets, magic.
When he wakes groggily the next day - crick in his neck, still in his jeans - his first thought is: he's overslept. He’s missed Ginny on her way down to breakfast, going to be late for Potions, fucked it.
But no, of course not. There’s no Ginny, no breakfast, no Potions. Might still have fucked it, though, who's to say. Don't, he tells himself, as he heads for the bathroom to scrub the night off him, just don't think about it.
now up on AO3 here | ask me anything
#look i’m sorry#i had hinny microfic fomo#couldn’t resist#missed writing harry pov too much#hinny microfic#hinny#writing#fic#ginny weasley#harry potter#harry x ginny#big 1997 mood#tim henman cameo for the tennis fans#microfic
216 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝟒 | 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐎𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞
ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader
"His glowing red eyes try to kill you, to set you on fire like his mother’s do and he must succeed– someone succeeds– because the campsite goes up in one searing blue pillar of flame."
cw wrestling bkg to safety for 4k words, and so so much protective worry. fire-related injuries, incredibly brief reader panic sequence (overthinking). reader does not get to enjoy her first time seeing the ocean. someone is trying very hard to kill you (and doing very well) 4.8k
PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT
Bakugou doesn’t much care for carriage rides. He gets nauseous easily tucked away in those glorified jewelry boxes and would always rather be on horseback. It’s been that way since he was little. It's too stuffy and he needs the fresh air.
Where is he now? Is he riding?
It feels like he’s being carried to bed by his father after a late party. It feels like he’s dying.
The ground whizzes rough underneath the pair of you and at the rate you’re driving this horse, all three of you will be dead before you can even make it inside the city walls. The prince’s hands are clammy when they reach out for nothing around you. You’re gasping, retching and dripping with blood.
“Highness– please– please hold on to me!”
It’s your fists wrapped in the sprinting horse’s mane, not his, and he thinks that’s strange. Bakugou is slipping out of consciousness against your back and you’re trying to figure out how one man alone could cause so much destruction.
The prince’s bloody hand tightens around your waist when he tries to pull back beside the campfire, but you hold him in place by not budging an inch. Does he know what’s coming? You level his sword to the danger ahead.
“I know it’s you Master,” the ghost sings from deep in the trees. His voice reverberates from every direction. Grass tips flicker with fire in a perimeter around the campsite. The chill of the naught-winter wind shivers through branches, bringing the voice closer and closer to the clearing like he’s lighter than air.
A blue glow flickers between tree trunks and no one breathes when the apples beside you hiss, scream, and whither, and then bake into ash. Not a soul.
Kirishima looms across the clearing shielding his companions with anticipation more successfully than you’re managing the prince, and Aizawa crouches in the carriage nearby with his bow drawn.
“How was Aldera?” That haunting voice hums again. The blue din is closer now.
The prince snaps, growling, and leaps out from behind you towards the treeline and you don’t need Shinsou’s screamed warning to drop the sword and dive onto his back.
Another arrow whizzes under your arm as you tie your leg between Bakugou’s and use his momentum to smash you both, skidding, into the dirt. You land above him like this on your knees and it’s silent again. Shinsou and Sero watch back to back in horror as little fires dance in the trees in a circle around you.
You shouldn’t have let the caravan stop at the river today, you curse– you curse Aizawa– and curse the prince for the fight he’s putting up now trying to get you dislodged from his torso. Though, you wonder how he hasn’t gotten free yet– why he hasn’t turned you into a firework.
Furious shouts go up around you, but the prince, the only thing you need worry about is pressed to the ground between your thighs and his ashen hair clings to his forehead in a cold sweat. A sick sweat. His glowing red eyes try to kill you, to set you on fire like his mother’s do and he must succeed– someone succeeds– because the campsite goes up in one searing blue pillar of flame.
“Welcome home!”
Through the fire a slender black boot emerges over the treeline.
“Kids, run!”
In a flash Bakugou has the same idea as you and for a second ahead of the flames he’s no longer struggling against your grip. Screams and the smell of burning hair kick to life around you and before the air becomes too hot to breath the prince tugs you into his chest, you grab the edge of his cape, and kick the campfire irons hard enough to roll the pair of you up in the thick red fabric amid the fire.
If you survive this mission you won’t ever be able to return home and look your master in the eyes, let alone the queen. You’ll be stripped of your titles, your apprenticeship, your place in the castle, and you’ll deserve it. You’ll wander and no one will mourn you.
“Highness, up!” You shout into the tiny space between your bodies in this fireproof cocoon you’ve made; it isn’t just for show that Alderans are known as dragon-tamers.
Your forehead presses against his and the sweat slick makes it hard to move well. He’s cold. The fire outside whistles without much by way of kindling to stick to and you know you have to run before another wave erupts, “Up, now!”
Kirishima balances his friends in his arms and on his shoulders, and what parts of them he can’t cover are shielded by a viscous gray screen. Mina shouts your name from where she dangles around his neck when you throw the prince’s cape open, but she’s not fast enough to warn you. A man runs dark and lithe through the clearing in a zigzag that would be difficult to follow even if you were paying attention to more than the limp prince caged between your arms.
He isn’t rising with you, “Your Highness! Prince Bakugou!”
He groans, flushed, against the ground without any more wounds than the slice he got across his palm when he caught the arrow meant for you. He growls when you rip open his vested furs in a panic.
He must have been struck– did he hit his head? Is it a burn? You’re frantic on your knees beside him while you look from his twisted face to the blue hell around you and back down again, and try to picture your escape without ever stopping fully to process. Horses are screaming. The prince’s hissing melts into groans and he slips his elbow against the ground to sit up while you’re trying to locate a weapon– figure out why your halberd isn’t in its sheath on your back– try to locate the nobles and Aizawa and the Champion and–
You whip back around when Bakugou’s golden hand tugs at a piece of your hair, alight in blue flames and smothers it in his fist.
He bares his teeth at you, “get…away.”
“Me or her?” The ghost whispers coolly from behind.
You gasp as his rough cheek brushes yours, and he muffles your snarl when you turn to strike him, with one horribly leathery hand. A hand that grips the edges of your face hard enough you think you’ll pop before you’re able to claw his fingers from the divots they’ve made of you.
He’s crouching now and his other hand comes up to pry your jaw open so you can’t bite off the two fingers that have found their way into your mouth.
Hats off to dying. Of all the things to fear in the world, closed spaces, big crowds, exams, introductions, the flu– dying like this is fear unimaginable. The man rots visibly in sections across his body, his face. He wears clothes like they’re gauze and steams from his horrible stitches. He also lets you go.
More accurately, you are thrown from his grip before he can roast you alive when Master Aizawa flies through the man’s head with his knee. You’re knocked away rough against the ground from the impact. It’s so horrible you want to cry laughing at the fact Mina thought you might be a flame mage, that someone like you could wield magic like this, just three days ago.
“Y/n!” Aizawa seeths when he lands and charges immediately for a second attack against the magician before he can fully rebalance. There’s no new fire for now. He shouts over his shoulder to you, “Due east, Y/n! Get Bakugou to Takoba!”
Master Aizawa must sleep as much as he does to recover from fighting, because the man moves like a panther. Hair in his blood red eyes, bandages wrapped around his fists, he fights faster, strikes violently harder, than your eyes are able to keep track of. Two blows to the mage’s throat, one caught in a fist and the other landing just below a collarbone. A handspring back to dodge a knife and a flourish to ensure he lands facing his opponent. A sprint that turns into a double boot kick sending both him and his opponent crashing through the clearing.
In the second he gets from the distance, Master Aizawa pulls a canister from his belt and throws it into the air. With a hiss and a whistle, it bursts open and a single blue light screams straight up miles into the sky, into the stars, and out of sight leaving nothing but the bright glow above you.
“Get a horse!” He again shouts to you, dazed at the edge of the clearing, “The flare is an or–!” The scarred mage is up again, noticeably free of fire, and charging the guard. You’re pulling yourself together.
“It’s an order to open the city gates!”
In the center of the clearing, Bakugou wants to roar. If he could it would be loud enough to splinter the earth but something locks his sparks and his anger away. Denki cries out a little ways behind him, Sero and Kirishima are shouting instructions to each other, and no one seems to see him.
The prince, with great effort, rolls over. First onto his face and then with a white knuckled fist in the dirt, onto his forearms. With a trembling effort he pulls his legs underneath him and finally he swells up to a kneel. Something has lit every dry surface, every leaf, hair, scrap, and cloth, on fire. Blue fire. He would feel the peeling burns on his bare shoulders and back if he wasn’t so fucking cold.
To his right, Sero releases great lengths of ribbon into the trees whose canopies are lost to flame, “The fire will spread! Slow it down!” Kirishima tugs the ribbons hard enough to break trunks and to uproot dead saplings.
To his left, Denki is slouched against Mina’s chest in a singed tunic and blood smears stain their clothes in errant patterns. Shinsou’s close-by, freeing the last of the horses.
The carriage is a white wicker lantern, gone, gone, gone, silver trim, chandeliers and all, up in smoke. Bakugou staggers to his feet when Shinsou tries to lift Denki’s limp body from Mina’s arms, but he doesn’t have a drop of strength left in him, let alone a spark, let alone a step or an arm to use to carry his injured friend out of the fire to safety. But you can.
You can do it. You finish shaking your brain straight after that hit and rip your horrible fucking riding cloak off of your horrible fucking tunic before the fire that’s eating it eats you up too. Aizawa’s a little ways ahead of you throwing punches and blocking kicks and keeping the flame mage from showering your group with any more fireballs, but he still let this happen and so did you, and you’re trembling with anger.
They’re safe with me.
You snatch one of the mage’s arrows out of the ground from where it missed you and charge.
You have to get the prince out of here, you have to return to the queen in one piece so you can see her just one more time and then you’ll surrender to death, you promise the stars right now they can take you as long as you can go back home just one more time, I swear!
Not that you’re much of a bargaining chip now. It’ll just have to do. It has to be enough because the prince is stumbling blindly through flames ahead of you. From this distance he bends like a broken mirror in the heat waves and patches of fire crawl up his furs, barely upright.
You launch into the fight without your halberd or anything even resembling armor and land like a koala onto the flame mage’s back with only that little arrowhead in your fist to anchor you there.
When he shouts, you dig its point as deep into his shoulder as you can manage before the shaft snaps in your fist and then you grab a fistfull of his hair to replace it. Aizawa balks when you kick off the mage’s back like a springboard and yank his head down as you fall to the ground in front of them. The second your feet tap the dirt you’re off.
You wish you had seen the mage take Aizawa down with him. So you could piece together the Master’s magic before the mage crushed his head in the dirt to keep his eyes covered for an opening.
Bakugou is not going to stay upright for much longer. Without a destination he crumples back down to his knees. He wants to lay down and fly all at once, but he’s simply slipping away. Backwards into the dirt. Before he falls flat into the flames you throw your legs out underneath you from a sprint and slide behind him in time for his torso to land in your lap.
He’s drenched in a sickly sweat that reeks of burnt sugar and general sour. His golden chest heaves with effort under your fingers. You cup his cheeks in your dirty hands. He looks angry unconscious and still there is no feeling like finally holding him safe in your arms.
He could hate you all he wanted, fire you, banish you, execute you– no matter. He could burn holes through your armor with his ruby eyes and sear your skin with his magic, he could shout if he wanted to. He was permitted to strike you, challenge you, but you were not going to let the queen’s son die.
“Duck!” Mina’s voice is a surprise when she pushes your head down from behind and leaps in front of you. She lands on her knees and waves her other arm in an arch between your bodies without a second to spare in blocking the incoming pillar of fire. A thick gray wall spreads across the air like she’s painting it with a brush and flames burst to life around you, diverted by her shield. She whips her head back, “Are you okay?!”
These flames are weaker than before, and don’t singe you from proximity alone.
“I–”
A large rough hand snatches your waist from behind at the same time as the fires die down and Aizawa’s growls echo from the other side of the wall. The hand is Kirishima’s and he’s pulling you to your feet in the same fluid movement he makes to toss Bakugou over his shoulder.
He’s running, pulling you and speaking to you all at once over the sound of the burning forest, instructions maybe, leading you to a lone white horse at the edge of the trees. His pull on your wrist doesn’t keep you from reaching back for Mina with a gasp, but she’s already running in another direction, towards Shinsou with a limp Denki in his arms in an all-dirt part of the clearing that isn’t drinking the fire.
“Don’t stop!” She cries when she sees you reaching, and disappears with her injured friend and the Takoba guard, into another section of the forest past the clearing.
You must be truly exhausted, because your feet aren’t on the ground anymore and you aren’t putting up a fight. Kirishima hoists you onto the horse’s bare back with more shouted instructions. Bakugou is tossed on next.
Kirishima does not look gentle anymore. With firelight illuminating his back, his cheeks are cracked. His hands are tearing and savage.
“Y/n!” He grabs your cheeks in one of those rough hands from below and keeps Bakugou upright on the horse with his other. He points to the sky and thrusts your face upward, and following his sharp finger you can see a blue flare going up in the distance, between the thick canopy of leaves.
“Takoba answered Aizawa’s call! The gates are open!”
On your other side, Sero uses Bakugou’s singed cape to tie the two of you together and wraps a length of his sticky white ribbon around your torsos for good measure.
“What about you?!”
“There’s only one horse left, just go!”
You don’t have the time to argue. With the prince in such a state on your shoulder you barely wait for Kirishima’s response before you’re digging your heels into the frantic white horse and wrapping your fists into her mane while she bolts, quickly far, far away through the trees towards her home.
Castle on the sea doesn’t even begin to describe the scene ahead when your horse bursts out of the forest.
Your breath only comes in wheezes now. Your bones aren’t broken but you’re not processing enough information to feel them even if they were. The prince’s face between your hands in the clearing– that’s what you’re processing. You don’t even know what’s wrong. You don’t know where his injury is– you wish you were the horse racing your prince to safety, so that you could do more than just cling to him with every ounce of strength in your body to keep him from falling into the sand.
You have to take hold of his hand when it reaches again limply past you to nothing and you try as hard as you can to wrap it into the horse’s mane like touching anything other than you will remind him that he’s alive, and to please just hold on.
You think of the little blond boy, your same age, sneaking off to the library in the middle of the night by the light of a single candle. And of you sneaking off behind him to peek at his magic from behind the cracked library door. He used to hunch over a different book every night at the great wooden table (books so big he had to carry them with both hands) and blow the candle out once he read his fill. Like clockwork, the second your eyes grew wide in the dark, his little sparkles trickled into focus, springing up from his fingertips in pinks and purples.
Bruises that same color bloom atop his thigh now, the thigh nestled right behind yours. If you had talked to that little boy maybe this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe he could have taught you magic before it was too late and he would trust you now to stand between him and danger. Bakugou groans against the back of your neck. You have to focus.
Takoba is not just a castle, it’s a city on the sea– on a hill– a mountain– a cliff. It’s a city your horse might not survive the climb to at the rate you’re driving it. Polished stone walls reach up over the buildings and homes inside effectively enough that the only thing you can see behind those protective walls is the white marble castle at the very top, craning up towards the stars in spires. There’s nothing at all behind the city– behind the castle– except for black water.
You tug the prince's cape to keep him flush to your back against the waves of the horse’s gallop. It pulls his broad shoulders around yours and a mumbled curse drifts in his breath across your cheek. You’ve made a promise to every person you’ve spoken to in the past four days, and every single one has been to protect him.
You are safe with me, I swear. You are my only mission so please, just hold on.”
There’s nothing but grass and sand between the edge of the forest and the beach, which means there’s nothing but distance between your horse and a Takoba hospital bed. A flash of red whips through the air in your periphery and if you looked back for a single second, you would see smoke and the growing blue of fire in the forest not even a mile away. But you choose instead to focus on the city gates coming into focus dead ahead.
Kirishima was right. In an arc at the center of the walls, the city gates are open wide and lined with guards who are only dots in the distance now, but become more and more detailed the closer your horse sprints to their post.
“Prince of Aldera!” You scream into the sea air to try and announce yourself before entering the city.
The chain of guards in front of the open gateway aren’t making a space for you to pass through as you approach so you call to them again. The prince’s full body shudders as you scream his name and when he tries to lift his head he only gets as far as your ear before his cheek is flat against your shoulder. You clutch a hand to his head to keep him close to you,
“Aldera convoy! Clear the way!”
These guards don’t wear seafoam lace or shiny pearls. They don’t break formation and they raise their weapons straight ahead in warning. You think of Jeanist. You apologize to Jeanist.
“Y/n what would you say are the qualities of a diplomat?”
“Patient, sir.” Your voice was shaky because you were only seven years old when you had your first geography lesson.
“Anything else?”
This specific day you walked through the West Wing to pick peaches. So the sun shone warm over your cheeks while you thought. You squinted your eyes tight and spoke confidently, “Probably a little boring.”
Now you apologize to Jeanist again, for good measure. Because the closer you get to Takoba’s city gates, the more armed guards there are fortifying the line, shouting things that you can’t make out– and it’s obvious you are not cut out to be a diplomat.
“Aldera Royal Guard!” With one hand on the cape tying you together, you use the rest of your strength to lean deep and close to the violently bobbing neck of your horse and bring the prince forward with you.
Through a mouth full of mane you scream, “Stand down!” and toy soldiers become fully grown not 500 feet uphill from you, 200 feet– 50 feet– and you apologize again to the queen, your companions, your master, this poor fucking horse– to the prince cradled in your hand you just say, stay.
With a final drive of your heels, the horse launches over the soldiers without slowing and clears the line with four echoing hooves crashing down on the cobblestone of the city square.
Only a few stray guards catch your last syllables, the white of a Takoba horse, and a glimpse of the prince’s blond hair shaggy against your back, but it’s enough for a chorus of ‘don’t shoot!’s to go up in their ranks.
This horse is not going to stop until it reaches the edge of a cliff, so with one fist full of its mane and other full of the prince’s cape you drive through the sleepy square and up the main street to the castle sitting fat atop the hill.
Late-night straggling citizens drunkenly jump out of your war path into gutters and shopfaces. Horseshoes against cobblestone is a much better warning sound than you’d anticipated and you’d grin at your luck if Bakugou wasn’t very nearly flying to the ground from all your jerking ministrations. An arm wraps around your waist with a deep gasp in your ear as the prince clings to someone in a dream.
“Aldera Royalty! Stand clear!” Candles in the windows around you flicker on, “Clear the road!”
The royal castle is much more imposing up close, sprawling wide across the top of the city. A city, you realize now that you’re inside, so large you can’t actually see the walls farthest from you let alone the great black sea that extends forever in every direction behind it. All that matters is Takoba Royal Castle, dead ahead. Shelter for the prince and a new polearm for you to return to the forest to fight with.
Prince Bakugou’s forehead against your bare neck is so hot that the icy cold of his knuckles burns. He’s not muttering anymore, or gripping your tattered clothes as tight as he was just a second ago, so you call for a medic over and over again before the castle gates come into view in the hopes that a doctor is waiting for you at the front doors.
You’re not even sure you could let go of him long enough for a doctor to take him now.
“Halt!”
You do not halt.
“Do not approach!”
You grind your thighs against warm white flank with every drop of strength in your body to prepare for the whiplash of this horse coming to a stop on the other side of the final obstacle between your prince and his hospital.
The castle gates are open like Aizawa’s flare instructed them to be and there’s nothing– sweet nothing– to destroy in order to get through. Your horse knows the way. She claps over cobblestones in a straight line to the entrance and bounds across the threshold of wrought iron.
The courtyard glistens white in the moonlight and the architecture on this side of the castle is delicate just like the blue fairy carriage. It looks like a smooth seashell with little windows for divots climbing all the way up to the spires. Great white balconies wind around outside to create footpaths in the free air and a grand rounded archway forms the frame for every door you can see. If you were closer you’d see too, the carvings on these archways and on every marble stone that builds the castle, depicting wars, births, deaths, and history.
But the second your horse slides to a jarring and terrible, screaming halt on the smooth marble driveway, a shock of arrows are released through the air over your heads and you remember again the might of a castle protecting its queen.
You’re surprised by the numbness of your limbs when you try to raise your hands into the air. You feel as if you’re still moving in the sudden still. And shaking terribly.
“The prince– I–!” You can’t see where the arrows came from, or the bowmen and you don’t know where to direct your voice. Your horse trots and cries in place. The prince would be able to announce himself. His voice would carry like yours can’t.
“We have one hundred bowmen trained on your position, stranger. Dismount!”
You can’t, I can’t. You realize now just how much strength it took from your legs to keep your body and the prince on horseback without a saddle. Your arms and hands too tremble with fatigue. How do you tell them?
“Dismount!”
You have to explain yourself, or keep Prince Bakugou safe from their archers. A girl in silver armor emerges from an illuminated archway to the right of the main doors and clicks her heels across the marble pavement. She is blunt,
“Where did you get this horse?”
When she steps closer you can see her round cheeks clearly in the cold moonlight and the dark circles you must have caused her by throwing the city into high alert so late. You only need her to take Bakugou. You need a stretcher for the prince and a weapon to return to the forest with so your friends don’t need to fight the flame mage alone.
“Aldera Guard,” you offer her, “please..”
When her eyes go wide with realization another soldier is already sprinting into the courtyard at full speed. He’s in a tunic, not armor and he shouts something as he approaches, but you can’t hear either of them very well now.
“Kacchan!”
The girl turns around and shouts something too, a sense of urgency lighting up her face while she eyes the burns on your clothes. The prince tightens his hold around your stomach.
“Please,” you repeat and clutch his golden arm.
The next time you lean your head forward it’s because you’re slipping off of your horse, and when the armored guard races forward to catch you it only takes a touch because your body and prince’s begin to float just a little ways off the ground.
More and more guards rush to the scene upon hearing the calls for “medic!” and “fucking now!” and when the real flood of staff pours into the courtyard in all their soft nightclothes, it takes five of them to uncurl your fingers from the prince’s cape and it takes another three to unbunch the back of your blouse from his fist.
PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT
tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @cherrykamado @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @cherripunch26 @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawlerr @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @kiwifujin @mmmaackerel
could not tag for some reason (check your privacy settings!)
#i love watching this lil taglist grow every ch!#even though it only shows up on desktop xo#finally the plot and pining can begin#i hate writing bkg so one dimensionally MISERABLE#thrilled for two dimensional Mean#bakugou x reader#a hymn to black water#mha x reader#bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#mha#bnha#fantasy au
219 notes
·
View notes
Text
Danny bringing back the red and black trunks to wrestle Bryan is equivalent to a peacock showing its feathers to attract a mate
#he wants that man to knot him. no no. don't shush me you know I'm right. [doctors dragging me away]#bryan danielson#daniel garcia#aew#aew lb
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY
based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … January 19
1863 – Ogden Codman, Jr. was an American architect and interior decorator in the Beaux-Arts styles, and co-author with Edith Wharton of The Decoration of Houses (1897).
Codman spent his youth from 1875 to 1884 at Dinard, an American resort colony in France, and on returning to America in 1884, studied at the MIT. Wharton became one of his first Newport clients for her home there, Land's End. Subsequently she introduced Codman to Cornelius Vanderbilt II, who hired him to design the second and third floor rooms of his Newport summer home, The Breakers.
In 1907, Codman built the Codman-Davis House in Washington, D.C. for his cousin Martha Codman, one of the few intact homes that he designed. This included a carriage house, now the Apex Night Club, ironically a gay club.
Although a noted homosexual, on 8 October, 1904, Codman married one of his commissioners, Leila Griswold Webb, widow of railroad magnate H. Walter Webb, who died unexpectedly in 1910.
In 1920, Codman left New York to return to France, where he spent the rest of his life at the Château de Grégy, wintering at Villa Leopolda in Villefranche-sur-Mer: it is his masterpiece, the fullest surviving expression of his esthetic.
1897 – The Missouri Supreme Court upholds a conviction for assault to commit sodomy of a St. Louis police officer who attempted sodomy with another male after threatening to arrest him unless he accompanied him to a lumber yard, where the attempt was made.
1900 – An Ohio newspaper reports that a man was arrested for sex with his 13-year-old male companion. Both claim that the younger partner's mother "gave" him to the other.
Ray Stevens & Pat Paterson (R)
1941 – Born: Pierre Clermont, better known by his ring name Pat Patterson, was a Canadian former professional wrestler (d.2020). Pat was 17 when he started wrestling. He soon became one of the biggest names in the sixties and seventies. He worked for WWE as a creative consultant. He was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame in 1996.
Outside of the wrestling ring, Pat was really timid and shy. He was soft-spoken, with a cute French accent. Surprisingly, Pat was a former altar boy and candidate for the priesthood. He was a deeply religious man.
Pat Patterson debuted in Montreal, Quebec in 1958 as "Pretty Boy" Pat Patterson, an effeminate wrestler who wore red lipstick and pink trunks and was accompanied by his pet Poodle.
A Young Pat Patterson
Patterson wrestled frequently for affiliates of the National Wrestling Alliance throughout the 1960s, and was a ten time tag team champion in San Francisco with a variety of partners. His most famous pairing was with Ray Stevens, the two of them forming the heel tag team, the Blond Bombers.
Patterson was openly gay, although he had never stated so. It is rumored that Pat and Gerald Brisco, another of his wrestling partners, were lovers. In 1992, Patterson was accused of sexual harassment by former ring announcer Murray Hodgson and released from the company until the charges were dropped, when he was promptly rehired. After dropping the charges, Hodgson's attorney referred to Hodgson as "a lifelong con man."
In August 2006, Patterson underwent emergency heart surgery. In October, Patterson recovered from his operation and was released from the hospital.
On June 12, 2014, Patterson officially "came out" on TV. The video link is below:
youtube
Although Patterson was openly gay, having come out in the 1970s, his sexual orientation was never directly acknowledged on television until 2014 when he spoke about it on a WWE-produced reality TV show.
Louie Dondero, Patterson's longtime partner of 40 years, died of a heart attack in 1998. Patterson himself died in December 2020.
1950 – Randy Price is a television newscaster with WCVB-TV in Boston, Massachusetts, after being the lead anchor at WHDH-TV from 1998 to 2009. He is considered the U.S.'s first openly gay newscaster.
Born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Price attended Louisiana State University, where he began his broadcasting career in college radio, which continued with a stint in the U.S. Air Force, with Price working for the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
He worked in television in Bakersfield, California (KERO-TV) and Toledo, Ohio (WTVG), before moving to Boston's WBZ-TV in 1983 where he anchored for 12 years. He left WBZ in 1995 due to alcohol problems which included a drunk driving conviction.
Price joined WHDH-TV in 1996 as a freelance reporter, and in 1997 was made a full-time anchor. He moved into the morning anchor chair and then was promoted to anchor the 5, 6 and 11 p.m. newscasts. On February 6, 2009, Price was let go from WHDH-TV. His last newscast was on Wednesday, February 4, 2009. On February 7, 2009 The Boston Globe quoted Price that station owner, Edmund Ansin, had told him "we need to move in different directions."
On June 2, 2009, Price was named morning anchor at WCVB-TV, Channel 5 in Boston.
Price is openly gay and on January 3, 2007 he married longtime partner Mark Steffen in a ceremony on the steps of the Massachusetts State House in Boston, Massachusetts. They live in Kittery, Maine.
The Johns Committee in session
1959 – On this date investigators summoned the University of Florida Geography professor Sigmund Diettrich to the Manor Motel in Gainesville, Florida for "interviewing". Soon after, he was fired from his job and lost the life he loved as a beloved teacher and dean. He attempted suicide the same day he was let go from U.F. Hundreds of other professors and students across the state were also terminated or expelled because of their sexuality. Many people are familiar with the McCarthy hearings but do not realize that Florida had its own committee designed to weed out communism and homosexual activity. State Senator Charley Johns started the investigations to "protect Florida's children."
The Johns Committee pursued people in academic institutions, courthouse bathrooms and bus stations. The committee's investigators went so far as tapping phones in motels, interrogating children as young as 10, and breaking up a teenage girl's slumber party looking for evidence of moral misconduct. In 1993 more than 30,000 pages of secret documents became public, including a University of Florida administrator's statement that there was no way to prevent Gay men from lingering in university bathrooms "unless you pour sulfuric acid on the floor to make people go fast."
1982 – Pete Buttigieg is an American politician and candidate for the Democratic nomination in the 2020 United States presidential election. He is the first openly gay person to seek the Democratic nomination, and has built his campaign around the idea of generational change. He launched his campaign on April 14, 2019, after forming an exploratory committee in January. Initially considered a long shot, he gained significant momentum in mid-2019 when he participated in several town halls, forums, and debates. As of December 2019, several media outlets consider him one of four "top-tier candidates".
Buttigieg served as the 32nd mayor of South Bend, Indiana from January 2012 to January 2020. Before running for office, he worked on the political campaigns of Democrats Jill Long Thompson, Joe Donnelly, and John Kerry. He was defeated in the 2010 election for Indiana State Treasurer before being elected mayor of South Bend, Indiana the following year, becoming the youngest mayor of a city with a population of over 100,000. In 2015, Buttigieg publicly came out as gay. Later that year, he was reelected with over 80% of the vote. In 2017, he ran for chair of the Democratic National Committee.
From 2009 to 2017, he served as a naval intelligence officer in the United States Navy Reserve, attaining the rank of lieutenant. In 2014, he was deployed to Afghanistan for seven months and was awarded the Joint Service Commendation Medal and the Joint Meritorious Unit Award. From 2007 to 2010, he worked as a consultant at management consulting firm McKinsey & Company. Buttigieg is a graduate of Harvard College and Oxford University. He attended the latter on a Rhodes Scholarship.
In a June 2015 piece in the South Bend Tribune, Buttigieg came out as gay. By coming out, Buttigieg became Indiana's first openly gay elected executive. He was the first elected official in Indiana to come out while in office, and the highest elected official in Indiana to come out. Buttigieg is also the first openly gay Democratic presidential candidate, and the second overall, after Republican Fred Karger, who ran in 2012.
In December 2017, Buttigieg announced his engagement to Chasten Glezman, a junior high school teacher. They had been dating since August 2015 after meeting on the dating app Hinge. They were married on June 16, 2018, in a private ceremony at the Episcopalian Cathedral of St. James. As of April 2019 Chasten uses his husband's surname, Buttigieg.
Buttigieg announced that he and his husband had become parents on August 17, 2021. Buttigieg announced that they had adopted two newborn fraternal twins on September 4, 2021.
In June 2019, to mark the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, a watershed moment in the LGBTQ rights movement, Queerty named him one of its "Pride50" people identified as "trailblazing individuals who actively ensure society remains moving towards equality, acceptance and dignity for all queer people."
President-elect Biden named Buttigieg as his nominee for Secretary of Transportation in December 2020. His nomination was confirmed on February 2, 2021, by a vote of 86–13, making him the first openly gay Cabinet secretary in U.S. history. Nominated at age 38, he is also the youngest Cabinet member in the Biden administration and the youngest person ever to serve as Secretary of Transportation.
2004 – Ian Iqbal Rashid releases his movie Touch of Pink. Multi-talented Rashid is a poet, screenwriter and filmmaker known in particular for his volumes of poetry, for the BBC TV series This Life and the feature films Touch of Pink and How She Move.
Of Indian ancestry and Ismaili Muslim religion, Rashid's family lived in colonial East Africa for generations. Ian was born in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Different years of birth are given for Rashid in different sources, but academic work gives the year as 1968. In 1970, his family was forced to leave Tanzania. After failing to secure asylum in the UK and US, they settled in Toronto.
Rashid began his career as an arts journalist and critic and events programmer, particularly focussed on South Asian diasporic, Muslim and LGBTQ cultural work.
In the early 1990s, Rashid returned to London, Britain, where he lives today with his partner, the writer, curator, and academic Peter Ride.
In the late 1980s, Rashid was a regular contributor to the Canadian LGBT magazine Rites. Rashid published his first poetry collection, Black Markets, White Boyfriends and Other Acts of Elision, in 1991. Two more followed: the chapbook Song of Sabu in 1993 and The Heat Yesterday in 1995.
His poems "Another Country", "Could Have Danced All Night", "Hot Property" and "Early Dinner, Weekend Away" appear in John Barton and Billeh Nickerson's 2007 anthology Seminal: The Anthology of Canada's Gay Male Poets, and others were included in the 2009 anthology Forbidden Sex, Forbidden Texts: New India's Gay Poets.
Self-taught as a film-maker, in 1991, Rashid made the short film Bolo Bolo! with Kaspar Saxena. The film, part of an HIV/AIDS cable access series called Toronto Living With AIDS, resulted in the series being pulled from Rogers Television after complaints about sexually suggestive content, though it had a long and healthy life at film festivals.
Rashid went on to write two award-winning short films, Surviving Sabu (1999), and Stag (2001).
Touch of Pink, Rashid's first feature film, spent 12 years in development. In 2003, he finally had the chance to direct the project as a Canada-UK co-production. It premiered at the 2004 Sundance Film Festival to great acclaim, a bidding war, and eventually, a sale to Sony Picture Classics. The film has attracted extensive scholarly commentary.
How She Move received a similar reception at Sundance Film Festival. Directed by Rashid in 2007, the film is set in the world of step dancing. It was nominated for a Sundance World Cinema Grand Jury Prize and purchased by Paramount Vantage. The film opened to positive reviews and strong box office.
Rashid began working as a writer in UK television in the late 1990s. His credits include the soap London Bridge (Carlton Television for ITV) and the cult hit BBC2 series This Life, for which he received the Writer's Guild of England award.
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Bearhug by Buddy Rose was of the sexiest collages in my old "Spotlight on Paul Roma" gallery, posted to my old Wrestling Arsenal website 20 years ago. The classic Fat > Muscle trope was a turn-on 40 years ago when Rose hugged Roma, as it still was 20 years ago when I first blogged about it, as it still is today.
To update the image, I went and found the match on YouTube and created the following animated GIF. The fat blond puts the squeeze on my Muscle Hunk as he sells his agony with an orgasmic expression, his back and shoulder muscles looking just spectacular.
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sink or Swim
second entry for for ‘pool’ wc: #442 | rated: T | cw: none | @steddiemicrofic
Authors’s Note: Canonically, I know this doesn’t make sense since Eddie can swim but we’re just going to ignore that!
On page 13 of the Munson Doctrine reads the following:
Eddie Munson will never swim.
While all the other teenagers flocked to the Hawkins Community Pool or their rich friends’ houses to cool off, Eddie hid out in his bedroom. Sure, sometimes the water seemed alluring, especially when the shitty AC unit in his bedroom window took a shit on him.
But no, not even then was Eddie willing to break his rule.
It was easy to avoid swimming. The friends he collected were a lot like him. Preferring to hang out indoors, fucking around on their instruments, or playing days-long Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.
The only time he got any real pushback about it was during his sophomore year. As if PE wasn’t hell enough, the great state of Indiana decided that all sophomores must participate in a unit on swimming.
Eddie earned his first run-in with the law and detention for three months because of his reaction. Apparently, throwing a couple packets of red Kool-Aid into the pool and giving it a good stir does turn the entire thing blood-red.
But he got out of swimming, so it was worth it.
Most people thought Eddie’s disdain for swimming was because of his metalhead aesthetic. And Eddie never felt the need to correct them. Letting people blame his leather jacket and metal music was a lot easier than admitting the truth.
The truth is that Eddie can’t swim.
Unfortunately for Eddie, his secret was eventually discovered thanks to one curlyhead kid’s big mouth and his stupid, swimming-obsessed babysitter. And because these two idiots never take no for an answer, Eddie finds himself on the precipice of breaking another rule for them.
* * *
“Is this really necessary?” Eddie asks arms outstretched as Dustin and Steve wrestle inflatable armbands onto his pale arms. “I look ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry. Would you rather drown?”
“You were a lifeguard and swim instructor for three years. You wouldn’t let me drown.”
“I also never had to give lessons to a twenty-year-old man.”
“You wound me, Harrington,” Eddie winces, yanking his arm out of Dustin’s grasp to clutch his heart.
“Yeah, well, it wounds me that you can’t swim,” Steve says, stepping towards the pool before extending a hand toward Eddie. “You ready for this, Munson?”
Eddie glances over at Steve, eyes trailing from his upturned hand toward his sun-kissed torso and then down toward his snug swim trunks. Maybe, this whole swimming thing has its perks, after all, he thinks.
“Alright, Harrington,” Eddie says, accepting Steve's hand. “Don't let me sink."
"Never. It's time for you to swim," Steve says, yanking Eddie into the pool.
#look at me writing a second one for this prompt lol#steddiemicroficjuly#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie fic#eddie munson#steve harrington#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve harrington/eddie munson#stranger things fic#st fic#steddie fluff#steddiemicrofic#dani writes
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
First Valentines Day | A.C.
Summary: Can I have Valentine's Day prompt 3 with Adam Cole?
One of them have never celebrated Valentines Day, so their partner tries to make it the best ever.
Requested by: @adamcolesbaybay
Your dread came to a pleasant surprise the moment he asked you to accompany him to the show in Texas. Of course, you agreed. Any time you can soak up with him would be worth it.
You were dreading the fact that Valentine's Day happened to fall on a Wednesday. This was supposed to be your first real Valentine’s Day celebration. You have had boyfriends in the past, but this one was just more serious. This was an unfortunate reality of dating a wrestler.
Adam was a hot commodity after he betrayed his best friend, MJF, at World's End. The fans ate up the betrayal, and he was enjoying every second of it. Little did you know he was still thinking of surprising you.
During his segment on Dynamite, he constantly caught your eye and winked at you. His big cheesy grin plastered for the world to see. He tried to pass it off like he was happy with what was going on in the ring. You blushed, often looking away from him.
"Did you enjoy the shows?" He asked you as the two of you made it to the car.
"I'm still getting used to you in a wheelchair," you laughed. You were used to him in the crutches that he had been using to move around in for months now. "Did Roddy allow you to use that?"
"I saw the way you looked at me in the wheelchair. You were digging it," he winked. You helped him place his suitcase in the trunk of the car. He placed his crutches in the backseat and hopped to the passenger seat.
The drive to the hotel was filled with talks about the newest video games coming out. Once you parked the car at the hotel, you helped him out. A couple of fans asked for autographs in the lobby. He happily obliged. You continued towards the room, yet he called for you to wait.
A little suspicious, you waited for him to finish up with his fans. He normally allowed you to go to the room without him. The fans didn't take too much of his time. They must have been tired from the three hours of wrestling. Once they were out of ear shot, you spoke to him.
"You didn't let me go to the room without you. Do you have a surprise for me or something?" You asked and placed the room key to the lock. The lock beeped and turned green. Adam remained silent as you walked in the door.
Different colors of heart-shaped balloons took up space on the ceiling. Tea light candles lay on the floor, creating a path towards the bed. You slowly followed the path, unsure of how the man could pull all of this off.
Rose petals surrounded the bed. On the bed, roses spelled out love. Towels were shaped like swans to show them together. Two vases full of red and white roses had been placed on the nightstands. A wine chiller with your favorite wine and two crystal champagne flutes sat by one of the vases.
"I know we couldn't do much this year with my injury and work, but I wanted to spoil you," he spoke. "Happy Valentine’s Day, and thank you for everything,"
"This is beautiful," you whispered. Tears begged to fall from your eyes. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Thank you, Adam. I love you,"
He kissed you softly. His hands cupped your cheeks. "I'm glad you love it,"
#fanfiction#aew fanfiction#adam cole x reader#adam cole x you#adam cole x y/n#valentines day prompts
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hungary 2009
Master vs Master squash job.
Well, no one saw this coming. This defeated Master, seen here busted open and suffering in a painful nerve hold, was clearly having an off day. While both wrestlers were evenly matched, red trunks managed to bust his opponent open early on in the bout, with a brutal Piledriver outside the ring onto the concreate floor, which he never really recovered from.
From then on it was 45 minutes of brutality, with the loser being put into every conceivable pro wrestling hold, in-between endless body slams, ring postings and standing elbow and leg drops.
The winner could have pinned his opponent at any point after that first Piledriver, but he was horny and having too much fun. He also wanted to teach him a lesson.
He eventually pinned him when he couldn't wait any longer to fuck his victim. His huge cock throbbing in his now pre cum soaked red trunks.
Later, after he'd given the losers ass a serious pounding, cumming deep inside him, he invited members from his stable, who were filming the entire thing, to have a go. They took great pleasure in taking turns fucking his ass in all different positions around the ring. They stopped counting after load 14.
Once the ass play was finished, the exhausted loser, still in his pro boots, was tied up in the ropes, and the mouth fun began.
Swallowing load after load, by the end he was drenched in semen.
He was left in the ropes, broken and humiliated, to be untied and taken home by his own stable members.
Could he still be their Master after THIS?
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Nerf or Nothin'
Summary: JSchlatt hosts an epic Nerf battle and ends up facing off against Reader as Team Captains.
TW/CW: None that I can think of, just Nerf guns, JSchlatt x Reader
Requested?: No
A/N: This totally isn't a dream I had while taking a nap and listening to Sleep Deprived... I HAVE however been binge-watching Sleep Deprived all day lol. Schlatt's voice scratches an itch in my brain and he's fuckin great.
I arrived at the warehouse around thirty minutes early due to my excitement surrounding today’s events. My boyfriend, Schlatt, has arranged a massive Nerf battle with several of our creator friends. I grab my keys and phone before hopping out to grab a box from the trunk which contains several of Schlatt’s Nerf guns, ammo, and some of my own. He had already brought quite a few with him this morning when he came to start set up but asked me to bring these as well.
I remove my sunglasses from my face and place them on my head with my free hand as the door to the warehouse swings shut behind me and my jaw drops. Schlatt had been careful to keep details a surprise from everyone, including me, and now I can see why. The large warehouse floor is dotted with various mats, cushions, and foam walls. Everything is arranged in a sort of city-like fashion but that’s not the best part. On either side of the plush battlefield are two structures that can only be described as adult-sized McDonald’s playgrounds. A red flag flies atop one and a blue for the other.
I spot Schlatt standing near a couple folding tables laden with various Nerf guns and ammo. He has an enormous grin on his face as he admires his creation and Tommy and Jack are having a very animated conversation beside him. I place my box on the table before stepping up behind Schlatt and rubbing his back, “You really outdid yourself with this one, babe. This is amazing.”
He looks down and proudly smiles at me but has no chance to respond as Tommy notices my arrival, “(Y/N)! Can you believe this?! This is insane.”
I giggle as Schlatt wraps his arm around my shoulders, “I know. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it sure wasn’t this.”
Jack whips his head away from the setup and toward me with shock written on his features, “There’s no way in hell you didn’t know about this.”
I grin and look up at Schlatt, “And I quote, ‘Just because you’re my girlfriend doesn’t mean I’m going to spoil the surprise for you.’” He nods once before we are all distracted by the new arrivals. Oompa is literally jumping up and down in excitement as Kris laughs uncontrollably at his side. Mika, Aztro, and Apanda stand absolutely stun-locked just inside the door jaws on the floor. Schlatt throws his hands up with an even bigger grin on his face at our friends’ reactions.
As the guys all begin running around like sugar-high toddlers, Kris makes her way over to my side. “This is going to be so unbelievably fun and entertaining,” she says, watching Schlatt and Oompa wrestle not too far away.
I nod, “He’s been so excited about this ever since he set his plan into motion. He’s almost let slip a few times what he had going but managed to catch himself.”
She nods, impressed, “I’m shocked he kept it to himself.” I shrug as more friends begin to arrive and chaos soon breaks out completely.
Finally, once everyone arrives, Schlatt manages to call everyone to order to explain everything, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to partake in an epic Nerf gun battle. As you may have noticed, we have two structures each with their own flag. The surrounding area is the city and each structure is a castle. There will obviously be two teams. The objective is to get the enemy team’s flag and carry it back to your own castle. If you get hit, and we have to use the honor code here, you will join the enemy team.” Everyone around, including me, gasps and Schlatt grins, “Here’s another gasp-inducing fact,” with that, the lights go down, and many whoop in excitement. There’s still enough light to see what’s right in front of us but not very far. The lights come back on and Schlatt continues, “Myself and Ted will be team captains for the first round. I’ll be on team blue and Ted, on team red. Once our teams are chosen, we’ll have fifteen minutes to collect our weapons and discuss strategy. Once that time is up, everyone will make their way to the back side of their castle. The lights will go out and everyone will have five minutes to get into position. After five minutes, our referees will shout go and we’re off. Once everything is said and done, the losing team captain will pick the captains for the next round. Any question?”
Everyone looks around at each other before shaking their heads. With that, Schlatt allows Ted first pick. Quickly the somewhat large crowd is divided in two and I of course find myself on Schlatt’s team on his first pick. It’s chaos as everyone chooses their Nerf guns and our team captains discretely give out orders and assignments. Quickly, the fifteen minutes is up and everyone takes their place. Schlatt has assigned me the task of collecting the flag and running it back to our castle while he and Oompa watch my back from atop the blue team castle and Tommy and Jack create a diversion.
As the ref calls start, I sneak around the far side of the “map” from where the messy and chaotic diversion breaks out. Ted seems to have gone for a straightforward approach as the majority of his team takes the playing field. I take a mental note of everyone who is missing and make my way to their castle. Somehow, I manage to get in and climb up without anyone noticing. I peek my head over the last step into the room of the flag and find their guards laughing their asses off at the battle down below. I sneakily nab the flag, rolling it up and tucking it under my arm as I make my way down to the floor.
As soon as I step foot onto the mat at the entrance, I hear Ted yell over the cacophony, “Where the hell is (Y/N)? Someone get eyes on (Y/N)!”
Above me, the red team’s guards begin to panic, yelling back to Ted, “Someone got the flag!” Before getting shot with foam darts through the bars.
I glance up to the top of our castle and spot Schlatt and Oompa both grinning from ear to ear, having annihilated my new teammates. Schlatt yells at them, “Get her back to base!”
I duck behind a wall and look up to find them scanning the grounds for me. Soon, they’ve joined me and we quickly pick our way back to Schlatt and Oompa. Once atop our castle, I pull the blue flag out of its stand and replace it with the red one. What’s left of our team cheers as Ted sighs, “I know exactly who the next captains are going to be.”
I cross my arms, “Oh yeah?” He nods and silently points at me and Schlatt.
Beside me, Schlatt groans, “Dudeeeee nooooooo. She’ll be my downfallllll.”
I giggle and take my first pick, “Kris! You’re with me!” Once again, the teams are quickly divided out. As the fifteen-minute prep stage starts, I whisper in Kris’s ear, “You’re gonna be me this time. Sneaky as possible, get in, get out, get back to base.” She grins and nods excitedly as I begin directing the rest of my team. I assign a group to guard our flag, an entire strike team to make it seem like they’re going for the flag, and a couple snipers to watch Kris’s back. My own job is to just screw with Schlatt and Oompa as much as possible from afar.
The start is called and I make my way onto the battlefield with my strike team. I carefully pick at Schlatt and Oompa, mostly Schlatt. My only goal is to annoy the shit out of them not actually tag them. Soon, Oompa yells out to Schlatt, “Kris isn’t out here! Is she up top?”
Schlatt quickly looks around, “You little, shit. Using my own tactic against me,” he yells at me from across the way before directing his attention to his team, “Find her!” At this point, I motion to my strike team to push in further and then turn my attention to my snipers giving them a signal that means switch to rapid fire and volley them. Quickly, their team is whittled to nearly nothing. All that is left is Schlatt, Oompa, and a couple others. At this point, they’re attempting to pick their way through to stop Kris, however unknown to anyone else, she’s already passed the flag off to Jack who is on his way up our castle now. Once I’m sure he’s replaced the flag, I let the fight go on a little longer before finally nailing Schlatt between the eyes with a dart. He grumpily glares at me before turning around and assisting my team in taking out what remains of his. Everyone stops and looks around at each other confused about what to do now as I have overtaken the entire blue team.
Schlatt drops his hands to his sides and shrugs, “I don’t know, I guess the red team wins. I didn’t foresee her going against me,” he looks at me now with a pretend look of anger on his face, “I trained you too well.” I grin triumphantly and say nothing as I point up at our castle where Jack simply grins and waves. Schlatt looks at me wide-eyed, “How? When? What?”
I giggle, “Everybody failed to notice that the flag was handed off. He’s been up there a while now.”
Schlatt struggles to contain his grin before finally giving up and pulling me into a kiss. When we pull away, there’s a grin on his face and everyone quiets their whoops and hollers, “I’m so proud of you.” Everyone aws before Schlatt rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” He assigns new captains and before long we’re locked into a third battle.
Schlatt and I got home from our exciting day not too long ago. I make my way back to bed and find Schlatt sleeping peacefully. I brush his hair out of his face which causes him to jolt awake. He looks up at me, brows knitted together, for a moment before mumbling, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
I smile softly at him, “It’s alright, baby. You’ve had a long day. I can tell you’re exhausted.”
He gently drags me into his side and kisses the top of my head, “Did you have fun today?”
I nod, “Of course I did. Did you?”
He seems to think for a moment before mumbling, “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun.” He pauses, “I still can’t believe you beat me in that second round.”
I giggle, “I’m honestly surprised it worked out.”
He hums quietly but doesn’t say anything. It’s not long before I realize he’s fallen asleep again and drift off myself.
Masterlist
More JSchlatt Imagines
#jschlatt#schlatt imagine#schlatt imagines#schlatt#jschlatt oneshot#jschlatt oneshots#schlatt oneshot#schlatt oneshots#jschlatt imagine#jschlatt imagines
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
When the dragons fly(book 2)
Beneath the autumn leaves, you decide to have a friendly sparring session with Maedhros. But when Helena came to share some exciting news, she had unwittingly sparked a flame of change in your elven friend's heart, leading you to suspect his real identity.
Chapter 12
Warnings: some sparring, teasing, possible flirting? mentions of Morgoth and lost hands, some soft moments between you and Mae, yelling at brothers, and mentions of a possible coming war.
----------------------------------
The wind blew through the red and yellow leaves of the trees. Squirrels raced around the trunks, and the birds flitted among the branches, singing their last tunes before migrating south. The signs of the coming winter were evident in the nature around you but it did not discourage you from outdoor activities, such as brewing jam for the next stock and watching Maedhros train Aelon and Eweniel, who had decided to join in for the fun.
“One, two, three, good!” Maedhros said as Aelon and Eweniel were blocking and striking an even pace.
You smiled while mixing the jam with sugar.
“Focus Aelon!” Maedhros said, but then his training sword slipped toward Aelon, hitting the little boy in the hand. Aelon yelled, dropping his stick to the ground and clutching his hand, seemingly in pain.
“Sorry!” Maedhros’s face fell with concern as he tried to take a look at the little boy’s hand. Aelon suddenly kicked him in the knee, eliciting a groan of surprise from Maedhros.
“Get him!” Eweniel yelled as the two then tackled Maedhros to the ground and began wrestling with the elf.
The children laughed and Maedhros gently tried to defend himself, releasing small laughs and giggles.
You smiled at the sight and couldn't help but feel captivated by the sound of Maedhros’s laugh. Though you had heard him hum and chuckle in amusement before, this was perhaps the first time you had heard him truly laugh, and it filled you with a sense of joy and warmth.
“We have beaten you! Will you surrender or be destroyed?” Eweniel grinned as the two lay on top of him. Aelon giggled.
“Hmm… let me think,” Maedhros had a sneaky look on his face as he lay against the ground, pondering. "How about... neither!" With a swift motion, he scooped the children into his arms as he stood up.
The children shrieked in laughter as Maedhros hoisted Eweniel onto his shoulder and tucked Aelon under his arm.
"Hey! Not fair!" Aelon protested, laughing as he dangled upside down.
You couldn't help but release a few giggles yourself at the sight.
"Alright, it's time to calm down now!" you called out, and Maedhros gently set the two children back on their feet.
“Sorry! Did I hurt you when I kicked you?” Aelon asked apothetically.
“Not at all. It was an excellent surprise,” Maedhros chuckled, ruffling his hair. He then walked up to you as Aelon and Eweniel ran up to your porch to grab the snacks you had left there waiting for them.
“They like you,” you said as you glanced at the two. “And Aelon has gotten better each day. He might even be ready to train with a sword soon,”
“I agree, and if you allow it. I could commission someone to design a sword suited for Aelon,” Maedhros stated, making you stare at him with surprise. “That… would be quite generous of you,” you replied.
“Well, I noticed that your village doesn’t seem to have a forge,” Maedhros said.
“No. We order our weapons and most of the necessary equipment from the town. We don’t have anyone experienced in the art of forging, so there was never a point in building a forge,” you explained.
“I would be fine with you commissioning a sword for Aelon, but I’m afraid we don’t currently have the money for a privately designed weapon,” you said.
“There’s no need for that. Consider it a gift from me. Aelon has been an excellent student,” Maedhros shook his head with a smile.
“Well… if that’s the case, then thank you, Nelyo. That is very kind of you,” you smiled, and he nodded.
You then set the ladle on the table and started stretching your arm, which was now uncovered from the bandages, revealing red scars from the warg’s fangs scattered across your skin. Your arm was still in rough shape, but the pain was long gone.
“And talking about swords and training. It’s been a while since I’ve done any combat exercising,” you said while flexing your fingers. “My arm has healed well since the last month,” you then looked at Maedhros.
“So, will you be willing to have a little duel with me?” you asked.
“Are you certain? I think you should not exert yourself too much,” Maedhros asked with concern laced in his voice. You only chuckled.
“I will be fine. We humans might be different from you elves, but we’re not that fragile,” you said. “So… do you want to duel? Or has wrestling with the children left you too scared to face someone of your own size?” you challenged with a playful tone.
Maedhros looked at you before cracking a smile. “Fine then, if you insist,” he said as you two grabbed the training swords. Aelon and Eweniel watched with intrigue as you two faced each other.
“Fair warning, my fighting style can differ quite a lot from yours,” you said then swiftly attacked, making Maedhros stand back and block your attacks. He was startled but quickly composed himself.
You continued exchanging blows until you surged forward, swiftly pressing the side of your training sword against his neck. He countered by using his right arm to push you back while maneuvering his training sword behind your nape. In response, you seized his wrist with your other hand and pushed him back.
The two of you reached a stalemate, pushing each other’s weapons away while simultaneously attempting to press your weapons against each other.
“You certainly know how to strike quickly, my lady,” Maedhros said as you kept pushing each other away.
“Well, sometimes ending the fight quickly is the best option. And you know the saying, the bigger the enemy, the quicker you should be,” you replied as you two then pulled away, stepping back for another round.
You walked around each other till Maedhros decided to strike first.
He continued trying to hit you while you blocked, finding a joyful challenge in it as Maedhros was using his left hand to wield the training sword. You do not think you have ever faced someone who wielded the weapon on their left hand.
You felt a pleasant rush through your veins. Maedhros was an excellent swordsman. You could only imagine what he could do in an actual fight.
You struck his wooden stick away, pushing the point of your training sword toward his throat, but he was quick to do the same.
You two came to another stalemate with your arms leaning against each other and the points of your training swords at your necks.
“I must say, you fight well with your left hand,” you said.
“When I lost my right one. I trained hard to ensure I can still with my left one,” Maedhros explained. “And you fight well too. Not many can get this close to me as you,” he added as you freed each other again.
“I can definitely get closer,” you said, then rushed toward him. You jumped on top of him, making him fall backward from your weight.
As you both fell, you instinctively placed your hand behind his head to prevent it from hitting the ground. Once on the ground, you crouched on top of him, holding your training sword toward his neck.
You looked into his eyes as they stared back into yours.
“My father ensured to train me hard enough that I could take on even the most formidable opponents. And if this was a real fight, you would be already closer to death,” you explained, and he only smiled back. “And so would you,” Maedhros said as he held the tip of his weapon against your side, which he could plunge instantly into your rib, killing you with him.
You smiled as it became another stalemate.
You then stood up, helping the elf off the ground.
“Cool…” Aelon said with wonder as he watched the duel with candy inside his mouth.
“You think they flirting?” Eweniel grinned.
After ending the duel, you and Maedhros returned the training swords to their places. You then returned to your place behind the pot, stirring the boiling jam. Your ears then heard the clinking of glass jars, and you saw Helena approaching you with an excited smile.
“(Name)! (Name)! I got some exciting news from the outside world!” Helena said as she set the box of empty jars beside your workplace.
“Well, what has happened?” you asked.
“Someone stole a silmaril from Morgoth!” Helena revealed.
Maedhros’s ears perked at the mention of the silmaril. He glanced toward you and your friend, quietly listening while your friend explained the news.
“You know the silmarils? Apparently, they’re valuable jewels from Morgoth’s crown?” Helena questioned. “Yes. I’ve heard of them,” you answered as Helena continued.
“So… apparently, some elven princess and her mortal lover had marched into the dark lord’s fortress. The princess enchanted the whole court to fall asleep, and her lover then carved one of the silmarils out of the dark lord’s crown with a knife,” Helena explained.
“And then they just walked out of there with the jewel in hand,” she added with a grin.
“I don’t know if that was done with a purpose or out of foolishness, but if they succeeded in leaving Angband alive— I praise their courage,” you stated.
“Well… I heard that the two lost the jewel momentarily to a wolf, who ate it along with the man’s hand. But then they got it back, slayed the wolf, and got happily married after giving the silmaril to the princess’s father, who had demanded it as the bride price,” Helena added and then took a deep breath. “I need to hear more details to know the whole story,” she sighed.
“Well, that is indeed one wild story,” you remarked while continuing to stir the jam.
Maedhros was silently thinking to himself, progressing what he had just learned.
“Nelyo. Are you okay? You look startled?” Eweniel asked as both of the children looked at him. Aelon’s mouth stuffed with food.
“I’m fine, little ones. I was just thinking about something,” Maedhros smiled, and the two nodded, continuing to eat their snacks. His mind returned to the news he had heard. Despite the possibility of it being just a rumor, he could not help but feel bothered by it.
After taking a break, Maedhros continued training and having fun with the children. You finished making the jam and then started filling the glass jars with Helena, filling each jar with different flavored jam, and then sealing them to make them ready to be sold.
Maedhros helped you clean up your workplace after it started getting late and it was time for him to return home.
“Thank you for helping me clean up. You know what, take this,” you grabbed one of the jams and handed it to the elf. “Oh, I couldn't possibly accept this,” Maedhros shook his hand. “Nonsense. Consider it a gift from me. For— gracing us with your visits and making our lives more lively,” you smiled. “And besides, freshly made jam on bread is quite delicious,” you added.
Maedhros smiled, taking the jar from your hand while uttering a silent ‘thank you,’
“I’ve also been meaning to ask. Is everything alright? You have been quiet since Helena shared the news about the silmarils and all?” you questioned.
“Oh! So you…” Maedhros uttered, looking away shamefully. “Helena spoke loudly enough for all of us to hear. I don’t think you were eavesdropping,” you stated.
“Ah! Then, it’s nothing to worry about. I can assure you,” Maedhros fixed himself. “Well, you looked kinda startled, so I was just worried,” you said.
“I apologize. The last thing I want to do is make you worried,” Maedhros said with an apologetic tone. “But unfortunately, I must get going. There is… something I need to deal with at home,” he explained.
"Thank you for the gift again," he said, holding the jar. "Till next time we see," he said then left to retrieve his horse from the side of your house.
"Take care!" you called out as he left the village.
"Is he leaving already?" Aelon asked. "Well, it's getting late. How about you get ready? We need to take a quick hike to the mountains," you said. "Okay..." Aelon walked inside to get ready.
You looked back toward the forest, where your tall elf friend disappeared, and began to wonder. In truth, you didn’t know much about Nelyo. You knew he was a busy elf, had brothers, had exceptional sword art skills, and lost a hand in an incident, but he started acting differently when a Silmaril was mentioned.
You then remembered how he seemed hesitant to share his name upon your second meeting and began wondering if Nelyo was even his real name.
Nelyo? Who are you really?
At the hills of Himring, inside his study. Maedhros was working on plans after confirming the news that Morgoth had truly lost one of the silmarils to the elven princess and her mortal lover. He had also yelled at two of his brothers after hearing what they had done against the said princess.
The jar of jam you had gifted him stood open on his desk alongside a piece of bread. They were indeed delicious, just as you had promised, and even helped alleviate the anger he felt toward his brothers. Their actions had caused the loss of two potential allies and tarnished their reputation even further.
"You have been working hard since you came back?" Maglor stated as he walked into the room.
"Luthien managed to steal from Morgoth and walk out alive. If she can do that, then maybe Morgoth is not as invincible as we thought. There is a chance we could reach him and claim back what is ours," Maedhros explained, scribbling on the paper.
"Possibly, but how?" Maglor asked.
"That's what I'm working on. Maybe if we get all of the people of Beleriand to join together and attack him for a singular cause, then we can possibly overpower him," Maedhros said, continuing to work on his plan--- the plan to form a union and assault Angband.
"Does that mean you're going to go out less? I see you brought something back from that special place of yours," Maglor motioned at the open jam jar on the desk.
"It was a gift. Hands off," Maedhros stated.
"A gift from a special someone?" Maglor teased.
"Maglor..." Maedhros warned.
"Alright. I leave you to your thoughts. I do hope you do not stop going out to that place. I like how you return in a good mood," Maglor said and then left the room.
Maedhros stopped to think for a moment. You were a little escape from everyday troubles, and he enjoyed your company, but even you would find out the truth about him soon enough, and it would be over. He sighed, continuing his work. He will keep his promise till Aelon has learned everything he needs. He does need time to perfect his plan and create the union to put those plans into motion.
Taglist: @natchayaphorn @kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain
#silmarillion x reader#silmarillion#tolkien#silm fic#middle earth x reader#when the dragons fly#hotd x reader#hotd#middle earth#silmarillion imagines#various x reader#targaryen reader#silmarillion x targaryen reader#maedhros x reader
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Exert from Chapter 1 - Chokehold
Smut: 18+ Only
She was up in the Whitetails for the morning, hunting for rabbits and deer to bring back for everyone. Staci had mentioned he hadn’t had fried deer steak before and at her demands that he was missing out on a damn good time, she’d set out that morning on a mission to correct that atrocity. It also gave her something to do on her day off rather than sit and stew in past pains. She’d already taken down several rabbits, the game tucked away in a cooler in her trunk but she’d yet to find a good buck to shoot. Just some fawns, a few doe’s; nothing she wanted for meat.
With one last sip of her drink, she slid off the hood and grabbed her rifle, heading back into the brush, determined to find a suitable target. It took some patience and sharp hearing but eventually she stepped out from behind a tree to see a gorgeous buck grazing in a small clearing. At least a sixteen pointer with a quick glance at his antlers. She raised her rifle with a breath, aiming in a split second down the medium scope then pulling the trigger on the exhale. The buck went down gracefully, a clean shot right through the head taking it out quickly.
She was almost to the kill when a quick movement off to her flank sounded in the brush. Under normal circumstances she would’ve ignored it, no worries to what could be shifting around in the bushes but when a low growl followed it? She tensed. Slowly, carefully, she turned to meet the eyes of a wolf prowled low to the earth, clearly stalking her by the way it bared back its maw to flash its fangs at her. She didn’t move for a moment, simply deciding whether killing it was a good option or if it would leave her alone. She’d wrestled with bears, bobcats and cougars, hell- she even had a particularly horrible nemesis of a wolverine that seemed to find her often. She didn’t have the heart to kill animals idly- only for food. Never for sport.
The wolf seemed to be gaining the nerve to attack but rather than giving it the chance, she pulled her knife from her thigh holster, never letting her eyes leave the wolves as she stepped backwards towards the buck carcass. Without needing to see her hands, she carved her way through the flank of the deer, noting how the wolf ceased its snarling to instead watch her hands intently. Hungrily. The poor thing looked to be starving once it actually crept from the brush completely. With a huff, she tore off the meat from the back leg then shook it at the wolf to gain its attention from the bulk.
“Alright. Here ya go.” She tossed the meat across the clearing, the wolf's ears perking up in excitement as it thudded against something unseen, “Now go on– get.” She shooed just as the wolf sprinted after the meat.
The sound of ravenous chomping filled the quiet morning air a few seconds later, making her smile as she readied to carry the buck back to her Jeep. She was just finishing tying off the bindings when there was another rustle from the bushes, and she half expected the wolf to come traipsing out but instead she was met with a different sight. An unexpected one.
A mountain of a man stepped from the shrubs instead, a bright red rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol strapped to his thigh. His red hair, beard and deep inset eyes piercing in the early morning light. He looked as though he’d just glanced back to where the wolf had run to but stopped when his sight landed on her. In a matter of seconds, she realized two very important details as they stared each other down.
One. He was former military, had to be with the faded army jacket over the bloodied shirt he was wearing. The boots, the knife at his thigh similar to her own. Even the rifle looked to be military grade but personalized.
Two. His shirt was freshly bloodied. In such a way it looked like he’d been hit by something.
Her eyes widened just slightly as a slow mortified sensation flooded her, gaining momentum when his eyes narrowed down at the buck at her feet, the missing flank chunk then back to her with a solid glare. It all happened in a matter of seconds but that was all it took– quick to tuck her knife away so she could wipe her hands off and stand to apologize. Not that she got the chance.
“You make it a habit of hitting strangers with raw meat?” He groused, clearly analyzing her with the way his gaze scanned her from head to toe. Not in a man checking out a woman— more like a predator scoping out prey if she was being specific. The attempt to unnerve her paled in comparison to her struggle to not crack up at what she’d done to him.
“No. Gotta say, you’re the first…” She tried valiantly not to grin, biting her bottom lip just slightly as his gaze fell flat at her. Unimpressed but thankfully not pissed like she worried.
“Not even remorseful about it either.” He shook his head, a twitch of a smirk showing behind that beard of his making her huff out a short laugh she tried to cover up.
“Shit. Nope. You caught me-- I am sorry though just… fuck, of all the places you could’ve been you were really in a bad spot.” She snorted.
“No regrets you launched a wolf at me then?”
She wanted to say yes. To apologize for that too but instead she made a point to look him over, all 6’2 of him with obvious muscle and hands that clearly held his guns often. He was scarred enough to show he’d been through some shit too, definitely worse than a measly wolf jumping him in the shrubs. Instead, she smirked out right.
“Hmm...nah. You look like you can handle yourself.”
He let out a bark of a laugh at that then, the two of them sharing a moment between strangers that had her feeling warmer in the chilly morning air. With a chuckled agreement, he was sauntering back his own way through the woods, the two of them exchanging a simple goodbye leaving her to finish with her morning hunting.
Yeah. She was definitely enjoying Hope County.
Another month went by, instances passing with her, Victor, Joey and Staci managing to have all sorts of wild times between the four of them with only Whitehorse to give a shake of his head at their antics. Between getting to catch up with Victor, settling into her new home and enjoying her new job, Rook felt more alive than she had in ages. Even more so when she went out hunting and seemingly always stumbled across the same giant mountain man she’d decidedly labeled “lumberjack”. Every so often when she was out, there he was too, the same red rifle taking out his own kills or meandering the woods like a predator himself.
At first, they had yet to share more than a few simple words between them on occasion, but somehow that was more than enough to get a feel for who he was.
“Ah I see you’re still here.” She hummed, stumbling upon him first this time.
“Foods not gonna put itself on the table.”
“True that.”
“I saw that shot from across the field. Nice.” He said in passing, already traipsing through with his own kill.
“Thanks. Woah, damn that’s a big buck.”
“Yeah, got him just a bit ago. Gotta get him back to my truck.”
“Trying to one up me, lumberjack?”
“Ha, not much to take on, shortstack.”
Their most recent run-in had changed things though, the moment happening while she was out and about on the eastern border where the Henbane brushed with the Whitetails.
She’d just managed to find a good lookout point when out of nowhere her arch nemesis of a wolverine found her and went on the attack immediately. She was so surprised she’d yelped and been barreled over by the damned thing, rolling through the bushes wildly to try and wrangle the beast.
Several scratches and attempted bites later, she had the bastard by the scruff and front legs, holding him away with a scowl on her face as she trudged through the trees to a clearing. Her breaths were heavy in an attempt to simmer down her anger at the little fucker so she didn’t strangle it, but also to focus so she could keep a firm grip, so it didn’t escape. Needless to say, she was far more keyed up than she should’ve been that early in the morning, causing her to snap. Just a little. At a Wolverine no less.
“Look here you angry little shit— I don’t appreciate you stalking me, attacking me! Go fuck with someone else!” She hissed, shaking the vermin threateningly and about to scold it some more until someone cleared their throat behind her.
“Huh… Can’t say I’ve ever seen someone get after a wolverine before… Or catch one like that.” Lumberjack was back, deep voice filling the air along with a hearty chuckle that had her turning just enough to glare at him too.
“This little bastard has been after me since I moved here. He even followed me up from Holland Valley just to jump me today!” She scowled, shooting her fierce gaze back at the hissing beast.
“How do you know it’s the same one…? They’re all pretty rabid.” The man snorted, coming closer to inspect the creature at her side.
“You see the scar on the top of his head? That was from me. I got him with a rock the first time we crossed paths.” Rook’s glare simmered down a little more after that and the Wolverine seemed to follow, realizing it was not going anywhere in her firm hold and would have to bide it’s time to escape. Lumberjack let out a low whistle.
“Well damn, how many times has he come after you?” Their eyes met, her face flushing just the slightest from his pale gaze. Up close he was quite a looker past the menacing look he displayed but she wasn’t about to start thinking that train of thought. Not this early in the morning anyways, and certainly not with a damn pest in her hands.
“This is the eighth time.” She grumbled.
“Why not just kill it then? Would save you the trouble.” The man shrugged, eyeing the creature blankly without a hint of fear normal people would show for such a thing. She shared that sentiment. She wasn’t quite normal herself either and wasn’t the slightest bit phased by rabid animals in the forest. She’d throw down with a moose if she had to, without batting an eye. There were just some strange things you had to accept in life.
“Despite what the military trains us to believe, sometimes there’s better answers than killing an enemy.” She sighed, shooting the thing a petulant look. She didn’t know what that better answer was, per se, but she hoped she found it before she cracked the fuckers head open.
Lumberjack remained silent, merely regarding her intently in a way that had her flush creeping its way down her neck and chest. She didn’t want to acknowledge that though so instead, she tightened her hold before moving away, readying herself to give a tight spin before launching the wolverine several yards away into the far trees and field, where it would hopefully fuck off for a while. The noise it made as it flew through the air had her positive that it may just finally do that– a high pitched screech that left her and lumberjack shooting each other scrunched looks for a long moment. They were bursting into loud laughter in seconds, never having heard such a noise from an animal but it also wasn’t everyday Rook decided to launch one either.
That was as good an icebreaker as any and had somehow led to them walking together, despite still hunting their own prey. Not that she minded. She didn’t even know his name, but it felt comfortable around him, easy to talk to even though he was blunt and sarcastic, meeting her own quips head-to-head.
They wandered all over together that morning, exchanging hunting stories, shooting game together and shit talking about each other's shooting skills when they’d seen the other up close. He was damn good with a rifle. She wasn’t even confident on who the better marksmen was at that point but she didn’t rightfully care, only interested in seeing more of it. The way he pressed the butt of the gun to his shoulder, one eye sliding shut to gaze down the scope. The same breathe in, aim, exhale, shoot she learned reflected in his shots but just a slight bit faster. It was definitely just the method, not the look of his face and how handsome he was while in the zone. Handsome in a burly, rugged sort of sense too, which was right in line with the kind of man she’d learned was her type (aka the opposite of the kind of man her ex-husband was). Plenty of times he’d caught her staring when it happened, but she’d tried her best to act like it was nothing; even more so when she noticed his intense gaze mimicking her own when she went to shoot her marks.
By the time noon hit, they were making their way back to where her Jeep sat parked, strands of conies bundled in their hands and a buck over his shoulder that she’d killed before he could pop off the shot first. She’d agreed to split it though, just because the look he’d shot her when she teased him was so worth it.
“Bet you don’t even know how to skin a deer properly, shortstack. Can you even reach it when it’s strung up?” He snarked, clearly taunting her right back in a way that had her rolling her eyes at him.
“Been doing it since I was five, lumberjack. Probably can do it better than you.” She threw back, leading the way to the trunk of her Jeep, him hot on her heels.
“That a challenge?” He gruffed.
His voice had gone deeper, rolling low in her ears and gut, making her head spiral. Jesus– she hadn’t had urges like the ones he gave her since she was nineteen. Shaking it off, she glanced back with a coy look, brow twitching up just enough to make it clear she was still teasing.
“Why? Wanna get your ass handed to you?”
There was a tension in the air that followed her words, bubbling under the surface as he dropped the buck onto the tailgate along with his strands of rabbits. She set her own down too, merely busying herself with the motions of getting stuff loaded up but actively feeling his heated gaze on her the whole time. Simmering. Heating her up from the inside. The chilly morning air did nothing to tame the heat that rushed her cheeks, hoping it just seemed brought on by the hiking and not by him. He must’ve been able to read her better than she thought.
“You’re a mouthy brat, aren’t you?” He rumbled, somewhere just behind her right ear. The growl to his voice had her core fluttering wildly, breath catching just the slightest. She wasn’t sure if he was just commenting or… flirting. The only way to find out was to test the waters but fuck she hadn’t flirted since she was a teenager. Ever since the horrible mistake that had landed her with, she hadn’t dated since– too much trauma, too much sadness to think about it– but here? Now? She could want for it now.
“Always… Got a problem with it?” Her voice was breathy, glancing over her shoulder just slightly to eye him. Sharp blue eyes were waiting to find her gaze, intense and heated as they observed her.
“Oh no... I’m skilled at taming wild animals, you’d be no different.” He murmured, closing in on her just enough that she could feel him at her back, pressing her to the tailgate. Testing the waters too. Inching ever so slightly into the mood they were making.
“I’d love to see that.” She huffed, on the edge of a soft laugh but it died in her throat as he pressed into her fully, trapping her against the trunk and allowing her to feel every inch of him at her back. All hard edges and muscle, solid and big, encasing her form and making her breath hitch out of her chest. Fuck. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this wet, if ever, nor the last time she’d had sex, but her libido was on overdrive at the feel of him. She didn’t even know his goddamn name but couldn’t care less, just knowing she had a giant lumberjack behind her, and he was definitely interested in her climbing him like a tree.
Which... is exactly what she did.
She’d yanked him into the backseat of her Jeep the second he kissed her, both fumbling into the other like starved teens. There wasn’t even time to completely strip– just feral grinding and hands tugging at clothes impatiently. Her tank top was pushed down just below her breasts, bra unclasped by quick fingers then tossed while his jacket was shucked off and his jeans and belt undone with her own nimble touch. It was completely rushed and crazy, but she felt she’d earned such a wild spur of the moment tryst after all this time so, she went with it. Especially when it meant she got to enjoy him fingering her skillfully to her first orgasm in ages. Then a second when she got his pants down just far enough to ride him like her life depended on it. To say it was a good ride would be blasphemous. He’d rocked her entire world (and her poor Jeep) that day. Grabbed her by the hair, fucked her silly on his stupidly thick dick and praised her through the whole thing in a way that had her thighs quaking for days afterwards. Or maybe that was thanks to the second round, when he’d flipped her to the side and fucked her into the seat with deep punishing thrusts that had her seeing stars and howling for the whole woods to hear her. Every inch of skin he’d had access to had been left in bites and bruises, no part of her chest spared leaving her with plenty of good memories to keep that flutter going.
Whatever the case, he’d added an even brighter warmth to her new life, and it seemed like the hell of her past was finally letting her go up in the north. She warmed at the memory from two days prior, the last part of their meeting being the highlight really.
“I think I’ll take your word on those skills, lumberjack.” She’d panted, still trying to get her wits about herself while he nipped at her neck with a soft hum.
“Jacob.” He rumbled, pressing his nose into her neck almost like a nuzzle that had her melting into mush.
“Mm pleasure to see you in action, Jacob.” She said cheekily, enjoying the way he pulled back to shoot her a heated look.
“You got a name, shortstack?” He huffed, nipping at her bottom lip before kissing her a few more times to leave her dazed and unfocused.
“Call me Rook.”
She melted a little more into her seat. Life was finally starting to go well for her. "
13 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
greenriissan
Let's get some pussy tonight~
opalimagines
Stargirl Imagines
bighanksposts
Untitled
holly-davies
blotto
svenoffizielle-blog
Mia San Mia