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citrusreadstoa · 1 year

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Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 11 (SPOILERS)

Sorry for the pause in updates. (I feel like I'm jinxing myself because every other time I say that or see someone else say that, a much longer pause in updates or an indefinite hiatus immediately follows.)

So far, Leo and Calypso feel like Disney Princesses in crossover merchandise. You know that thing where Disney Princesses aren't allowed to look each other in the eye or speak to or acknowledge each other whenever they are featured together in merchandise or media? Leo and Calypso have hardly talked to each other in the ten chapters so far. I hope it's tied into the fights they've been having so there's a canonical reason rather than just author neglect. I'm here for Caleo content! Eleven-year-old me wants to see her OTP!

Admittedly, I don't remember reading too many rocky relationships in the previous series once the couples got together, so this is getting interesting to watch. Preteen me might have to cry in the corner while I break out the popcorn, 'cause if any relationship's gonna be rocky, it's going to be the one that started as a whirlwind romance that jumped into a six-month-long action adventure starring The Guy Who Was On The Run His Whole Life and The Girl Who Hasn't Left Home In Four Thousand Years.

"Four beheaded dudes" I thought we just had the one?

"flecks of feldspar glittering like stars." FELDSPAR (n.): an abundant rock-forming mineral typically occurring as colorless or pale-colored crystals and consisting of aluminosiliactes of potassium, sodium, and calcium

"It was Trophonius. My son." Fuck. Okay, that makes sense why he'd have the gift of prophecy, probably having inherited it from Apollo. Is Brieanna his half-brother or whole brother? Imagine if you were a ghost and your dad doesn't even know you or recognize you (admittedly a difficult task without a face or a head present). Speaking of the cheese ghost, someone needs to get Nico or Hazel here to exorcise him and lay him to rest. What's he been doing hanging out in the living world all this time? Do his deeds as a ghost count when being judged in the Underworld? So many questions.

"Agamethus--Trophonius's half brother. He was no son of mine." He said that so maliciously! I'm sure it wasn't meant to come out that way, but at least we have an answer now. "The poor boy had the misfortune of being the actual offspring of King Erginus" No need to insult him like that, holy moly!

"We built the temple at Delphi." Y'all're princes and famous architects. You're doubly rich. WHY DO YOU NEED TO STEAL.

"Make sure my body can't be identified." Awwww so Trophonius didn't behead him to kill him or have any malicious intent. This is heartbreaking. "You brought this upon yourself." Tbf he did, but that's no reason to let someone else die. They both brought it upon themselves. After all, Trophonius says "we" when talking about architecture and the temple and they both are princes. Still, thievery and wasted potential are not good reasons for the death penalty.

"video clips of a bearded man with curly brown hair, perfect teeth, and brilliant blue eyes . . . Not many emperors can look imperial wearing only lion-skin swim trunks, but Commodus managed." My friend showed me Commodus's character art and lemme tell you he is HOT. No, like, seriously. I'd simp. He might be hotter than Britomartis is pretty.

"very close to threatening his nearest advisor's anatomy." threatening ___'s anatomy is a good phrase. Might borrow it in the future.

"I still found Commodus attractive after so many centuries" And you'd be right. "we had a, er, complicated history" *sigh* Add another lover to Apollo's Bad Decisions Box. Apollo's "complicated histories" seem to always involve some sort of betrayal and at least one death.

"a portly man in a crimson business suit" I wanna know who this advisor is. It would make sense for it to be Trophonius, especially with his gift of prophecy, but that doesn't sound like him. The way he's described is similar to Nero, but it's obviously not him, though we can't discount relatives. "capable servants of the Triumvirate lost a little girl." Meg or Georgina? Probably Georgina 'cause Meg wouldn't run away again so soon.

"Lord Cleander" Nvm, never heard of this guy and his name doesn't sound Greek or Roman at first glance.

"any sort of plant" Wait, it could be Meg! I wonder if she had a plan all along. It doesn't seem like it. "You let a daughter of Demeter near a plant?" Jeez, they're literally, like, everywhere. What did you expect him to do, blowtorch every inch of the sidewalk before they stepped on it? Even in the city, plants are everywhere.

"Which is all she needed to teleport away!" ...Can Meg teleport? Like Nico? Honestly still not as OP as Percy, so we're all good.

"Gods only know where she is now!" "Actually . . . I'm a god. And I have no idea." I love this guy. He has my heart and soul and he has spoken nine (9) words so far.

"If she reaches Indianapolis" Are they not in Indianapolis? Are they maybe on the outskirts around where the caves are, then?

"And you're boring me . . . which is punishable by death." Okay, maybe Trophonius and Brieanna's thievery was a more severe crime by ancient standards. If this is what Cleander and Commodus are like, I truly wonder how Cleander has stayed alive so long. He isn't the most entertaining fella. "Do it, then." Oh, I guess we have our answer. He isn't lasting long at all.

"That was very entertaining, Lityerses!" LITYERSES! Midas's kid! I saw character art of him after reading The Lost Hero and I was like, Why does he have character art? He was there for less than a chapter??? So I figured he must be in TOA somehow and HERE HE IS MY BOYYYY.

"Manage all that for me, and I won't kill you. Fair?" Some pay would be nice.

"Unless you want to wait around here for morning chores." Now that's a threat that will get him moving.

I just realized the four beheaded dudes are the combo of Brieanna, Lord Cleander (Does that mean Lityerses has been promoted to Lord Lityerses?), Marcus, and Vortigern. An uncanny amount of beheaded people in one chapter. New record.

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ilovejosukehigashikata · 3 months

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Do you have any art of gent? I'm curious to see what he looks like

GOD i've been letting this ask languish in my box for months i'm SORRY!!! so the truth is... i am Not An Artist. i Cannot make the beautiful handsome man in my head real on paper even though i really really try. BUT i'll put down some bullet points about how he looks so you can hopefully get a feel for him!! and also i made a giant pinterest board for him if you want to check that out

style-wise:

i've invented a whole new family for gent that's stylistically frozen in the 1700s in quite a few ways, and this reflects in his design--he's got this Fancy Rococo Prince energy mixed with traditional ainu clothing (he's ainu now heehee... i'll have to give him a proper ainu name, gent is short for regent and it's really more of a nickname/title than anything)

he's got this giant lion motif that's mostly expressed in his hair... gone is the pomp (although i think he still has something strongly resembling one in the front) and instead he's got this Gorgeous Curly Mane that's dyed dark brown and blond

also i think he's got sideburns because 1. it's the 70s and 2. it'll make him look a little more masculine in a Fun Way

i figure he's got the attushi robe over all the frilly stuff, possibly in black and gold, and some moreu (whirl) motifs can look a lot like stylized lion manes so it works great for him

his color scheme is all golds and pinks, and since his thing is candy he's sure to have some silly candy-looking bits somewhere

he's got a funny little fur capelet just like prince's here... i guess he's REALLY prince-influenced in style

his more casual looks (if you can call them that) are still pretty fancy-shmancy peacock revolution stuff, just comfier

body-wise:

gent does whatever he wants and has (had) more money and resources than god, so everything besides (parts of) his head, spine, and tail is swappable---he likes to play around with how he looks, so he doesn't exactly have a set body type

yes he has a tail. yes it's got an elaborately curled tuft that he takes care of like the hair on his head. no he doesn't have the ears that'd be too silly and nobody would take him seriously, he just styles his hair to look like lion ears if you squint sometimes

his favorite might be the kind of idealized look of takarazuka's otokoyaku, with the disguised curves and stuff like that, and this reflects in the makeup he likes to put on (another prince-y aspect, he likes wearing a little bit of pink eyeshadow)

sometimes he likes to just run around looking exactly like a cute girl just for fun, but the only pronouns he'll ever use are he/him

skintone-wise he's naturally tan, and he might have a freckle here or there...

he's got body hair levels closer to (or above) westerners than japanese people, but he only rarely has a tiny bit of facial hair (beards are more his dad's thing)

face-wise:

this is definitely the hardest thing for me to figure out without having reliable drawing ability, but i'm forming a decent picture of it in my head

he has double-lidded, hooded eyes like josuke, but his are brown instead of blue

he's definitely got some bit of puffiness and/or darkness under his eyes that can either be played off in that cute way or in the I Haven't Slept For 24 Hours Because I've Been Making A Perfume/Candy/Entire Sentient Being That Will Blow Your Tits Clean Off way

of course he's still got the :-} smile. you can't drop that or he loses the josuessence

his eyebrows are thick but don't have that sharpness or model-like angling that josuke's did, they're pretty horizontal in a way that can make him look Mildly Concerned in his resting expression

i'm really enamored by shizuka kudo's eyebrows in how they have that effect combined with the undereyes

i think his jaw is what he mainly gets gender presentation across with, and it's still usually a fairly masculine one, so it's more likely for people to assume he's just a flamboyant guy and not a very princely girl

SO yeah i can ramble and ramble about how he looks but that probably won't do a bunch for you, hopefully this still helps you somewhat! my biggest influences in making him besides josuke were two other characters voiced by the late and great billy kametz, maruki from persona 5 and ferdinand from fire emblem three houses! it's about their Serene Energy... it's about how much they Care being expressed in their faces and their eyebrows... THANKS FOR READING!!

#gent #long post

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cherrycheridarling · 3 years

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"that was painfully sexist" | t.h.

marvel cast x actress!reader

warnings: sexism and swearing

summary: at a panel for the new avenger's film, the questions differ drastically between the female and male actors on stage.

wc: 1.4k

"Okay, a microphone is coming your way, sir."

"Hi! I'm Leonard with Pop Times Blog. My question is for Y/N." your eyes found the bearded man who stood amongst the crowd of reporters.

You nodded, signalling for him to continue, "Playing Silk or Cindy Moon must've came with a lot of challenges. One of them being the costume you are in for most of the film. Can you speak about that and how it fit?" he paused at your skeptical expression, "Like, we all know the suit is skin tight, so did you eat anything special or workout a lot and are you able to wear anything underneath it? Or do you wear a thong and no bra?"

You let out an unenthusiastic chuckle at his question. Beside you, you could hear your cast mates scoffing under their breath. It was common for the women of the MCU to get asked such questions and it saddened you that people normalized such a thing.

Leaning forward, you clasped your hands together and smiled before Robert reached behind Tom Holland and tapped your shoulder, "Would you like me to say something?"

You shook your head, but gave him a grateful grin before returning to the 'man' that asked you such a question, while maintaining eye contact you spoke, "Well, I think the most difficult part about wearing the Silk costume is taking it off after a long day because of how sweaty I get after shooting," you began to fan yourself dramatically, "It all just clings to my body like a second skin and since I am completely nude underneath, it just adds to the problem." sarcasm dripped from your lips as your cast mates snickered at your words.

You quietly laughed to yourself, "I'm only kidding. That question seemed like such a joke that I presumed you expected a joking answer." you cleared your throat, "In all seriousness, it's an honour wearing the suit and I did visit the gym and do some physical fitness regularly to prepare for the role, as did all my cast mates. As for what I wore underneath," you grinned cheekily, having too much fun messing with the reporter, "A Spider-Man onesie was my go-to."

The whole room let out laughs at your words as Tom grabbed your hand and gave you a small squeeze, feeling sorry that you had to answer such absurd questions.

"I hope everyone doesn't sexualize Cindy Moon. She's only a teenager in the film, so keep it in your pants people. That shit is illegal." Anthony pointed an accusing finger at the crowd.

"Thank you for your thoughtful question, Leonard!" Scarlett spoke up, "I hope you got the answer you were looking for."

"Okay, next person."

You sat back in your seat and fiddled with Tom's fingers as the questions were asked towards your cast mates.

"You handled that impressively well, love." Tom whispered in your ear.

You gave him a smile and a shrug before your name got called again, "My question is for Y/N and Tom Holland." a lady with curly blonde hair stood up, "Since Silk and Spider-Man's abilities are very similar, did you two bond over that during shooting or did it cause some rivalry between your characters due to the similarities?"

You felt a wave of relief at the question, thankful that it wasn't another sexist one. Tom looked at you before answering.

"Yeah, yeah. We bonded a lot over that fact and I don't think it caused any rivalry between us. I hope not." he chuckled before you leaned towards the mic.

"No, no. No rivalry. Just a lot of banter about whose character is stronger and who swings around better. It's a lot of fun having someone on set whose stunts are basically the same as yours. And Tom and I have both agreed that Silk is faster and better than Spider-Man." you said that last part quickly drawing laughs and a gasp from Tom.

He looked at you incredulously, "Not true! Spider-Man's suit is so much cooler than Silk's." he huffed like a child.

You smirked, "Who makes their webbing in a high school chemistry class and who has organic silk coming out of her fingertips that she also used to create her own suit?"

Your friends laughed at the banter beside you before Sebastian started to speak, "I have to agree with Y/N on this one. Silk also has that cool ass eidetic memory."

Chris Evans agreed, "And her Silk Sense is a thousand times stronger than Spider-Man's Spidey Sense."

"Isn't she able to know who an attacker is before she even sees them?" Hemsworth asked to which everyone nodded.

"Sorry, Spidey. Silk's just a top tier hero." Robert patted his shoulder as Tom sulked.

The questions began again as the laughter died down. You leaned over to Tom's ear, "Still love the actor who plays Spider-Man even if his character is inferior to mine." he shook his head with a smile at your words.

Questions ranged from the generic ones of the funniest moments on set to who's most likely to become a villain. Your nerves died down as no incompetent person asked another sexist question. Until one did.

"I have a question for Y/N." she was short with jet black hair, "Being around all these attractive men must be a challenge for you as a young female adult. It couldn't have been easy to control yourself around them. Have you had any sexual relationships with any of them or thought about engaging in any?"

Your jaw hung open at her words and before you could muster up a retort, Tom let his anger get the best of him. Was it his anger, his jealousy or his protectiveness? A mix of all three.

"That was painfully sexist." he spoke into the microphone. "I don't see how any of that is relevant to the film. Y/N is an outstanding actress and it's outrageous that you decide to focus on who she fucks rather than her talent."

"What in the actual fuck did she just ask?" Sebastian added, making you laugh.

Chris Evans spoke up next, "Indeed. I thought this was a promotion for the movie not a real life dating app."

Benedict chuckled, "I fail to see how Y/N's private life holds any relevancy to this panel or the film itself."

"It's twenty-nineteen, people! Leave your sexist ass shit at home!" Anthony exclaimed drawing claps from the cast.

Elizabeth shook her head, "I've had my fair share of inappropriate questions, but nothing as horrid as that."

"First y'all ask about her underwear, now you ask about her sex life? Jesus Christ." Scarlett pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Seriously, she's like a daughter to me. That was incredibly disrespectful." Robert added with a disappointed head shake.

Similar comments were added by the rest of the cast as you felt an overwhelming amount of love wash over you. You were so unimaginably grateful for the people next to you.

"You don't have to answer that." Paul Bettany reminded you.

You shook your head and cleared your throat, "Thank you, guys." you looked to your cast mates, "But I'll answer. No, I have not. This cast is my second family and I've grown greatly as a person with them. I'm immensely thankful for the opportunity to call them my friends. And I agree, these men sitting up here with me are undoubtedly attractive, but they are also a great pain in the ass at times," everyone laughed at your choice of words, "And have I thought about having sex with any of them? Nope. Just Scar, Zoe and Liz." you finished with a wink as the room clapped for you.

You couldn't help but to feel a slight bit of sympathy for the woman. Her question was, without a doubt, uncalled for and unbelievably sexist, but the comments from the cast must've made this her most embarassing moment.

"I'm sure you meant no harm with your question. But a little heads up for next time; most actors prefer to talk about their career and their films rather than who they are laying in bed with. But thank you for coming out. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day." you gave her a genuine smile as she cowered back into her seat.

Robert once again reached over and gave your shoulder a squeeze, proud of how you handled the situation.

Tom interlaced your fingers with his and rubbed small circles on your knuckles.

You really were at home with these people and you couldn't have asked for a better family.

#marvel cast x reader #marvel cast x actress!reader #marvel #marvel fan fiction #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #sebastian stan #chris evans #robert downey jr #anthony mackie #chris hemsworth #paul bettany #benedict cumberbatch #scarlett johansson #elizabeth olsen

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Air

Our first story on Day 1 comes to you by @zurisenchantedquill !

Title: Air Author/Artist: zurimadison Pairing: Romione, side Hinny Prompt: Rock Concert Rating: Teen, borderline Mature? Trigger Warning(s) (if any): bit of snogging :)

Full disclosure, I was inspired by the song "Stay Next to Me" by Quinn XCII and Chelsea Cutler

______

Ron

“You have ten minutes,” Ginny says, smacking her gum as she stares at me. “Harry will be here soon.”

I don’t move from my seat on the couch. “So let me get this straight, not only are you forcing me into going to this concert tonight, but you also invited your boyfriend to my flat?”

“You like Harry.” She checks her phone. “Nine minutes.”

I do like Harry, but I’m not going to admit that to her right now. I try a change of tactics. “I had plans tonight, Gin. You can’t just show up unannounced and expect me to drop everything to go out with you.”

“Laundry is not a plan, Ron,” she says, texting furiously as she plops on the other end of the couch. “Mum says I need to get you out of the house because you’ve been moping since your breakup, and I knew that if I gave you warning, you’d find an excuse to bail.”

I can’t help but wince, reminded of both the recent end to my relationship and the correct assumption that I’m hiding away because of it. “I just need some me-time right now.”

She looks at me, cheek lit by her phone screen, and smirks. “Eight minutes.”

Whoever said Weasleys are pushovers has never met my little sister.

Actually, probably no one has ever said that.

I sigh and stand, making my way to my bedroom to change.

“Comb your hair or something, while you’re at it,” she calls. “You look a mess.”

“Thanks Gin,” I yell back, but then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Sheesh, she wasn’t kidding.

Seven minutes later, dressed and groomed enough to be presentable, I set off down the road with my sister and her boyfriend.

“Go on then, who are we seeing tonight?”

“The Black Keys,” Harry answers, grinning. “I’ve been dying to see them for ages.”

I’ve never heard of them before, so I ask, “what kind of music is that? Rock?”

“Technically, more Indie Rock,” Ginny answers, and I can’t stop the small snort that escapes me. She shoots a glare that very clearly warns me not to take the mickey, so I hold my arms up defensively and clear my throat.

“Oh, sounds...erm, fun.” It’s lame, but Harry nods and starts rambling about his favorite songs. For all my trouble, Ginny graces me with an approving quirk of her eyebrow. Thanks Sis.

The venue is close to my flat, so it isn’t long before we’re through the doors, pushing our way into the crowd.

It feels like even less time before Ginny is snogging Harry, their bodies swaying in time to the music as her drink slops unnoticed on their shoes. They break apart every now and then to sing a lyric or two, then they’re right back at it.

I try to ignore it as I down my beer, but the venue is so congested that I’m constantly jostled into them. Not that they even seem to notice, mind you, but as much as I don’t care what Ginny does on her own time, it’s another thing entirely to literally have it shoved into my face.

My bottle is devastatingly empty, so I mutter an excuse and snake away through the crowd, not finding it at all dispersed as I move further from the stage. I spot a bar in the back corner and fight my way over to it, feeling like a hero returning home after battle when I’m able to place my order with the bartender.

It happens as I’m waiting for my beer. I glance down the length of the bar, more out of idleness than anything else, and I see her.

She’s got dark curly hair that’s highlighted with honey, a red strapless dress that could bring a man to his knees, and, unless I’m much mistaken, she’s holding a book in one of her hands as she leans across the bar to be heard above the music.

I am struck with the impulse to know the color of her eyes.

She seems to be alone, and is the only person in the venue actually sitting on a stool. I’m not altogether surprised when, after receiving her drink, she opens her book. She’s so absorbed in her reading that she doesn't notice the people bustling around her. She doesn’t even look up when the bartender hands a drink to someone over her head.

It takes me two more beers, alone in the corner, watching this woman who has such impressive focus, before I work up my nerve. There’s a small opening in the crowd, so I decide it's now or never and throw myself through it. I slip to her side and deliver the almighty line that I’d been working on for nearly twenty minutes.

“Whatcha reading?”

I honestly expect her to ignore me or maybe genuinely not hear me, but to my surprise, she looks right at me.

Brown. Her eyes are chestnut brown, with a dark ring around the outside. They appraise me before the corners of her round lips turn upwards almost imperceptibly. “Treasure Island.” She has to shout to be heard above the music.

“No way,” I exclaim, bemused. “That’s one of the few books I’ve actually read! Isn’t it crazy that Ben had the treasure the whole time?”

“He what?” Her eyes go wide as she gazes at me, slack jawed. “Seriously?”

“Wait, you didn’t know?” I ask, clapping a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I thought-”

“Just kidding,” she interrupts me, then begins to giggle at what I can only assume is my idiotic expression. “I’ve read this a million times.”

Her laugh is infectious, and I silently swear to make her do as much of it as I can. I lean against my forearm on the bar and turn sideways so I can view her better. Something about the way she’s looking up at me makes me feel brave. “What’s your name?”

“Hermione.”

“Ron.” I extend my hand. She slips her tiny palm into mine. I shake it, but then I don’t let go.

A drunk patron knocks into me, pushing me closer to her. I can almost see down her dress, I’m standing so close. “It’s too crowded in here,” she shouts as she glances over her shoulder. “So many random bodies pressed together.”

“We should go somewhere.” I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I don’t mind it when she rewards me with a tiny smile.

“Where? Outside?”

“I don’t care,” I say. “Your choice. I’ll follow you.”

She surveys me, looking as though she’s deciding. “Aren’t you going to miss the show?”

“No,” I laugh. “I don’t know this band at all.”

“Me neither,” she admits. She’s nearly knocked off her stool by a surge of the crowd around us, and this seems to seal the deal. “Ok, let’s go.” She stands and winds through the crowd, never releasing my hand.

_____

Hermione

I lead my tall, red headed stranger to the back patio, feeling instant relief in the cool night air as we step over the threshold. The music is much less loud out here, and it’s not as crowded. I drop his hand as I perch myself on the patio railing, sighing in contentment as my overstimulated senses are satisfied by the calming change in environment.

Ron flags a server for us, so I take the opportunity to examine him while he orders. He’s broad in the shoulders but narrow in the hips, though the shape is flattering in the way his t-shirt pulls across his chest. From underneath the material on his left arm, a full sleeve of tattoos runs enticingly to his wrist, leaving me with a burning desire to see the obscured designs.

Tattooed and bearded. Just how I like 'em.

The server leaves and he turns his gaze back to me, reminding me of the thing so far that I like the most about him.

His eyes.

They’re almost turquoise-y blue, and seem to ripple like water. That alone would be sexy enough, but there’s something about the way they make me feel. They’re...kind.

He leans his back against the railing where I’m sitting, close enough that my leg is brushing his arm. “So, did you come to this show tonight because you like a little background music while you read?”

I laugh. “No, my friends dragged me here with them, but I lost track of them pretty much the moment we arrived. Hence, this.” I hold up my book. “What about you? You said you don’t know the band either.”

“Nah,” he agrees. “I was also forced to come out tonight. But, I don’t fancy watching my sister snog her boyfriend all evening so…” He shrugs. His hair moves gently in the night breeze.

“Well look at us,” I say. “A couple of third wheels.”

The server comes back with the drinks: two shots of whiskey and two beers. I thank him as I take mine, and Ron raises his shot glass.

“Left your boyfriend at home, then?” He’s holding the whiskey expectantly, smirking while he waits for my answer.

I roll my eyes. “Very subtle.”

“Oh, you saw what I did there?”

“I did, believe it or not.” I hold my whiskey out as well. “To being single?”

It’s phrased as a question, and there’s a triumphant sparkle in his eye as he clicks his glass against mine. “To being single.”

“Cheers.” We throw back the shot. The alcohol hums just under my skin.

Ron doesn’t return to his previous position, but instead stands in front of me so that his stomach is against my knees. He places his free hand on the outside of my bare thigh, sending tingles down my spine. He meets my eye for a moment, as though asking if I mind, and in response I lean forward and place my free hand on his chest.

The full, lopsided smile I receive in return is worth it.

“What do you do for a living, Hermione?” His voice is gravelly now.

“I’m in microbiology,” I answer. “I work in a lab.”

“Wow,” he lets out a low whistle. “Smart and beautiful.”

I laugh again. “What about you?”

“I’m a nurse,” he says, puffing out his chest. “I work in the ICU.”

Somehow I understand the kindness in his eyes even more. I’m so distracted by looking into them that I accidentally spill some beer all over my lap. “Oh no, I’m sorry!”

“Watch yourself,” he says, laughing as he grabs a napkin and dabs off my legs. “Why is your drink so full anyway?”

“Yours is just as full,” I argue, offering my beer as evidence.

He looks between our two glasses and shrugs. “Maybe, but I can drink faster, so it doesn’t count.”

“How do you know that?” I demand, holding the beer up now as a challenge. “Chugging contest?”

His grin is evil and beautiful. “You’re on.”

“Three, two…” We both begin to drink as quickly as we can, though it becomes apparent to me that I’m quite outclassed. His Adam’s apple bobs distractingly and I reach out, tracing my finger down it before I can stop myself.

I freeze, my hand again on his chest, fingers grazing the skin above his neckline. When I meet his eye, he puts his glass on the railing and steps between my legs, wrapping his arms around me to bury his hands in my hair as he pulls me in for a kiss.

The way he feels is so distracting that I drop my own glass, still half full, on the outside of the patio, where it spills in the grass. I’m sure we could get kicked out of the venue for that, but right now I don’t care. I kiss my new friend Ron for all I’m worth. He tastes like whiskey and every flick of his talented tongue ignites tiny fires all over my body.

We snog for I don’t know how long, until we’re forced to come up for air. He doesn’t step away from me, but keeps his face close to mine as we pant.

“I can’t waste another second here, can you?” His whisper tickles my cheek.

I run the analysis, weighing my options even as my head spins from the snog. I grip his arms tighter. “We should go somewhere.”

His lopsided smile takes my breath away.

#chudleycanonficfest #chudley canon fest #hp canon pairings #hp canon romantic pairings #romione #side hinny #source: zurisenchantedquill

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let-it-raines · 3 years

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I Hope We Never See October (8/12)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Okay, so that cliffhanger, huh? I thought our mystery guests were obvious, but then again, I'm writing the story. But We'll answer all those questions here!

AO3: Beginning | Current Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

-/-

Killian’s side of the bed is cold when Emma’s alarm goes off. She expects him to still be there either sleeping or on his phone – he seems to do most of his work in the mornings when he doesn’t want to get out of bed – but he’s not there.

She hates herself a little bit for even noticing the cool feel of the sheets beneath her fingertips.

Emma groans and stretches her legs out, wondering how much time she has to go back to sleep before she absolutely has to go into work. She squints at her phone. She’s got two hours before she has to be at work. She could definitely sleep for another hour and a half and then look like shit at work. That might be nice, actually.

But then she smells something cooking downstairs, and almost on cue, her stomach growls.

Slowly, she gets out of bed, and the floor is cold against her bare feet. She should really go take a shower before she goes downstairs, and despite the good smell, she goes into the bathroom and quickly showers, leaving her hair dry. It’s curly and a bit frizzy from leaving it wet after her shower at the Nolans’ last night, but that’s a problem for another time…tomorrow. She’ll make it look better tomorrow. Emma grabs a pair of shorts and a button-down, putting them both on, and she pulls out a pair of sandals from her closet for later. She’s not as presentable as she should be, but maybe she can stay in her office and away from customers.

Besides, this is better than what it could have been had she not at least rinsed off the remaining sunscreen and sweat from her skin.

Emma smooths down her shirt and fluffs her hair. There’s the slightest bit of red on her chest from Killian’s beard, so she buttons up one more button before heading downstairs. From the smell of it, Killian is either cooking pancakes or waffles, and she’ll take either.

As far as her seasonal friends with benefits go, Killian is definitely the winner.

For the breakfast, the sex, and maybe the conversation. She thought about that for too long yesterday, and it’s too damn early for her to be thinking about any of this today. All she wants is food and coffee, so that’s all she’s thinking about. It’s all she can.

“Damn, Jones,” Emma shouts from the top of the stairs, “something smells delicious.”

She’s at the bottom of the stairs when she hears other voices. For one brief second, she thinks Killian is on the phone, but she’d know those voices anywhere. One haunts her nightmares, the other is the voice of her dreams, and neither was supposed to be here for three weeks.

Three fucking weeks.

Shit.

Holy shit.

What the hell has Neal done that he has to show up like this without even giving her any kind of heads up?

And how does she fix this? Killian was never supposed to know about Henry. He was the one question she’d never answer. He would have been her veto had it ever come up. When he got home from spending the summer with his dad in New York City, Emma was going to start phasing Killian out. They’d only ever spend time at his place, she’d never spend the night unless Henry was sleeping over at his friends. Usually, she doesn’t have this problem because the guy leaves way before this. He doesn’t have the chance to ever know about Henry, and Emma likes it that way.

The last guy that met Henry was Walsh, and that was only on accident. Or at least that’s what Walsh said, but Emma’s always thought Walsh showed up at the Blue Dog at that time on purpose because he knew Henry would be there with Emma. The guy never understood why Emma didn’t let him meet her son, but when you’ve never been able to trust a man besides David and possibly Graham with him, you have reservations.

His dad’s a full-blown asshole who has upended her life more than once, and she’s already so done with whatever bullshit excuse he’s got for bringing Henry home early.

Emma jumps in place, trying to breathe without really inhaling, and then she turns the corner into the kitchen.

The sight is as bad as she expected. The first person she sees is Killian, and if it were any other morning, this would be a good view to wake up to. His joggers hang low on his hips, he’s standing by the stove shirtless, and his hair is sticking in several directions from where her hands tugged on it last night. Then she sees Neal, who is standing in the corner with his arms crossed, frown on his face. He looks older since she saw him at the beginning of June. His beard is filled with more gray, his hair unruly in a purposeful way. He looks pissed, and Emma already knows this is about to be hell.

And then she sees Henry, and the tenseness fades from her shoulders when she sees his smile and the giant backpack he’s wearing. He’s got to empty that damn thing out.

God, she’s missed him so much.

“Mom!” he squeals, running toward her.

Emma opens her arms and embraces him, holding onto the back of his head and breathing him in. As much as Emma sometimes likes the freedom her summer affords her, she does miss her son. A lot. Him being gone is the entire reason she picks up shifts at The Oaks. She needs the distraction, not so much the money, until the summer is over and Henry comes back home for school.

“Hey, kid,” Emma laughs as she keeps hugging him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Can I have the waffles?”

“What?”

He pulls back and grins. “The waffles Killian made. Can I have them?”

“Killian,” Emma slowly repeats. She looks over Henry’s head toward Killian who is furiously scratching behind his ear, and she realizes just how much he has a deer in the headlights look going on. As confused as she is right now, she knows he’s just had a few bombs dropped on him. “Uh, yeah, why don’t you and my friend Killian eat. I’m going to talk to your dad in the backyard for a minute. Neal.”

“What? I don’t get a hi?” Neal asks.

“Backyard. Now.”

He smiles, and once upon a time, she would have found that charming. Right now, she wants to slap it right off his face. Whatever he has to say, she knows it won’t be good. Emma closes the back door behind them and moves far enough across the deck to keep Henry from hearing.

“What the hell, Neal?”

The smile falls, and Emma crosses her arms over her chest. She has to put up a barrier with him. “Why are you so angry? Are you not excited to see Henry? He has been gone all summer, you know.”

“Of course I’m excited to see my kid. But I wasn’t supposed to see him three weeks from now. And with a head’s up. We have a schedule, Neal. Like, a court-mandated schedule that you made us get, and you’re not sticking to it.”

“That I made us get?” he scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean? If I recall, you’re the one who kept my son from me for seven years and then didn’t want to give me custody.”

How is he such an ass? Seriously. How does he still not get it?

Emma steps closer and straightens her back. She doesn’t need to make herself taller, not for him, but she does anyway. “I got pregnant with Henry when I was sixteen. You were twenty-four. Do the math on how that’s wrong in about eighty-two different ways. And if I recall, and trust me I have a pretty good memory of this day, when I told you I had something important to tell you, you disappeared off the face of the planet. That doesn’t really seem like a guy who deserves to know about his kid.”

“Oh, come on, Ems. You can’t still be mad about that, can you?”

Is it still considered assault if Emma punches someone who deserves to be punched? There must be a law making that okay.

“Why are you here early, Neal?”

She doesn’t want to get into this with him. He’s never going to understand how much he fucked up Emma’s life. There’s no need for her to try to get him to understand now when all she wants is to know why he just showed up early.

“Who’s that guy in there?” he asks, evading her question.

“A friend.”

His mouth crinkles when he laughs, and she hates it. “A shirtless friend who fixes you breakfast? I hope you don’t make a habit of this when Henry’s home.”

“You don’t get a say on my dating life. Or my parenting skills. Now answer my question.”

He blows out air, and rolls his eyes, like she’s the one inconveniencing him. “Look, Tamara wants to go on vacation before summer ends, and she didn’t want to bring Henry with us. So I thought I’d bring him back to you and it wouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure you can keep him entertained until he goes back to school.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Neal, are you serious? You are breaking the rules of our custody agreement because you want to go on vacation with your girlfriend? How is it possible that you’re so selfish? I mean, God, seriously.”

Emma groans and buries her face in her hands before screaming. Or at least screaming as loud as she can without Henry knowing.

“Henry is a good fucking kid,” Emma continues, slowly breathing to calm herself down, “and he loves you. He doesn’t see all the shit I do because I’ve hidden that from him, but you can’t just do this, Neal. You can’t decide you’re done playing dad and give him back to me when you nearly made me go broke fighting to keep custody of the kid I’d raised since he was born. That’s not how being a parent works.”

“That’s rich coming from the woman who has used her time away from her kid to fuck British tourists and is upset her kid is back early because her vacation has to end.”

Emma looks up into the eyes of the man she once loved, the man who gave her son his eyes, and she says, “Go say goodbye to Henry and get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you next June, if you still decide to show up then.”

It’s a dismissal, and Neal never takes those. Not sitting down at least. She’s sure there will be arguments and petty jabs for the next few months. He’ll make her life hell while playing as the good guy. He has this act where he says things like “he’s a good person now, can’t she just move on from the past?”

There’s a difference between forgiveness and moving on that not a lot of people get. They say you have to forgive to move on, but that’s not true. You can move on without forgiveness because some people don’t deserve it. At all. Sometimes all you can do is stop letting them live in your head rent free, and you have to forgive yourself for ever falling for the lies.

Emma’s chosen that route. She’s forgiven herself, has moved on with her life even with Neal constantly trying to pull her back down, and she’s not about to stand here and let him criticize her personal life when he has no business in it.

Through the window, Emma watches Neal hug Henry goodbye. It takes less than a minute before he’s gone and Henry is back to eating his breakfast. Emma would laugh, she wants to at how ridiculous this all is, but she’s not finding anything about today funny. Because while Neal will go back to New York and will be happy, she’s stuck here cleaning up the mess he just made because she has to do everything in her power to make sure her kid never knows the version of his dad she knows.

A phone call would have been nice. At least then she could have gotten Killian out of the house. She still would have been pissed, but at the very least, she would have been able to make things a little better than they are now.

“Shit,” Emma breathes out, looking toward the sky. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Emma inhales and exhales several times before forcing a smile and walking inside where Henry is eating the breakfast that was meant for her and talking to Killian about soccer of all things.

Well, not of all things. Most of the time, Emma forgets that Killian plays professionally. Hell, they talked about it yesterday, and it still isn’t at the forefront of her mind. That part of his life has nothing to do with hers…except for right now when Killian is talking to her son about it.

He still doesn’t have on a damn shirt.

“Mom, did you know Killian used to play soccer? Like, as a job. That’s so cool! Do you think he could coach my team?”

“I did know that, kid.” Emma kisses his forehead, and he squirms away. It’ll take him a week or two to get used to her kind of affection versus Neal’s, so she’s not too offended. “How do you know that?”

“I recognize him.”

“Since when do you watch a lot of British soccer? Or football as Killian calls it.” She mimics Killian’s accent, but she also knows she did a terrible job with it.

Henry shrugs and stuffs a large bite of waffle in his mouth. “Dad doesn’t have anything to watch on TV but sports channels. All I did during the day was watch old soccer matches.”

“Wait. Where was your dad?”

Henry shrugs again. “I don’t know. At work I guess.”

Neal works from home most days of the week. What an ass. Emma bets he didn’t even get someone to watch Henry. He just used old sports reruns to keep him entertained.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says, finally looking to Killian, “can you stay in here and eat breakfast while I talk to Killian in the other room?”

“Sure.”

Emma flashes a tight smile and then nods her head toward the stairs. Killian gets the message and walks upstairs without being asked, immediately heading toward the bedroom. He stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest, and Emma watches his jaw tick, the smile he had on for Henry a moment ago, gone.

Softly, Emma closes the door behind her.

“I have my personal question of the day, Swan. You have a son?”

Okay, great, so this is how it’s going to be. Emma opens her dresser drawer and pulls out a shirt for Killian. He catches it after she tosses it and tugs it on. It doesn’t help as much as she’d like it to.

“Okay, look,” Emma begins, “you were never supposed to meet Henry. He wasn’t…his dad was supposed to have him for three more weeks.”

“The contract on my rental house has more time on it than that.”

Emma runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “I don’t know. I would have figured it out. Only go to your place, spend less time together. I mean, it’s only natural, right? Because you’re going to leave, and it would make sense for things to die down between us.”

Killian laughs, but Emma gets the sense he doesn’t find any of this funny. “Yeah, it makes perfect sense. This was only about sex, right?”

“Killian.”

“No, no.” He holds his hand up. “It’s fine, Swan. I get it. It’s my fault for thinking we might be mates on top of that.”

“I mean, we are – kind of, maybe. I don’t know.” Emma sighs and sits on the end of her bed. She doesn’t know what to do. Even more, she doesn’t know what to say. She definitely doesn’t know how to feel. “It was never supposed to be like this. I’m usually better at not blurring the lines. I don’t know what happened with us that made me drop my guard.”

“I knew you found me charming.”

Emma laughs and falls back on the mattress. “I have a kid, Killian, and he’s back. I can’t be like I was. We can’t just fuck whenever we want or stay out late or eat pizza at three in the morning. I’ve got to make sure Henry has a place to stay and Mary Margaret is across the country visiting her parents so that’s out for awhile. And I’m still working two jobs because I thought I had time to do that. I don’t, God, I don’t know what to do about anything in my life. Plus, you know, I want to spend time with Henry, and I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“I could watch him, love. He’s a bit older than what I’m used to with my nieces, but I’m sure I can find ways to entertain him.”

Emma sits up. Her heart is beating way too fast, and suddenly, the true reality of this situation hits her.

The man she’s been sleeping with has met her son.

And he’s offering to babysit.

What the actual hell?

She needs time to think. And scream. She definitely has to scream into her pillow for at least an hour because she literally cannot think of another thing to do. This is all too much, and she needs Killian to leave. He makes this all too complicated. She needs to go downstairs and eat breakfast with Henry. That she can do. That’s not complicated. That’s something she’s done every day for ten years, even if it’s usually Pop Tarts or a bowl of cereal, not homemade waffles and eggs.

“Can you, uh,” Emma starts, biting her lip, “can you go home? I need to spend time with Henry. He won’t show it, but I know he knows why his dad brought him home early. I’ve got some crap to deal with, but I’ll text you later.”

His eyes narrow, and Emma knows that look by now. He knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t expect him to call her out on her lie.

And he doesn’t because as quickly as his eyes narrow, they widen and a slight smile creeps onto his lips. “I’ll see you later, Swan. I’ll get my clothes out of the machine downstairs and go.”

“Thanks.”

Killian doesn’t move, and Emma has a hard time looking at him until she does. His eyes are so damn blue. It’s ridiculous.

But then he moves. Leaves, actually, just like she asked him to, and she hears every single step as he leaves the house and gets into his car. Emma breathes out a sigh of relief, maybe a little confusion, and then she grabs her phone of her bedside table.

Not a single warning text or call from Neal, just like she thought. Ass.

ES: SOS. My house. 10 minutes.

RL: Are you dead?

ES: Yes, I’m texting you from beyond.

RL: I am hungover. Give me 30.

Emma tosses her phone on her bed and heads downstairs. The life she was living is over. Henry’s home, and she is his mom. That’s what she has to do, and right now, that means putting her anger at Neal and confusion with Killian behind her to go eat breakfast with her kid.

She can only partially ignore that Killian was making this breakfast for her.

For them.

-/-

“King Harold,” Ruby says when she walks through the door in her pajamas and immediately sees Henry, “welcome back to your seaside palace. Come give me a hug.”

“Only if you never call me Harold again.”

“I can’t agree to that, Harold.”

Henry rolls his eyes, but he hugs Ruby anyway. “My name is Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby kisses the top of his head. “You smell like waffles.”

“Killian made waffles for breakfast.”

“Killian did?” she asks, looking over Henry’s head toward Emma. Emma shrugs and cocks her head.

“Kid, why don’t you go unpack? When you’re finished, we’ll go to the beach before I have work.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Emma hums and nods at the stairs. “I told them I’d be late today. Get your bags and go.”

Henry quickly grabs his suitcases. They’re nearly bigger than him, but he manages to drag them up the stairs. Emma waits until she hears his bedroom door close, and then she moves to the kitchen and collapses on a barstool. Ruby fixes herself a plate of leftover food and starts eating. “I have eight thousand questions.”

Without lifting her head from the counter, Emma tries to answer at least half those questions. “Killian slept over and was making breakfast when Neal and Henry walked in, so they both met him, which went over as well as you’d expect. Neal didn’t tell me he was bringing Henry back early, but apparently his girlfriend got tired of having him around and wanted to go on vacation. Neal thought ambushing me was the best way to go about the situation, and then he got pissed about me having a guy over.”

Emma peaks up to see Ruby blinking. Slowly. Did she not process anything or is she just so hungover that it’s taking her a long time to figure out what to say?

“Was Neal charming or something when you guys were together?’

Emma laughs. “I was sixteen, and he paid attention to me. He might as well have been Prince Charming.”

“He’s the worst.” Ruby scrunches up her nose. “And you’re not a Prince Charming type of girl. I get more of a rebel vibe from you.”

“Yeah, because mom and restaurant manager means rebel.”

Rub leans over and pokes Emma’s nose. “I don’t think you know how badass you are, Emma Swan. Give me a minute to get some coffee and make more food because I definitely need to dissect everything that’s going on with you. Baby daddy and new boyfriend not included.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right. Just sex friend because you totally invite sex friends to parties at Marg’s place. That seems normal.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “I invited you here to help with a crisis. Not create a new one.”

“I’m just saying,” Ruby sighs, “Mr. Jones is a hell of a lot better than most of the guys you shack up with. Your unfortunate sperm donor included. I’d think about that if I were you. I mean, we both know you’re about to ghost him, but at least think about it, Emma.”

Yeah, maybe she will.

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

#I Hope We Never See October #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan

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zeppelin-and-unicorns · 3 years

Photo

So, as I said in a previous post, I spent the whole night yesterday making picrews, and I thought: “Why not make picrews of the fictional family that I love more than everything in this world?”

Anyway, here they are! This is a close representation of how I picture the Hyde family whenever I think about the TSG universe (I am going to come up with a different name for this universe one day I promise). I am also going to give you guys some glimpses about their quirks and their personalities, so, click on the thingy if you’re interested on reading that.

Unfortunaly, it was impossible to make Jackie and Gracie’s eyes the way I picture them (mismatched, lol. I know this is a controversial topic but every single time I see the show I notice how Jackie’s eyes are different colors and I add that to every single one of my fics. It’s one of her little flaws that only makes her more perfect). So just pretend that one of their eyes is blue-ish, and the other one is green-ish.

Oh, and as I post more and more picrews, you might notice that out of all the adults characters from the TSG universe, Jackie’s the only one who doesn’t have any wrinkles. Years of a very strict skincare routine payed off really well for her.

Hyde grew his beard back, mostly because I always picture him with a beard when he’s older. Oh, and sorry for the lack of sunglasses, he stopped wearing them everyday when Dylan was a baby (he kept taking them off his face and throwing them at the ground lol).

On the left, we see Layla, the eldest and the wisest from all the three kids. The age gap between her and her siblings is big, so they always run to her when they need advice about something.

Layla’s a lot like Jackie, she cares about her looks, she’s a social butterfly, and she’s probably the most popular girl in school. She’s not shallow though, nor does she have the superiority complex Jackie had in the first few seasons of the show, Hyde and Jackie made sure to raise her well.

Layla’s also a bookworm, and a big romantic at heart. One of her dreams is to publish an epic romance novel, and writing is probably one of her favorite things in the entire world. She has this little red notebook filled with heart stickers in the cover where she often writes poems -- and Jackie is the only person allowed to read said poems.

Her hair is naturally wavy (as showed in the picture), but she starts to straighten it when she’s older. She grew up in the 90s after all.

Then there’s Dylan, or as I like to call him, the Hyde’s little evil spawn.

Don’t get me wrong here, Dylan is literally so sweet, and he cares about his family more than anything in the world. He’s a sucker for his mom’s hugs and he wants to be like Hyde in the future, but he also has a lot of pent up energy, which tends to put him into some pretty funny situations.

Dylan has a partner in crime, his name’s Jordan and he’s Fez and Laurie’s son (I’ll post a picrew of him later too). I’ve based Dylan and Jordan’s friendship on the Weasley twins from Harry Potter, they are natural pranksters and they drive Laurie and Jackie insane. Red helps the duo out with their pranks sometimes, claiming it’s “payback” for all the years he had to tolerate his son and his dumbasses friends mooching off him and making his life “miserable”. Dylan and Red also have a cute bond, we’ll see more of that in the sequel.

As he grows older, Dylan gets tall. Like, Jackie’s a midget next to him, guys (that doesn’t stop her from coddling him though). No one knows where he’s got that height from, and he uses that to his advantage (by placing Jackie and Layla’s Pop music CDs on high places that they couldn’t possibly reach just to mess with them. Oh, and he also joins the basketball team lol).

He’s very protective of his family, like, really protective, and he doesn’t take shit from anyone. He has a special soft spot for Hannah (Eric and Donna’s younger daughter). Hannah is a year older than him, and she’s hearing impaired. One day a guy from school stole her hearing aid to mess with her, and he got the beating of a lifetime. Dylan was suspended and Jackie went to the school to yell at the principal and defend her son, because she’s that kind of mom.

Don’t get any wrong ideas about Dylan and Hannah though, they were raised like siblings.

Dylan’s very into cars (another thing in common he has with Red), and when Hyde finally gives him the Camino, he babies the fuck out of it.

And last but not least... Gracie. Or Erica, as Eric likes to remind everyone about it.

Gracie will only be three years old in the sequel, so we won’t see a lot of her personality, but as I said many times, I do plan on writing one-shots about the kids when they’re older once the sequel is done, so...

Hyde has a special nickname for her, he calls her his little “Goldilocks” because her hair is curly and it’s almost a golden color. She’s a very smart kid and she’s always drawing.

Seriously, Jackie and Hyde’s fridge is filled with Gracie’s drawings, it’s the sweetest thing. They never threw a single drawing of her away, they always keep them, and they incentivize her as much as possible when she’s growing up.

She grows up to be an artsy person, and she’s very talented. She’s not a social butterfly like Layla, nor is she a “badass” like Dylan, she’s an introvert, she likes to stay home with her parents (she loves her parents so much) and have movie marathons with them on the weekends instead of going out to party.

She hangs out a lot with Katie (Fez and Laurie’s youngest daughter), who’s her best friend and her complete opposite, they have a bunch of sleepovers where they watch a ton of horror movies together and stuff their faces with ice cream. Their friendship is really something else, and she’s the first person Gracie comes out to (yup, Gracie’s a lesbian).

Gracie and Eric are very close, and she gets him very into Harry Potter. It’s funny, because Eric insists that he’s a Gryffindor, and Gracie tells him he’s totally a Hufflepuff, which makes him mad and they end up bickering because of it. But overall, they love each other a lot, and Eric’s a father figure to her.

Her relationship with Jackie and Hyde is beautiful. She’s not afraid of asking them for cuddles when she’s feeling down, and they are literally her biggest supporters. When Layla moves out for good (insert very sad Jackie and Hyde noises), they turn her room into a mini art studio for Gracie, and she spends most of her days there, listening to music and painting whatever comes to her mind.

Wow, I got really excited and I ended up talking waaay too much, but well... I love this family so much, I couldn’t help myself.

If you have any questions about the TSG sequel or about the characters in general, please feel free to send them to me!

Posting picrews of the Forman family next!

#the sweetest gifts #picrews #jackie burkhart #steven hyde #layla hyde #dylan hyde #gracie hyde

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

70s Jimercury

I know this was completed brilliantly by another anon, but I wanted to give it a try myself because it’s such a funny prompt. Credit goes to the anon who came up with this.

Warning for some outdated language regarding gay people (e.g., queer, homosexual, etc.)

‘In my defence,’ said Roger, as the car went over a speed bump and he temporarily lost his balance, almost ending up on Brian’s lap, ‘it was John who dared me to put chewing gum in your hair, so technically this is all his fault.’

‘Don’t even talk to me.’ Brian growled, his expression so dark it made Roger feel like a ghost had passed through him. ‘You’re lucky Miami was able to get me this appointment at such short notice. If he hadn’t, you and Deacy would be arriving to that photoshoot tonight in a hearse.’

‘You’re breaking my heart, Bri.’ Roger yawned, leaning back in his seat. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist; the nice barber man will trim your bush and you’ll be good as new for your close up.’

‘Oh yeah, with a whopping great bald patch!’

‘Such a pessimist. Trust me; one day we’ll be sitting on my front lawn, sipping tea, and laughing about this.’

Brian’s face remained bland as a stone.

‘Oh, cheer up, would you?’ The drummer threw up his arms in defeat. ‘We already have one miserable bastard in this band, we don’t need another one.’

Brian sighed, staring out of the darkened window as his mind turned to their ailing frontman. Freddie hadn’t been the same since his breakup with David Minns. David was, after all, his first proper love; he had given Freddie the courage to finally come to terms with who he really was and end his fraudulent relationship with Mary. There was something about David that brought Freddie to life in a way that Brian had never seen before. When David was around, he glowed with an energy that didn’t seem humanly possible.

But all relationships have their ups and downs. Freddie never went into detail about the rows that occurred between he and David, but Brian had heard through the grapevine that there were several contributing factors to the breakup, ranging from Freddie's strained relationship with his parents to arguments becoming physical. But the real catalyst came in the form of a blond American man named Joe Fanelli; and Freddie being Freddie, he just couldn’t resist temptation when it was offered up to him on a silver platter.

The aftermath of the separation had been…devastating to say the least. The spark in Freddie had almost vanished entirely, replaced with an emotionless husk. He had no motivation, not even to perform; his days were spent hidden away in his hotel room, refusing to emerge, even for the most basic necessities like food and water. And the others had no choice but to sit and watch his self-destruction.

‘We need to do something about him.’ Brian announced, as the car pulled up to the curb where security was already waiting for them. ‘It’s been two weeks and he’s barely shifted from that bed. We’ll need to stage a fucking intervention at this point.’

‘One problem at a time, Bri.’ Roger replied as the car door was pulled open. ‘Now hop it, Miami will eat us alive if we’re late.’

They made it into the Savoy without being detected by any lurking members of the public; Brian sighed in relief as he was led into the salon and all but collapsed in the barber chair. He just wanted to get his hair sorted and then leave as soon as possible. He was tired, he was hungry, and he felt fucking awful for making some poor underpaid hairdresser stay behind after hours to battle with his curly mop. He just hoped he’d be able to keep up with the endless questions that would undoubtedly be coming his way; after all, it wasn’t every day you got to trim a celebrity’s noggin, was it?

‘Alright lads?’ A thick, friendly Irish accent suddenly filled the room, and the two of them turned to see an average sized man with a dark, thick beard pop out from behind the counter, a large black gown draped on his arm and a toolbag under the other. ‘What can I do for you today?’

Brian motioned to the wad of gum stuck in his curls. ‘Going to need to take a chunk out of my head, I’m afraid. This one over hear thought it would be funny to use my skull as a school desk.’

‘It was a dare.’ Roger grumbled.

The man chuckled humorously. ‘Let’s have a look at it before we do anything rash.’ He draped the gown around Brian’s front, before opening up the toolbag and setting out the various instruments on the counter. ‘I’m Jim by the way.’

‘Brian. The smug twat sitting over there is Roger.’

Said twat pulled a face. ‘Oi!’

The first thing that struck Brian was that this fellow didn’t appear to recognise them at all. They chatted about nearly everything except music; and when the conversation turned to work and Jim asked what Brian did for a living, the guitarist was certain that someone was pulling his leg. Had Miami really managed to find the one barber in London who had no idea who Queen was?

‘We’re musicians.’ He replied, glancing in the mirror for any sign of recognition in Jim’s eyes. ‘We actually have our own band. Ever heard of Queen?’

The barber frowned slightly in thought. ‘Queen? Sorry, doesn’t ring any bells. I’m not really up to date with today’s music. Does your band perform locally?’

‘On occasion.’

‘Had any success?’

‘We do alright for ourselves.’ Brian glared at Roger as the drummer sniggered in the background.

‘Good news.’ Declared Jim, after ten minutes of fiddling about with Brian’s forest of curls. ‘I should be able to shift this with a bit of conditioner. No cutting needed.’

‘Are you serious?’ Brian could have kissed the man if he was that way inclined. ‘Mate, that’s fantastic.��

Jim excused himself to go into the back room, oblivious to the pair of narrowed blue eyes that followed him, studying every step. Roger, who had been silent throughout the exchange between the other two men, suddenly twiddled his fingers together like a Bond villain and quietly muttered, ‘queer.’

Brian stopped fussing with his hair long enough to turn towards him. ‘You what?’

‘Him.’ Roger pointed towards the door that Jim had just disappeared through. ‘Queer. I’d bet the Red Special on it.’

‘Roger, you can’t just go around calling people queer.’ Brian could feel his face heating up, praying the Irishman didn’t have sharp hearing. ‘Besides, how the bloody hell would you know if he’s queer or not? It’s not like he has it written on his forehead.’

‘Trust me, I know these things. Call it a sixth sense. Saw it coming from a mile away with Freddie.’

‘Did not.’

‘Did so, Brian. Unlike you, this sort of thing doesn’t fly over my head.’

Brian rolled his eyes. ‘Alright, let’s say he is queer. What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? He’d be perfect for Freddie.’

‘Seriously, Roger? You want to play matchmaker now? How exactly is he “perfect” for Freddie?’

‘He looks like Burt Reynolds, he spent ages gushing about his pet cat, and it’s pretty obvious he has no fucking idea who Queen are. Freddie’s always been a sucker for the average Joe.’

Brian opened his mouth to argue. Then he closed it again, immediately. Roger was…pretty damn spot on.

‘I say we get Freddie in here to meet him.’ Roger murmured, as Jim returned from the back room, bottle of conditioner in hand.

‘Sorry for the wait.’ The Irishman poured a dollop onto his palm, before carefully working it into the gum-infested locks. ‘Let’s see if we can get this bugger out.’

No less than five minutes later, the gum had been safely removed and Brian was a free man again. Miami had already covered the cost for the cut, but Brian insisted on leaving Jim a tip, eternally grateful that his pride and joy was still neatly intact. Maybe Roger had a point; Jim seemed like a decent bloke. Calm, friendly, ordinary in an endearing way. Broad and muscular like Freddie preferred, though not overly tall (though everyone was dwarfed in Brian’s presence.) And now that he thought about it, he did look a bit like Burt Reynolds…

‘You wouldn’t be able to do us a favour, would you Jim?’

‘Just name it.’ Jim replied, still staring gormlessly at the fifty-pound note in his hand.

‘We have a friend who’s in desperate need of a trim.’ The lie fell off Brian’s tongue so easily, it almost made him uncomfortable. ‘Would I be able to arrange an appointment for him with you next week? It would have to be after hours again, but-’

‘No problem.’ Jim quickly came to his sense and shoved the money in his pocket. ‘I can put him down for Friday if that works?’

‘Perfect! See you then.’

He all but dragged Roger out of the salon, wading through the small crowd of fans who had congregated outside the building after being tipped off about their presence, and quickly diving into the car waiting on the curb.

‘Not one word.’ He said between his teeth, as Roger flashed him a smirk that said, “I told you so.” (1/2)

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

First of all, I am so sorry for posting this so late! I had a really busy day, and haven't had a moment to myself until now.

And now...

I FUCKING LOVE THIS! The earlier drabble by another anon was wonderful, and this one is equally good!

Lmao, I loved this line:

Brian motioned to the wad of gum stuck in his curls. ‘Going to need to take a chunk out of my head, I’m afraid. This one over hear thought it would be funny to use my skull as a school desk.’

Hahaha this was so damn funny, and sweet and oh god simply amazing!

(More drabbles by writer anon)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #anon writing #alternate universe

9 notes · View notes

renaerys · 3 years

Text

PPG One-Shot: Mall Santa (Boomer/Mike and Brick/Blossom)

Summary: To earn a little extra cash over the holidays, Brick, Mike, and Boomer agree to help out their buddy Todd at a Mall Santa gig. Shenanigans ensue.

This one is for @snailbutters, @genovah, and @hanaokm. Merry Christmas and happy holidays! Enjoy some Boomike, Blossick, and Capri Sus on me.

[Cross-posted to AO3]

xxx

There were a lot of things Todd needed: a haircut, for one. His black hair was getting too long for gel and it was really pushing the boundary between greaser sexy and sad trash hobo. Money, for another. But like any other 21-year-old townie with a high school education and two restaurant jobs, he always needed money.

A new best friend, for yet another.

“I’m not your best friend,” Brick snapped as he tied a black tie around his neck. He needed to leave in ten minutes if he was going to be early for his dinner meeting with Oliver Morbucks.

Todd put a hand over his heart like it might fall out of the wound Brick’s words had stabbed there. “Dude, of course you are. I’m totally sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea.”

Brick grimaced so hard he was sure he’d end up constipated. “No, you idiot. I know you think I’m your best friend. You’ve never shut up about it, even after we graduated high school. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking Peninsula knows it the way you go around shouting it when you’re blasted.”

Todd looked like he’d just received news that his favorite nana wasn’t dying of cancer after all. “Oh, cool. For a second there I thought I really hurt your feelings. You know you’re kinda sensitive, right?”

Oh god.

“What do you want, Todd? I have a really important meeting and I’m not missing it for your bullshit.”

Brick checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror in his one-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville. It was a shitty hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but Brick was used to squalor. His break was coming, he could feel it. If tonight’s meeting went over well, he’d have a more steady revenue stream and, more importantly, the connections and clout the Morbucks name brought to open doors. All the long days at Red’s Auto Shop saving and scraping by would finally pay off, and just in time for Blossom to graduate from college. It was perfectly planned, meticulously manipulated, all down to this last pivotal dinner.

“Cool, no big deal! I just need to know if you’re free this weekend.”

“Free to do what?” Brick indulged him, because Todd was one of the few people on this planet who wasn’t 100% intimidated by his very presence.

“To help me with this Mall Santa gig I got. Harry Pitt was supposed to be my number two elf, but he ate some bad prawns and they had to, like, airlift him to Citiesville General.”

Brick stopped everything he was doing and glared at his second-to-best friend, which was a key fact because second was not the same as first. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I know, right?” Todd knew his way around Brick’s embarrassingly small bathroom, opened up the hair wax, and fixed Brick’s styling job. “Dude always had a weak stomach, you remember. But you don’t fuck with bad prawns. I mean, obviously.”

Brick swatted Todd’s hands away and checked his reflection. It was definitely an improvement. “Not that; the Mall Santa thing, obviously!”

“Oh, yeah. So you’ll help me out?”

“Fuck no.”

“Aw, Briiiiiiick,” Todd whined.

Brick grabbed his dinner jacket from the closet barely big enough to fit a small, starving child. Todd, who had latched onto Brick in the seventh grade like a goddamned barnacle and never let go no matter how hard Brick tried to push him away, followed. “Not if you paid me.”

“You’ll get paid! It’s $20 an hour!”

Brick hesitated over the threshold. “That’s higher than minimum wage.” It was higher than his hourly rate at the garage too.

“Seasonal gigs, man. That’s how you win.”

“It’s seriously fucking not.”

Todd, one of three people in the universe who actually cared about Brick on a personal level even though he wasn’t obligated by blood, made his blue eyes big and wide in a way that reminded Brick of Puss-n-Boots from Shrek, Todd’s favorite movie. “C’mon, bruh. Do your bestie a solid? Just this once? I really need the money and they won’t let me keep the gig without two elves to fill in. So please? Pleeeeeeease?”

And Brick, former scourge of Townsville, a Super with the power to literally raze the planet if it so much as tickled his fancy, and the dictionary definition of the boy every father dreads his perfect, pretty little girl falling for against her better judgment, cracked like an egg.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groused. “Just text me the time and place and get out of my face already.”

Todd punched the air with both fists. “Yes!! Oh, hell yes! I love you so much, dude.”

“Blow me.” Brick checked his watch. Shit, now he was merely on time.

“I’d consider it an honor,” Todd said, probably literally serious.

xxx

Boomer rolled glitter on his cheeks and around the edges of his dark blue eyes with the help of a compact as he huddled behind the North Pole set on the first floor of the Townsville Mall. When he was satisfied that he sparkled like the tinsel-festooned Christmas trees in Santa’s twelve-by-fifteen-foot “forest” themselves, he discreetly re-emerged just as the latest child slid off Santa’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, Dan!” bellowed a red and white-clad Todd behind an enormous, curly beard. “Remember to brush your teeth!”

The little boy ran back to his parents, who were having a word with the photographer about purchasing a picture of their son on Santa’s lap. Before Boomer could follow them, Brick was quick to cut him off.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. Sour as an un-sugared plum in his festive, candy-striped elf costume, Brick may have absolutely intimidated the seven-year-olds waiting in line with their parents for a turn on Santa’s lap, but Boomer only allowed him a bemused smile.

“Why, I was making toys for the good little boys and girls who came to visit us here at the North Pole,” Boomer said in a raised voice. He looped his arm through his brother’s and let his power surge with enough force to turn Brick around and face the crowd that was definitely within hearing range. “Isn’t that right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick pushed back with inhuman force, but Boomer held his ground with a smile as bright as the glitter on his cheeks as a little girl in overalls trotted forward.

She giggled. “I like your hat.”

“Thank you!” Boomer gushed, and he tipped his pom-pom-topped cap. “And what’s your name?”

The little girl giggled again. “My name’s Alynn.”

“Well, Alynn, why don’t you step right up and take a seat on Santa’s lap? I’m sure he has a great present for a cool girl like you. Right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick glared medieval torture at him, and he managed a smile that showed too many teeth to be anything other than life-threatening. “Of course, Elf Buller.”

Boomer’s smile tightened.

“Ho ho ho! Come on over, Santa doesn’t bite,” Todd said.

“What a psychotic reassurance,” Brick said soft enough for only the Super brothers to hear.

“Hey, Brick?” Boomer said, just as softly. “Cheer the fuck up.” He gave his brother a bone-crushing squeeze around the arm and broke from him. Brick could be a sourpuss when he wanted to be (all the time), but he wouldn’t mess up Todd’s Mall Santa gig when he’d bothered to show up and actually put in the effort at all. Complain as he might about Todd’s exuberance, Brick had always come through for his best friend since the seventh grade.

Boomer, on the other hand, had been very happy to accept Todd’s offer to work the two weeks leading up to Christmas. The hours were reasonable, the pay was good, and Boomer loved children. It was easy money in between local shows he and his garage band had booked over the holidays.

Plus, the photographer had a nice rack.

“Okay, Santa, Alynn. Look over here and say ‘jingle bells’!” A flash went off, and Mike Believe stood to his full height behind the tripod he’d set up for the day’s pictures. Even in reindeer antlers and a bright, red-painted nose, Mike filled out every fold of his brown Rudolph outfit almost to the point of popping a button. His broad chest puffed out when he put his strong hands on his hips and grinned brightly like he wouldn’t pick anywhere else to be right now.

Their eyes met, and Boomer flushed and smiled like a fool.

When Mike winked back at him coyly, his heart leaped into his throat. Mike had gotten home from college just two days ago, but the three weeks he had off for Winter Break would surely fly by like they did every year, and Boomer was determined to spend every moment together.

A tug on Boomer’s green tunic drew his attention. “Can I take a picture with you? Please?” the little girl asked.

Boomer beamed and scooped her up onto his hip. “Of course you can. Hey, Mike? Can you take one of us, please?”

“You bet! Get in close, now.” Mike readied his camera.

“Oh, wait a sec. Why don’t you take this too?” Boomer removed his festive hat and put it on Alynn’s head. It was big on her, but she laughed happily.

They posed for the picture, and Boomer hugged her cheek to cheek.

“Thanks!” The little girl tried to give him his hat back, but he pressed it to her chest.

“You keep it. Merry Christmas. Remember to be good, okay?”

Alynn’s father was waiting with a hand for her to take when she ran back to him, yammering about how she’d met Santa and his super cool elf friend, and Boomer watched them go.

“You know you’ll have to pay for that hat,” Brick said.

Boomer sighed and ran a hand through his cornflower hair. “You know I look better without it.”

Brick frowned deeply. “Uh-huh.”

“If you keep frowning, your face will stick like that.”

“Moron.”

He always had to have the last word. Brick went to stack the empty boxes wrapped in bright, shiny paper, which was probably more productive than blowing up the entire display. Boomer left him to it. It was time for their mid-morning break, anyway.

Todd got up to stretch. “Man, who knew sitting could be so tiring, huh? Whack.” His phone buzzed, and he grinned when he saw the caller ID.

Boomer, however, had eyes only for Mike as the latter turned off his camera and put a sheet over the tripod to protect it. “Working hard, I see.”

When Mike smiled, his dark eyes crinkled in the corners. He had a face made for smiling. “Oh, you know. Just helping out some friends.”

Like Brick, Todd had asked Mike to help out behind the camera for this gig. Mike didn’t exactly need the extra cash given his lacrosse scholarship that covered his college expenses, but the three of them had been as thick as thieves all through high school no matter what Brick said when he was annoyed. No way was Mike going to bail on the chance to help out a bro.

“This is cute,” Mike said, running a thumb over Boomer’s sparkly cheek.

“If only I could convince Brick to wear some,” Boomer said, lacing his fingers in Mike’s as they shuffled to the side of the exhibit behind a blinking Christmas tree for a bit of privacy.

Mike chuckled. “That’ll take a Christmas miracle. But anyway, I don’t want to talk about Brick right now.”

Their kiss was soft and mostly chaste, considering the venue, but Boomer didn’t mind at all. He rose up on his toes to lean into his boyfriend’s superior height and smiled into their kiss. Even in the middle of the Townsville Mall with shoppers mere yards away, for a few seconds Boomer got lost in the fantasy of the forest and the snow drifts, bright lights and magic that came around only once a year and had always touched his heart in a way nothing else quite could.

“Babe! You got here quick!” Todd’s excitement and a small commotion around Santa’s throne drew the lovers’ attention, and Boomer reluctantly broke the kiss. His Super hearing quickly picked up on what was going on.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

Boomer smiled wryly. “That Christmas miracle you wished for. Come on.” He took Mike’s larger hand in his and pulled him back toward the front of the display, where Todd had scooped up a very small, very fashionable Asian woman in his arms.

“Oh my god, don’t do shits in front of the innocent children, Toddy.” Hana patted her high bun and smoothed out her oversized black jacket once Todd released her.

“Hey, I just missed you is all,” Todd said with a genuine smile like he had really, truly missed his girlfriend since this morning when they had last seen each other.

“You guys are too cute,” said Bubbles with a giggle. As usual, she was adorable in blonde twin tails and a holiday-appropriate sweater dress. Shopping bags hung from both her arms, also as usual.

“Right?” Hana said, her deadpan façade melting completely as she beamed at her closest friend.

“No contest.” Bubbles set down her small nation of shopping bags. “Oh! Hi, Boomer!” She dashed to hug him in a flash of blue, and he caught her easily. “Oh my gosh, I love your glitter. You look like a supermodel!”

Boomer laughed and hugged her back. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. I really owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, but you definitely need some touching up. Here, let me just…”

Mike had wandered over to Todd and Hana. “Hey, Hana. Are you staying for the holiday?”

Hana shrugged. “Yeah, my art show isn’t until after New Year’s. You know, I’m always looking for more models.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Mike laughed. “I’m honored, but I’m really nothing special, honestly. You might try Butch.”

Todd guffawed. “Oh man, Butch is, like, one of her top models! She painted him for what, six weeks last summer, babe?”

“Seven,” Hana said, dead serious.

Mike smiled nervously. “That’s a lot of inspiration.”

“He is very inspiring,” Hana said, deader and more serious.

“That dude is goals,” Todd said, totally unironically.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Mike said.

“Aaaaand done.” Bubbles stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Honestly? You’re the most beautiful elf the North Pole ever employed.”

Boomer snickered. “Don’t tell Brick that.”

“Don’t tell me what, now?” Brick emerged from his useless empty box stacking task, glitter-less and severely lacking in Christmas cheer.

Bubbles gasped, right on cue. “Brick! Where is your glitter? Get over here.”

Brick made a weird face. “What are you talk—hey!”

Bubbles all but accosted him with the glitter pen. Hana cheered and applauded, and Todd joined in because he liked to cheer and applaud in general.

“What are you—get off!” Brick shoved Bubbles hard, but a flash of pink caught her before she could crash into anything.

Blossom peered around her totally unfazed sister, a tray of lattes in one hand and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. “Brick,” she said.

Brick swallowed. “Blossom.”

She looked nice in leggings and a sweater dress that matched Bubbles’ style, except where Bubbles’ was white, Blossom’s was a scarlet that rivaled the shade of Brick’s eyes.

“I brought you guys coffee,” Blossom said, her eyes trained on Brick even as she held out the tray.

Mike took the tray before it could become collateral damage in whatever was going on between the two of them.

“Here you go.” Mike offered one to Boomer, who gratefully accepted it.

“Thanks!”

“I thought you weren’t getting home until tomorrow,” Brick said, as if he and Blossom were the only two people there.

“Change of plans,” Blossom said. “Problem?”

Brick seemed to remember what he was wearing and snatched his elf hat from his head. He bunched it up between his hands like that would hide his imagined shame. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, clearly. But it wasn’t Boomer’s place to intrude. He would have been extremely happy for it to end there, but sadly Blossom, like his brother, had a flair for the dramatic and an affinity for the center of attention.

She sauntered up to him and smeared the bit of glitter Bubbles had managed to draw on his cheek before he’d shoved her off. “Good,” she said, half an invitation and half a challenge.

Brick didn’t bend easily. Boomer knew his brother as well as he knew himself, and he knew Brick didn’t relent, never gave in unless he was well and truly beaten, which was rare. But he slackened now, lips parting and eyes falling. Even though his arms stayed stubbornly at his sides and he didn’t do something as scandalous as hold his girlfriend’s hand in public, he melted under her touch and attention.

“All right! Bloss, you’re back early! This is massive, like, supernova massive,” Todd said. “Hey, I know! Let’s throw a party at mine tonight! Brick said you weren’t coming back for another couple of days, so this is like a cool early Christmas present to all of us.”

Bubbles gasped. “Oh my gosh, yes! Let’s all go to Todd’s tonight, just like we used to. I’m calling Robin right now.”

“We can make it a real Christmas party,” Blossom said. Somehow, she’d gotten ahold of Bubbles’ glitter pen and now smeared a generous amount on Brick’s cheeks until he gleamed without suffering a nuclear meltdown. A Christmas miracle, indeed.

“You’ll wear the Santa suit,” Hana said. Demanded.

“Ho ho ho! You got it, babe.”

“That thing’s a rental,” Brick said. “And it’s, like, 75 degrees outside.”

“If he gets too hot, I’ll hose him down,” Hana said.

Brick smartly decided not to press her on that one.

“I like your elf costume, Brick,” Blossom teased. Maybe.

“I’m burning it as soon as I get paid,” Brick said.

“I thought it was a rental like Todd’s?”

He hesitated, trapped by his own logic, and she laughed softly and kissed the side of his mouth. Brick froze and played it off like it didn’t affect him, but his eyes were drawn to Blossom’s lips for the next six whole minutes. Boomer really didn’t get why he had to make everything so damn complicated.

“Hey, hombres, our break is up and I see a super cute kid waiting to sit on the softest lap in Townsville,” Todd said, sinking back onto his candy cane throne and patting his lap.

Brick visibly cringed.

“It could be worse,” Mike whispered to Brick. “At least this time we get to keep our shirts on.”

Boomer smiled at the memory of Todd’s last seasonal gig he’d roped Brick and Mike into over the summer. The shirtless carwash had admittedly been one of his more rewarding part-time jobs, and Boomer had the photo evidence to cherish the memory extremely fondly.

Blossom and Hana retreated behind Mike while Bubbles finished up her phone call with Robin and Brick admitted the next child on set.

“Welcome to the North Pole,” he said with all the cheer of an old tire. Nonetheless, his cheeks dazzled. “What’s your name, kid?”

She looked up at him but didn’t say anything. Boomer noticed her shyness and decided he better intervene.

“Hey there,” he said, taking a knee so he could be on her eye-level. “Merry Christmas.”

That alarmed her even more, and she hugged Brick’s leg.

“What the—” Brick put his hands up like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Great.”

The girl’s parents were busy talking to Mike about the picture packages and didn’t seem to notice what was going on.

“Uh,” Boomer said, ready to flag them down before the little girl got scared or started to cry. They’d been lucky this morning with only one child throwing a temper tantrum out of the tens they’d seen.

“All right, kid. I hope you have a good grip.” Brick floated off the ground with the little girl clinging to his leg and flew over to Todd’s throne.

Boomer was so flabbergasted by his brother’s gross disregard for this child’s safety in front of her parents that he was momentarily stunned where he kneeled. It was over in about two and a half seconds, with her parents none the wiser and the little girl still in one piece, miraculously. Brick peeled her off him and dropped her on Todd’s lap.

“Name,” Brick demanded. And then, reluctantly: “…To check you off the Nice List.”

The little girl looked up at him with wide-eyed wonderment, or maybe fear. “Morana.”

“Morana. Super. Tell Todd—I mean, Santa—what you want. And smile for the camera.”

Todd didn’t miss a beat and wrapped his arms loosely around her to hold her safely in place. “Morana, that’s a pretty name. Wanna tell me what you want for Christmas?”

Morana pointed at Brick. “That one.”

Brick turned as red as his messy man bun. Todd wheezed.

“Oh, yeah? Well, that one’s taken, but I bet I can get you a picture together. How ‘bout it?” Todd asked.

Boomer was up and moving in a blue flash. “That can be arranged.” He shoved his brother with a healthy burst of Super strength, and Brick all but fell on his knee next to Todd’s throne. Boomer waved back at Mike for the picture.

“Big smile now!” Mike said cheerfully, and snapped the picture.

“What the hell is up with these kids?” Brick asked when Morana skipped back to her parents and started chattering at them in a language Boomer didn’t recognize but assumed must be all good things from the way she grinned from ear to ear. “They get bolder every year.”

“Or you’re just getting softer,” Boomer teased.

“Yeah, right.”

Blossom laughed at something Hana said on a nearby bench, drawing both their eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” Boomer said.

xxx

Todd’s party was a nostalgic and long-overdue affair later that evening. Unlike Boomer, who had to make do in a small studio apartment on the outskirts of Citiesville where the rent was more manageable and his commute didn’t matter when flying anywhere took only minutes, Todd lived in a big house he took care of for his often absent, globe-trotting parents. Blossom, Bubbles, and Robin had taken the initiative and strung up Christmas lights, while Boomer created and managed the playlist for the night. They had a good crowd with old friends from high school and new ones from work and college gathered for no excuse other than to have a good time.

Butch, Buttercup, Mike, and Todd had set up beer pong in the basement, where most of the festivities were taking place. As usual, the shit talking and macho bravado had soared to ludicrous heights.

“Come on, BC,” Todd goaded. “Money shot, right here.” He fluffed his Santa beard, the ends of which were damp with beer. Buttercup had one cup left to hit.

“I’m about to straight-up tea bag you with this ping pong ball, Todd, I swear to god.” Buttercup tried to focus on her aim after too many beers and the distraction of Todd’s stupid Santa beard.

“Do it, fucking do it,” Butch said, bobbing on the balls of his feet and slightly manic with the competition and holiday cheer, probably.

“I’m gonna fucking do it!”

“I don’t think you can fucking do it,” Mike said.

“Ohhhhh!” Butch hollered when Buttercup lost her temper and threw the ball too hard. It bounced off Todd’s beard and fell on the floor, leaving the last cup untouched.

“Mike, you cheater!” Buttercup shouted.

Mike burst out laughing.

“All riiiiight, the Toddster’s final shot. You filming, babe?” Todd asked.

Hana, across the table from Boomer, had her phone out and poised. “Kick their asses, Toddy.”

“Yeah, bring it on, Toddy,” Butch jeered.

“Oh, it’s about to be brought.”

“Oh god, please, you peaked in high school,” Buttercup said.

“Hey, he plateaued,” Mike said. “There’s a difference.”

“Just take the damn shot!”

Todd shot, hit the rim of the solo cup, and missed. Buttercup and Butch threw up their hands and whooped. They were still in the game, and the stakes were even higher now.

Boomer squeezed Mike’s arm in a silent excuse and went to change the music…only to find Brick and Blossom making out in the hallway like it was their last night on Earth.

The music was fine, he decided. No need to interrupt Brick and Blossom trying to fuse with the wall and face his brother’s cock blocked wrath. Discreetly, Boomer snapped a picture on his phone and texted it to Bubbles.

[Boomer: Shooketh]

Bubbles’ reply was lightning fast.

[Bubbles: More like shattered!!]

[Bubbles: Better get out of there before they catch you lol 💀]

After another hour (and Brick and Blossom’s reemergence from the wall in one piece with not a hair out of place because god forbid), Boomer and Mike decided to head out early. They went back to Boomer’s apartment, where a very excited Pomeranian welcomed them home.

“Hi, Pumpkin!” Mike brightened like the sun and scooped up his favorite girl, left in Boomer’s care while he was away at college. “Who’s ready for a walk?”

They walked Pumpkin and let her tire herself out running around the suburban neighborhood where it was too late at night for any cars to be out. A half hour later, they were curled up on the loveseat with Pumpkin snoozing in her fuzzy bed at their feet and an old black-and-white Christmas movie playing on low volume on the television.

“Hey,” Boomer said, lifting his head from Mike’s chest to look at him properly.

Mike set aside the hot chocolate he’d been drinking and pulled Boomer up by his waist. “Hey, you. What is it?”

Boomer smiled. It was silly, really. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” Mike returned his smile and leaned closer. He smelled like soap, a hint of chocolate, and something else that made Boomer want to bury his face in his neck.

“Just happy,” Boomer said.

“Really? I can’t tell.”

Boomer sat up a little higher. The neck of Mike’s old lacrosse jersey he wore dipped down his shoulder, too big on him and softer than a cloud. He pressed a chaste kiss to the underside of Mike’s jaw. “How about now?”

“Hm, nope, I don’t think I quite got that.”

Boomer threaded his fingers though Mike’s short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Feeling coquettish, he gave his ear a nip. “How about now?”

Mike shifted on the couch and pulled Boomer’s bent legs onto his lap. His voice was as warm as the hot chocolate he’d been drinking. “I think I’m starting to get a vague understanding.”

Boomer laughed and painted a trail of kisses along Mike’s jaw, up his chin. He pressed a strong hand to his chest and put a little power behind it. Centimeters apart, he could taste the lingering heat of the hot chocolate on Mike’s breath. “And now?”

Mike’s eyes drooped and darkened. His hands slipped around Boomer’s waist, under the jersey, a silent entreaty. “I think you can do a little better than that, Angel.”

The secret nickname broke Boomer’s resolve, and he kissed his boyfriend full on the mouth with all the confidence and shamelessness he couldn’t give him that morning at the mall surrounded by children and their parents. Mike’s shirt soon found its way to the floor along with Boomer’s borrowed jersey. The loveseat was too short to accommodate Mike’s height comfortably, and after a few moments Boomer held him close and flew them to the bed in a flash.

“I’ll never get over how hot that is,” Mike said, breathless.

Boomer blushed, unable to help it. He was careful with his strength around Mike, but sometimes the X bonded to his bones pushed him to the raw, carnal boundaries of humanity. Mike’s hand on his cheek drew him out of those spiraling thoughts.

“I mean it,” Mike said. “I love that part of you. And I trust you completely.”

Words did not come easily, nor did they seem appropriate in that moment. Boomer bent to kiss Mike again and pull him as close as he could get. Wrapped up in the warm sheets and each other, Boomer’s silly little thought that he had never been happier grew and swelled to heights he never could have imagined before Mike. They lay there together, lazy and sleepy, as the credits of their forgotten holiday movie played on the television.

“One more semester,” Mike said, “and then I graduate.”

“I can’t believe you’re almost a college graduate,” Boomer said. “It feels like you left ages ago.”

“Four years is a long time, but it’s not forever. And you should get ready.”

Boomer looked up at him. “Ready for what?”

“To move, of course.”

“Move?”

“Hey, I love how cozy your apartment is, but I’m pretty sure Pumpkin would appreciate her own room once we’re living together full time.”

Boomer sat up properly. “You… You want to move in together? With me?”

“Of course! The only question is, where do you want to go?”

Boomer covered his mouth. Of course he had thought about getting a place with Mike, but that always seemed like the distant future. What if they didn’t stay together? What if the long distance was too hard? What if Mike met someone else at college? Brick didn’t talk about it much, but after a few too many drinks one night the year Blossom and Mike both left for college, he’d confessed how afraid he was that he would lose her forever. How can the old be exciting and fun compared to the amazing, new adventures she would be having?

But from the way Boomer had caught them all but absorbing each other at Todd’s tonight, Blossom seemed perfectly happy to keep him. And Mike…

“You’re serious,” Boomer said.

“I’ve never been more serious.” Mike took his hand and kissed his knuckles carefully. “I can’t wait to start our lives together.”

Boomer could have cried. He almost did. Life was hard, even for a Super like him. With endless bills to pay and the occasional monster to dispose of, sometimes he felt like he was being pulled in too many directions without anyone there to help pick up the slack. But this… This was his.

“Me too,” Boomer said. “And I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s together.”

“Well, cool. In that case, if you’re not opposed to it, was thinking farther north, like Metroville. There are some great photography jobs there that I want to apply for, and the music scene is bigger than it is here—”

“Yes! A hundred percent yes, let’s do it. When do we leave?”

Mike laughed. “June 1st, as soon as they hand me my diploma.”

Six months. It had a date now. Unthinking, Boomer threw his arms around Mike’s broad shoulders and hugged him tight. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

“It’s a date.”

Incidentally, they did not get much sleep the rest of that night.

xxx

I told myself I wasn’t going to do a ton of fluff, but damnit all, Boomike is SUPER CUTE and I couldn’t help myself. Let them have the happy ending they deserve. Thanks for reading!

#PowerPuff Girls #powerpuff girls fanfiction #powerpuff girls fanfic #Blossick #PPG Reds #Boomike #Capri Sus #Todd x Hana #Brick #Boomer #Blossom #Todd #Mike Believe #february fic prompts

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Hot Wings and Hot Guys

Stiles works at a femboy Hooters. Officer Derek Hale just wants lunch.

For @loveyprophet

[AO3]

“Remind me again, why do I do this?” Stiles asked, leaning on the varnished wood counter of the bar.

“Because you needed a job,” Lydia said, drying a glass and setting it aside behind the bar. “And because you have a body that rakes in the tips. Seriously, why did you hide all of that—” She gestured at Stiles’ body. “—under layers of baggy clothing for all of high school?”

“Because I was socially awkward and had no self esteem,” Stiles answered honestly.

“Well, take it from me, you had nothing to be shy about then and you sure as hell don’t have anything to be shy about now,” Lydia said, offering Stiles a sweet smile.

Stiles smiled back.

He had to admit, she was right. He had grown a lot, no longer the awkward lanky kid he used to be. He was still lean but his biceps were curved by muscles and his abs were left exposed by the crop top he wore with ‘HOOTERS’ printed across the chest in bold orange letters. His firm thighs were accentuated by the short orange shorts that hugged the curves of his butt.

What’s more, he wasn’t the clumsy, flailing, nervous mess he used to be. He still had a few accidents or bumped in to things, but he never would have thought he’d be able to balance plates and drinks on a tray the way he does now.

He turned and looked around the bar. The walls were covered in wooden panelling that matched the bar that ran along one of the walls. Behind the bar was a wall of glass bottles with colourful labels. There were a few booths in the other side of the room and tables scattered across the open floor.

The bar was pretty quiet during lunch hours and Lydia would let Stiles sneak his textbooks into work so that he could study while it was quiet.

The bell above the door chimed, drawing Stiles back to reality.

He turned to see a young man standing by the doorway.

His raven black hair was cut short and slightly tousled and his strong jaw line was shadowed by a beard. His pale aventurine eyes were shadowed by dark circles, slightly unfocused as he stepped into the bar. He was dressed in the familiar beige uniform of the Beacon Hills Police Department, with a nameplate that read HALE, but the usual brown windcheater had been substituted for a worn black leather jacket.

Stiles stepped back from the bar and made his way over to the man, flashing a friendly smile as he greeted him. He showed him to a booth in the corner of the bar and offered him a menu.

“Thanks,” Officer Hale said quietly, glancing down at the menu for a few seconds. “Can I get a serve of original style chicken wings, a serve of smoky chicken wings and some curly fries?”

“Sure,” Stiles said, writing down the man’s order. “Would you like anything else?”

He shook his head and passed the menu back to Stiles. “That’s all, thanks.”

“No worries,” Stiles said cheerfully. “Coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

Stiles made his way back over to the bar, passing on the order. He picked up a bottle of water and a glass, balancing them onto of a tray as he carried it back to the table. He set the glass down and filled it before leaving the bottle on the table.

“Thank you,” Officer Hale said quietly, his voice drained and lethargic.

Stiles’ brow furrowed slightly in confusion as he turned away from the table and walked back to the bar. He set his tray down on the counter and turned back to look at the man.

He hadn’t so much as looked up since he walked through the door.

Stiles watched him for a moment before turning back to the bar.

One of the cooks called him over, setting the plates of food down on one of the black serving trays.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, lifting the tray and balancing it.

He carried the meal over to the booth where Officer Hale sat.

“Here you are. One serve of original chicken wings, one serve of smoky chicken wings and a late of curly fries,” Stiles said cheerfully, setting the plates down on the table.

The man straightened at the sight of the plates in front of him, like a predator spotting their prey.

“Thank you,” he said quickly, reaching for the first plate.

It looked delicious. The plate of original recipe chicken wings were fired to a golden brown, the fried breadcrumb batter crunching as he bit into it.

The curly fries were crispy and the smell of the freshly fried chips flooded the man’s senses.

The smoky chicken wings were glazed in a deep brown sauce, dripping from the wings and trickling down his fingers as he picked them up. The sauce dripped down his chin, coating his beard as he ate.

He didn’t care how uncivilised he looked; he was starving.

Slowly, the fog of hunger and fatigue began to clear from his mind.

He lifted another smoky barbecue chicken wing to his lips, biting into it as he sat back in his seat and looked around.

His eyes fell upon the waiter who stood a few meters away from him, choking on his chicken.

The young man was bent over the edge of a table as he wiped it down, his short orange shorts tightening around the curves of his firm ass.

Derek couldn’t help it; his eyes trailed down the rest of his body: his firm thighs, the curves of his legs, the moles that charted constellations across his skin like stars in the sky, the dip of his lower back.

Derek coughed as he tried to clear his throat.

The waiter seemed to notice, setting down the cloth as he turned and walked back over to Derek’s table.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, his dark brown eyes full of worry as he looked at the man.

Derek froze, looking up at the young man like a deer caught in the headlights. He felt his face burn bright red as he stared up at the waiter.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling like pools of gold as they caught the light. His skin was as pale as moonlight and a few moles were scattered across his face. He was dressed in a white crop top that stopped just before his abs and a pair of short orange shorts that accentuated his hips, thighs and butt.

He was absolutely stunning.

A moment later, he realised what he probably looked like—sauce dripping down his face, rude and uncivilised—and a feeling of dread settling in his chest.

Stiles let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for one of the napkins on the table and gently wiping away some of the sauce that dripped down Derek’s face.

“Uh, thank you,” Derek said, shaking himself out of his stupor. He cleared his throat slightly. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe how rude I’ve been.”

“Not at all,” Stiles reassured him, offering him a kind smile.

“I just got off a twelve hour shift and I didn’t get a break, so I haven’t had anything to eat since before my shift,” Derek tried to explain. “And I’m so incredibly sorry for how rude I’ve been to you.”

“To me?” Stiles repeated back, slightly confused.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you or brush you off, and I’m sorry if I came off as rude or abrasive,” Derek explained.

“No apology needed.”

Derek bowed his head, feeling ashamed of himself.

Stiles shook it and passed Derek the napkin.

Derek cleaned himself up, wiping down his face and his sticky fingers.

“I’m Stiles,” the young man introduced himself, his face lighting up with a sweet smile.

“I’m Derek,” he replied, holding out his hand.

Stiles shook Derek’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”

Derek returned the smile.

“If you’re still hungry, Lydia makes the best caramel fudge cheesecake,” Stiles offered. “On the house.”

“That sounds delicious,” Derek said.

“I’ll bring it right over,” Stiles said, clearing away the empty plates that sat in front of Derek.

He carried them back to the kitchen, setting them down as Lydia plated up a slice of caramel fudge cheesecake.

“So…” Lydia prompted as she finished plating up the cheesecake and set it down on the black serving tray.

“So, what?” Stiles asked.

“Oh, come on, Stiles. He’s cute and he’s clearly into you.”

Stiles scoffed, screwing up his face in disbelief.

Lydia raised her hands in a mock surrender, letting the argument fall away.

Stiles picked up the serving tray and carried it out to the table. He set the cake down in front of Derek, who thanked him quietly. He returned the serving tray to the bar and continued to clean down the tables, ready for the rush of patrons that would come in a few hours.

When Derek had finished, Stiles gave him the bill.

“This may sound odd, but can we start again?”

“Why?” Stiles asked.

“Because I’d like to make a better first impression,” Derek admitted.

“Alright,” Stiles agreed.

“How does dinner sound?” Derek suggested. “Saturday?”

“I’ll have to see what I’m working.”

“You can have the day off!” Lydia shouted from the kitchen.

Stiles felt his cheeks warm with a blush. He smiled, trying to hide his embarrassment and hold back a laugh as he said, “Saturday it is.”

Derek paid his bill, leaving a very generous tip before heading towards the door.

“Derek,” Stiles called after him.

Derek stopped, turning back to Stiles.

Stiles pulled out his notepad, quickly writing something down before tearing out the page and folding it over.

“You forgot this,” Stiles said, walking over to Derek’s side and holding out the folded piece of paper.

Derek’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion as he took the piece of paper. He unfolded it, looking down at the scrawl of chicken-scratch handwriting that read Stiles, and below it was a phone number.

A soft rosy pink blush coloured Derek’s cheeks as he folded the note over again. He smiled bashfully at Stiles. “Thank you.”

Stiles smiled in return. “See you Saturday.”

Derek’s smile softened as he repeated it back, “See you Saturday.”

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 8

Releasing two chapters today in honour of my birthday! I am officially 23 years old. Oh my God, what the fuck? I feel ancient.

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: I started writing this for porn and now? Look at all this plot. Disgusting! Featuring: the Hulk, more Bruce fluff, and DISASTER PARENTS. It's gonna get worse before it gets better y'all.

My beta, @miscmarvelwritings is the Peter to my Tony. Love you 3000, baby.

The beeping startled me awake, the haze of my recent memory made me very unsettled. Last thing I remembered was laying down on the couch and Peter's admission - the little! Guy! Was! Spider-Man! Holy! Shit!

Beeping intensified and I heard grumbling and shuffling coming from the side of me. A warm sensation engulfed my right hand and I smiled. I'd recognize that hand anywhere. Bruce was in the room with me so I was definitely in a safe place.

Me eyelids parted meeting a set of oddly fluorescent green eyes. Holy fuck, that was no Bruce, it was... But how? His form was slouched in an uncomfortable position over the bed, crease marks on his face. It was Bruce's body, Bruce's face but who held control over it - he was no Bruce Banner.

"No worry, Princess is safe," The voice that left his mouth was much more primal, with an unmistakable growl underneath. He watched me, alert, scanning my face with unblinking eyes. "Bruce asleep now. I keep watch."

I swallowed the unease. "Hi, Hulk, and thank you," Squeezing his hand very, very gently. "Nice to meet you, by the way."

He grinned, all teeth and sharp canines. He looked like a wolf. The look was so out of place on usually gentle Bruce's face that I had to study it, had to memorize that stark difference between Banner and his alter ego. The smile faltered slightly as he closed his eyes. "Bruce waking up now. See you soon." And with that, his head fell onto his arm, dead weight and limp.

His hair was tousled, a curly mess, and he wore the same shirt I remembered him in. Upon closer inspection it still bore minor stains of what I assumed was my blood. It was probably the only time I would get to look at him, really look at Bruce without the fear of being caught, being weird or getting misinterpreted. He was really handsome, the five o'clock shadow silver on his usually neatly shaved chin, his jawline was firm and... He really was beautiful.

His eyes slowly blinked open, the usual colour brown. Noticing me awake, Bruce immediately perked up. "Morning. How do you feel?" He asked, voice croaky and sleep-drunk.

It sent shivers down my spine. "I'm good, nothing feels amiss besides the left part of my face. That's kind of puffy," I admitted, failing to describe the full-and-pulling sensation I was currently experiencing. "I met the Hulk. He was nice." I added as an afterthought. Thought he should know.

Bruce frowned. "He does that sometimes. Sorry."

"No, it's okay. I think, I think I'd like to meet him properly one day," I admitted my biggest curiosity. After all, I've already met real aliens.

Bruce seemed speechless for a moment. "Are you sure?" He stuttered. "He's...a bit much," He parroted my previous comment about my house, much to my amusement. "You sure it's not the concussion talking?" Banner squinted at the monitor at my bedside, avoiding my eyes.

"I'm very sure," I squeezed the hand I was still holding in quiet affirmation. "Besides, he promised to see me soon."

"Oh did he," Bruce muttered darkly but I could see his face brighten nonetheless. "Right, so I'm going to call in Strange and we can see about unhooking you from all these things," Bruce gestured to the various wires and monitors.

True to his word, Strange waltzed in no more than ten minutes after Bruce called him. Seeing me, the usually stoic man began snickering, unsuccessfully attempting to hide his amusement by swirling his cape in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion. I was not impressed, Bruce was not impressed and neither was Tony who walked in shortly after all the wires were removed from my persona.

"So... Is someone going to tell me why is Dumbledore so joyful this fine morning?" I crossed my arms under my boobs.

"You don't remember?" Tony snorted at my negative head shake. "Before you passed out, you demanded cake and said Wizard here looks like Benedict Cumberbatch. To be fair, I see the resemblance, but you...." Tony paused to snicker multiple times. "You managed to butcher up the guy's name multiple times, I swear to Thor, what came out of your mouth was..." The engineer laughed, making a broad and vague gesture with his hands. "What did she say? Bubble-butt Orgy-pants?" He asked Bruce who was as unsuccessful at hiding his laughter as Strange himself. Even the wizard's cape was bouncing.

I wheezed, suddenly coming to a realization. It wasn't a concussion induced lucid dream, I had actually said that. "It's really bold of you to assume I can pronounce and remember his name while I'm sober," I said. "I just call him British-guy Funny-name." Tony cackled at that, giving me a hearty thumbs up and ungracefully plopping down at the foot of my hospital bed.

"How do you feel, Buttercup?" He was looking earnestly at me now, his sparkling brown eyes big and round and worried.

I had to distract myself to keep from literally face-planting into his lap then and there. "Good, actually." Tony nodded happily, and I raised my finger. "But for the record, Doctor Strange..." I addressed the man who turned to me expectantly. "Please don't get pissed off, I have a request..." He nodded warily. "Don't shave? I mean, now that I can clearly see the resemblance between him and you... Please don't shave off the beard or you'll look like an angry aardvark."

The men in the room gaped, most of all, Stephen - his face was somewhere between resigned suffering and surprised disbelief.

"Angry... Aardvark..." Tony fuckin' WHEEZED. "Fuck a duck..." The engineer clutched at his stomach in an obnoxious fit of laughter, Bruce was snorting too. "The fuck is an aardvark?" The lone word seemed to have a magical effect on Tony, increasing his laughter with every time he repeated it out loud.

"Duly noted," Stephen nodded with as much seriousness as he could before cracking a reluctant smile. "I see that the healing technology Tony developed has worked well, if judging only by your sense of humour returning. Good," With that, he waved his hands about and the puffy feeling from my face disappeared. "I took some liberties and added a healing spell with Loki's help." Seeing my raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "Loki was deeply touched by your kind gesture towards his teammate and offered his help. You should be good to resume your daily activities by nightfall although I recommend you take it easy. And call your mother, she stopped by and instructed me to request you communicate at the first comfortable opportunity."

The mild pity and disdain on Strange's face told me that he was the one who had actually spoken with her. She must've been especially icy and bitter considering I had interrupted her daily routine with getting punched in the face. How inconvenient.

With that, Stephen left me with a parting pat on the shoulder, taking Tony with him - the engineer managed to squeeze a whole hug out of me before being bodily (magically?) dragged behind Strange. I was really uncomfortable with all the attention I was receiving wearing only a thin hospital gown and I told Bruce exactly that - promptly, Natasha arrived with a bag I recognised as my own, an ostrich Birkin that held a cute, soft cashmere loungewear set, some basic toiletries along with a set of underwear and a pair of slippers.

Evidently, my mother packed this bag. Never in a thousand years I would wear a $1200 worth of leisure clothing at a hospital. Even Natasha whistled when I first examined the bag's contents.

"Yeah, yeah, my mother's a bit much," I said, immediately cringing at how obnoxious that sounded.

"No shit," Natasha rolled her eyes. Something told me she'd met her too.

"Wait 'til you see my dad," I replied in an identical tone, disappearing behind the door to the bathroom. It was all very luxurious, extra and overall very Stark. Friday's voice coming from the ceiling made it known that I was still in the tower, the AI informed me of the date, time, weather and the further instructions to follow Natasha after I was done freshening up.

Showers had never felt so good.

I was greeted by muted cheers and a hefty brunch on the common floor. Lots of hugs, too, even Loki paused his brooding to give me an awkward, albeit very genuine embrace. I whispered a thanks for the spell which made the moody god considerably less moody - in fact, he smiled like a child on Christmas Eve. Suddenly, I felt much less out of place with my disaster self.

The pleasant part was done and I geared up to call my own personal curse.

"Hello, mother, it's kind of you to pick up," I started the usual. I could literally feel the confusion and concern of the people in the room piercing my back. "Sorry for interrupting your meeting. Yes, I am quite well now. No, Josh can keep running your errands, I will stay at Mr. Stark's for the time being. Tomorrow morning, probably, don't wait up. I will, absolutely. Oh, is he? Wow, that's amazing. I'm so happy," I chirped. My face was one of the suffering kind. "Yes, dinner on Friday night. Okay-I mean, yes, I will ask. He's actually right next to me." I paused to turn around and look at Tony, mouthing 'she wants me to invite you for dinner'.

Tony's speed was breaking the laws of physics as he snatched the phone right out of my hand. "Hello, this is Tony Stark speaking. You know, maybe you should come over to Stark tower. Yes, the whole family. Thanks, bye." He promptly pressed the end call button right as mother had started her goodbye-have a nice day-live long and prosper speech. "How the fuck do you put up with that woman?" He started at me with a mix of concerned incredulousity.

"She's an acquired taste," I groaned. "You just wait. My dad. I..." I literally had no words to describe the upcoming disaster. Tony had no idea what he just had condemned all of the tower's inhabitants to. "Why am I like this? Why are they like this?" I raised my head up to the ceiling as if the AI living in it could give me all the solutions to my life's problems.

"Get some rest, Princess," Bruce was kind enough to spare me any more misery as his warm, broad hand steered me towards the elevator by the small of my back.

As he dutifully fluffed my pillows and handed me a glass of water and my smartphone, I unashamedly basked in the soft attention I was receiving from the older man. I still felt somewhat groggy; best case, I'll fall right asleep and if the dreamland avoids me, I would browse tik tok and Instagram until something else would strike my fancy. The gentle murmur of him describing the latest lab incident I missed out on and the hands combing softly through my hair were the best sleep aides I could have ever asked for.

Bruce is too precious for this world. Too pure.

Friday rolled in with the force of a pissed off rhinoceros. Dad had flown in on a Thursday afternoon, stopping by the house to drop off his suitcase and happily dangle the keys of a brand new Chevrolet Corvette in front of my face before briefly stopping to ruffle my hair, kiss mother on the cheek and drive off into the sunset to "catch up with people at the studio". Jetlag wasn't a word in that man's vocabulary, he probably snorted a line or three as soon as he stepped out of the airport.

I could carry my groceries in the bags under his eyes. He just waved off any of my attempts to get him some rest only showing mild interest when I spoke about my friendship with Tony Stark, absolutely disregarding the rest of the team sans Captain America and the billionaire himself.

I might as well have been in front of a trainwreck, watching it happen second by second. The moment all three of us stepped out of the elevator onto the tidied up common floor, I had the sudden realization of exactly how much we weren't a family.

We were the exact opposite of that.

My mother, tall and slim and perfectly posed in a sleek blue dress with diamonds glittering around her chin, neck and fingers, her obnoxious greed proudly on display. My father, in his early fifties, well-groomed and fit, in his tight designer pants and a plain white t-shirt under a stylish tweed blazer. He looked ridiculous. Only Tony could pull off something like that (I shuddered. Sigmund Freud sends his regards!). And me, little old me, in my $900 jeans, $1500 Gucci sneakers and a mesh crop top I got at Hot Topic. At least, amidst this mess, my eyeliner game was on point.

I smiled sardonically at Steve who came to greet us. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

"Captain Rogers," My father greeted him with his Hollywood smile.

"Steve," An equally fake and toothy grin came from the superhero as he gallantly greeted my mother and swept me into an unnecessarily tight hug.

Point one, my father smirked. Somewhere in the corner, Wanda made a gagging noise - quietly, of course, I only knew about it because she did her telepathic mumbo-jumbo to make me aware of her stance on this particular matter.

Point two, my mother loudly announced she was vegetarian while simultaneously praising the catering services that Tony used. Clint had enlisted Bucky and Thor to help him cook and now all three were smiling awkwardly as mother spoke about the "incredibly talented immigrant workers".

Point three, dad made it his JOB to brag about my skills and achievements as if he was the one encouraging me to pursue them. It was fair, I suppose, since he paid for it but alas, it sounded a lot less like he was a proud father and more of a "look at what my puppy can do". I had to tip my proverbial hat to Tony and Bruce there, they both began to describe our lab work in such unnecessary detail, using so many long words, even Loki began quietly chipping in with totally random, long, difficult words. Confusion was beginning to seep through the eternally cheerful facade that my dad wore.

Or maybe it was the coke and Adderall wearing off. Who knew.

"Peter?" Came the dreaded question from my mother. I shook my head in quiet despair as Peter visibly cringed at my mother's voice.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"That vile boy has been taken care of," I could absolutely see Natasha saying the same thing and the only difference laid in the fact that I knew my mother wouldn't actually kill a person. She would hire someone to do it for her. "It's really unfortunate my daughter got in the middle of that sort of situation."

Wow. My mother just called Peter a coward. Wow. Tony briefly went cross-eyed with anger.

"Baby, why you bein' so quiet?" Dad, the mitigator that he was, intervened before a real shit storm could start. Which meant, as usual, putting me on the spotlight. It was me between a rock and a hard place: nothing, and I repeat - nothing I ever did or have done was good enough for both of my parents at the same time.

"I'm fine, dad, just chillin'," I replied, pushing my food around on my plate. He hated it when I ate too much, which was really anything more than two glasses of water and a salad. Being around models on a strict avocado and coke diet really skewed his sense of normal.

"Nah, baby, you're brooding," His teasing tone could've fooled anybody. Just messing around with a teenager. "Come with me tonight, there's a party, Billie Eilish is going to be singing. Not my style but you like that weird goth shit, might cheer you up a lil'," Dad joked and everybody around the table smiled happily at last. Everyone except Tony that was - his press-tour smile was still glued to his face. I hated it. It was unnatural.

"No, dad, you go have your old people fun," I rolled my eyes.

"Jesus Christ," I heard mother mutter on my other side but she kept quiet beyond that.

"C'mon, don't be a spoilsport," Dad insisted.

"Actually, we have a project planned up in the lab..." Tony trailed off, attracting confused looks from his teammates and friends. Pete looked at me in pure envy.

"Alright, alright, dad, I'll go with you, jeez," I mumbled, flushing from the sheer amount of embarrassment flowing through me. Partying with your own father, how sad and pitiful is that?

"I'm very upset at you ditching me," Tony poked a fork in my direction but didn't press the matter further. I avoided the looks of my friend's friends. I avoided the hell out of Bruce who kept making his perfect, round puppy eyes and radiating so much kindness and support I nearly choked on my intermittent sips of water.

"Alright, we will be waiting downstairs with Josh, say your goodbyes," Mother announced as she subtly towed my father towards the elevator. He'd had a whiskey too much and felt particularly chatty much to Tony's displeasure. "Thank you again for your hospitality."

As soon as the doors closed behind my parents, the group of superheroes erupted into a confused debate. I saw Tony blankly staring at the ceiling. Bucky cursing. Thor overly calmly talking with Loki.

Beyond caring about anything, my face flamed as I made a beeline for my dad's latest, untouched glass of whiskey (single malt, neat, double) and downed it in one go. The conversation stopped promptly, people eyeing me with visible concern. Steve was outraged.

"No," I announced, stopping any and all questions, slamming the glass on the table and departing towards the elevator that had made its way back upstairs. "Just no." Were my parting words as the doors closed once again on a startled and disgruntled group of superheroes.

Please check your blog settings before requesting to be added to the taglist. I can't tag some of y'all.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @as-i-layhereinyourbed @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01

#party favours #bun writes #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #LMFAO BEING A DISASTER RUNS IN THE FAMILY

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lannister-slings-and-arrows · 4 years

Note

Pedro's character reactions to an unexpected kiss on the cheek from the girl he's been trying to woo forever but continuously got rejected by?

Din is a little flustered when after he hands you a cloth wrapped loaf of that sweet bread you had spend a hour talking about last week you lean over and kiss the side of his helmet. He had given up trying to get your attention after you continuously ignored his offers to spar. You had made it pretty clear to him that you just wanted to be friends- hadn’t you?

Whiskey has been trying very loudly, very obviously, very obnoxiously to get into your pants since Tequila had introduced you a month ago. Honestly, under any other circumstance you would have given in already, the man was exactly your type and office gossip said that that lariat wasn’t the only thing he knew how to handle. But you were new to your supervisory position and you had a team of three young female agents working under you to whom you were determined to give a good example. And that meant no giving in to that cowboy and his cheesy pick up lines and dazzling smile. Until one of your girls got herself into some trouble on a mission with Whiskey and Tequila and instead of charging in to fix it, he grabbed the back of Tequila's collar and stood off to the side to let her handle it herself. She emerged from the fight with only some cuts and bruises and a cracked rib, but smarter for it and with the kind of confidence in her abilities that only comes from hands on experience. So you cornered him as the three of them stepped out of the plane and kissed him. You figured he deserved some kind of reward for his help. What you were not expecting (but what you really should have been, this whole situation was on you and your own stupidity) was for Whiskey to blink down at you stupidly and watch as you smiled politely at the other senior agent and start to walk away. What you also did not expect was to hear a ‘swish, whooshing” sound and for your arms to suddenly be pinned to your sides. You looked down to see a lariat wrapped snugly around your middle and you sighed and rolled your eyes. You were tugged gently backwards and rather than fall on your ass and be dragged- which you were sure he would do- you complied, and found yourself face to face with a grinning cowboy. “There now, little lady, that wasn’t so difficult was it?” You tried, and failed, to put your hands on your hips and heard snickers from behind you. “I hope that wasn’t the last of that sugar you were planning on giving out, honey, or I’m going to be mighty disappointed.” You sigh, unable to resist smiling back at the grinning idiot in front of you. “Let me go and I’ll see what I can do Jack” you bargain. He shakes his head and tips his hat back with his free hand. “Now, sugar, a this cowboy knows not to let his catch go without some much stronger assurances”. You step closer to him, you can feel the heat he radiates and smell his leather, spicy scent. He grabs the rope around your middle and hauls you against him, wrapping his arms around you, holding you up right. “I knew you couldn’t resist me forever baby.” You know you should shove him away, make him wait longer for a smart remark like that but frankly, this has gone on long enough and you don’t want to. You allow him to pull you up on your toes so he can bend down and kiss you properly. You’ll get him back some other way soon.

Oberyn grabs your wrist as you turn to walk away and drags you back to his side and into his lap. “Now was that so difficult” he asks, a slow and sultry smile on his lips. You blush and try to look away but a long and elegant finger turns your face back to his, and once your eyes meet his eyes you can’t look away- they’re as mesmerizing as the snake’s he takes his name from. “It wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to not return the favor, and not only that,” he pauses, his face a breath away from your own now. “Since I have looked forward to this for so very long, I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure for all the gold in Casterley Rock.” He kisses your cheek gently, first one, and then the other. His lips are soft, full, and you feel only a hint of a scratch from his beard. Its tantalizing and you want more, that feeling is just this shy of not enough, and he pulls away with a smile. You frown at him and he laughs, hugging you closer to his body and leaning back in to press feather light kisses on your chin, your forehead, and then the tip of your nose. He then releases you, puts you gently off his lap and walks away with a bow. “I hope you have a pleasant evening, my lady.”

Ezra smiles softy at you and just stares. For a full minute he says nothing, and while you’re sure he has been quiet for longer since you made his acquaintance two months ago you can’t think of quite such a loaded silence as this. You were about to break the quiet with a rough joke or something when he placed his hand on your arm and squeezed gently. You looked up to find him smiling brightly down at you and you resisted the urge to sigh in relief, instead choosing to grin back. Maybe a quiet Ezra wasn’t always an indicator of trouble.

Catfish blushes. Like the kind of blush that you thought only happened in Loony Tunes cartoons. His whole face turns red underneath the patchy scruff that had scratched your lips. The friends he had introduced you to (you were positive those were not their real names- Pope you might accept but no one would actually name a kid Iron Head) had been teasing him about his homebody ways since his daughter had been born and you could see it was bothering him. You kind of thought they were being jerks so you did the first thing that you could think of to make them stop. The silence that followed your kiss and “hey babe, I’m gonna go grab a beer you want something?” was almost too comical for you to keep a straight face. Fish managed a quiet “no thanks” and touched your arm briefly before you made your way to the kitchen. All was quiet and then you heard a muttered remark from the curly haired guy- promting hard laughter from the group of men. They were poking fun at Fish again. Jesus you can’t win with buttheads like this can you, you thought, rolling your eyes and returning to your seat on the arm of Catfish’s chair.

Tovar pretends to be annoyed. As usual. He “harumphs” and glowers at the trees surrounding you and you laugh and walk ahead of him.

Max- you know when a dog is begging to go play outside and is just sitting there staring at you and you finally turn your phone off and like, he just lights up and looks at you like yes? Yes? Finally?? And is just so sunshine and thrilled? That’s Max. It’s almost annoying enough to make you regret it, which you tell him, which only makes him laugh and continue to be disgustingly positive about it. (Note, this is you don’t know he’s a vampire Max. The scenario changes completely if you’re in the know.)

Javier is frustrated. After weeks of trying to get into your pants, you decide now, of all times, while you both are being SHOT AT is the perfect time to distract him with this? You grin, lean over and kiss his now stubbly cheek before standing and laying down covering fire for Steve and Carrillo as they go charging through the narrow room. And all he can do is just sit there. Surprised and frustrated. Women.

Maxwell had been trying to get your attention since he saw you in the elevator two months ago. Every day it was expensive gift after expensive gift, nothing had worked and he was getting more and more frustrated. Was that diamond tennis bracelet not nice enough? Did you not like the show he’d managed to get those tickets to? What was he doing wrong!? So when you finally looked up at him with a smile and stood on your toes to kiss his cheek when he handed you a cup of coffee (just the way you liked it- he had been practically stalking you for two months, it did have its advantages) that one time the whole office had to stay a few hours longer than normal he was a little confused. After all this time and effort all he really had to do was bring you coffee? Seriously?!

#ask and ye shall recieve #din djarin #maxwell lord #catfish #frankie morales #francisco morales #tovar #javier peña #oberyn martell #agent whiskey #jack daniels #max phillips #ezra #hcs #imagines #pedro pascal

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Holy Milkshake (Walter Marshall x you) (with visuals)

MASTERLIST BLOG

Characters: Walter Marshall x You

Summary: For you, ‘taking the sinner to church’ would be possible. But, not for Walter. He knew everything about you, even with the way you think that he’d taken methods of setting up a tracking device to follow you; getting him infuriated to see you having a ‘little date’ with the stalker who has murdered his exes.

Warnings: Blasphemy. A twisted stalker. Reader being sly, also naughty and not asking Marshall for help. Date rape drugs mentioned. Suggestive content in the end. Ahem. The use of the word brat. OC named Vergil. You can imagine whoever you want for Vergil.

Words: 1,5k +

A/N: OOF! PAPA BEAR MARSHALL! This is my first oneshot/drabble for him! I’m sorry if this look rushed! I’ve written this for only an hour and a half. This was supposed to be a drabble, but..Surprise! Ahe! I was inspired by the GIF collection of Demivampirew, which resulted for a oneshot. Mwohahahaha.I don’t even know how it ended up with Marshall sounding like a zaddy in this one. Oof!

Taglist: @fangirl-inthe-us @rahdaleigh

REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE IT A LIKE, IF YOU’VE LIKED THIS SHORT ONESHOT! THANK YOU!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Credits to Demivampirew for the GIF collection.

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Banana fudge milkshake.

It surprisingly tasted too sugary with every sip as your friend chattered for about an hour already since the moment you agreed on the so-called date you despise of.

The drink piped through the pillows of your lips. Your mouth wrapped on the red and white striped straw that didn't help the slight quiver of your mouth; used as a pacifier to soothe those agitated nerves you had as you were sitting before the 'friend' you thought who had no malicious intentions.

Maybe, it was a bad idea to never inform your boyfriend who could maintain the rounds of psychotic men with handcuffs and rails as a way of dealing the whole rendezvous you've planned to make.

Everything was going smooth. Probably, only an ounce of squeezed up faith as you could see the light and where this was going. If only you could start and try to slide in the conversation he somehow didn't want you to interrupt on; talking about how he was so happy to have a date with you, all those bullshit of beating around the bushes then the real discussion will surely go north.

Until, you've seen that familiar sweater who slid on to the chair beside the criminal named Vergil; the whole 'take the sinner to church' was definitely traveling down south to jail because of his sudden appearance.

You've choked on your own milkshake and coughed out some that went straight to your throat at the image of your tired, roughly bearded, curly haired police officer; sitting his sinewy, wide back on the chair with a tight, disappointed frown.

Well, someone looks mad.

"You're one word away from being tackled to the ground," the man beside him jumped from his interruption, making the chair shriek from being shocked at seeing Marshall sat beside him, all brooding and serious.

It was an ear-piercing sound that caught some of the diner's attention. You've given them a tight lipped smile before they went on to their daily activities and conversations inside the restaurant as you looked rather safe especially that Marshall was already with you.

Your boyfriend continued to give you a glare, his perspective solely on what he was seeing in front of him. His precious little lady sitting in the same table with her perverted stalker. He definitely couldn't believe that you've taken it too far, trying to help this person to change when it needed stones and brutal punishments or long life realizations for a rotten man like Vergil.

Walter was undoubtedly disappointed and furious.

His bright Cerulean eyes were sharp, brutal and piercing as he continued to focus on you, "Your car has multiple bags of heroin and drugs that can tranquilize people if taken in enough dosage---fucking date rape drugs," though, the message was sent to Vergil who was beginning to shit bricks as soon as he'd seen the gun tucked in Marshall's pants.

Walter grabbed onto his hand cuffs, abruptly throwing them on the table as he continued to spit fire. Shoulders tense and his expressions livid, "It's either you put these on," he hissed after throwing the cuffs towards Vergil, his eyes fixated on you as it was silently telling you how displeased he was for your acts, "---or I'll do it myself. But, you'll regret it."

You've let out a sigh. Deep inside, you were relieved because he would save you from Vergil's annoying chatters but somehow irked to know he had you tracked or have given you a tracking device to soothe his protective and utmost crazy antics for trying to keep you safe; out of harms way.

"You were following me, Lovey. Where's the tracking device?"

Your boyfriend gave you a scornful, tight lipped smile. A sudden change of his features that got your heart racing on how attractive he still was for getting his pants in a twist from your shenanigans.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

A grin was sent to him, "My milkshake brings all the boys to my yard?" and you couldn't help but motion for both men who sat before you with Vergil obviously trying hard to think of an escape plan.

He'd faintly shook his head in sheer disappointment.

"Funny." Walter gave a sluggish, nonchalant response as he rolled off his shoulders, leaning his crossed arms on the table as his anger was boiling in a temperature that tells; you were in a much more danger than having lunch with your stalker, "This guy over here---" he gave a curt nod to his side, "---This perverted asshole has retrieved belongings from you---some definitely personal items and you think he'll read a bible or repent over the women he killed if you calmly tell him all about it?"

You fidgeted and chewed the straw in your mouth, watching Walter seethe and heavily sigh from your response, "People change."

"Not dumbfucks like him, sweetheart." he spat, jaw clenching to the extent of seeing the muscles in his neck strain.

Marshall briefly gave him a glimpse as he called out the elephant in the room, quickly regretting because of how he wanted him to rot in the jail for years or forever, "---Don't you, Vergil?"

Vergil began to shake his leg as he sat, nervous and utterly anxious for what was about to come. His face turned red in rage, breathing staggered as he gave you glare; feeling betrayed when he should've been scared for his life because you knew his secretive, twisted habits. Stalking his target, knowing their houses and where they lived, grabbing onto personal things that his target loved using or wearing; panties, bras and those sorts before finding ways to befriend you till he could manipulate and end up loving you up until the point that he could kill for you.

The toxic type of love that seemed to be out of hand in which he has murdered his exes due to jealousy and other unreasonable explanations.

"I knew it! I fucking knew you were plotting this whole fucking thing with your fucking bodyguard over here---"

Marshall gave him a grumpy retort, "Boyfriend is a much more better term,"

Vergil's forehead was popping out veins as he exclaimed, thoroughly in fury for what you've brought him in, "Your boyfriend's part of the police force!"

You languidly blinked back, sipping on the last bits of your milkshake. Did he really not know that he was part of the police force? you puckered your lips at the silent thought; droning as you went on in admiring how you've raised Walter's hackles.

"---He cares and just loves me too much. He followed me. Didn't text him, tho. But, I assure you. He's no twisted stalker like you, Vergil. You certainly need to rot in hell,"

Walter knew you were liking this whole safeguard thing. It was all an act from you because he could see the tiny flicker of mockery in those beautiful eyes; knowing that you've gotten under his skin from the sudden tea party you've worked on.

Though, a pity party for you.

Walter gave him a glance, nodding towards the door where two police officers stood and waited for the catch, "Now, you'll meet two men out on the threshold. In less than one minute, if you're still here planning on kowtowing to lessen the punishments then you're a dunce."

Your boyfriend eyed him sternly, motioning for the handcuffs that rested on the table; saying its hello to its new capture, "What will---what---"

Vergil stammered and shakily took the handcuffs in front of him, scoffing when he heard Marshall grumble with a knowing tone of his that poured a little bit of his accent.

"You're under arrest for fuck's sake. Not quite complicated to understand, isn't it?"

Once the stalker was out of sight, being harshly taken by your boyfriend's co-workers; you couldn't help but emit a shaky breath, palms sweating a lot more than it ever did when Vergil was around because this time you were enthusiastic of what was about to happen in between an enraged police officer and his deceitful little woman.

"Oh, Lovey."

You've heard another set of metal chiming against each other. Yet, this time; the handcuffs were thrown towards you. His face etching in complete seriousness and disappointment. Though, inside those ocean eyes, you knew there was a hint of mischief and passion.

"Put these on." he rasped in full authority, his beard looking so inviting for wanting a short visit in between your throbbing heat since the moment he came to interfere.

"---Because you've been bad, sweetheart," pause. "---and I have zero patience for brats like you,"

You squirmed against your seat, hastily grabbing onto the handcuffs thrown on the table with a grin on your face, subtly looking outside to see your boyfriend's truck parked at the far distance before plucking the manacles off the table and sliding off the seat; with your lieutenant paying for the lunch he loathed, feeling his eyes heavy and thoroughly deprived of seeing your face after nose diving in murder cases he had been working on for weeks.

Marshall hated to see you leave. Those peepers trained on how you've dramatically swayed your hips while you waved the cuffs in the air.

But, he loved watching you go with that naughty derriere snapping from side to side.

THANK YOU FOR READING! STAY SAFE WHERE EVER YOU ARE, BB’S! Watch out for people who have wicked intentions for you! Don’t trust easily!

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