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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 1 month

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I Got You Babe - LN

Request from @tommienoir - lando takes reader with him to karting in bahrain. She watches from the stands as he films with the 2019 rookies. He's tired (inspired by the clip where he looks really sleepy as he watches oscar kart) and reader notices and goes to him to ask if he wants to leave. Reader run her hands through his curls and he gives her a loopy smile. But eventually they leave and lando falls asleep on her lap on the way to the hotel (cue cute fluff)

PS I know what clip you mean, but I like the gif of all three drivers so I wanted to use it for the image.

Also it's short, but I hope that's ok.

Y/n is like anyone else who is a fan of F1, she looks the 2019 rookies content. But recreating a karting race, y/n is rooting for them.

They spends quite a while bickering about qualifying before finally getting on with the race.

It's fairly obvious who is playing into the entertainment (Alex), who is there to just win not caring about entertainment (George) and who has the worst engine (Lando).

The race itself has everyone laughing as they watch from the sidelines. George's engine does him the favour, but Lando and Alex lose interest in playing fair with their disadvantage and begin cutting entire parts of the track only adding to the entertainment.

Lando gets the win and points at y/n shouting "this win is for you baby". Y/n just laughs shaking her head before they begin to bicker about who actually won with George calling for penalties.

Lando is generally the quiet one when it comes to the three rookies. Maybe because he's the youngest, or just because that's how he is. But when Alex and George begin to bicker about George's engine, Lando gives up and moves over to y/n.

"It's going to be a late one." Lando mumbles earning a smile from the young woman.

"Yeah, it's looking that way, isn't it?" Y/n smiles before she kisses him softly. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah...when Alex went over the gravel it kicked a rock up and hit my neck." Lando mumbles making her frown before almost aggressively pushing his head to expose his neck.

"Lando...that looks sore." Y/n grimaces then sighing softly while he hums wringing his nose a little bit.

He's eventually called back over to them, giving her a quick kiss before he takes off and y/n sighs feeling like there's something off with the man. He just seems...off and like he's not really in the mood to be here.

They finish up and Lando ends up moving to watch the McLaren team in their bonding karting session with Oscar. Y/n sighs as she moved quickly to jog over to the post that Lando has perched himself on.

"Hey, baby." Y/n smiles handing him his water bottle. "Are you-Oh-"

Lando places the bottle down and pulls her close and nuzzling his face into her tummy through her top.

"Baby?" Y/n frowns running her hand through his hair.

"I'm so fucking tired." Lando groans earning a small smile before she laughs and continues playing with his hair. "I'm not leaving till the team wrap up."

"I think they wouldn't mind if you wanted to leave early. They've seen you." Y/n tries since Lando is never really like this. His mood can shift sometimes but never because he's so tired that he just feels it like this. "Come on, there's no point in getting all caught up in it. Let's get you to the hotel."

Lando sighs but nods and follows her from the perch, heading to the team that isn't out on track. They exchange goodbyes and Lando tells everyone to enjoy the rest of the evening before they head off.

There's someone else driving them so Lando takes the opportunity of lying his head in y/n's lap as they drive. Her hand automatically goes to his head her gaze mesmerised by watching herself play with his curly strands of hair.

When he relaxes down against her, she smiles knowing he's without a doubt fallen asleep on top of her. Especially with the sensation of his hair being played with. She might as well have just pressed an off button on him.

Y/n sighs looking at him for a moment as they pull up. As much as she'd love to have his ability to just pick him up and carry him like he does with her when she falls asleep, she can't.

"Lando, baby. We're at the hotel." She states moving her hand to rub his arm a little thankfully stirring him and successfully waking him up from his sleep.

She does manage to drag him from the car, thanking the driver and any time that they stop, like waiting for the lift and waiting for her to open the door. Lando is leaning on her from behind, nuzzling his face into her neck at any opportunity before she finally guides him to sit down on the bed.

"Alright, rockstar. Let's get you ready for bed." Y/n smiles placing her palm on his forehead when he goes to lean forward and nuzzling into her stomach again, instead pushing him back so he's lying on the bed with only his legs hanging off of the bed as she reaches her hands to undo his jeans.

"Well I'm awake now." Lando states with a small but still very tired smirk.

"Perv."

"You're the one undressing me."

"Yeah, and you're the one too tired to actually get excited about it." Y/n laughs finally getting his jeans off with a couple yanks then sitting him up and pulling his t-shirt off. "Alright, just need to brush your teeth and then we can curl up...you can go to sleep. I' going to find something to binge watch for a bit."

"Not tired?" Lando frowns looking almost confused as to how she's not tired.

"Not yet. But I wasn't karting and bickering with other people." Y/n laughs then moving to kiss him lightly. "Come on, stinky."

"Stinky?" Lando snorts as she turns for him to follow only for her to have her ass slapped.

"Ah, Lando." Y/n giggles making a grab for both his hands to prevent any further smacks.

"We'll have a quick shower since I'm so stinky."

Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03

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justmeinadaze · 7 months

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I Have Nothing (If I Don't Have You) Part 6 (Steddie X You)

Warnings: Security Dom Steddie X Sub (slightly bratty) Singer Fem Reader, SMUT, spanking, dirty talk, slight rough play (they show her a bit more of what they are into), FLUFF, they go on a date through Paris and she shows them around, they do discuss being more exclusive (as if she or they would want anyone else🙄 ), ANGST, slightly so with her talking briefly about being sober and her fears of being in a relationship again.

Word Count: 4812

“Obviously, you’re taking us to the Eiffel Tower, right?”, Steve grinned in your direction as you three walked the streets of Paris.

“Yes but tonight when it’s all lit up.”

The day couldn’t be any more perfect for you and you were the happiest you had been in a long time. You took them around to each place you could think of that didn’t have a long line, stopping at bakeries and little shops to have them taste everything while looking for little trinkets to bring back home.

They seemed to really be enjoying themselves which made you smile. Eddie had befriended a street musician who handed him an acoustic guitar and he sat beside him as they played a couple of songs. You took them to a vintage store where they had a blast looking at the clothes. Steve keeping trying on different hats asking you how he looked. One had a brim that three sizes too big causing you to spit out your water as you laughed at him.

After grabbing lunch, you took them to a park nearby and had a picnic.

“Seriously, I’m going to gain like thirty pounds off of this bread but so worth it.”, Steve chuckles as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Oh, yeah. The food is phenomenal but you have to watch out for the butter and the sauces. Don’t even get me started on the chocolate.” Eddie smiles when your eyes playfully roll back.

“Did you parents show you all these places or did you find them yourself?”, he asked.

“A bit of both. The first few years I came here I basically recreated that vacation but as I wondered the streets I found more places and things to enjoy.”

“Excusez-moi.” A little girl shyly comes up to your blanket holding out a pen and paper. “May I have your…”

“Autographe?”, you smile up at her comfortingly as she grins. “Of course. Um… Quel est… ton nom?”

“Chloe.” She beams in your direction.

“I’m sorry, Chloe. My French isn’t great.”

“It’s…okay.” Her grin grows as you give the paper back to her and lean up on your knees to give her a hug.

“Merci, Miss Y/L/N!”

“Merci, Chloe.”

The three of you watch her as she runs back to her parents.

“That was adorable.”, Steve smirks.

“It was. I didn’t know you had fans that were so small.”, Eddie adds.

“Yeah, that’s another reason I want to be better. I’m supposed to be a role model for them you know?”

“And you are, honey. You’re already doing so much better and we are extremely proud of you.”

***

“Why do I have to wear a suit?!”, Eddie shouts from the bedroom as he adjusts his tie.

“Because we’re taking her to dinner, you idiot.”

“I’m just asking!”

“Plus, this will technically be our first date with her so we should look nice.”

Both men turn when they hear you exit the bathroom and their mouths fall open in shock as their eyes drink you in. Your hair was pulled up into a neat bun displaying a pair of earrings that shimmered when you moved your head. The thin spaghetti straps held up a gorgeous, black, V-neck style dress that just barely touched your ankles. When you nervously shifted your weight, the slit in the fabric exposed your leg up to your mid-thigh showing off some fancy, matching black high heeled shoes.

“What, um, what do you think?”

“You…you…Jesus, I may be underdressed.”, Steve breathily chuckled.

“Eddie?”

“You look beautiful, princess.”

Blushing, you loop your arms into theirs as they escort you out of the hotel. When you three arrive at the restaurant, they watch you in amazement as you talk to the people in charge and an antsy gentleman leads you to a table. Steve pulls out your chair and you thank him as you take a seat.

Both boys straighten up when a man comes out from the kitchen and heads towards you but immediately calm when you smile, assuring them that this is someone you know.

“Miss Y/L/N! It’s been so long, my love! How are things?”

“Things have been rough but they are getting better. Julien, these are my friends AND security, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington.”

They grin as they shake his hand and he returns their smiles with a bright one of his own.

“Who better to watch your back than a friend that loves you, ah? Now, mon amour, should we start with the usual champagne?”

“Oh, no. Um, do you have something without alcohol?”

“Hmm? Oh! How about citron pressé?”

“Sure, I trust you.”, you giggle as you shrug, watching him disappear without asking the guys if that was ok with them. “I have no idea what that is but—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Both men had been starring at you with a cute, goofy smile plastered on their face.

“Nothing. You’re just adorable.”

“It’s nice seeing this side of you to. You really needed a break, sweetheart.”

The rest of the meal couldn’t be described in any other way beside perfect. They talked to you more about some positive things in their lives trying to keep the mood uplifted. Eddie told you about his love for fantasy related things like D&D which made you laugh when the other man rolled his eyes. Steve surprised you by telling you of some movies he actually really liked.

“Ok you can’t sigh aggressively when I talk about sci-fi fantasy shit but then tell her that one of your favorite movies is Star Wars!”

“It’s completely different, Munson.”

“How!?”

“It’s actually not that different.”

“Thank you, princess!”

“But to be fair, George Lucas said he made Star Wars kind of like a western so Steve may drift more towards that then regular sci-fi.”

“Ok, you’re not on my side anymore. Hush.”, Eddie responds playfully.

You did your best to tell them more happy memories with you and your family but you struggled because it hurt. Every time you stuttered through a story, though, one or both of them would reach for your hand and urge you to continue.

After you were done eating, you kept your word and took them to the Eiffel Tower as it was all lit up. The people in charge cut off a section so you three wouldn’t be noticed or bothered which you greatly appreciated.

“Wow, check out that view.” Steve exhaled as he took a few pictures pausing when he noticed your face as you leaned against the railing. “You alright, honey?”

“Yeah. I just wish I could stay here in this moment. I’m having a lot of fun with you two and I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve actually been…happy.”

Eddie’s palm gently reaches out to run down your back before bringing you to his chest to wrap you up in his embrace.

“I know what you mean. Stop me if I’m wrong Harrington but we’ve never felt like this about anyone before. We really like you, Y/N.”

“We’re all in if you are.”

“You barely know me. What if I fuck up again? What if I hurt you? What if…I’m not what you thought I am?”

“She’s doing that thing again.”, Eddie murmurs to Steve as he releases you and leans against the railing. “It’s like her own brand of self-harm…or maybe self-protection?” He raises his eyebrows inquisitively and you quickly shift your gaze. “Ah yes. There it is. She keeps says ‘What if I’ but what she really means if ‘What if you’.”

“Baby, we’re not asking you to marry us or anything. What we’re asking for is MORE nights like tonight. To be able to take you out more and get to know you better and vice versa. We know you’ve been through a lot and still are. We would never push you like they do.”

“And quite frankly, sweetheart, I don’t think there could be any more surprises because you’ve already showed us you’re not who we thought you were originally.”

“Spoiled, washed up singer.”, Steve explains when you look at them in confusion.

“When it comes to the I’s, babe, we got you covered. You slip again and want to run all over Vegas, we’ll come get you. You have one of those moments where you try to verbally hurt us, don’t worry, we got you. We have ropes and handcuffs for situations like that.” You can’t help but giggle when he winks.

“When it comes to the you’s, you can ask us anything and we’ll answer. If there’s something you need or need to know just let us know and we can talk about it.”

Glancing out towards the city, you feel everything run through your brain at once. You knew from the moment you met them that they were different. You trust them with your life so why were you so scared to trust them with your heart?

Because everyone who’s supposed to love you, hurts you…

Do they even love you? They can’t possibly…like you said they barely even know you. I guess it couldn’t hurt to jump in with both feet.

“Ok. Can we…we keep it between us?”

“We honestly assumed you would because of the press and everything.”, Eddie answers with a small smile.

“I think that’s another reason Simon was with me. He liked the attention from the press.”

“Hm. Well, coming from a small town where everyone was in everyone’s business, trust me, we don’t want that kind of attention.”, Steve retorts as he leans over the railing like you had.

Looping your arm through his, you lean your head against his shoulder as Eddie holds your hand and looks out into the city.

##############

“I have a request.”

“Oh lord.”, the metalhead playfully sighs making you smile.

“Calm down, Mr. Munson.”, you giggle. “The other night I asked you two to show me how much you care about me…” They nod when you pause, urging you silently to continue. “Can you show me how to take care of you?”

Both men, who were now sitting on the couch in the hotel room looked up at you now with slight confusion.

“When we first got together, you said you liked it rough. The other night you implied there was more to what you both were into. I want to give you what you want.”

“You do, honey.”

“You really do.”, Eddie follows almost too eagerly.

“I still don’t think your ready.”, Steve sighs as he takes off his jacket and starts rolling up his sleeves.

“Isn’t this all about trust? Not only do I trust you two but you should trust me to know my limits. Well…in this regard.”

The other man takes off his jacket as well, removing his button up shirt underneath along with it now donning a white tank that displayed his muscles and tattoos in a way that had you salivating.

“Oh, come on, Stevie. We can start slow. Maybe we can show her what a punishment would look like. Something small for running away and having us worried.”

Steve sighs playfully as he motions with his fingers for you come closer. As you sit beside him on the sofa, he gently pets the back of your head while they both continue to look at you with nothing but care.

“If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just say the safe word, ok?”

“Ok, Steve. I promise.”

He grins as his hand slides down to your back and guides your body till you’re laying across his lap on your tummy. While he flips up the underside of your dress Eddie runs his fingers through your hair, moving any lingering strands away from your face.

“How many you think, Ed? 10?”

“10 sounds good. I think she can handle that.”

As your stomach tightens into knots with nerves, Steve’s palm soothes you as it runs down your spine and over the meat of your ass. Abruptly, it lifted and came down spanking your behind eliciting a shocked gasp from your lips. He didn’t hit you hard as it was meant to test.

“How did that feel, babe?”

“Um, odd but g-good.”

“Has anyone ever spanked you before?”, Eddie asked.

“No. Not like this.”

“Honey, I want you to count for me, ok?”

“O-O-Okay. One.”

His hand come down much harder and this time you let out a little moan especially after Steve soothes you by running his fingers along the reddening skin.

“Two.”

“Good girl, sweetheart.”

He spanks you twice in quick secession and they both let out a groan of their own as you breathily count them off. Steve tugs down your panties, his hand coming back to travel a bit between your legs as your mouth falls open when his thumb slides between your sex.

“Oh, Eddie. Little baby is so wet right now. I think the spanking doesn’t feel so odd anymore, huh?”

When you didn’t answer, ringed fingers gripped your hair tightly and tugged you back.

“He asked you something, your highness.”

“Feels…good…AH! Five!”, you moaned as Steve spanked you again.

Eddie held a tight grip on you as the other boy began steadily rubbing your clit while occasionally delivering a harsh smack to your ass.

“What number are we on, baby? Wouldn’t want Stevie to lose count and have to start all over again.”

“Mmm—Nine—Please, Steve. I’m gonna…”

You didn’t see it but they smirked at each other as he slide two fingers into your core and rapidly pumped them inside of you. Your eyes rolled as the coil snapped and as you moaned his name his hand came down one final time while you panted out that final number.

“Good girl, honey.”, he cooed as he delicately lifted your dress over your head. “Let’s get this off here.” You keened into his neck as he sat you up and placed you in his lap while Eddie ran his palm along your legs. “Did you like it, baby?”, Steve whispered.

“Yeah, I liked it a lot. Did you like it? Spanking me?”

He chuckles under his breath, trying to stifle the moan that wants to come out at the sound of your little voice. Reaching for your hand, he places it directly on the bulge in his slacks.

“I loved it.” Your eyes flutter closed as his lips tenderly trail up your cheek to your ear. “You like that, pretty girl? You like making us feel good?”

“M-More. Please. I can handle more. I swear.”

They glanced at each other mischievously knowing you were all riled up.

“No.”

“Please! I can handle it!” As you begin to whine they smile and you can’t help but laugh. “You’re messing with me?”

“A little. We’re kind of curious in this headspace how far your brat can go.” Eddie’s grin grows as you climb on to his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Do you want me to be more bratty?”

“I think you’re capable of it. I work with you remember?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Hey. In here, honey, you answer us, not the other way around.”, Steve scolded.

The metalhead tries to keep the upper hand as you grind your hips against his own. His eyes remain heavily on yours as he licks his lips to keep any other sounds from escaping.

“In here, sweetheart, we have control.”

“You do out there to!”, you whine as you point absently outside. “Where do I have control?”

“Stop moving.”, he says sternly.

“Make me.”

His eyes grow dark as the smile he was adorning falls from his face.

“Stop. Moving.”

You falter for a second as his voice and demeanor throw you off guard but you remain steadfast as you continue. Steve laughs from your side before Eddie lifts you up with one arm and carries you to the bedroom.

Throwing you on to the mattress, he holds your down with his palm on your chest as he uses his other to unbuckle his belt and free his cock from its confinement.

“If you want to stop, just tap twice, ok?” When you nod, his fingers grip your hair as he hovers his face above yours. “Ok?!”

“Ok! Yes, sir! Tap twice!”

Steve nonchalantly throws himself beside you as he watches Eddie slide his cock into your mouth.

“She’s so fucking stubborn sometimes. I swear.”

While the metalhead takes over thrusting his length down your throat, Steve is always alert, watching you to make sure you really were ok. They genuinely did trust you would say the safe word if you needed but neither boy wanted to push you that far.

“Fuck, princess your mouth feels so fucking good. With all that fucking sass, I’m not sure she deserves our dicks in her pussy tonight, Harrington.”

Eddie tried to control his eyes from rolling back when he felt you groan around him.

“Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“Please. I’m sorry, Eddie. I’ll do whatever you want. I promise I’ll behave.”, you beg as you shift up to your knees and continue stroking him with your hand. “Please. I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”

Pinching your cheeks between his fingers, he brings your lips to his before firmly pushing you backwards onto the bed.

“Go show Steve how much you’ll behave.”

As you crawl over to the now naked man, you tenderly kiss his stomach making him smile as he strokes your hair. Delicately running your tongue along his slit, he moans as he pulls your hair into a ponytail with his hands and watches you fully take him into your awaiting mouth.

Eddie jostled you around a bit till your ass was fully on display for him and you both whimpered as he guided his cock into your entrance. The warmth of his chest encases you as he leans against your back and kisses your shoulder.

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can take him better than that especially with the way you run that sassy mouth.” Taking over Steve’s hold of your hair, he guides your movements making you gag and drool as the man mewls with pleasure. “Atta girl. There you go.”

Eddie rolls his hips hard, roughly nudging against that tender spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling back.

“Is that the spot, pretty girl?” Pulling your head, he forces you to look at him. “Is it? Right there?” You struggle to form words as he continues to grind against you. “Answer me, Y/N.”

“Ah! Y-Yes, there. D-don’t stop. Please…”

The metalhead grins as he pushes you back down on Steve’s cock before releasing his hold on your hair to grip your waist as he leans back on his knees and pounds his hips into yours.

“G-Good girl, honey. Fuck. You take us both so well.”, Steve coos as he pets your head.

Eddie’s fingers slide underneath you, rubbing fast circles into your little bundle of nerves, driving you crazy in the best way as you throw you head back in pleasure.

“FUCK! Eddie please!”

Ringed fingers wrap around your throat and pull you up to your knees as you lean against his shoulder.

“That’s right, baby. Say my name again. Who’s making you feel this good?”, he murmurs into your ear as he slams into you harder.

“Eddie! I’m…Eddie, please…”

Your hand takes hold of his wrist as your other clings his hair while your arm wraps around his neck. His fingers move faster to match his pace while you continue chanting his name until the ball drops and your body trembles against him as you cum.

“Fuck me.”, Eddie groans, shoving you back down against the mattress and holding your wrists behind your back as he chases his high.

Grunting above you, his rhythm becomes sloppier and you mewl as you feel him release his seed inside of you.

“Good girl, princess.”, he praised as he gradually pulled out of you and kissed any part of your skin his lips could reach. “It’s Steve’s turn, sweet girl. Whenever you’re ready.”

Your head shot up in search for him and as your eyes met his soft ones, his fingers reached out to caress your sweaty face. When you nod, he motions for you to come closer, taking hold of you under your arms and scooting you both up closer towards the pillows.

“Come here, honey. No, the other way.”, he instructs as you started straddling his waist. After turning away from him, he guides you down till your back his against his chest. One of his strong palms holds on to your chest as his other holds the base of his cock and runs to along your dripping lips between your legs. “Jesus. Eddie made you feel real good, didn’t he, baby?”

Nodding, you turn your head to kiss his cheek and he moans as he breaches your entrance, sheathing himself inside of you with minimal resistance. As he thrusts his hips up against you, his fingers move around to massage your nub as the hand on your chest takes hold of tit making you growl in ecstasy.

“Steve! So…so deep…oh god.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, Y/N?” Picking up his pace, the bed begins to move underneath you as he clings to your sweaty, messy frame. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s our girl. Your pussy is just fucking clinging to me, pretty girl, God damn.”

Pushing up, you balance on your hands as your hips push down to meet his.

“Can you see it? My cock disappearing inside of you?”

“Steve, please. Please!”

Tugging on your hair, he pulls you back against him, hugging your tightly as he thrusts into you harder. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room and your eyes roll back as you drag your nails against his flesh.

“I’m…I’m…”

Without warning, he shoves against your back pushing you up and pulling himself out of you, yanking your hips backwards till your pussy was hovering over his face. Roughly, his hands pushed you back down, urging your lips over his cock as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you still as he his tongue devoured you.

Your hips grinded against him as his head moved quickly from side to side causing you to lift your head and scream as you came. As he continued to lick your clean, you bobbed your head around his length wanting him to feel as good as he had just made you feel.

His grunts reverberated in your cunt as he pumped his hips upwards till you felt rope after rope of his spend hit the back of your throat.

Falling to the side, you both panted till Eddie’s voice broke the silence.

“Yeah, that’s cool. Just put your feet by my face.” You giggled as you lifted your leg and touched his nose with your big toe. “Ew, gross. With these beautiful pedicured, toes. Still purple, I see.”

“I like purple and no one is looking at my feet that closely in an arena style concert.”

“Do you want to take a bath, Y/N, or a shower?”, Steve asks.

“I want to curl up into a cocoon and sleep for 100 years.”

“Ok, bath it is.”, he grinned as he rolled over the side and lifted you into his arms.

While he got everything ready, Eddie’s hands lightly gripped your shoulders and tilted you forward. When your eyes shifted to the mirror, you realized he was looking at your behind.

“It doesn’t hurt. I mean, it’s sore but…”

“I figured. I just need to take a look and make sure you don’t need any ice or anything. I’m sure you’ve noticed but Steve Harrington has big hands so sometimes he unintentionally leaves marks that last for a couple of days.”

“Part of the reason I ask questions.”, he winks as he guides you into the water.

“No one has ever asked me questions before or even done any kind of aftercare. I like it. It makes me feel cared for.

“We do care… a lot.”, Eddie smiles as he holds up your hair while Steve continues to clean you.

“Is this normal for you two? The shared partner thing?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘normal’ but we’ve done it before. Never with a client, however.”, Steve sighs.

“So…this could look bad for everyone if people found out?”

Both men stopped moving as they gave you their full attention.

“Yes. And not just because of the press.”

“People may not hire us anymore if they thought our judgment could be altered when it came to protecting them.”, Eddie followed in a serious tone.

“Are you implying Mr. Munson, that your judgment in keeping me safe has now changed?”

“I’m saying, Y/N, I would take a bullet for you but, for example, us keeping you sober isn’t a part of the security job description. If…If you wanted to get drunk right now we shouldn’t have any say in that…”

“Unless it leads to you roaming Paris in your underwear or makes someone want to hurt you.” Steve glances over your serious face. “What are you thinking, honey?”

“I just…I see what you mean. I wouldn’t want either of you to take a bullet or get hurt because of me. I’d rather it be me…”

It had been a while since you saw their eyes shift into this particular authoritative glow. Steve almost too roughly cupped your cheeks in his hands as he forced you to look at him.

“Don’t ever think or let us hear you say that again. It’s our job to keep you safe not the other way around. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, I understand.”, you whisper as your hands takes hold of his wrists.

“Y/N, like I said, we care about you but if your safety is on the line BECAUSE of us then we would end this right here right now.”

You pushed down the urge to cry at the thought of them leaving you. They had done so much for you in the short time they had been a part of your team.

“I promise I won’t interfere. I trust you both to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes flick to Eddie’s for a moment before he kisses your forehead and lets you go.

##########

The following Monday, the three of you were sitting in your manager’s office waiting for him as he burst through with Sarah in tow.

“Well, look who decided to finally grace us with her presence. How was the vacation, Y/N?”, Jack sassed. “I don’t know why you two are even here. You’re fired.”, he gestures towards the boys.

“No they aren’t.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I said no they aren’t and you lower your voice when you speak to me!” Sarah smiled from her seat as the men on either side of you contained their excitement for you. “Jack, I’m tired. You were one of the ones that kept pushing me to get sober and now that I’m trying…I shouldn’t be on tour right now especially not with people like Mark shouting at me every 10 seconds. I need time to really have go at this.”

“Y/N…”, he sighed. “We’ve had this tour set up for months. Now I’ve put up with a lot from you but—”

“But nothing. I’m telling you no. I need a break. I can do interviews and keep working on the album. I can do little shows here but I can’t do a country wide tour right now.”

“Y/N, listen to me. Hear me. If you do this, if you cancel this tour, I will be forced to drop you as a client.”

You straighten up as you exhale, tapping into that sassy girl that resides within you.

“So be it. Sarah? Have you thought about being an agent?”

“Me? Oh, um, I mean…”

“You’re honestly the only person I trust who has always had my well-being in mind. I’ll pay you what I pay Jack and then some.”

She smiles as she glances towards your now former agent.

“I guess I just got a promotion.” You both stand, giving her a big hug before she pulls back to cup your face. “I’m really proud of you. I’ll come by later today and we can talk about a statement for the tour.”

“Y/N, please! Don’t do this! Look, why don’t you sit down and we can talk about this rationally.”, Jack begs. As he reaches for your arm to stop you from leaving, Eddie swats it away.

“I’m sorry, sir. You aren’t allowed to touch Miss Y/L/N.”

“But if you would like to speak with her, feel free to call her agent Sarah to set up an appointment.”, Steve grins as they both follow you out of the office.

#############

@rckstrbee @melodymishahiddlestan @strangerfreak

@siriuslysmoking @micheledawn1975 @cositaslua

@munsonmoonshine86 @unfocused81 @paleidiot

@dad-steddie @aol19 @strngrlytn @mrsjellymunson

@needylilgal022

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otrtbs · 2 months

Text

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ an otrtbs submission for the @sillylovesongsfest ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

prompt: pierre by ryn weaver

jarty croucher | t | 4.1k | slightly sexual themes and recreational drug use

Barty rolls over and groans at the sun-soaked tent he finds himself in. It’s sweltering hot and the thin cotton top sheet of the makeshift bed clings to his sticky skin. The tent is too bright and it smells sour with stale tobacco and weed.

It would be enough to make Barty vomit if there was anything left in his stomach.

There’s sand everywhere.

“It’s so fucking humid in here,” he groans, as his brain pounds against his skull. “I can’t breathe.”

A voice in the bed next to him makes him jump.

“It rained last night, remember?”

Barty turns to see a head of nearly white curly hair fanning out over the blue tarp next to him. A girl, no, the girl from last night laying on her stomach, still half-asleep.

“Fucking torrential.”

Barty didn’t remember. Not really.

The night before was coming back to him in bits and pieces. Alcohol-soaked frames of cognizance.

He remembers fighting with James again. Screaming so loud that his voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy. This time was the last time. Never come back here again. He remembers hearing about some giant rager in the desert. Something about celebrating the blood moon. There were caravans of people and bonfires and music by the time Barty showed up.

He remembers not knowing anyone there. Heard from a friend of a friend. He was a drifter. A party crasher. None of that mattered once he was there though. A group of people pulled him in like they’ve known him his entire life, and soon enough he had a cup of something that burned his throat in his hand and a girl dragging him closer to the fire.

He remembers the brutal sun casting heat waves so violent that everything seemed to shimmer and dance slightly around him. Pockets of sun-induced water appeared just beyond the sand dunes and disappeared by the time Barty walked over to them.

He drank until the sun went down, he took everything offered to him. He sweats out all of the vodka in his system just to down more in a steady stream. He barely recalls the red moon rising high above him, ruddy and ominous.

When the desert got cold, that’s when the real party started.

Some man’s hand around his throat, some girl’s tongue in his mouth. Everything pulsating and dully muted around him. Bodies pressing up against his, hands through his hair, a settling chill to cool the sticky heat.

The girl pulls away. Stark white hair like an angel in the desert. Billowy white clothes like a ghost.

And Barty wants to be haunted.

Sand slipping through his hands. She weaves in and out of the crowd once she decides she’s done with him, but he follows as closely as he can.

Eventually, she stops and turns around again, the shadows from the fire flicker on her face.

“I have something to help with dullness,” she shouts over the noise, the people, the music, the blood rushing in his head.

“What?” He hadn’t realized he’d said that part out loud.

She sticks out her tongue so Barty can see a little white tab with a smiley face on it. It has three eyes, and one of them winks at him.

He puts his mouth on hers in grateful acceptance and the tab finds its way under his tongue.

“Who are you?” Barty asks, voice reverent as he eyes the tattoo on her shoulder. Little horns inked into her skin. “An angel?”

She laughs as she pulls him closer. Her nails are sharp like claws and for a second Barty thinks she might rip him apart. Feels like he’s been caught. Her teeth sharp and glinting at the sight of his throat.

“Maybe I’m the devil.”

That’s where his memory ends. For the most part.

He holds a hand up to his sore lip and winces. Runs his tongue over it and tastes the dried blood.

“Fuck,” he groans.

The girl sits up and as soon as Barty sees her pale green eyes blinking back at him he smiles.

“Pandora.”

“Hm. So you do remember.”

“Vaguely,” Barty croaks through chapped lips. “I can’t believe I slept in a tent in the desert on the floor.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You look like you do this all the time. No offense.”

“None taken,” Barty sighs, as he examines his stinging palm to see a raw and, now dried, bloody cut spanning the lifeline on his skin. “What the fuck?”

“It was the sacrifice to the moon,” Pandora supplies breezily as Barty moves to stand up.

“Right, whatever that fucking means,” Barty brushes her off.

Maybe he should be more concerned about the whole ordeal, but he wasn’t. It was actually…fun. A good release of energy.

He would’ve hated it.

He would’ve insisted that Barty stay the night at his place instead. Entertain him with something less risky. Something more self-serving.

Barty shakes his head to clear his thoughts. At least last night he hadn’t thought of him at all. Now, the harsh light of the morning was screwing things up again.

Pandora helps him search the sand and surrounding tents for his keys and his wallet, and some various other items before she points him in the right direction and Barty makes the trek back up the road to his car.

She tells him there’s another party next month. He tells her he’ll think about it.

The drive back is quiet. Barty doesn’t turn on the radio, it’ll only aggravate his already pounding head.

Instead, he thinks.

What would he think if Barty told him what he did?

Told him he held out his bleeding palm to the fire and listened as the blood sizzled on the rocks and wood beneath it. Told him he danced in the desert in the pouring rain and slept in a sandy tent as the alcohol coursed through his system. Told him he stayed out all night, not bothering to call home. Not bothering to tell a single other person where he was.

He’d be appalled. He’d probably sigh in disappointment, or better yet, he’d yell when Barty finally bothered to answer his call the next week.

It’s not Barty’s fault that James liked him because he was rough around the edges. Too sharp to hold onto without bleeding. Too impulsive to see a long-term future with. Too mean to have breakfast with the next morning.

It’s why it was fun. Something with an expiration date. Manufactured good times in a bottle– consequence-free-fucking.

But then it got confusing.

Barty wishes he would call. But he’s thankful he doesn’t.

A few weeks later, Barty finds himself at the front row of some dive bar-turned-concert-venue sipping a warm and flat beer. The place is crowded and loud, and the air is warm with the stench of alcohol and weed. He’s pretty sure someone in the back is giving out makeshift tattoos for five dollars. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna take the guy up on the offer after the show.

Some girl, in a poor attempt to dance, knocks into him and sends his beer sloshing over the side of his cup and onto the floor.

He doesn’t really mind though. Because it’s that occurrence that causes the bass player to look at him. Really look at him as he sways along to the music, and nods his head to the beat.

Barty gives a small smirk and raises his plastic cup in response and the bass player smirks back at him. A challenge. A dare. One that Barty knows well.

Barty watches him all night. Dark, muscled arms strumming along, plucking the strings. He’s so close Barty can see his short paint chipped fingernails and calloused hands. His hair bleached almost white, falls in twists that he shakes every once in a while as they fall in front of his eyes. His lips mouth the words to the song the frontman is singing. His body moves to the beat of the drummer, and his eyes shine like he’s doing it all for Barty. And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s because Barty has always been Barty, but as the night progresses he starts to actually believe it is all for him.

When the set is over, Barty follows the bassist out back into the cooling night.

“You played really well up there,” he called after the man, causing him to turn around.

“Oh yeah?” The man smirked.

“Yeah. I’m Barty.”

“Evan.”

“Watched you all night.”

And that’s all it took really before Evan had him pressed up against some cold stone brick wall in a back alleyway.

Barty spends the better part of two months with Evan. They travel to different venues in the surrounding towns. They sleep all day and stay out all night as Evan plays his shows. Evan teaches him how to steal from unsuspecting store clerks. Barty shows him how to pick any lock. He lets Evan trace the scar on his palm over and over again. They’re high for most of it. Barty pierces Evan’s septum. Evan pierces his eyebrow. He travels with the band and plays the part of groupie dutifully.

It was much longer than his one-night desert excursion with Pandora, but soon enough the inevitable happened. He gets bored. Evan’s time was up and those soft, disappointed brown eyes flooded his mind once more.

Evan’s hands were calloused but not as rough. He was telling a joke but didn’t laugh the same. He didn’t bite to draw blood. He didn’t press to bruise.

Fuck.

Barty left with little trace. Just a text message telling Evan to text him the next time he was in town playing a show. Evan liked it but otherwise didn’t say a word.

And that was that.

Maybe this was just his way. Maybe he would be perpetually stuck chasing some unknown James shaped hole for the rest of his life. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He could fill it up with other things. He could live with that.

He tries to tell himself he can live with that when it happens. His phone buzzes. Again and again and again and again and Barty stares at the caller ID displaying a number he’s more than familiar with. He answers it with a shameful eagerness but doesn’t speak.

“Hello?”

“Did you mean to call me?” Barty croaks out in the deadened air.

A stuttering pause. “Yeah. Yeah, hi. How are you?”

Barty lets out a sharp laugh. Too sharp. “How am I? I’m fine, James. How are you?”

“Good,” James tried to say brightly, but Barty could hear the flatness in his voice. “How, um. How have you been?”

“Okay, what the fuck, Bambi. You’re freaking me out. It’s almost four in the morning.”

James laughs at the nickname that was always made to be an insult. Until it wasn’t.

“No, I know. I just…” James trails off and Barty finds himself wishing he would just finish his fucking sentence.

Come on, James. It’s me. You don’t have to be nice to me, remember? That’s the deal. That’s the rule. You can be mean to me. I can take it.

Something in his chest pulls, but Barty opts to ignore it as he takes on his talking-to-James tone: Sarcastic and needle-sharp.

“Miss me that much, Potter?” Barty hears James let in a sharp breath on the other end of the line and pushes on. “What? Are you going to tell me that it’s three in the morning and this is the time I normally come slinking around your place? Miss having someone like me to knock you about a bit? Get a little too rough with you? Fuck you, smoke with you after, and leave before the lights come on?”

“Barty.” He tries not to flinch at the fact that James is using his first name. “That’s not why…I’m calling because–”

But Barty cuts him off before James can say something ridiculous. Something like ‘I’m calling because I care about you,' or 'I’m seeing someone else,' or 'I’m worried for you. This guy’s really great, not at all like you,' or 'I miss you.’

“Well, I can’t come around anymore. I just finished touring around with some bass player and his band all across the state. They just signed to a label they’re about to be huge. And Evan, the bass player, he’s like the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, so.” Barty was aware that he was trying too hard. He could hear it in his own voice, but he was praying it was convincing enough for James. He pulled his lip ring in between his teeth and waited for James to say something.

“Oh, there’s an Evan.”

There was an Evan, kind of.

“Yeah, and he’s great, and I’m great. Never better, actually. So I think you were right to end it when you did. Whatever it was. It’s better this way.” Barty lies.

Barty lies and James goes quiet. It’s unbearable.

“James?”

Do you want to come over?

Why did it take you months to call?

Did you mean what you said when you told me you could never bring me around your friends?

Do you ever miss fighting with me like I miss fighting with you?

Remember when you almost let me pierce your eyebrow? Evan pierced mine a while ago and I thought about you the entire time he was doing it.

His hands aren’t yours wrapped around my throat. He never squeezes hard enough.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

Speak now or forever hold your peace, James Potter.

“Okay, yeah. Sorry, yeah.”

“Okay. Later, bambi.”

Barty clicks the phone before James can respond.

What the fuck was James thinking?

What was he thinking?

Barty would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small pulse of adrenaline at the sound of James’ voice. A small sense of satisfaction that James had broken the silence between them and called first.

He was going to ignore the fact that James had used the gentle voice with him. The voice reserved for a crying child, a terminal patient, or a scared wild animal in the woods. He was going to ignore the fact that James had obviously called him for a reason and Barty had dominated the conversation to keep him from it. And he was definitely going to ignore the curiosity chewing away at his mind about what James would’ve said if only Barty would’ve let him.

No. Instead, he was going to keep on telling James, and himself lies.

He was fine.

He was happy.

He was better than he’s ever been.

Barty walks himself out to his balcony and lights a cigarette as the cool air kisses his face. He recounts his lies over and over again and counts down to the day they might come true.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“What did you say your name was again?” Barty looks at the sandy blonde boy questioningly. He’s got a smattering of freckles and soft eyes that are shining due to the alcohol.

The bar is too loud for a Thursday and Barty wants to leave, but the man just bought him another round and it would be rude to turn it away.

“Peter.”

Barty nods, tilting his new beer towards him. “Well, cheers Peter.”

Peter offers him a smile as he tilts his glass in Barty’s direction and takes a drink, smiling coyly.

They talk for a minute. This is how Barty finds out that Peter is English and has no job and no house. He came into some money and is using it to travel to as many places as he can before the money dries up. He finds places to stay by matching with people on Tinder or Grindr and he’s out by morning exploring the city.

So in other words, he’s trouble. Which is exactly what Barty’s looking for.

Peter has honey-colored eyes and a honey-colored voice to match. Sweet on the surface with something dangerous and reckless buzzing just below the surface.

They stay until the bar closes and they stay until the parking lot clears out, and then when it’s good and dark and empty Barty slaps his motorcycle helmet on over Peter’s head and tosses him the keys.

He stands on the pavement with his arms crossed and watches as Peter starts the engine.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Barty asks skeptically as Peter hesitates.

“Y-yeah.” He calls over the hum of the engine. “ I had a motorbike– have a motorbike back home but it’s in the shop getting repaired.”

Barty nods. “Well, just take her around the parking lot a few times then. Let’s see it.”

In his defense, Peter was the one who had asked to ride it. When Barty brought up his motorcycle, he watched as Peter’s honey-colored eyes went wide as saucers as he asked to see it. To give it a ride. Maybe Barty should’ve been worried that this stranger would just drive off with his bike in the dead of night with no witnesses and leave him stranded, but he was too drunk to care. It would all be just another story to laugh about in the daylight. Moonlight desert rituals and bass players and motorcycle thieves. All because of James fucking Potter.

Barty watches and snickers as Peter clearly has no idea what to do.

James knew how to ride motorcycles. He would take Barty’s sometimes to the only 24-hour corner store to pick up a watered-down black coffee and a new pack of Parliament’s when they ran out. Sometimes an orange or two if they were hungry.

Peter manages to make it around the parking lot twice before a loud pop rings through the air and causes Barty to jump. By the time he can register what’s happening, Peter is already beside him, pale-faced, and apologizing profusely.

He popped a fucking tire.

The blowout was not a gunshot. Thank god.

He lives another day.

Barty gives Peter a once over and determines that he went smashing into the concrete based on the scrapes to his face and his hands, and the tear in his pants at the knees.

For a moment, Peter looks at Barty like he might kick the shit out of him, and maybe Barty should, but the whole thing seems so comical at the moment that he can’t help but burst into delirious laughter.

Of course, someone named Peter that he met in a bar at midnight would ride his motorcycle once and make the tire pop. That was just his luck.

Without thinking about it, he sends a text to James.

‘Motorcycle tire just popped. Fucking shit.’

His phone buzzes almost instantly in his hand.

‘I told you last time the tire needed air. It was only a matter of time. You should’ve let me fill it up.’

Barty watches James type a message for what seems like an eternity. Then a new message.

‘Are you okay?’

Then it’s Barty’s turn to type forever.

‘Never better, bambi.’

He makes Peter call them a cab and tow company to get the bike. It’s the least he could do. Since he thinks it’s his fault the tire blew out, and Barty convinces him that it is.

Barty says they’ll figure it out in the morning and lets Peter stay at his place until the end of the week. Just long enough for him to see that the motorcycle was getting fixed. Long enough to take him around the city and show him all the best places.

They keep in touch for a month at tops and then Peter fades into another memory. Another story to tell. Another person he was with because he wouldn’t be with James.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

On the fourth of July, he meets Regulus at some party in someone’s backyard.

They’re about to start shooting off the fireworks when Barty sees him. Short crop of curly black hair and a downturned frown.

“Not having fun?” Barty smirked in an attempt to make conversation.

“What?”

“Not having fun?”

“Not really.” The boy’s frown deepened. “Not at all.”

“Oh, what the fuck. You’re French?”

“Very astute observation.” The stranger says as he attempts to walk away.

“Sorry. It’s just, why the fuck would you be here if you could be in France? I’m Barty by the way.”

“Regulus,” the stranger sniffs. “And why the fuck would your parents name you Barty if they could pick from any other name in the world?”

Barty grins at Regulus’ accent and his snark. “Got it. No more questions then.”

“No more stupid questions,” Regulus amends.

They stick together the whole evening as Barty attempts to make the Fourth of July fun for the both of them.

He spends a few weeks with Regulus after that. Regulus speaks broken English, something stilted, but sure, and it rings nice in Barty’s ears long after he’s stopped talking. There’s nothing serious between them. They just spend the summer days sun drunk and carefree. Regulus attempts to teach him French. Barty attempts to make this time different. Neither of them are successful.

“I lied,” Regulus says in a passing moment as Barty gets ready to say his final goodbye. “I’m not twenty-three, I’m twenty. Also, my English is perfect. I was just fucking with you.”

Barty just blinks a few times. “Why do you think I would care about that? Regulus, what the fuck.”

Regulus shrugs. “Just thought you should know. You’re not the only one pretending to be something you’re not just for the fun of it.”

And Barty knows it’s fucked up, but he could kiss Regulus all over again.

He adds a pathological liar to his running list of adventures.

When he returns to his apartment, it’s quiet and empty. He tries to tell himself that he’s okay with that, that he likes it best this way, that he’s never been better.

James calls once again.

It’s become a routine of theirs.

James calls and Barty answers. He fills James’ head with all of his exploits, all of his stories, all of the Pandora’s and Evan’s and Peter’s and Regulus’ he’s been with since James. All of the fun he’s had since the last time they spoke.

But he couldn’t ever let any of them in, because James was already there, taking up too much space. Always there, lying in wait.

Barty keeps on telling his lies and James lets him, but they’re still not coming true. Barty’s counting down the days and still feeling more down than ever. He wishes that James would just call his bluff, hear the falseness in his voice, and yell at him for being irresponsible. But he never does.

It’s not until after Emmeline, Fabian, and Narcissa that James gives him another call.

Barty’s in the middle of recounting his latest adventure when James does it. Interrupts him with a knowing scoff.

“Listen, Crouch,” he says just like he used to. He’s fed up. Barty finally managed to press his buttons once more. “Can we stop doing this song and dance now? Drop the act?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Barty sniffs, still trying to get one up on him.

“Oh sure,” James continues, voice flat. “When you’re ready to stop lying to yourself and to me…I was calling to tell you to come around.”

The words land like cement in his stomach.

“To come around?”

Barty’s heart picks up its pace.

It was a bad idea.

It was a horrible idea.

It would put them right back to where they were before.

Fighting and yelling and waiting for the moon to come out to talk to each other. To see each other.

It would end horribly.

They would burn each other up. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. But God, Barty missed how it felt to be on fire.

“Yeah,” James breathes into the phone receiver. “You know the code to get in.”

Barty takes a deep breath.

What did it say about him that it had been all this time, and he still thought about James and his apartment and his soft sheets that were always laundered every day? James’ hands gripping his jaw. James’ laugh when Barty couldn’t find his jeans that had all been but ripped off of him. James’ sharp sneer and clenched jaw when Barty managed to get under his skin.

It doesn’t take too much convincing. Just lighting bolts of flashing memories. Tooth rot that ached too good to let go.

“Alright. Yeah. Fuck it. Fuck it, Bambi.”

There would be plenty of time for lying to himself later.

And one day his lies would come true.

Just not today. And definitely not tonight.

“I’ll come around.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

inspired by the song pierre by ryn weaver

#nat writes #and nat prays to the lord above that this formats correctly #basically do not read if you're opposed to #jarty croucher #bartydora #rosekiller #bartylus #barty x peter #idk if there's even a ship name for that tbh #<- barter LMAO #barty crouch x james potter #recreational alcohol consumption and drug use #if u remember when i said this would be bartylus...mind ur business #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #okay i think that covers the tagging department

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luxlightly · 3 months

Text

I need all GabV1el fans to be aware of the Symbrock pairing between Eddie Brock and the Venom Symbiote (who has no name and uses it/its pronouns in the comics) whose 100% real, canon origin is that Eddie, an EXTREMELY Catholic man, desperate for his father's approval, does some really stupid reporting that ends up backfiring and he becomes a laughing stock. His father disowns him and he becomes so angry and cold from it that his wife leaves him.

One day, as the pain grew too much to bear, he goes to church after church, praying at each one that God send him a reason to live, or permission to commit the cardinal sin of suicide.

Finally, he comes to the last church, Our Lady of Saints, and prays for God's forgiveness as he is going to kill himself, having lost all hope for any reason to go on.

But then, from the rafters, descends the symbiote, who had been waiting there to die, after the being it loved most tried to kill it for the crime of being alive. Having survived trying to sacrifice itself to save the very person who tried so hard to kill it, too heartbroken to go on, it had resigned itself to die without a host.

But, in Eddie, it senses someone as filled with the same pain, passion, and loneliness as it is, and reaches out to stop him from taking his own life.

They bond and Eddie enthusiastically welcomes it, considering it to be an angel sent directly from God in his hour of need.

He then pretty much immediately has it take the form of a priest outfit and tries to kill the person who tried to kill the symbiote with the very same bell while he shouts biblical allegory and extremely homoerotic threats. Eventually they swap the priest outfit for a fuck ton of teeth and claws and tongue because Eddie is into that, and run around trying to kill Spiderman until they decide they are bored of that and want to go focus on their relationship.

The symbiote feeds off of the brain chemical produced by Eddie's love for it and supplemments it with chocolate when needed.

Eddie calls it "my other", "my love", "my beloved", "my darling". The Symbiote, who was seen as a genetic abnormality and sentenced to death by its own people for its desire to live in harmony with its host instead of destroy it, learns through Eddie what it is to truly love and be loved, as opposed to just trying to be whatever someone else wants it to be.

They canonically have recreational sex and have 7 biological children (spawned agametically. Not from the sex. Can't stress enough that's just for them because they are married)

#my roommate me drawing a gabv1el thing and was like #'hm. you sure are a person who has read the Venom comics huh?'#and listen #yes #i have no regrets #symbrock #venom symbiote #venom comics

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zcorners120 · 2 years

Text

the bracelet - 1

arthur leclerc x verstappen!reader

synopsis; arthur's infamous bracelet goes missing when it's suddenly found on his sworn enemy.

warnings; invasion of privacy, sexual harassment, implied crash in the race, Romain Grosjean crash!Reader, swearing

MASTER LIST 2.7k word count PART TWO PART THREE

The bracelet, a small silver chain that Arthur had bought for himself after his first major victory in F3. It was a trademark staple of his brand, fans copying him with lookalikes and duplicates of it.

It was adored especially by his female fans, praising him for wearing jewellery, and looking amazing whilst wearing it. It had become his good luck charm, and refused to take it off when he crashed one time when not wearing it.

"Let's see if the bracelet does you any good when I crush you in this race Leclerc." The younger Verstappen calls out, cockiness smearing in her voice.

"Sure Verstappen, we'll see if your brother's shitty skills will get you anywhere." He laughs out, knowing that Max had trained her for this race.

She walked away, going to put her on suit on. Y/N Verstappen was the latest addition in F3, and was rising rapidly. Her insane skills had immediately bumped her to F3, and was become a media favourite.

She was not only praised for being Max Verstappen's little sister who had followed in his footsteps, but for her own individual talent behind the wheel, as well as her striking beauty which had landed her several campaigns with many big beauty and modelling brands.

Her mutual hatred for Arthur Leclerc was the one thing that remained a mystery to her, as when she first entered the paddock for her first race she had gone up to him, ready to open her heart about how much of an inspiration he is, until this happened..

'Hey, Arthur isn't it? I just wanted to tell you that I really-' You had begun, before he interrupted.

'Big talk from you, considering that I've been told you want to recreate the Charles and Max competition. You talk a lot of shit coming from someone who's only just joined.' He spat, his ego clearly having a joy-ride.

'I didn't say anything like th-' You tried to justify, his eyes narrowing onto you before interrupting, once again.

'You may have become the media's sweetheart, but I can see through that.' He said sternly, not a waver in his voice.

'Asshole.' You shouted out, walking away back to your garage, feeling the rage simmer as you started a self acclaimed war between yourself and Arthur Leclerc.

You still think about that moment sometimes today, wondering if you had just cut him off and got the facts straight, maybe you would've been an unstoppable duo or more?

You couldn't deny the fact that he was insanely handsome, but you couldn't let your thought of lust and a small crush take over the fact that he only thinks you got into racing because of your looks and sweet personality.

You had won multiple times, but not against Arthur specifically. This race mattered, and mattered a lot. You tugged your racing suit on and went into the media pen to do some interviews and promotional videos before the race.

Entering the hustle and bustle of the pen you couldn't spot Arthur anywhere, as you walked up the reporter who was eyeing you up and down as soon as you walked in.

"So, Miss Verstappen, how do you think your latest Victoria's Secret fashion show went?" He drawled, smirking as he asked his question.

"Uhm, excuse me?" You questioned, completely taken aback by his question.

You were a Victoria's Secret Angel, and those shows are notorious for their display of models in lingerie, and had no correlation to your important upcoming race.

"You were wearing a stunning red set, the colour of your rival team, Prema, do you think your biggest enemy Arthur Leclerc has anything to say about that?" He weakly linked the question back to the race, but failed to hide his pathetic boner.

You were at a loss for words, finally seeing what the media thought of you, trying to think of an answer quickly as this was being filmed live.

"Quite frankly I don't think he has anything to say. We're rivals, we don't speak. I find that your question is disrespectful, and has no link to the race." You talked back, the anger seething from your teeth.

"Many of your fanboys are jealous of the tension you both have, there must be something going on behind the scenes? Just like the fanboys would love to see the backstage of when your getting ready." He laughed out, looking around at the cameramen and other reporters, trying to justify his sick questions.

You drew your eyebrows together, as your face twisted into an incredibly appalled face. You were close to crying, not being able to find an escape from the pen as the reporter started getting closer to you.

You felt an arm swiftly wrap around your neck, with their hand resting on your shoulder.

"You see here, me and Miss Verstappen have nothing but hate. As much as I love watching her on the catwalk where I can't hear her voice, you won't be getting that privilege for much longer. I'll meet you in 10 minutes outside buddy." Arthur's deep voice said cautiously patting him on the shoulder with his spare hand, pulling you away.

He pulled you in front of him, resting each hand on both of your shoulders, as he pushed you through the crowd and out to the empty corridor where everyone's room is.

"Are you okay?" He hesitantly asks, still keeping a firm hand on your shoulder.

"Not really. I can't help but think if this is really how my fans see me, and everyone publicly." You confess, feeling vulnerable in this state but feeling as though you can't confide in anyone else.

"Trust me, it's just him and his other couple of weird friends. Your fans love you for your personality and your insane racing abilities. Maybe your looks factor into that but that's not the reason why they watch you race." He spoke softly, as though he really meant it.

"You watch my shows?" You question, remembering what he said earlier, prying to get more answers.

"No." He answered way too fast, then continuing; "Well yeah. I mean, who doesn't? You're amazing up there. I just wish I could've pulled you away from that guy earlier, I heard some of the conversation and just had to take you away."

"You're being nice. I hope this isn't to psych me out before the race." You laugh slightly, blushing from what he previously said.

"Even though we have a bad past, I will defend you in every way imaginable Cherie." His accent shone through, as you both made eye contact.

"Why do you hate me so much?" You queried, wondering how he could be giving you cute nicknames when hours ago you were wishing bad luck upon each other.

As you wait for his response you look down on his lucky bracelet, thinking of what your good luck charm would be.

"We'll talk after the race, I have some business to take care of you. Good luck, and stay out of the media pen." His demeanour changed to a more serious one, looking down at his watch.

He walked away swiftly back towards the pen as you could see him pulling aside the creep from before. You decided to go to your room for the time being and calm yourself down for the race.

"Y/N, it's time, come to the garage." You heard your manager say as he knocks on the door.

You take a deep breath and walk out to the garage, getting into your car. You felt as though there were a billion eyes on you, tracking and analysing every movement.

The race started, and the usual rush of adrenaline came flooding back, like a broken dam. You had started P2, getting around the usual curves of the track.

After 17 laps and some good overtakes, you were in P1 and you could feel the sweat slowly forming on your head. All was well till you heard someone speak to you on the radio.

'Verstappen, be careful, you have Stanek from Trident coming up and ready to overtake at a much higher speed.'

You decided to speed up, but he pushed and pushed till you were both head to head, and approaching a turn. You took the risk, speeding up as the G-force was pushing you further and further back. You cut in front of him just in time for him to also speed up, rear ending you slightly.

The sudden small push had distracted you, completely disregarding that you needed to brake for the turn. Your thinking brain had shot you back into reality, as you tried to turn as hard as you can for the turn, but it was too late as you began drifting off track.

The screech made you cringe, as you were drifting into the barricades at nearly 210 kilometres an hour, as you braced for impact. The car directly smashed into the barricade, turning into a ball of flames.

The impact flung you back as you could hear a high pitched ringing throughout your ears. You looked around, disorientated, hearing nothing but the ringing and seeing nothing but red around you.

'Everybody get into pit lane, now, now, now!' You heard someone say distantly.

'Y/N, respond, are you okay?' You could hear you manager calling out, but his voice echoing.

All of the other drivers had gotten out of their cars, watching the screens in the garage, waiting for any sign of you. Arthur sat with his head in his hands, leg anxiously bouncing.

You couldn't go, couldn't leave him when he hadn't been able to fully talk to you, and confess his feelings.

The heat was attacking you, but you gained conciousness of your legs, and you could move them. You could move them? Looking down, your head felt as though it weighed a thousand kilograms, but half of the car was gone. Dissapeared.

Your survival instinct kicked in as you pushed yourself off the seat, and through the flames where you could faintly see the barricade. A hand stuck out from the fire tornado that you had been consumed in, as you firmly take it and jump over.

"She's alive."

"She's alive!"

"Holy shit."

The phrases rang throughout all the garages as tears were wept, and hugs were given out of joy.

"Fuck yes, Y/N. She did it, the champ." Arthur yelled out, happier than ever to see that you were alive, and did it in such a badass way.

You were rushed into the ambulance that was deployed for you, immediately getting your helmet clipped off and vitals checked.

You took deep breathes, feeling as though you had teleported from the fire to the ambulance. The sirens wailed throughout the track as it raced to the hospital.

You could slowly see your vision going black, and darker till all you could see was nothing. You had passed out in the ambulance, raising the concerns even further as the nurses had informed your manager that it wasn't looking too good with you passing out.

Arthur had bolted up like a rocket, ignoring questions and going straight to his car. He sped his way to the hospital, picking up some flowers on the way.

You laid miserably in the hospital gown, finally waking up and sitting up. You felt exhausted, as though the energy had been drained out of you. You heard a subtle knock to be met with Arthur meekly holding a big bouquet of flowers.

He rushed in, worry draining his face.

"Mon Cherie, are you okay? What even happened? Well, I know what happened, but how did you spin out? You looked so cool coming out the fire, but are you hurt? I-" He rambled, taking both of your hands into his.

"Yes, I'm okay. Doctors said I came out of the fireball without a scratch." You smiled proudly, laughing at his incessant worry.

"Holy shit, you are invincible." He smiled at you, his worries boiling down.

"Mhm, for sure. I didn't brake in time for the turn, and the car developed a mind of it's own." You said quietly, looking at him.

"Well look, I'm going to give you something that'll make sure you'll never get into another crash like that again." He started, pulling his hands away from yours, taking his famous bracelet off.

Your eyes growing wide, "Arthur, absolutely not! It's your lucky ch-"

"You're not getting into another accident, not on my watch. If the bracelet is mine, it's a way of me protecting you." He said sternly, laying the cold metal on your wrist and adjusting it to your size.

"Thank you. Really." You smiled, as he grinned back.

"Your manager left your phone here for you, and he's on the phone to your family in the hallway right now." He informed, passing you the phone.

As it scans your face it unloaded hundreds upon thousands of notifications; missed phone calls, texts, media stories, social media notifications and more.

You scrolled through them, reading quickly until one story caught your attention.

'Famed Arthur Leclerc caught punching news reporter; GROUND BREAKING.'

You turned the phone to him so he can read it, as his smirk becomes into a full smile.

"I told him I'd meet him in 10 minutes." His smugness dripped from his tongue.

"You didn't have to do that you know. Thank you." You looked down, blushing slightly.

"I had to do it, he messed with you. But of course had to look good doing it." He dramatized, pushing the phone back towards you.

"So, can we talk about, you know. What we are?" You hushed, ruining the moment slightly but needing an answer.

"When I met you, the same reporter told me this bullshit how you wanted to create a rivalry with me, and how you bought your way in just so you could have a legacy like Max and Charles." He confessed, taking you aback, you having never heard this.

He continued; "So when I saw him pushing you about, I realised what happened. I defended the girl that should've been rightfully mine from the start, as it's no secret I have a massive crush on you besides from the misunderstanding hate."

"I had no idea, but in my defence, I tried to tell you from the start." You flexed, knowing he was in the wrong; "But wait what, you have a crush on me?"

"It's no secret, why're you shocked?" He said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"It most definitely was secret! How could I know you had a crush on me when you would call me an idiot at interview panels?" You laughed, reminiscing such stupid times.

"Okay, I'll give you that. But something that I should've said a while ago is, do you want to go on a date this Friday?" He squeaked out, nervous.

"Yeah, I'd love that." You smiled, blushing.

"Y/N, you're cleared to go home as you're all well, your family are flying out right now to come and visit you." Your manager came in, ruining your candid moment.

You nodded in agreement as he stepped outside to take another call.

"I'll go out first and I'll meet you back at your apartment. Now I can take care of you." Arthur playfully grinned, as he walked out to go to his car.

You changed back into some casual clothes that your manager left for you as you walked to his car, with him trying to block the swarm of paparazzi that you weren't expecting to be outside the hospital.

The bright flashes hurt your eyes until you safely got into the car and were making the drive back home.

"What the fuck?" You blurted aloud, looking at your phone to see articles about you and Arthur, and his missing bracelet being around your wrist.

Fans had immediately put two and two together, and were off the bat swarming your DM's and socials, making edits and fan pages.

Hearing the chime of text you look up from the article with a message from Arthur.

Arthur Leclerc

I think the fangirls and fanboys of ours have worked it out, no? ;)

You smile down, knowing that he was loving the theories and attention already.

1K notes · View notes

finelinevogue · 2 years

Note

I might be a little late, but for blurb requests I’d love to see Harry and YN backstage either before or after the ONO show(s)!!!

anon: I would love blurbs about each of the one night only shows!!

anon: i feel like HH y/n meeting fans outside the ONO place and just the interactions would be adorable bonus if she meets Brittany Broski

what you guys want you guys get...

oh and also warning on smut ;)

May 20th 2022

“Harry!” You sang his name, holding the camera up at him whilst he was practicing on stage.

It was One Night Only in NYC tonight and the buzz around the crew and the band was electric. This was going to be the night that started everything. It was the night where Harry would finally get to hear his favourite songs being sang back to him.

He was currently on stage, holding his guitar as he readied himself to rehearse his new songs. He was dressed in a tight top and baggy trousers and honestly he’d never looked better. He was dressing above the nines for this era and you had to thank Lambert for that.

He turned to you and smiled.

“Hey love.” He continued to strum on his guitar as we walked over to you.

When he reached you, you moved your arm out to the side and pointed the camera towards the side of you face so you could capture the moment that Harry softly kissed your lips. You hummed in delight as his perfect lips got a taste of yours. He tasted like the mint chewing gum he was no doubt still chewing.

“Tell the vlog how excited you are for tonight.” You directed him to look towards the camera.

“Hi!” He gave a cute little wave and dimpled smile, but you could tell that he was putting on a slight front because he reserved his happiest moments for you, “I hope you are all loving the album and I can’t wait to see you all tomorrow night. Please come with the intention of lots of dancing and singing. I am very excited to get to play this album for you, because I wouldn’t be doing this without a single one of you.” He kissed the camera lens before moving back.

You turned your camera off then, feeling like you got a good amount of footage from his on stage preparation.

“Y’look really good right now y’know?” You told him.

“Do I now?” He smirked, staying close to you but couldn’t be infinitely close due to his guitar strapped around his neck.

“You know y’do.” You rolled your eyes.

Reaching your hands up, you undid the little clip he had in his hair and his hair fell down everywhere. It was a mess and slightly greasy, but you knew he was waiting for his pre-show shower. You gathered his hair back, drawing the little pieces of hair that had escaped last time, and put his hair back in the little clip.

“Thank you, baby.” He smiled and leant down to kiss you again.

“H! As much as I know you love your wife we really need to rehearse.” Jeff shouted, standing next to Molly and some of the sound guys.

“Duty calls.”

“If you need me, you’ll find me hanging out with Brittany.”

“I can’t wait to surprise her later.” Harry laughed.

“She’s going to faint, I fear.” You said, before walking off and leaving Harry laughing on the stage.

He had set up this Instagram takeover with Brittany because he knew how much of a huge fan she is of him. There was no denying that Brittany basically ran the Harry Styles promotion agenda on TikTok, seeing as you didn’t have it. Brittany deserved to meet your Harry and you were so excited to meet her too, what with being such a huge fan.

You walked outside of the venue, with one of Harry’s security guards like he’d politely asked you to, and went in search of Brittany. You’d been viewing the HSHQ stories and knew that she was interviewing fans in the line.

“OMG Y/N!” A girl screamed and then a lot of other girls screamed too. Your hands clammed up a bit over the large uproar and you had a brief moment of panic, before realising they were on the other side of a barricade so wouldn’t swarm you.

“Hi! You look amazing!” You complimented them, due to one of the girls wearing a recreation of the outfit that Harry had worn for Coachella night 2.

“So do you!” They complimented back and you had to suppress a laugh because you weren’t even in your evening dress yet. You were still in jeans and a Bode jumper that was Harry’s. Harry would argue that you looked beautiful right now, so you blushed and smiled at them instead.

“Is it okay if I film us for my vlog?” You took out your camera.

“Yes!” “OMG please!” “Stop it right now!” Were a few of the voices from the chorus of shouts urging you to record them for your vlog, probably because they knew that Harry watched your vlogs and ergo Harry would see them.

You held out your camera almost selfie style and tried to fit as many of them in the frame as possible. There was some minor shuffling and pushing, but nothing too out of control.

“Are you excited for tonight then?” You asked.

“We just want to be in and watching him already.”

“Yeah, like we’ve never seen him before so we’re struggling to believe that he’s even real.” They made you laugh.

“He’s real. I can assure you, but I do understand what you mean too. What are your guys’ favourite songs?” You were curious and Harry would be too.

“Definitely Matilda.” One of them said and it made your heart burst a little bit.

It was crazy that somebody’s favourite song was based off your childhood trauma, but you didn’t see it in a bad way. You thought Harry was special to have written a song so deep and meaningful to him through you. Matilda was a song that could be for anyone, yet it was only you and Harry that knew how much gravity the song truly held to you both.

“That’s like the saddest one!” You laughed, but also agreeing with them silently.

“He’s just so real and raw in it. I can’t even explain how bad I love it.” They looked like they were about to cry.

“Oh, honey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You didn’t know whether this song meant the same thing them as it meant to you so you leant in to give them a hug. You always wished you had had someone to hug you in your darkest moments, so hearing that maybe this fan felt the same way made you just want to hug their pain away. The security guard stood a little closer to you, but didn’t feel like this would be the time to interrupt.

“Thank you.” They said with a teary voice.

“I promise you H loves you so much, okay? And he’d want you to be happy tonight. Let’s smile and have fun and then cry later.” You said to all of them.

After saying your goodbyes and hugging few more of them, you went off in search of Brittany again. You wandered through the car park, admiring the chalk written on the floor, whilst keeping your head down to avoid a rush of fans towards you.

Eventually you found Brittany at the end of the carpark with a bunch of fans that clearly didn’t have tickets. You handed your camera to the security camera, who had filmed for you many times before, and instructed him to film you and this group of people.

As you were walking towards them, the fans started screaming and what made you even more surprised was Brittany started screaming too. You walked to her first and gave her a huge squeeze.

“I was starting to believe you weren’t real with how like perfect you and your life is.”

That was something that always stumped you, that just because you were dating a famous person that it automatically meant that your life was perfect. It was a weird social complex and it definitely wasn’t true. You and Harry had some horrible arguments sometimes and then it wasn’t like your childhood trauma stayed hidden in the closet all the time. You were a emotionally challenged individual, so it sometimes made you feel a bit misunderstood when people brushed that off.

You laughed anyways because that was just a personal thought. “So lovely to meet you!” You hugged her tightly, before letting go.

“You’re literally gorgeous too!” Brittany continued to compliment you.

“Says you! You look amazing and this outfit.. I mean I’m so jealous.”

“Yeah but you get to wear Harry’s clothes so, who’s really the jealous one? It’s me. It’s definitely me.” She joked.

You had a bit more of a conversation with her about what she was doing and where management had told her to go next. First, though, you thought you’d surprise these fans. Harry had given you the green light to do this when you’d asked him.

“How are you all doing? Are y’not cold?” You asked, seeing some of the girls were only wearing vest t-shirts and tiny skirts and it wasn’t exactly summer weather yet.

“We’re good. Just thought we’d come and join in with the activities in the car park.” One of them said.

“So none of you have tickets?” You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows at how dedicated they were and yet they still don’t get to see him.

“We tried but it was so difficult.”

“Yeah and then the resales were crazy expensive.”

“We’re just happy to get experience some of it though.” One of them said and the others nodded and agreed. That’s when you decided to step in with your surprise.

“Do you guys want to go to ONO?” You asked and they looked at you in confusion, as if they weren’t sure what you were asking and whether you were just teasing. You pulled out several tickets from your back pocket then. “’Cause I have spare tickets if you guys want to go?”

That’s when they started crying.

One girl literally crouched down because their legs wouldn’t hold them up. Another girl turned to their friend and hugged them whilst they cried together. Some of the parents even looked teary eyed as they got to see their daughters live out their dreams.

“Are you serious?” One of them asked through their tears.

“Yeah. If you wanna go, they’re yours.” You handed a ticket to the girl and helped them off the floor to give them a hug. “It’s okay.”

That was when you realised this was the second time you were giving the ‘it’s okay’ speech today. It reminded you of how much Harry’s fans loved him and how important he was in some peoples lives. Not everyone would get this kind of opportunity, so you stayed with them for a little bit as you tried to navigate this happy and surprising situation with them.

It was an hour later that you found Harry in his dressing room getting changed.

He was halfway through getting ready. By the looks of things he had freshly gotten out of the shower and had put on his leather pants to start assembling his outfit. Normally he was left alone to get dressed and have a shower, before Harry Lambert would come and fix everything up to look perfect and his hair stylist would come and blow his hair into place.

He looked up from where he was putting on deodorant, giving you a view of his ever-so-slightly- growing hairy armpits. He had had to shave them for the ‘As It Was’ music video, but now he wanted them to grow back.

“Hey bub, where’ve you been?” He asked, putting his deodorant down and stood waiting to listen to you.

“Meeting, hugging, consoling and gifting your fans.” You smiled, dropping your camera and phone on the counter.

“Consoling? Were they crying already?” Harry chuckled, opening his arms for you as you wandered over for a hug. He squeezed you tight when you reached him and the feeling of his warm chest against your cool cheek was comforting.

“Yeah they were talking about Matilda.”

Harry pulled you back slightly so you could rest your chin on his chest to look up at him. You could see the concern in his eyes, knowing how much that song means to you and the heavy story that it carried with it.

“And how did they make you feel? When they were talking about it?” He asked, bringing a hand up to caress his thumb over your cheek. You leant into his palm before talking.

“Proud that I’m still here and got to hug someone that might’ve been feeling like me years ago.” You bit your lip to refrain yourself from getting upset.

Harry nodded his head and remained silent, until he leant down a bit closer towards you and your lips.

“I have never been more proud to love someone as much as I love you.”

“Harry don’t...” You warned him, feeling the tears burn up in your eyes. He knows that you have a hard time taking compliments, but you had worked hard on it over the years. It’s only because you didn’t feel like crying right now that you wanted him to be quiet.

“No. You don’t. I get to be proud of m’wife and m’baby’s mum.” When he mentioned the last thing a tear slipped down your face. “I get to love you for being so strong. I get to tell you how I feel about this and you because I love you so fucking much.”

You started crying then.

“I said don’t.” You laughed through your tears, moving your head to rest your forehead on his chest.

“And I don’t care.” You felt him kiss the top of your head. He left a few kisses actually. “Hey, look at me.”

You lifted your head back up and didn’t even have a moment to comprehend what he was doing before his lips were on yours. He pushed himself into you, closer than before. He kissed and kissed until he knew your lips would be raw. He moved his tongue across your lips and tasted your cherry lipstick, before moving back and having a look at his work.

“Shut me up again?” You joked, giving him a kiss on his scruff filled chin.

“I have another way to shut you up.”

He sat himself down on the couch and manspread his legs, smirking as you watched him undo the buttons on his pants.

You bit your lip as your knelt on the floor. Your hands ran along his thighs, over his leather trousers, from his knees to area of skin exposed just above his trousers. You looked up at him before you planted a kiss to his already heaving chest. It was always flattering to know that you turned him on this quickly.

You moved his hands out of the way and carried on unbuttoning the pants. Once they were undone he moved his hips up for you to take them down. You were expecting to have to pull down a pair of boxers too, but when his length sprang out it seemed he was going commando.

He was already hard, pre-cum leaking from his tip as his cock pressed against his toned abs. He looked at you with so much hunger it was intoxicating. You gave him one final look in his eyes before dipping your head down.

You took him in your hand, softly kissing his length from the bottom to the top. You trailed your tongue down the length on your way back down. He groaned at every detail of contact. He was absolutely gone for you. Weak as a piece of paper holding a door open.

“Fucking hell.” He groaned, grabbing the back of your head and pushing you to take him in your mouth.

You rushed to get there first, inhaling as his length travelled through your mouth and hit the back of your throat. He held you in place, your nose touching his chest with him fully inside of you. You couldn’t breathe, but in the best way possible. You tapped his thigh when you needed air, Harry moving his hands away and letting you breathe again. Your eyes were watery red, but for a different reason now, and your lips were covered in a mix of saliva and his cum.

You moved your hands up and down his length, only taking the tip in your mouth this time. You swirled your tongue around it and moved your hands quicker.

Harry’s breathing became more and more laboured as he whined out praises to you. You couldn’t get over how good he tasted and how much better he felt sliding in and out of your mouth. He pushed your head back down and you took him all again, feeling every vein and bump his cock had to offer. You gagged and he nearly pulled back, but you took control and showed him you were okay by taking more. You let your tongue lick him as he hit the back of your throat again.

“God Y/N. Only you.” He mumbled, using his other hand to hold onto your hair.

You didn’t need to tap a second time because Harry came down the back of your throat before you needed another breath. You took him all, feeling his cock pump every last drop down for you to taste.

After he had finished, he let your head up and you giggled at how fun that was. You licked your lips to not waste any of his release. It was you who stood up and went to the small bathroom to retrieve a wet wash cloth.

You helped him clean himself up, before tucking him back into his trousers. He patted his thigh for you to come sit down on and you were instantly straddling him. Your hands went around his neck and fiddled with the hairs on the back of his neck, whilst his found home around your waist.

“That was a good way to shut me up.”

“Yeah? Y’liked that?” He teased, pinching your sides.

“Mhm.”

“I’ll love on you later. Promise.” He pouted his lips and you leant down to meet them, giving him a loving kiss.

“Oh. I’m expecting you too.”

Before you could mess around any more, Harry Lambert walked through the door. He sighed and made an exhausted noise and held the door open for a few more stylists to walk through.

“God you two.” Harry Lambert groaned.

“What?” Harry laughed, keeping you close to his chest as if it would somehow protect you.

“You’re too in love.” He mumbled, before directing people on where to set up.

“We’re not too in love, are we?” Harry quietly asked you.

You kissed him softly.

“How can we be, when I love you more today than I did yesterday?”

1K notes · View notes

iambutmortal · 10 months

Text

@elucienweekofficial Day 1: Mates

Summary: When Elain signs the divorce papers she’s sure she’s done with Lucien Vanserra. Until they’re offered the chance to recreate their honeymoon as a part of her job. For free. But reliving all those memories with Lucien proves leaving may be more difficult than she thought.

Word Count: 3k

Authors Note: I would like to thank @foreverinelysian for the amazing prompt and also apologize for holding onto it for a year (sorry @sjmkinkmeme). Also, yes, I did steal the opening scene from Asylum of the Daleks but in my defense that was my 12 year old sexual awakening so allowances must be made.

Read on Ao3

It took everything Elain had not to blow the strand of hair out of her mouth. The fan was pointed directly at her face, whipping her hair back dramatically. Or at least she hooped it looked dramatic, and not like she’d been caught by a cyclone. Because that would not make the magazine editors, or her manager, happy.

And with her luck would probably result in her ending up as a Facebook meme. She could picture the caption me trying to model but the world says no. The grandmothers of the world would be in stitches.

But the photographer seemed happy, kept yelling how the shot was perfect and stunning and you’re amazing darling so Elain was pretty sure it was dramatically.

“Break,” shouted the creative director, already leaning over the photographer’s camera to peer at the camera screen.

Elain resisted the urge to massage her cheeks, aching from the sultry, but not too sultry, smile she’d been forcing herself to hold for the better part of an hour. She was sure there were thousands of pictures at this point, all with her at a slightly different angle, chin up a fraction, down an inch, to the left a hair, all in service of getting one perfect picture the perfume makeup company could slap up on billboards to advertise their new blush.

She felt bad for anyone who actually fell for it, since half the pan had been spread across her face in an effort to make some color appear, and whatever the final result was would still need digital enhancement. Even the makeup artist hadn’t been able to control her laughter at the attempt, shaking her head. “Guess I won’t be adding this to my kit.”

But a job was a job, and Elain needed the work to pay the bills. Bills that were suddenly a lot higher.

No, Elan scolded herself. She wasn’t allowed to think about it at work. That was the rule she’d had for herself two months ago when she’d had to lock herself in the bathroom to cry during a shoot. Despite her attempts to blot the smeared mascara away with toilet paper, the make up artist had been livid. Elain had only been spared by the fact that the photographer had liked it. Thought it was edgy and cool for whatever bland perfume they were selling to middle age house wives.

“Ma’am,” said one of the PAs on set, appearing at her elbow. PAs had a nasty habit of doing that, sliding behind her before she could notice, and nearly scaring her half to death.

“Yes,” Elain asked, pasting a pleasant smile on her face. Her cheeks barked in protest. But she was not going to be known as the model who was hard to work with.

“Your husband is here.”

In spite of herself, Elain couldn’t hide her glare. “I don’t have a husband.”

The PA glanced down at his clipboard, searching for the note he’d scribbled there. “It says here—”

“It’s fine,” Elain said, slipping past him and towards the room they’d turned into a makeshift dressing space. The company had rented an old house for the natural lighting and Victorian chandeliers, and they’d used the front parlor as a space to dump makeup and accessories. “I’ll go talk to him.”

She brushed past the curtain and there he was.

Lucien Vanserra. Her husband, at least on paper.

He looked good, and Elain hated herself for noticing. His red hair was shorter, only down to his shoulders, and slicked back. He’d made himself at home in one of the upholstered chairs scattered around the room, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. It showed off the muscled thighs Elain was well acquainted with, hidden beneath dark was jeans.

“You need to sign these,” Lucien announced, holding up a stack of papers.

Elain snatched them out of his hand.

The words at the top Decree of Divorce stood out in bolded font.

She turned around, grabbing the pen someone had left lying off the wardrobe-turned-desk. She scanned the text briefing, before jotting her signature down on each of the dotted lines.

“Just like that?” she asked, handing them back.

Lucien unfurled himself from the seat, all lanky limbs chorded with muscles, and took them back from her.

“Just like that.”

He tucked them into the breast pocket of the black leather jacket he was wearing. Since when has he had that?

“Do you need a folder?” Elain asked, eyeing his chest suspiciously. “I doubt the judge wants wrinkled papers.”

Lucien snorted. “They’re fine. I know what I’m doing.”

“Of course you do,” Elain muttered. “Little Mr. Perfect.”

“What was that?” Lucien asked, taking a step closer to her.

“Nothing,” said Elain, smiling up to him with saccharine sweetness. “I just want to make sure after this I don’t have to see you again.”

“Don’t worry, beautiful, after this you never will again.”

Elain remembered a time when Lucien calling her beautiful would have her blushing fiercely, would no doubt result in him getting laid that night. Now it came out dripping with derision.

Elain rolled her eyes, pointing towards the curtain. “There’s the exit.”

“Nice knowing you,” Lucien said, striding toward the curtain and dipping under it.

Elain bit her lip as she watched his retreating back side. She ought to say something nicer, she thought. Before he was gone from her life forever, surely.

“Wait,” she called out after a long moment. But Lucien was already gone.

A part of Elain sighed in relief. What was she going to do if he stayed, explain why he came back from work one day to all his stuff packed in bags on the porch?

She huffed a sigh, blowing one of the strands of hair that had fallen into her face out of her eyes.

It was fine. She was going to finish her job and then go home and eat an entire carton of Halo Top. Maybe two depending on how sad the Hallmark movie on that night made her feel. Nowhere near as good as the real thing, but quantity over quality.

Elain glanced in the mirror behind her, to check that none of her makeup had smudged and that her eyes were crystal clear, not glassy, before following her soon to be ex-husband out.

Only to find him standing in the entryway with her sister.

“Oh perfect, I was about to send Lucien in to find you,” Nesta said, looking up from the email she was furiously typing on her phone.

“Do you have another job?” Elain asked. Nesta, on top of being her overprotective sister, was also Elain’s modeling agent. And a very good one. One wall of Nesta’s office was dedicated to all the magazine covers her models had gotten, right behind the Birkin bag she’d gotten as a gift from Anna Wintor on its shelf of glory.

“One day I’ll have a wall of Vogue,” had always been Nesta’s promise to herself and, at twenty nine, she was already well on her way there.

“Only the best for you,” Nesta said, sliding her phone into the pocket of her cleanly pressed slacks and brushing a kiss across Elain’s cheek. “And Lucien gets to join you on this one.”

“Oh,” Elain said, any excitement she had rapidly deflating.

Because she hadn’t actually told her sister she was getting divorced. It made her the worst kind of coward, something she told herself at every family dinner when she and Lucien sat next to each other and pretended things were going well, but she couldn’t bear to do it. Couldn’t stand to see the crestfallen looks on Feyre and Nesta’s face, the confused horror on her father’s. She was supposed to be the one who succeeded, married the nice boy from down the road and had a nice family.

Never mind that down the road was in a multi-million dollar mansion near Beverly Hills.

And after Elain told her family, she’d have to face the paparazzi. She was moderately well known, enough to get an occasional “who wore it best” shoutout in People (she always won), and Lucien was the son of Hollywood's most beloved silver fox.

A silver fox who’d run away with the wife of the state governor three months ago and was desperately trying to rehabilitate his image in the eyes of the press before his next movie. The media was out for blood, and Helion’s beloved son divorcing his pretty little wife wasn’t what anyone needed right now.

So Elain and Lucien had an unspoken mutual agreement not to tell anyone. When they showed up to Feyre and Rhys’ Sunday night dinners, whoever got there first sat in their car until the other arrived and they could keep up the appearance of arriving together. They sat next to each other and made a good show of acting like they didn’t hate each other’s guts. And then, when it was over, they left without another word and Elain pretended it didn’t feel like her heart was being stabbed over and over.

“You know the company you and Lucien used to book your honeymoon?” Nesta asked, too focused on whatever gig she had planned to notice Elain’s dismay. “They’ve been asked to plan the Greek princess’ honeymoon, which means Cosmopolitan wants to run a profile. And since the Royal wedding hasn’t happened yet, they wanted to feature another famous couple they worked with, and that’s you and Lucien.”

Elain’s eyes darted over to Lucien to see his eyebrows were high enough to touch his hairline.

“You want me to take pictures for a magazine spread?” Lucien asked. “I do have work to do. Not to mention,” Lucien gestured at the left side of his face, and the scars that raked down it, standing in stark contrast to his golden brown skin. A reminder of the car crash he’d been in in high school. “This.”

Elain had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something. She’d always thought the scars only served to make Lucien look more handsome, gave him a slightly dangerous air that lured her in, something that she reminded him of frequently, but her comments always seemed to fall on deaf ears. But it wasn’t her place, not now.

Nesta gave Lucien a scathing look. “The shoot is planned for two weeks after the California state election, so I’m sure you’ll have some time to take a week long, all expense paid vacation to the Bahamas.”

“We honeymooned in the Dominican Republic,” Elain interrupted.

Nesta whipped out her phone and tapped on it rapidly for a few seconds. “Yes, there.”

Elain barely contained her eye roll. She was sure Nesta could point out both countries on a map, and rattle off at least two or three facts about their geopolitical status, but asking her to remember where Elain went for her honeymoon was a step too far for her when she was focused on work.

“And the magazine is well aware of what your face looks like. It’s been enough places for everyone to know,” Nesta finished with finality.

Elain scowled. “We can’t just uproot our lives. We have things to do, I have things to do.” Namely buying the ugliest pink couch she could find to put in Lucien’s old office as one last fuck you.

“All expenses paid?” Lucien asked, speaking over her.

Nesta smiled dangerously. “Flight included.”

Lucien crossed his arms. The leather jacket pulled up at the motion, the cuffs tight around muscled forearms. “And all we have to do is take some magazine photos.”

“And do an interview,” Nesta added.

Somehow, Lucien managed to arch one brow even higher. “And they want me, son of a currently disgraced movie star.”

“And potential senatorial candidate,” Nesta added.

“Rumors,” Elain interrupted. “All just rumors.”

“Which are good in this line of work,” was Nesta’s counter.

“I’m in,” Lucien said.

“We’ll think about it,” Elain corrected, glaring over at Lucien. He smirked at her in challenge.

Nesta sighed, glancing between the two of them, at last picking up the tension. “I need an answer by tomorrow, they want to book flights.”

Elain squirmed under her sister’s stare. This was exactly what she didn’t want, any cracks showing in her picture perfect life before she was ready to sit everyone down with a carefully rehearsed speech.

“Elain?” Nesta asked.

In response, she leaned slightly towards Lucien, who obligingly pulled up his sleeve to show her his watch, a thick silver one she’d given him for his last birthday. At least he hadn’t forgotten that trick, since Elain never had a watch or phone on her at work. “My ten minutes are up,” Elain said, glancing at the time. “Gotta run.”

“I need an answer,” Nesta called as Elain slid backwards, towards where the photographer and director were still leaning over the camera, arguing back and forth over some detail or other.

“I’ll text you,” Elain promised. She almost felt bad leaving Lucien with Nesta. Almost, but not quite.

“I don’t know what to do,” Elain said on the phone later that night. “It would be a whole spread, at least ten pages, and a cover story.”

“Which would be perfect for your career,” Vassa finished for her.

“But then I would have to—”

“Spend a week with Lucien.”

Elain sighed. Vassa and Jurian were the only two people outside of their lawyers who knew Elain and Lucien were separating. It was unavoidable, since Lucien was living in their guest room for the time being. Looking for his own place would raise too many questions, and staying in a hotel for weeks would be an invitation for bored paparazzi.

“What would you do,” Elain asked, taking a bite of her ice cream. She’d splurged on Haagen Dazs, rationalizing that the encounter with Nesta had more than justified it.

“I’m not the one getting an all expense paid vacation.”

“With your ex-husband.”

“Technically he’s still your husband until Monday,” Vassa laughed. Because the court closed early on Friday and Nesta’s appearance had taken up too much time for Lucien to drive over to the court house.

“Not helping,” Elain growled. “And why would Lucien even agree? He loves to poke at Nesta’s buttons.”

“It would be good for him too,” Vassa said. “Future state Senator gets a fluff magazine article about him and his beautiful wife.”

“It’s a rumor,” Elain insisted. “He hasn’t even nominated himself. And anyway, it’s going to look a lot worse when he has to come out and say we’re not together anymore.”

“First of all, you know it’s more than a rumor. No political analyst gets called into a meeting with the head of the DNC for nothing, and second just pretend you’re still married, you’ve already been doing it for six months.”

Elain suppressed her groan. Vassa made it clear at every possible opportunity how much she disapproved of Elain’s current course of action. A “Congrats of Getting Divorced, Coward” Edible Arrangement had shown up on her door the day she moved to start the paperwork, and it had only escalated from there.

Although Elain figured she should be glad Vassa would still talk to her instead of taking Lucien’s side completely. She was distressingly short on friends who weren’t her sisters and it would be so easy for Vassa to blame her when Elain still refused to explain what exactly had caused her to kick Lucien out. But Vassa had just sighed, crawled into the mountain of blankets Elain had made for herself, and said she knew Elain would talk to her when she was ready.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Elain had given an emphatic no and that had been that.

“Ugh,” Elain sighed, flopping back on the couch. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve said that about twelve times already,” Vassa sighed. “We’ve been on this call for two hours.”

“Then maybe you’re not being helpful enough.”

“I’m not helpful? Fine then,” Elain heard a rustling on the other side of the phone as Vassa started thumbing through her room.

“Oh you don’t need to…” Elain protested weakly.

But the sounds of video game weapons were already buzzing in her ear.

“Lucien,” Vassa asked, her voice muffled as she pulled the phone away and put it on speaker. “What are your thoughts on Nesta’s offer?”

There was a long, pregnant pause on the other side of the line.

“I’m in if Elain is.”

“Thank you,” Vassa chirped.

Elain waited until there was once again silence on the other side of the line to speak. “Traitor.”

“I accept you’re welcome, I’m forever in your debts, I could never repay you.”

“I hate you,” Elain snapped. “I hope your favorite tree burns down in the next wildfire.”

“Low blow,” Vassa protested. It was, based on how much time and energy Vassa spent caring for that orange tree.

“I’m hanging up,” Elain said.

“Text your sister.”

“See you at spin tomorrow.”

“Love you bitch,” was Vassa’s sign off, and then the line went dead.

Vassa was too smart for her own good, Elain thought. Because if Lucien was in, so was she. There was no way she was going to look like the coward in front of Lucien, like she wasn’t willing to do something he will.

So she closed the phone app and pulled up her text messages.

Nesta’s was at the top, several unopened messages demanding an answer waiting.

We’re in.

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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bun-lapin · 4 months

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The Gingerbread Gauntlet (part 4/END)

Summary: The housewardens have a gingerbread house competition

A/N: Part 4~!! This is the last part!! <3 I've also included a link to the fic on AO3 in case anyone wants to read it in the long/whole format. I'm really glad I was able to finish this and share it with you all! I've always wanted to write a longer form silly fic. I had so much fun with this! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! I hope you all have a happy new year~! <3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4/END - AO3 (whole fic)

Word Count: 1.6 k CW: crack, silly, shouting, insults, mild swearing, candy/gingerbread

Malleus looks over at Vil with a kind smile on his face and says, “Take heart, Schoenheit. In my personal opinion, your gingerbread house still looks quite magnificent.”

Vil nods his head politely towards Malleus and elegantly replies, “Thank you for your kind words, Malleus.” Turning back to his work, he adds in a quieter and slightly drier tone of voice, “However, I feel like your praise is a bit biased since you’re such a big fan of ruins.”

Holding up a gingerbread cookie decorated with pale silver icing and opalescent candy eyes, Kalim chimes in with a sleepy sounding voice, “That’s a good point. Malleus-sama, it’s a bit surprising that you decided to construct a wholly intact gingerbread castle, instead of the ruins you seem to favor.” Kalim then raises a cookie decorated with mint green chocolate curls and a wide, open mouthed scowl drawn in icing. In a loud and brash voice, he shouts, “Shut up, Silver! How dare you disrespect our lord in such a manner! WAKA-SAMA!! YOUR GINGERBREAD CASTLE IS THE PINNACLE OF ARCHITECTURAL ACHIEVEMENT!! A LEGEND FOR THE AGES!!”

While the others wince at the sudden and dramatic increase in volume, Malleus simply laughs softly. With a fond smile on his face, he gently taps a finger on the gingerbread versions of his loyal retainers and replies, “While ruins have their innate charm, I decided to build a castle fit to be a home for all of the gingerbread people I made. I was inspired to make them by witnessing all the fun that Al-Asim was having with his cookie recreations.”

Kalim jumps to his feet with a pleasantly surprised gasp, joy and excitement radiating from his smiling face. “Really?! You were inspired by me?! Let me see, let me see~!!” he yells out as he races over to Malleus’ spot at the table.

Rising up from the table in front of Malleus is an intricately designed gingerbread castle, complete with a functional drawbridge spanning a moat of bright blue icing. An expansive wall of wafer cookies surrounds the castle and an idyllic countryside stretches out beyond the walls, filled with tiny gumdrop farms and farmers hard at work. At the gates to the castle, stands a little gingerbread king, adorned with a tiny candy crown, surrounded by a handful of gingerbread cookies decorated as knights and aristocratic members of the court. The king faces a large crowd of gingerbread cookies decorated like farmers, many of them holding tiny candy pitchforks and covered in chocolate mud.

From his seat next to Malleus, Idia leans closer to better examine the scene and asks, “Uhh... Are they moving around?”

With a low chuckle, Malleus nods his head and answers, “I cast a trivial spell on the gingerbread people to animate them.” He smiles and adds with an elegant wink, “I thought it would make the scene a little bit more cute.”

Vil looks up from his work at the other end of the table and says somewhat reproachfully, “Don’t forget, one of the rules is that we can’t use magic to build our gingerbread houses.”

Azul peers over a messily frosted gingerbread wall at Vil and replies, “Technically, Malleus only enchanted the gingerbread people, not the structure itself. So, by the wording of the competition rules, he should be safe.”

Vil rolls his eyes at Azul’s patronizing tone and returns to his work without another word.

Kalim leans closer to get a better look at the gingerbread king and his subjects. Tilting his head inquisitively, he asks, “Hmm? What’s the king doing? Is he giving a little speech to his subjects?”

Malleus, Idia, and Kalim watch with curiosity as the little gingerbread king waves a tiny scepter in the air, his icing drawn mouth opening and closing silently. After a few moments, his speech seems to draw to a close and a flurry of activity erupts from the crowd of gingerbread farmers listening to the king’s speech.

Idia raises his eyebrows at the sight of the little farmers stomping their tiny cookie feet while angrily waving their candy pitchforks in the air and mumbles, “Wow, must’ve been some really bad news.”

Kalim suddenly points in alarm at the crowd of gingerbread people and exclaims, “Look! The knights are taking the farmers’ gumdrops by force!”

The group continues to watch as the gingerbread knights, presumably acting on the orders of the king, begin to forcibly make their way into the crowd and begin confiscating the harvested gumdrops. The farmers, already enraged by the king’s speech, begin to resist and push back against the knights. The conflict quickly escalates and a full out brawl with candy weapons breaks out between the two sides.

With a gasp, Kalim raises his hands to cover his mouth in horror and then cries out, “Oh no! They’re fighting!” The sounds of fighting cookies intensify and Kalim gasps again, even louder than before, “Oh my-!! Is that a catapult?! And the farmers have brought out a battering ram!! Where’d they even get that from?!”

The battle between the farmers and the king’s knights rages on for several minutes. Soon enough, the action begins to subside as both sides incur many casualties. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the fighting completely stops and the castle stands half ruined and completely empty of any gingerbread life.

Kalim and Idia sit in stunned silence, eyes wide at the sight of cookie crumbs strewn about everywhere in the once flourishing gingerbread kingdom.

Malleus shakes head slowly and sadly. In a low and thoughtful voice, he remarks, “To rule as a tyrant, means to die as tyrant.” He then picks up some chocolate gargoyles from a nearby bowl and begins placing them all along the crumbling castle walls.

In a very soft voice, Idia whispers into the heavy silence, “Well, that was horrifying.”

Before any of the other housewardens can say anything in response, the cafeteria doors suddenly swing open with a loud BANG. Rushing into the room in a dramatic fashion, Crowley opens his arms wide in a theatrical pose and exclaims, “Good afternoon, everyone!” His gaze sweeps over the slightly startled group of housewardens and he lowers his arms, tilting his head questioningly, “How odd! There are less of you here than I anticipated.”

Vil nods politely to the eccentric headmage, “Good afternoon. It seems Leona and Riddle decided to bow out of the competition a bit early.”

Crowley clears his throat, almost nervously, and replies, “Ah! Yes! The competition! That brings up my next point quite nicely. It seems I somehow got my dates mixed up and the Isle of Sage’s gingerbread house competition was actually last weekend. So it seems like we’ve missed our opportunity to enter!” Shaking his head a bit regretfully, he adds, “My, my! What a mysterious and regrettable turn of events this is!

The initial reaction from the remaining housewardens to Crowley’s news is one of overwhelming dismay and confusion. Idia lets out a tiny, almost inaudible scream, and looks to be on the verge of fainting.

Dropping his head into his hands, Vil bitterly mutters to himself, “Why was I even here in the first place? I don’t even need an extra PE credit. No amount of potions will cure this migraine.”

Slamming his fists down on the table, Azul shouts in an almost hysterical voice, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Jumping to his feet, he angrily points at Crowley and yells, “I will sue you! I will blackmail you and frame you for a capital crime if you don’t make this right!”

Crowley raises his hands in a calming kind of gesture towards Azul, “Alright, alright! I hear your concerns Mr. Ashengrotto! Because I am so benevolent and kind, I will still bestow a free PE class credit on one of you today.”

Taking a quick lap around the table, Crowley examines the various gingerbread structures on the table. Clicking his tongue in a slightly disappointed way, he murmurs to himself, “Oh dear, most of these are looking a little too rough around the edges.” When he reaches Kalim’s seat at the table, his eye is caught by the little gingerbread cookie decorated in his image. Scooping it up with a little gasp of admiration, Crowley coos, “Oh my! What a devilishly handsome cookie! Is this your work, Mr. Al-Asim?”

Kalim nods silently in affirmation, looking more puzzled than anything.

Turning on his heel, still admiring the cookie in his hands, Crowley yells over his shoulder, “Congratulations! Mr. Al-Asim has won the free class credit!” He quickly exits the room and the cafeteria door slams shut behind him.

Malleus laughs softly and turns to Kalim, “You have my congratulations, Al-Asim. This has certainly been a lively afternoon.”

Bolting up from his seat, hair turning a fiery shade of orange with rage, Idia shouts, “Are you serious right now?! I absolutely refuse to accept this result! Kalim didn’t even make a gingerbread house! I definitely should have won!”

Azul scoffs at Idia and shouts, “You?! Please! Don’t make me laugh. Mine is clearly superior to yours! I should have won!”

Idia and Azul continue to shout at each other for the next few minutes. During this shouting match, Malleus and Vil silently shake their heads and leave the cafeteria without a word. Kalim looks back and forth between Idia and Azul with a worried expression on his face. In a slightly panicked voice, he chimes in between the shouting and yells, “Guys, guys! Calm down, please! Let’s all get along! What if we just shared the prize?”

Turning to Kalim in unison, both Idia and Azul shout, “YOU CAN’T SHARE A CLASS CREDIT!!”

-The End-

#the moral of the story is that it pays to be silly <3 #also crowley is the worst (/affectionate)#twisted wonderland #twst #twst imagines #twst fanfic #twst housewardens #vil schoenheit #malleus draconia #kalim al asim #idia shroud #azul ashengrotto #dire crowley #bun lapin écrit

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atelier-slime · 3 months

Text

DRAGON QUEST'S LOCALIZATION SUCKS, ACTUALLY. PART 1

There's a thread blowing up on Japanese twitter right now about the poor quality of localization. It's the first time I've ever actually seen a japanese perspective on the topic, and it's been extremely gratifying to see a ton people from over there talk about specific translation issues they've seen or learn for the first time that japanese media is often given the short end of the stick here in the USA.

Most of the time over here in the US, criticism of localization gets shouted down as whiny fans who think they know better than the translators. It's been heartening to see that people from japan are also annoyed by it, and its inspired me to write up a whole long-ass rant I've had simmering in the back of my mind for years, so buckle up, long post(s) incoming:

Let's start at the beginning with the first thing that ever caused me to start thinking about localization. This little guy:

If you've played Dragon Quest in the past 2 decades, you probably know this guy by the name "Spiked Hare." Not me though! I got into DQ on the game boy, in the brief window of time where DQ's localization was handled by Nob Ogasawara, the same guy responsible for translating every pokemon game up until Platinum. In the DQ games Nob worked on, he chose to translate this guy's name as "Almiraj." Why the huge difference in translation? I'll get to that in a minute.

The almiraj is an extremely minor enemy in Dragon Quest 3. It's pretty weak, and it's only real defining feature is that it can occasionally cast sleep spells on your party members. It's just one of hundreds of monsters in that game, and aside from it's cute design, it's pretty forgettable. As a weird kid overly obsessed with linguistics though, its name always seemed odd to me. You don't really see words that end with a "J" in english. It stuck out enough that one night, when I was bored, I decided to google "almiraj" to figure out what the name meant. It sent me down a rabbit hole (almiraj hole?) that taught me all sorts of cool shit, and permanently altered the way I looked at localization. The path I tumbled down that night went something like this:

The Dragon Quest almiraj is named after the almiraj, a "real" mythical creature described as a hare with a large horn on its head.

The original inspiration for accounts of the almiraj (as well as the jackalope, wolpertinger, etc.) is likely the Shope papiloma Virus, which causes rabbits to grow weird, horn-like growths on their face and head.

It was described by Zakariya al-Qazwini, an Iranian lawyer, author, and all around knowledgeable guy who lived in the 13th century.

al-Qazwini described it in the Aja'ib al-Makhluqat, a massive cosmographical treatise that attempted to describe basically everything in the known universe at the time. It was so popular in the Islamic world that it was copied and translated into dozens of languages, which meant plenty of copies have survived intact to modern times.

The almiraj was brought into the limelight in modern fantasy when it was introduced in the first edition of Dungeons and Dragons, as a relatively weak and unassuming monster as part of a campaign to expand the game with monster suggestions from fans of the series.

Dungeons and Dragons-style role playing games were brought into the digital world with the release of the first Wizardry game in 1981.

Yuji Horii was a massive fan of Wizardry, which he first discovered as part of a developer exchange program when he visited America in 1983. Three years later, he decided to try and recreate the things he loved from the series for console gamers in Japan, and the the original Dragon Quest was born.

One little name was all it took to open up this entire through-line of history that I had no idea even existed before that night. It's a tapestry of human experiences over 800 years in the making, spanning continents, cultures, languages, and medium. It's probably because I'm the type of person who sits around thinking about stuff too much, but I honestly get a little emotional wondering what al-Qazwini would think if he could see the mythical creatures he described all those years ago as little dudes hopping around inside a computer.

And the thing is the tapestry doesn't end there! Dragon Quest is still pretty niche in the west, but in Japan it's fucking titanic. There's an urban legend that the Japanese government banned Square Enix from releasing Dragon Quest games on a weekday, because so many people would skip work or school that it would impact the economy. (It's not true by the way, but the fact that the rumor exists at all is a testament to how huge the series' influence is over there.) I don't think it would be an overstatement to say that what Lord of the Rings did to modern western fantasy, Dragon Quest did to modern Japanese fantasy. Almost every JRPG, manga, or anime with a fantasy setting has the fingerprints of Dragon Quest on it. Countless other works have been inspired by DQ, and those works will go on to inspire others. A million different threads weaving tapestries back and forth across time and borders, all over the globe. And the almiraj is a part of that! It might just be a single, tiny, white and purple thread, but it's still in there helping to tie things together.

So back to the question I asked earlier: Why is it "Almiraj" in Mr. Ogasawara's translation but "Spiked hare" in the current one? Simple: Nob actually translated the name.

You can see on the DQ wiki that the original japanese name of the monster is "アルミラージ" which is literally just "almiraj" written in katakana:

The current DQ team has instead decided that all monster names should be puns. I'm not against puns or anything. "Spiked hare" for a rabbit with a horn is great! I might even raise my eyebrows and exhale slightly if I read it for the first time. Dragon Quest in general tends to have a lot of goofiness in it, so it's not like puns are out of place or anything. My problem is that, by deciding to replace monster names arbitrarily like this, all the little threads start to come unraveled. You lose the ability to look back down the line and discover all these different connections to history and nature and art that you might not ever learn otherwise. The almiraj isn't the only monster to get this treatment. A huge portion of the monsters in Dragon Quest are taken from mythologies around the world, and many of their names are literally already in English, just written with katakana.

The almiraj sticks out in my mind as a particularly egregious example because of just how much I learned because of the foreign-sounding name, but there's plenty of other name changes that have resulted in straight up confusing, ambiguous, or otherwise stupid outcomes in the current localization.

CONTINUED IN PART 2

#dragon quest #localization #translation #long post #rant #almiraj

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anghraine · 1 year

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Do you have any book recommendations for the Jane Austen fan who's read every one of her books?

DO I EVER.

Okay, it really depends on your preferences and what you're looking for. If you want to read things that were part of the background noise when Austen started writing and have similar concerns, you might look at things like Frances Burney's Evelina, Charlotte Lennox's The Female Quixote, The Italian or (more famously) The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe, or going a little further afield, William Godwin's Caleb Williams, Mary Wollstonecraft's Maria (or, for non-fiction, "Vindication of the Rights of Woman"), Sarah Scott's Millenium Hall, or various novels of Henry Fielding (I like Jonathan Wild, though it's quite different).

If you want to go nineteenth rather than eighteenth century, you can look at someone like Maria Edgeworth (also mentioned in NA!). Jumping ahead, Emily Eden is clearly an Austen fan (she gives P&P a shout-out in The Semi-Attached Couple, which is significantly different but obviously influenced by Austen). Frances Trollope's One Fault gives a very clear idea of why Elizabeth Bennet was so concerned about good nature as well as basic virtue (it's essentially about psychological abuse). There are the big names like George Eliot and the Brontës (Anne Brontë's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is my personal favorite and probably the most akin to Austen of any of them).

If you want to read on Jane Austen, some faves:

Jane Austen and the Fabric of Dialogue by Howard S. Babb is from the 60s, so you may want to take some of it with a grain of salt, but I've always found it really interesting and engaging.

Even earlier, there's Fields of Light by Reuben A. Brower (1951), which I had to save to track down years ago, but which apparently has been republished since. There's a chapter on Austen that's really good IMO.

I like most of Julia Prewitt Brown's work on Austen, though I have a particular fondness for "The Feminist Depreciation of Jane Austen," which is basically a 90s-era guided tour through (and breakdown of) bad takes that had been filtered through a narrow sort of feminism.

I'm really fond of some of John Wiltshire's interpretations in Recreating Jane Austen. This is also from the 90s, iirc, so it doesn't address later adaptations, but he also was a co-author of the later (2009) The Cinematic Jane Austen, in which he expanded his essay on Darcy's smile and its minimization in adaptations (not where I got my gripe over it, but validating to see someone talk about it!).

Persuasions (Jane Austen literary journal): it's a bit hit and miss, but there are some very good articles that can only really be found there. I own a few volumes of it and have used them repeatedly.

The Gentleman's Daughter by Amanda Vickery: this gives more of a historical context leading up to Austen's time that periodically references Austen, but can be useful!

#anon replies #austen blogging #jane austen #anghraine's recs #long post

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bylertruther · 8 months

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That comment was so true, I was just thinking the same way. Old bylers were more open to criticizing the show's bad aspects and writing choices instead od trying to bend the whole thing to come up with excuses and explanations. Nowadays when you criticize a writing choice or something done by the Duffers you automatically get accused as if you've just committed a crime because how dare you think the Duffers aren't perfect genius writers that put everything intentionally without any mistake.

yeah! nowadays, in this corner, criticism is seen as a bad thing that you would never do to something you enjoy, and it's like... huh? it's okay to not enjoy something 100%. the duffers and co are not infallible and people don't have to like every decision they've ever made. that shouldn't even be something that someone on the internet has to say—existing as a human being in the world should've taught everyone that back when they were a baby.

even beyond that, as others have mentioned in other conversations, you can understand someone else's viewpoint just fine and still not feel as though there's enough relevant evidence to back it up, and feel hesitant because of how the duffers have consistently handled other plots.

like, personally... i struggle to be one of those #believers, because of how present the show's racism is in my mind. also, season three and season four are right there, alongside the show's misogyny and classism, too. and don't forget the little inconsistencies and anachronisms either! there's A Lot that i don't like and that i feel could've been corrected or reworked more effectively had they had a more diverse writing room or consulted others during the writing process. i like the general direction of the show, but there are a lot of details or ways they went about it where i'm like ://// man..

and.... controversial perhaps... but i feel that behavior is especially rampant in the byIer fandom and it manifests as the fanon that we can't seem to shake off.

mike does pay acute attention to will in some ways, but he's not the obvious lovesick, clingy, forever doting, golden retriever bf that people make him out to be [shout out to s2 mike tho he was built different 💔]. that fanon!mike is fans overcompensating for canon mike's behavior and presentation, which honestly has not been that fucking great as of late, purposely because he can't balance having both will and el in his life, among other mike-specific reasons, and because the duffers changed the way they wrote him post-s2. he does care about and love will, but not like many fans suggest, at least not yet.

but if you say that around here, you're seen as a freak weirdo mike hater talking about some ooc mike even though the show is right there and i could point to the 9384038049 times that mike forgot about will, brushed him off, was mean to him, or explicitly chose someone else over him. purposely! of his own volition!

and it also shows in how they babygirlified him, even though mike doesn't act like or look like that at all in the show, nor has he ever been described that way by anyone, whether in-universe or by the people that bring him to life.

And Don't Even Get Me Started On Will. Zon't.........

they had to recreate these new characters with mike and will's names and faces, because they didn't like what was on the screen. simple as that. but will they ever admit it? lmao.

as a fan of the show, and a fan of these characters and the stories they're representing, it's really weird to witness. there has been a distinct shift in the way in-fandom bylers talk about byler and the show and it started post-s2 when things started happening that they felt they had to correct. if they want to engage with the material in a way that best suits their tastes, fine. whatever. literally everyone does that. but to insist that the things that they say that go directly against canon or don't even exist within it .... are canon? and that everyone else using direct lines from the text are the ones projecting or twisting it or otherwise not appreciating the material? i have to laugh.

it's the same with other serious criticisms. if they can't create something to justify it, then they just brush you off as a hater because that's easier than acknowledging that maybe their precious bloated ensemble show isn't entirely perfect.

#asks #everything has flaws and is not meant to be liked by everyone on planet earth and pointing any of that out isn't Bad or Hateful #i kno this was mostly general but i catered my response more towards My wheelhouse bc well. points at my url <3 #i love when ppl criticize things bc i think a willingness to interact with smth and dissect it in this context often comes out of love #and the frustration you feel bc it COULD have been better and you WANTED it to be better and so you look for where it went wrong to #better understand or make peace with it. like a lot of sw fans don't like a lot of the sw content tht gets shat out by disney but they stil #love the world n engage with it bc of tht love. the love of what it Could be and what was. etc etc etc

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whumpacabra · 22 days

Text

Façade

Pain medication use, past trauma, headache, overwhelmed, vague recreational drug mention, prison and legal charges mention, briefly implied past noncon

[Follows Halfway]

Routine took hold and East couldn’t be more thrilled. He had daily tasks to complete - cleaning his own room, setting plates for meals, dusting the common area. And Nathan was generous enough to explain how each task could be successfully completed.

He knew the others were watching him. Talking about him. His implants still stung where they hummed behind his ears. Part of him felt relieved for it; like the cameras in the bunker it was part of the act, a piece of the show. So long as he was observed, he was safely East - the enigmatic, antisocial, but diligent new addition to the Holloway House.

It was the times alone that were difficult to bear, as much as he breathed a sigh of relief hearing Jacob, Ice, Mac, and Tav leave for their day jobs while Alister attended some ‘skill building’ seminar Nathan drove them to. The house was locked, but he wasn’t considered a flight risk. He was safely alone and could finally breakdown and cry out all this stress -

“Oi, East - you in there? Telly’s fizzled out and I’m bored outta my mind.”

East couldn’t help the glower on his face as he cracked open his bedroom door. “Not my fucking problem.”

“Chill man, I’m just asking if you want to play cards. Nothing serious just some fun.”

Fun?

Tierney must have seen the flicker of confused hesitance in his eyes. The kid pouted, batting his eyes.

“Please? I’m gonna go nuts just sitting down there by myself.“

East glanced behind himself, pill bottle on his desk. He hadn’t taken any of the pain medication he had been prescribed - ‘as needed’ didn’t mean much to him. But if this kid was going to be a pain, what harm could one dose do?

“One game. Then you shut up, leave me alone, and let me take a nap.”

“Yes!” The former inmate was showing his age as he restrained a fist pump in the air, racing ahead of East’s limping gait to the top of the stairs. “Let’s do something simple - you know how to play War? Maybe Rummy…or Garbage - ah but that’s only 10 rounds it ends so fast…“

“Dealer’s choice.” East wasn’t going to admit he didn’t know how to play the games Tierney was talking about. Or any card games for that matter. (Did he? He remembered cards - the suits, the face cards - but not their utility.)

“Oh then we’re definitely playing War - we probably won’t finish before the others get back.” Tierney sat at the kitchen table, shuffling a deck and dealing two piles. East didn’t sit down until he saw where Tierney was putting his cards. But he settled into the chair, mirroring Tierney as they began to play.

The first few rounds were informative, each flipping over one card at a time, the higher value card ‘winning’ and letting the player add both to the bottom of their deck. East could see how this game could last all day, but at least it didn’t involved any of the loud table slapping and shouting he had heard during other card games.

“So, what’s your deal man?”

“Hm?” East turned over an 8 of spades. Tierney took it with his queen of clubs.

“Nate told us the basic y’know - new guy, skittish, not a fan of crowds, but - y’know - I’m curious. You’re an immigrant right?”

East felt a frown crease his face, even as his 7 of hearts took Tierney’s 2 of diamonds.

(“Pity about the accent. I guess there’s always room for improvement.”)

“What of it?”

Tierney opened his mouth and almost spoke, a pinch of annoyance fading from his face.

“Never mind. You’re a prickly motherfucker you know that?”

“Yessir.”

“Sir? I could get used to the sound of that - ”

“Don’t.” Despite the seriousness in East’s voice Tierney chuckled, either ignoring or - blessedly - missing the thread of desperation in his voice. East took Tierney’s king of spades with an ace of diamonds.

“I’m just jokin’ - but you do call Nate ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a bit…uh, unique.”

“Hm. A polite way of putting it.”

“You know it’s weird and you do it anyways?”

“Force of habit.”

“Oh.” Tierney hesitantly took East’s king of hearts with his ace of spades. “You serve?”

Probably.

“Yessir.”

“How’d a solider end up on assault and burglary charges?”

“Tough luck.” East lost a queen of hearts to Tierney’s king of clubs. “How’d a kid fresh outta school end up with felony drug trafficking charges?”

“Ah, you must not have heard.” Tierney smirked, taking a 3 of clubs with a 4 of hearts. “I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t seem it.”

“Nah, I was just a dumbass kid. Acting out for mum and da’s attention, y’know?” East shrugged. He didn’t. But Tierney carried on. “Got a bit of a reputation to live up to in my house.”

“Really?”

“You don’t know, do ya?” The Irishman laughed. They had both turned over a pair of aces. He began to layer three cards below, and East mirrored him exactly. He was more focused on the cards than the conversation. “How the hell do you spend five years in Blackwater and not know what the O’Hares have been up to?”

Panic flared in East’s chest, burning up his throat. But the pain medication in his blood made his thoughts syrupy - easy to put on a charade of calm, easy to let something slip.

“Kept my head down and mouth shut.” East didn’t like how hyper aware of his own tongue he suddenly was. (“Head back, mouth open. And for fuck’s sake relax, bitch.”) He needed the echo in his skull to shut up, to talk over it until it did. “What? Your father a mob boss or something?”

“Or something…” Tierney pouted when he turned over a 7 of clubs, losing to East’s king of hearts. “Damn, you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

East swallowed a memory of iron and smoke on his tongue.

“Guess so.“ He stood, mind on getting a glass of water to wash away the phantom taste but his body sluggish, stumbling from the table.

“Hey, you good man?” There was the sound of a chair moving across the linoleum, a presence hovering closer, closer -

East caught Tierney’s hand before it reached his shoulder. He was mindful not to snatch the man’s fragile wrist with too much force, gently brushing it aside after a breath to steady himself.

“You talk too much.” He breathed through his mouth, if only to remind himself he could. East’s words were slow and clumsy on his tongue. “Headache. Mind if I close my eyes a few minutes? We can finish the game after, just - just need a minute.” There was a beat before Tierney hesitantly responded.

“Alright.” There was twinge of worry across the younger man’s freckled face. “Take the couch - no use heading back upstairs if ya want to finish the game.”

East nodded, pushing through the thickening fog around his thoughts. Couch. Lie down. Close his eyes. Just long enough to think clearly. Just long enough to feel rested and able to continue this charade of normalcy, this act -

But sleep was warm and dark and deep, and blessedly, dreamless.

[Before Nap]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath

#whump #recovery #pain medication #past trauma #headache #overwhelmed #recreational drug mention #prison mention #legal charges mention #implied past noncon #freelancers #this chapter is Messy but I’ve given myself a 3x rewrite limit. this ain’t a published novel if I’m editing more than writing out it goes

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fizzyxcustard · 1 year

Text

Through New Eyes.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Pairing: Raymond de Merville x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sexual references

Summary: You kiss Raymond at a new year banquet, and that kiss sparks something exciting and new inside him. From this head canon post, and requested by @middleearthpixie

Comments: As always, if you like the story, please consider a reblog. It really does help. If you would like to be added to any of my story tag lists, or my Follow Forever tag list (where you’re tagged in everything) then please let me know.

A new year. New opportunities. New ventures. That was what your dear mother had always told you, and it had become something you held onto. Working day in, day out, at Baron de Merville’s chateau meant that new opportunities were hard to come by. Hope was still ignited inside you, and even when you had a bad day, your father still helped you keep hold to your mother’s words.

Banquets were common at the chateau, and it often meant you working until the early hours. You kept tankards of ale overflowing and bellies full of fresh food. Tonight was the annual new year banquet, bigger than any of the others. Serving girls hurried to and fro, keeping their masters happy and in a cheerful mood.

Snow was falling heavily outside and had been now for some hours, meaning that an overnight stay was inevitable. It was the same as last year and all you serving girls wound up camped in the kitchens and main hall. A couple were warmed by the company of the Baron’s knights in their chambers.

Raymond, the Baron’s son, was present tonight, unlike the last two years when he had been away and out of the country, fighting a war on his father’s behalf. He was a strange man to understand; one day he would be snappy and bark orders to you like you were a dog, and then the next day he would show a kinder side towards you.

By the time that it came for the main well-wishing chorus of merry men shouting to a new year, you were beside Raymond. Some of the men pulled serving girls to them and offered a kiss. However, you noticed that no one offered you a kiss, and no one offered Raymond a kiss. On impulse, you leaned in and placed a gentle peck on Raymond’s lips.

His ice blue eyes glared at you for a few seconds in question. A warm blush crept onto his cheeks. “What was that for?” he asked.

You smiled at him, amused by the shock on his face. “Well, it is a new year and that is the way to offer someone high hopes of joy and peace. I would wish for nothing more than that for you, Sir Raymond.”

Raymond couldn’t help but smile back at you. Those words hit him hard, causing a heat to stir inside him. No one had ever wished him such things, besides his long-passed mother. All she had ever wished for her boy was peace and love in his life.

For the rest of the evening, Raymond replayed the kiss in his mind. His eyes watched you as you continued on with your duties. He studied your movement; the sway of your hips and the swish of your hair. Why had he never noticed this before? As he watched you disappear back into the kitchen, he placed his fingertips against his lips, trying to recreate that sensation of you against him.

Long after midnight, all the men began to disperse from the room. Raymond stayed behind, lingering at the window. Serving girls dashed around him, picking up plates and tankards. He watched the drifting snow as it came down from the heavens. Had his mother sent this night so he could have a chance with you?

You heard your name being called and followed the voice, only to see Raymond turn toward you.

“The weather is treacherous tonight. Would you care to remain here?” he asked.

“Yes, the girls and I have already begun making arrangements to set ourselves…”

“Perhaps you would be warmer in my chamber,” Raymond said, his eyes now wider.

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine and you felt your hands shake, almost dropping the large platter that was in them. “Oh, I would be honoured, Sir Raymond.” You offered him a smile, which ignited a blush.

“Continue on with your work. I shall wait.”

In the kitchen, Lucille, your best friend, saw your demeanour. You had stopped at the large table which was central to the room.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“I…I don’t know…” you began. “I’ve been asked to go back to Sir Raymond’s chambers.”

A few other girls stopped and looked, overhearing the conversation.

“Sir Raymond?” someone exclaimed.

Lucille placed her hand on your shoulder and smiled. “Be careful.” Her words were in reference to some of the other girls who had been treated badly when in the company of the knights. However, something told you that Raymond would not harm you. The man may have appeared cruel among his men, but to you there seemed to be a withheld kindness that shone through. The very fact that he was waiting for you in the hall made your argument in his favour all the clearer.

Raymond was indeed still waiting for you when you finally finished your duties. He offered you his arm, and you held it, feeling so tiny against his tall and broad frame.

The two of you remained quiet as you walked the hallways back to his chamber. There were general shuffling sounds and dull chatter coming from behind the closed, wooden doors.

When at Raymond’s chamber, he let you inside first.

You took a huge intake of breath as you looked at the large, four-poster bed in the centre of his room. A sudden sensation made you jump; Raymond’s hand lingered on the base of your back.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, nervous as to what the night would now hold. Would he be forceful?

“Do not be afraid,” he said quietly. “I will do nothing against your will.”

He must have sensed your nervousness. You looked upon him, having always found him incredibly handsome, and on instinct, you got to your feet and wound your arms around his neck.

Immediately Raymond threw you into a hot kiss. His arms wrapped around you, beckoning you to him so your bodies could touch. The kiss was hot, demanding. And as Raymond pulled away from you for a second, he looked upon you. “Why did I not see how you beautiful you are? Before tonight and I was blind. From this night, I now see you through new eyes.”

***

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#Raymond de Merville #Richard Armitage #Raymond de Merville x Fem!Reader #Pilgrimage #Request

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