#fat burners for man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelofacidx · 4 months

Text

Mascara

Toxic ex bf! Ghost x reader.

Cw: Verbal abuse, physical abuse, dub con

“Stumblin’ in at the ass crack of dawn dressed like a slag. Typical.” Simon grunts out, his hulking form sprawled lazily on your arm chair.

You freeze in your tracks, mouth going dry, heart beat creeping into your throat, and the hairs on your arm standing at attention. You’d expected something like this to happen soon. Since the break up you’d blocked him cold turkey on everything and tried your best to put the situation as far out of your mind as possible. It was impossible not to notice the signs of his impending debut back into your life though. The burner accounts that always viewed your social media stories first, the unknown number calls, and the middle aged man across the hall who’d warned you about a potential thief casing your place. It reeked of Simon, all of it.

“You need to get out of my house.” You say as firmly as you can, lips pulled tight and arms crossed against your chest, shielding your cleavage in the admittedly skimpy dress.

He lets out a dry chuckle with no humor behind it, somewhere deep in his chest before rising to his feet and taking a step towards you, causing you to reflexively flinch. A few more strides and you find yourself pressed to the door, barely enough room to breathe without your stomach pressing into his. His face connects to the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His scent trail follows all the way down, dropping to his knees and lifting your dress to prod at your cunt with his nose while you’re paralyzed in disbelief and fear. He lets out a low hum and taps the outside of your thigh twice before standing, seeming satisfied with his fucked up field report.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask, your voice cracking and hushed as you try to not give him the satisfaction of tears.

“Had to make sure no one else used my pussy. I know she was beggin’ for something all night with the way you’re dressed. You must be starved huh, love?” He muses, his hand snaking down to cup your cunt in his hand, rubbing at your clit with his palm and not bothering to pull your underwear to the side first.

You want to call the police. You want to tell him that you hate him and to get the hell out of your place. You want to scream at him until your vocal cords tear. However, there’s a difference between a want and a need. He’d taught you that well. Right now with the alcohol still in your system and the neglect of your sex drive for months, you need him. You need to feel the way that only he can make you feel, and you can’t tell if you hate him or yourself more in this moment.

Your resistance fades away the more he palms at your pussy and is lost all together when he rips your panties off, spitting on his hand and rubbing two calloused fingers over your puffy clit. The sparks of pleasure run up your spine and down your legs, causing them to shake and become unsteady. In an act of mercy you’re slung over his shoulder and walked to your room. He drops you onto the bed unceremoniously, pawing at your dress before finally ripping it off over your head, letting it fall to the floor.

“There she is.” He hums, running his hands down the soft skin of your belly and stopping right before where you needed him most.

“Please. Simon please just—I need—.” You attempt to say before a sharp slap to your pussy cuts you off, a strangled squeal leaving your throat.

“I know what you need. I know you better than anyone.” He says lowly, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his sweats and underwear, pulling them down in a fluid motion.

His cock is rock hard, red at the tip and weepy. From the looks of it, he hadn’t gotten laid lately either. He leans forward and slaps the fat tip against your clit, a content smirk on his lips. You scold yourself mentally from almost sentimentalizing it. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be under him again. You should—.

Your thoughts completely clear as you feel the agonizing stretch of very little prep. A deep burn and sting in your core that promises to dissapear and replace itself with blissful fullness. He wastes no time, his hips rocking into you; fat cock dipping in and out of you as his balls slap against your ass. One of his hands finds it’s home on your throat and the other rests on your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow.

“You know where home is. Don’t cha’ baby? Waited nice an’ good for me to come back and take care of my pretty pussy.” He growls, the tempo of his thrusts picking up and causing your hips to ache from the constant slamming.

“Fuck you Simon.” You manage to choke out with all of the malice that you can, and in a moment of boldness spitting right in his face.

His thrusts grind to a halt and he lifts his hand to his face, using the back of his palm to wipe the spit off of his chin and onto your sheets. His eyes lock with yours, brows knitted together and pupils blown out like a jaguar about to disembowel a poor tapir. Immediately you want to take it back, to apologize and kneel at his feet and beg to him like a god for a shred of mercy. But his mind seems to be already made up.

The back of his palm connects with your cheek just once, leaving it red and stinging and angry. The tears that finally flow from your eyes drag muddy grey lines down your face, mascara and eyeliner. Simon seems to be spurred on by your disheveled look, his thrusts picking up again and hand returning to your face.

“I fuckin’ own you. Dumb little bitch. You need to be led and told what to do. Can’t be trusted alone. Gonna get yourself killed or knocked up by some deadbeat.” He grunts into your ear, his pace becoming erratic indicating that he’s nearing his end.

Your cunt clenches hard around him involuntarily, your thighs locking around him as you reach your orgasm, involuntarily milking Simon in the process. You’d be screaming if it wasn’t for the massive hand clamping your airway shut, which your neighbors are probably grateful for. With a loud moan Simon spills, his hips stilling as hot cum floods your insides. He doesn’t bother to pull out before laying next to you, half hard cock nestled comfortably in your pussy.

“Sweet thing. It’s a big world out there, you’d be lost without me wouldn’t you little stray?” He hums, licking his thumb and rubbing it against your cheek to try and wipe off the makeup mess.

“…Yes, Si.” You agree, full of shame and guilt.

#cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

190 notes · View notes

charmedreincarnation · 1 year

Note

Ya bitch got into the void state

Champagne anon here and your mf girlll got in the mf void state and manifested her dream life. This happened a week ago, and I’ve been chilling but I do wanna share my story to help others. Gotta give Thanks to Maya, and so many other bloggers and even anon. Y’all hoes will forever be in my heart, and I’m forever grateful 🥹 also Maya girl you told me when I succeed to get into detail and I got nothing to do for the next two hours so imaaa just share it all here in detail.

I also wanna especially thank all the black creators on tumblr!! I didn’t know there were so many of us using the law. It always seems the world is so against us, and there’s nothing we can do abt it but nahhhh!! we can all live our best melanated lives regardless. Periodt, as we should it’s about goddamned time after everything we’ve been though 😂

Anyways!!!! after reading this: https://www.tumblr.com/charmedreincarnation/717864613626134528/im-your-bubble-anon-but-i-made-this-burner-to success story yesterday I got hella motivated. I read that shit and I thought I posted it on accident because it was everything I had been through, and had been thinking anyways. That anon ate your tumblr habits btw. If y’all haven’t seen my good sis’s sucess post go check that shut out rn, On god it will help.

At the end that anon (my mf dawg 🙏) included that they manifested for everyone. Now ion know if that shit actually work tbh. I’ve seen people say you can and can’t, but tbh the vibes were too high for me to doubt. I was like ight, okay fuck it, ima leave my dream life. Whether it me, that anon, or the devil himself ion give a fuck.

So that’s whatssss a bitch did!!! I just affirmed all day it was very fulfilling. People who hate on affirming are mad corny. I can’t lie that shit works hella fast even if you don’t believe it. Idk if that anon’s void manifesting helped or what but I didn’t do much and after 3 months of trying I entered the damn void state. I’m mad I thought I had to be on some ghandi shit to do this (no hate to him hes da man) but you rlly don’t y’all. BUT LEMME TALK MY SHIT ALL YOU NEED IS AFFIRMING AND PERSISTENCE.

Anyways I went go bed excited asl!! I wrote my script that was like 10 pages long I can’t lie I did the most… but it’s whateva. I woke up in the void state after waking up at 4 am or sum, and i was like oh shityyyt lemme manifest rq and skrttt out this hoe. So that’s what a mf did 😂😂

Anyways the part y’all’s is waiting for. This is what ya girl manifested

Desired face and body. I was in shock how all the details came to life. Y’all im a solid 100/10 it’s giving natural bbl and Aliyah. I swear to gahhh everywhere I go people be trying to peep. I’m not used to being treated like a fucking celeb everywhere I go, whole time it’s just my fat gyattttt

Being the hottest 16 yr old IT GIRL at my school, and having lucky girl syndrome. People call me a mini jayda wayda, but tbh I’m better than her now. No hoe is ever gonna cheat on meee like they did her…bye. She’s still gorgeous as fuck tho

Perfect school life. Your girl is set to be the Valedictorian when I graduate (my school has 4!) I’m also sophomore year President, captain of the basketball team, apart of some volunteer programs through my school, and so much more. My resume and college application is abt to be so fuckin fire in 2 years. As I should Columbia is a competitive ass school 😤😤 that aside everyone always tryna link, I got 3 guys fighting over me (whole damn love square), so many people tryna be my friends, teachers love me, and I excel in everything I do.

My Family being rich assss fuck. My dad got a Wikipedia now and his net worth is 22 million dollars. He owns a hedge fund company now, we love a man in finance 😍😍 AS HE FUCKING SHOULD. He got a material gurlll daughter. Two in fact now.

Fire ass crib. Bro it’s a 9 million dollar penthouse, perfect for ragers. I woke up here and my room is decorated to my personality, pintrest clothes all in my closet, I got an exotic pitbull and frenchie, and the house is just mad clean and fire, I’m obsessed with it. Rarely ever wanna leave now.

My mom not being strict. That bald headed ass hoe use to be mad annoying. Y’all know how Haitians are. Mad annoying as fuck and strict for no reason. Now I go out everyday and come home at midnight and no one gives a fuck. Everyone minds their own business as they should.

Having an older brother and younger sister. I was an only child, because I was a miracle baby bc my mom was infertile. Now she got 3 of us, so she can stop being only in my buisness. I’m just playin I love my mom regardless she’s just hella clingy. Anyways my brother is mad protective but also be wrestling mad aggressive for no damn reason. He gave me a bruise but it’s whateva Ima get my lick back. I also always wanted to be an older sister, bc I’d love to be a role model! My sister is 10 and adores me soo much it’s so adorable 🥹 lmfaooo, she’s mad spoiled by me and my mom but it is what it is.

Successful lip gloss business and being a successful drop shipper. Now you didn’t think a sista wasn’t gonna give herself a career just because I’m young right 🤨🤨 we’ll ya wrong. Ya girl is making 200k-400k a year. I barely even use my money cause I got an allowance from my parents… but still, financial literacy and wealth is so important to me especially as a black woman.

A pookie bae. Y’all know I wasn’t gonna deal with finding a loyal cute and funny guy in nyc. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Anyways I got me a fine ass boo. I just wrote down all the features I wanted in him like for exampleS finically secure so he can spoil me, handsome as fuck, tall, funny asl, kind, little clingy, deep raspy voice, nice hand, good hygiene and style,yanno yanooo !!! Plus some other shit and whewww the void did me so good. Nowww my boo bear is a lil cracker and I’ve never dated a white boy befuh but my am I surprised. I wake up everyday with some long ass appreciation texts and plans already made ! Y’all know I love me a dominant man who knows what he wants. He’s got some nice ass clothes, nice car and crib, made me a passenger princess and spoils me way too much. He doesn’t complain abt my mood swings and simps in the best way possible. Not to mention he’s fine afkkk he’s giving vinnie hacker. He’s also 6’1 and I’m 5’1 so that height difference is soooo hot I can’t lie I feel so so safe with him 🫣 I could go on all day but in short he’s more than perfect

+ so much more but this is what shocked me the most. Anyways I’ve been living like this for the past week and it just feel so natural. I keep forgetting I got into the void but whateva I’m the only who knows anyways. Anyways live yo best life and neva give upppp. I gotta go but I’ll probably eventually make a blog. My names angela so look out for it. I’m just mad lazy soo idk tho !!!

Angela out 🫡✌️

Girl this was so fun to read, I’m just as excited for you lmfao. I love seeing black women win, and thank you for sharing your methods! Enjoy your best life and come back if it resonates with your life bae !!!

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #void state #law of attraction #void success

934 notes · View notes

misctf · 11 months

Text

Age Burner

“Getting older ain’t easy”. My dad would often say that when I was growing up, and like most things your parents tell you, I didn’t take it too seriously. But 30ish years later, I started to appreciate those words of wisdom. I was a college baseball player, the ladies were all over me, and I actually had hair on my head and not everywhere else. But now I can barely throw a baseball around with my son without an ache or pain. And with him about to go off to college and play baseball, it was like he was reliving my golden days.

So with father’s day and my birthday coming up, another great reminder of my age, I decided to get something for myself. I happened across an internet ad, big letters flashing “Age Burner!” Initially thought it’d be some type of scam supplement or something. But I ordered it and a few days later, a small package arrived with a single pill. I had half a mind to throw it out, but I already spent the money. I took the pill right before I went to bed as instructed, and had the best sleep of my life. When I woke up the next morning, I immediately noticed a difference. No aches or pains! My skin felt youthful and firm. No hair anywhere but my head! I ran to the mirror and was shocked- it was like time was turned back and I was my old 19-year old self. I could barely keep my hands off my firm pecs and my abs. I even flexed to show off my guns. It felt so good to be back.

After some time, I rummaged through my closet and found my old baseball glove, a grin forming on my face. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to play ball with my son, show him what his old man was capable of back in his youth. I ran over to his room, excited to spend the day with him when my heart sunk. The man sitting in my son’s bed looked nothing like him: bald, hairy, a small flabby gut sitting between his legs. He looked up at me, a handful of his gut in his hand, too shocked to say anything.

After the initial shock subsided, and my son had two cups of coffee, we went and investigated. The pill does in fact burn away age, almost like a fat loss supplement. But that age had to go somewhere and in this case, it all went to my son. Reversal should be easy enough, he would just need to take the pill too. The problem was the pill was on back order for at least a few months- apparently it was very popular and the company was having a hard time keeping up their supply.

It’s been a few weeks without them taking any new orders, but my son seems to be adjusting well. He’s enjoyed keeping up with lawn care and found himself a construction job. And the other day, he offered to fire up the grill for me and my new buddies from the baseball team. I even came home and found him sipping a beer on the patio and laughing with a few of his new work buddies. I'm just happy he's happy. To tell you the truth, the longer things stay like this, the more I wonder if we’ll want to go back. I for damn sure know my answer.

#male tf #male transformation #age progression #agre regression

339 notes · View notes

justforbooks · 3 months

Text

Long before Dave Myers, one half of the TV duo the Hairy Bikers, was hairy, or a biker, he was a cook. While still a child, he prepared family meals when his mother, a former shipyard crane driver, became so debilitated by multiple sclerosis she was scarcely able to leave her bed. “Dad and I became Mam’s carers, muddling through each day,” said Myers, who has died aged 66. “Sometimes I got out a cookbook and made a pie or a stew out of whatever ingredients we had in.”

His mother had been “a fabulous cook and was often preparing food while I played at her feet”. His father, the foreman of a local paper mill, would put little Dave on the saddle of his motorbike so he could pretend to ride. “I loved the smell of oil and machinery and rubber; just one whiff would set my pulse racing.”

But it was only half a lifetime later that Myers, after many years of working as a television makeup artist, managed to make an onscreen career by combining these two childhood passions. In 2004, when he was 45, Myers and his friend Simon King, a locations manager on the Harry Potter films, pitched their idea for a TV show focusing on motorbikes and food to the BBC. “It was midlife crisis time and you can’t have more of a midlife crisis than going off on a motorbike,” said Myers.

The show’s premise was that two burly, hirsute motorcyclists would visit foreign locales, often getting off their bikes to cook by the roadside. In the first episode of The Hairy Bikers’ Cookbook (2006), the pair motored through Namibia, stopping off to cook crocodile satay and oryx rolls.

This culinary travelogue ran across three series, taking them to Portugal, Vietnam, Turkey and Mexico, and became such a hit with the viewers that a memo circulated the BBC praising the two men for winning over “a difficult-to-reach audience”. “Basically a ‘difficult-to-reach audience’ translates as ‘normal people’,” said King.

The two self-taught cooks had a disarmingly unpretentious love of food and easy on-screen banter redolent of Keith Floyd, if less bibulous, or Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson, if less posh. In a sense, Myers and King were the male northern riposte to the Two Fat Ladies. What’s more, their two fat lads were refreshing fare in the age of telegenic cooks such as Nigella Lawson or angry chefs like Gordon Ramsay.

Spin-off shows followed, including The Hairy Bikers’ Food Tour of Britain (2009), The Hairy Bikers: Mums Know Best (2010), The Hairy Bikers’ Mississippi Adventure (2012) and The Hairy Bikers’ Asian Adventure (2014), along with allied cookbooks and a 2015 memoir, The Hairy Bikers Blood, Sweat and Tyres.

What was the secret of their success? “We are mates, it’s not something that’s been manufactured,” said Myers. “We’re not snobby about food. We’re very happy with egg and chips, as long as it’s very good-quality eggs and good-quality potatoes. About 95% of good cooking is good shopping.”

They met by chance in a Newcastle pub in the 1990s when Myers was working there as makeup artist and prosthetics technician on an adaptation of Catherine Cookson’s The Gambling Man starring Robson Green. King, an assistant director on the project, was at the bar ordering a curry. The barman told King that if he ordered two curries he would qualify for a special offer: four poppadoms instead of one. “I just stepped up and said, ‘I’ll have the other curry’,” Myers said.

The pair cemented their friendship with road trips up the west coast of Scotland, travelling with a pan, a single-burner stove, some butter, a lemon and some brown bread. “We’d go up round Loch Assynt, up by Lochinver, and catch wild brown trout.” The idea for the television series was born from these trips.

But, while the Hairy Bikers became celebrated and their cookbooks successful, some worried that their recipes were unhealthy. Their banana French toast recipe, consisting of brioche, bananas, peanut butter and cream, was ominously dedicated to Elvis Presley. One critic suggested that their full-English shakshuka, featuring sausages, lardons and black pudding, “looks as if it should come with a diagram on how to administer CPR”.

Indeed, as their fame expanded, so did their waistbands. By 2012, Myers recalled, he was taking tablets for high blood pressure and to lower his cholesterol, and both he and King were diagnosed as being morbidly obese during a medical. He weighed 17st 12lb, with a 49in waist, while King weighed in at 19st 6lb, with a 50in waistline. “I was prediabetic; human foie gras, basically,” Myers said.

The diagnoses pushed them to make the series The Hairy Dieters: How to Love Food and Lose Weight. Both men lost 3st 7lb during filming and published their most successful series of books afterwards under the general title Hairy Dieters. “Doing it publicly was the thing that encouraged us to make it work. People admired the honesty. We sold about 1.3m copies of our first book. We learned an awful lot from it.”

The following year, 2013, Myers appeared on Strictly Come Dancing, performing a “Tartan tango” to the tune of The Proclaimers’ I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) with his dance partner, Karen Hauer, and becoming, in the words of the show’s judge Len Goodman, “the people’s champion”, winning the weekly popular vote despite sometimes low marks from judges and armchair critics deriding his “ungainly boogying”. He didn’t win, but the Hairy Biker received the longest standing ovation for, fittingly enough, a Meat Loaf-themed paso doble.

Myers, the only child of Jim and Margaret, was born in Barrow-in-Furness ( then in Lancashire but now in Cumbria) and attended the town’s grammar school for boys, where an inspirational teacher, Mr Eaton, encouraged him to develop his artistic skills. He took a fine art degree at Goldsmiths, University of London and a master’s degree in art history.

His first job was as a trainee makeup artist at the BBC. He worked there for 23 years, including a stint on Top of the Pops, before the Hairy Bikers got together. While filming the show in Romania, Myers met Liliana Orzac. “In our hotel there was a striking woman on reception. Nudging Si, I whispered: ‘I fancy her!’” They married in 2011.

In 2022, Myers announced on the podcast Hairy Bikers – Agony Uncles that he had been diagnosed with cancer. He and King made a moving return to the screen in The Hairy Bikers: Coming Home for Christmas in December 2023, in which they discussed his illness and treatment; and had filmed a new series, The Hairy Bikers Go West, which is currently screening on BBC Two, and which King described as “a celebration of a joyous and creative friendship”.

Myers is survived by Liliana and her children, Iza and Sergiu.

🔔 David James Myers, chef and television presenter, born 8 September 1957; died 28 February 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #dave myers #Hairy bikers #in memoriam

11 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 1 year

Text

chapter 3 - hungry howie's big date

2.6K words

warnings - mmm? daddy issues, i think that's it

prev. chapter / masterlist / next chapter

It’s during third-period chemistry with his favorite lab partner, Chrissy Cunningham, that Eddie is interrupted from work he was actually looking forward to. By Michael Wheeler of all people.

“Journalism Pass!” Mike holds up the back of his sister’s badge to Mrs. Clink and she bats her hand dismissively.

Chrissy tightens the scratched plastic goggles around her head while Eddie leans his hip against their work table, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, “Yes, Wheeler?”

“There’s a showing of Rocky Horror that I wanna take Jane to this weekend.”

Eddie snorts, peeking over his shoulder at Chrissy, pressing the palm of her hand into her glossed lips to keep back her giggles, “That’s an R-rated movie, wonderboy.”

“Yeah,” Mike rolls his eyes, “and I still can’t date my girlfriend unless you’re dating her sister. So we both have good points.”

Brows shooting to her hairline, Chrissy “woah”s at the little guy’s audacity.

Eddie gestures flippantly to the lanky mess in front of him, “Right? Worse than Henderson, I tell you.”

She wide-eyed nods in agreement.

Returning to his cash cow, Eddie tilts his head - eyes narrowed, “So what? You wanna double-date at Rocky Horror?”

“No, obviously not,” looking through his peripherals, Mike notices Mrs. Clink staring at them a little too hard and turns so his and Eddie’s backs are facing the woman, “I just need you two to be out on a date so I can take out Jane. I also need you to get us into the movie and then leave. Or sit in a different row.”

So demanding, so unfavorable.

Eddie sticks out a hand, palm up, “Fifty. Now.”

Through a positively murderous stare, Mike asks, “What makes you think I have fifty bucks on me right now?”

A long huff passes through Eddie’s nose, “You’re a spoiled, conniving, upper-class nerd and you’re one of my best friends,” he curls his fingers into a fist twice before shoving his flat palm closer to Mike, “Now cough it.”

Similarly sighing, Mike bends down at the knee and yanks out a folded stack of crinkly ten-dollar bills from his sock.

Snatching up the money, Eddie pats Mike’s head as one would a dog, “Now if you wanna complete your Munson-ification process, stop carrying fat wads on your person,” he slaps the pad of tens against the bridge of Mike’s nose, “Everyone knows you’re rich, Wheeler - don’t flaunt it.”

Before Mike gets the chance to properly defend himself, Eddie tucks the money into the snug waistband of his boxers and shoos him away.

“I’ll figure out something for my beloved shrew, but right now Cunningham and I need to light scraps of metal on fire for an hour,” Eddie nudges Mike back by the shoulder and returns to the girl’s side.

She’s tugging on her rubber gloves while Eddie puts on his own pair of safety goggles.

“You know anything interesting going on this weekend?”

Blinking, Chrissy hums before the blankness brightens, “I think there’s an H&M sale in Indianapolis featuring some Laura Ashley stuff. She might like that.”

“Something easier on my fifty-buck budget, please?” he watches her light the Bunsen burner.

Shaking her head, Chrissy pouts, “Sorry, Eddie.”

“No worries,” he stares up at the water-stained ceiling, “I’ll just have to get my own idea.”

And getting Eddie to have his own idea is like asking a teen movie to not rip off the movies before it.

Eddie’s van sputters up to the Hopper cabin precisely two minutes after he said it would. Black backdrop and twinkling stars watch you shoo Eleven off and they awkwardly pull their collars and glance away when your father sternly calls your name before you can follow.

“You’ve had a bad attitude lately,” his hands are on his hips and he’s barely gotten out of his uniform, “I know you’re growing up and need your space, but if you’re gonna go out with this guy then I need to know who the man is.”

And flashing, headache-inducing red lights blare in the back of your mind at the idea of him meeting Eddie. So you resort to manipulation, “He’s a friend of Mike’s - isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he removes the Sheriff’s hat he’s always claimed squeezes too tight and runs a hand through his hair, “I barely like Mike. You expect me to like a senior he’s friends with that I’ve never even met?”

Glancing back, you can barely make out the pinched brows and overly invested lean of Eddie Munson’s concern through his tinted windows.

“Eddie Munson,” you’re too tired to fight and your eldest daughter intuition tells you Jim’s pager is about to go off soon anyways, “that’s the friend.”

“No!” he puts both hands up, evidently distressed, and you find joy in the way his gray hairs must be growing in, “No way.”

“Yes way,” you shrug and waltz towards the van, waving off your father, “I like him so play nice!” and you aren’t totally sure if you’re really saying that to piss him off or if it’s true. Jim opens his mouth to retort, so you lug the passenger side door open and shout before he can, “Can’t hear you over the pager that’s about to go off in two seconds!”

And before you’ve even got the van door closed, his pager does - in fact - go off.

Eddie wants to ask, and you see that, so you just nudge him with your elbow and he pulls out of the dirt driveway quickly.

“Intense fight there,” Eddie hisses through his teeth, “Honestly, I was about to put earmuffs on the kids - it was scary.”

It’s his way of prodding. Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke and then still getting hurt if you turn him down.

“He’s just been up my ass ‘cuz I’m not going to college.”

Eleven comes forward, face puffing up between yours and Eddie’s seats, “You’re not going to college?!”

You shove her back by the shoulder, sick to the stomach at the idea of explaining your life plan (or lack thereof) to your little sister, “What’s the plan for tonight, Munster?”

“For them,” he braces, arms stiff and eyes nervously flickering between you and the rearview mirror, “an R-rated movie. For us? Leaving before the movie to go somewhere totally romantic.”

Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke - his true specialty.

“Sounds spectacular,” you muse, and his arms loosen from their ramrod-straight position.

Totally romantic ends up being at Lover’s Lake next to his van. A threadbare, plaid blanket with a mysterious black stain in the upper right corner is laid over surrounding grass and rocks with a Hungry Howie’s Taxi yellow pizza box in the middle. You suspect the pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie is nervously picking at his shoelace as he waits for you to sit down, so you choose to not say anything.

As soon as you sit beside him, Eddie shoots up onto his feet, hands bracing you for patience, “I almost forgot!”

Eddie slams open the back doors and disappears inside, you hear a clunk and curse before he tramples back out, uneven-footed and stumbling. A boombox in both hands, he sets it down and presses play.

The borderline waxing poetic opening guitar to Cinderella’s ‘Nobody’s Fool’ crackles over the speakers and Eddie hurriedly turns it down to a gentler hum.

“As long as you don’t listen to the lyrics, it’s kind of romantic,” Eddie pops open the Hungry Howie’s box and grease stains dot the top, “You probably don’t know, but most metal ballads- “ he gestures to the boombox leaking out Tom Keifer with raised brows, “even hair metal ballads - are not super romantic.”

“I can pretend,” you lean over his outstretched leg and brush against his leather-clad side to grab one of Howie’s infamously thick slices, “This is already the most well-thought-out date I’ve been on.”

And you haven’t been on many dates. Eddie knows that, too, but he decides to keep his big trap shut.

The pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie so nervously tucks an arm into the swirling pit of his stomach and you decide to keep your own trap shut. Eddie can’t say why he’s so nervous - it shouldn’t matter whether or not you actually like him. It really, really shouldn’t, but he can’t help but hope you do.

“Uhm, so,” his eyes look nice under the shiny little pinprick stars, and you chastise yourself for focusing on that when he’s trying to talk to you, “I’m more than happy to listen if you wanna bitch about your problems with the old man. Not that you would be, you know, bitching bitching, just complaining. Yeah, complain. ‘Cuz you’re not a bitch, you know that- “

“Thanks, Eddie,” you cut him off, a hand on his shoulder. You finish off the slice of pizza in your other hand and shrug, “I mean, bitching doesn’t sound too bad if you actually mean it.”

“‘Course I do,” he turns to face you completely, the gentle swoosh of the lake water under moonlight easily forgotten in favor of you, “Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone gets parental problems, it’s me.”

“Well,” you normally have trouble talking about things like this, but something about Eddie makes you feel open. Like a social worker’s dream, he is the softest couch and sweetest candy bowl, “He’s always busy with work - way too busy for me and Jane. And when he is home, it’s about me not going to college and Jane’s stupid high school romance and my attitude as if he’s not the dickhead that causes it all in the first place…” you sigh, a physical weight off your chest, “Only good thing to come of his bullshit lately is that I get to paint in my ex-mom’s storage unit downtown.”

“Ex-mom is an interesting term.”

“Diane wanted to adopt me as a last-ditch attempt to save the family after their birth daughter died,” the years of this exact thought process echoing around your head prevent you from shutting up, “And then she decided she wanted nothing to do with either of us and just,” you make a ‘scatter-off’ motion with your hands, “Left behind divorce papers and then Jim was a wild alcoholic and wilder smoker until Jane came along and then… suddenly he wants to be better.”

The clarity hits you like a stack of bricks, that you spilled your guts embarrassingly fast and that mortification makes you look over to Eddie, who stares back with wide eyes.

“Anyways…”

“No, just- “ he grins and you can’t help but grin back, “I’ve never had someone actually trust me to just let go like that,”

“I’m glad to be the first.”

If Eddie truly had no inhibitions, he would’ve said he wants you to be his last.

And he doesn’t know where that comes from.

“What do you paint about?” so he leans back on his elbow and breaks the thick air. Shatters it completely like it was nothing to begin with.

You cringe preemptively, “My feelings.”

“Oh, a poetic type,” he punches your shoulder softly, “It’s cool, I write songs about that. All the mucky shit.”

You turn onto your stomach, propping your head up on your elbows and ignoring the soft ache it initially stirs in your chest, “Will you ever show me one of your songs?”

“Only if you show me your art.”

“You’re moving a bit fast.”

“Nah, that’s only - like - first base.”

You two linger there. Soft eyes and pouty lips and pizza cooling under the night sky. He hums, entirely to himself, and you lean forward to nudge his arm.

“What’s going on in your pretty head, Munster?”

“Honestly,” he’s quiet. So much quieter than he normally is, and that’s as scary as realizing his rejection hurt your feelings, “I’m just thinking about how you’re not nearly as mean as everyone says.”

“Yeah,” you turn onto your back, eyes up at the stars instead of Eddie’s kind face, “people usually assume you’re a bitch when you’re not smiling at them 24/7.”

He doesn’t respond, and that would be terrifying if he wasn’t motioning for you to continue.

“I mean, I’m not surprised,” so continue, you do, “People usually just expect women to smile and nod to whatever they say as if there’s no thoughts or feelings to each person,” at his persistent silence, you inhale sharply, “First base was actually my feminist rant all along.”

You look back over to Eddie and he’s smiling so big and wide, all for you - at the fear of misspeaking, he intentionally makes himself BooBoo the Fool, “I love Debbie Harry.”

“Oh my God!” you swat his shoulder and he falls onto his own back.

“I’m kidding,” his head swivels to lock eyes with you, sweet bambi eyes nothing except sincere, “but feminism is metal. Equality for all, I fuck with that.”

“I’m glad,” a sudden memory makes you giggle, and at Eddie’s curious stare you expand, “I actually dumped Jason Carver in freshman year because he said women should obey their husbands.”

He gags histrionically, “I’d never say that.”

“I figure.”

You’ve heard from older women the dangers of getting wine drunk with no men to kiss - being that sauced with that intense a romantic urge could kill someone, you’ve heard. And it’s strange - how just being around Eddie can drive you as mad as the stories you’ve heard.

You turn again, onto your side now, “Are you drunk?”

He looks at you like you’re nuts and you’re almost embarrassed at the fact that Eddie can actually drive you so crazy, “No.”

“I’m not drunk either.”

It takes him a painfully visible minute until finally, the lightbulb above his wild hair dings alight and Eddie excitedly matches your position. He tenderly puts a hand on your cheek, calluses purely lovely on your skin as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

The ache in your chest that you imagine is what the prolonged poison of having no man to kiss when wine drunk hits, you nod, bizarrely giggly, “It’d feel like a personal attack if you didn’t.”

Maybe you were scared for nothing. Eddie seems like a sweet guy with sweet intentions and sweet words. His kiss is sweet, too. It tastes like the tomato sauce of Hungry Howie’s pizza and the weed he smokes and no sinister third thing lingers.

Eddie, however, feels sick. He needs to talk to Mike and he knows Wayne would punch any other guy straight in the head for doing what he’s done to you. He likes you. He likes your bitterness and your anger and the way you roll your eyes at his antics and he wants to soften your edges and he wants to be your one moment of sunshine. He can’t do that if he’s taking money to date you, so he needs to talk to Mike.

But for now, he likes kissing you on his old blanket with the coffee stain he can never get out and cold Hungry Howie’s pizza an arm’s length away.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Eddie has never doubted himself to the point of getting a hideous stomach ache, not even when he had to perform with Corroded Coffin in middle school, “I think I’m falling in love with her, Wheeler.”

“That’s perfect!” Mike, on the other hand, is purely ecstatic, teeth on display as he smiles, “Just keep taking her out, but without me paying you - Jane and I can keep seeing each other and you two are happy. Done deal, Munson,” and this excitement gives him the courage to smack Eddie on the arm, “Just be cool about it.”

“So just don’t tell her?”

“Exactly.”

His stomach twists tighter at that idea, but he swallows it down and pretends to be a little bigger than he is.

“Fine,” finally, he sighs it out, “We don’t talk about it.”

“We don’t talk about it.”

~~ how we rockin? good? good?

going outta state for like 3 days and remembered i should probably update this while i have it

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #10 things i hate about you #eddie.🍓#10 things i hate about you.🍹

39 notes · View notes

brb-on-a-quest · 2 months

Note

For the writer asks: 4, 15, 27, and 30 <3

HI IGGY!! :) :) :) tysm; i haven't actually looked through most of these yet so I should do that first XD. Numbers are from here

4- (story idea I haven't written yet)

Ok so I have started this one but then decided I hated it so it's mulling on the back burner until I have more energy to rehash it out for better stuff is part of The Doctor and The Butler storyarc(?world?) at this point, but basically the robins all take the Doc on a Proper Road Trip and it All Goes To Chaos(tm) because the Doctor Does Not Do RoadTrips in the slightest because he just pops in and out of time on a whim and doesn't seem to do great in small spaces for more than 15 minutes (basing this on the cube episode in the Matt Smith Era). It'd be good but it needs a certain... vibe yk? haven't gotten there.

15- (favorite weather for writing). Not a weather, but I can only write when it's dark outside bc then I don't feel about about not doing homework/other things. Rain is also good tho.

27- (Favorite part of writing process). The part in Brainstorming where it all starts coming together and you're just squealing like your twelve and some cool people just invited you to hangout with them, and then you start writing and everything goes smoothly.

30- (Share a fic you're proud of)

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm I don't have any full-length WIP done for you to look at but I think I have some assignments (checks through old google documents) lmao no what assignments (shoves them all into the fireplace). Let me give you the beginning of one of my current WIPS that im really proud of currently even if I've been writing and rewriting it so many times.

It wasn’t even close to the moonset when hands and voices raised them from sleep. “Misha, Rose. On your feet. It’s your turn now.” “Ugh, just kill me now,” Rose muttered as she and Misha both sat up blearily. “Be quicker and easier.” “That’s the coward’s way out. Also, way too expensive.” Misha stood up and rubbed her eyes. “How much fest prep do we gotta do still, Dani?” She watched as the freckled elf started climbing to the top bunk. Daeneryl flopped down on her mattress, clutching a fat feather pillow, with a yawn. “Just drinks, but those are last minute.” “Oh, and be careful how you tread around the old man today.” Fayley peeled off her slippers from her feet as Misha and Rose got dressed into their outfits for the day. “Got a new run of trash gryphons. Damn pests.” “Thought Sammy took care of all that?” Rose sighed as she pulled a brush from the vanity table to untangle a sea of unruly curly hair. Starting from the bottom, she winced every time she had to pull it through to the end. “He was supposed to. Says he did his whole ‘pied piper act’ which he did, but apparently these are a different breed.” Dani sighed. “Nick’s looking into wizard enchantments.” Eventually, Rose gave it up and threw it all up in a slicked-back ponytail, held in place with an assortment of ribbons and pins. “One day, I swear, I’m just going to take a knife to this and hack it off.” “You’ve been saying that for five years,” Dani laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” “Watch me.” Rose grimaced. Misha shook her head silently as she braided the front sections of her hair and tied it back with a bright orange ribbon that matched her flowing skirt. It was one of her favorites because it made her stand out in a crowd that mostly wore shades of brown and black for practicality. She slipped into her boots and crouched down, waiting for Rose.

Rose caught sight of her and rolled her eyes. “You’re asking for it. Fayley, your count.” There was a muffled “Go” and fingers interweaved the laces with their corresponding hooks. They looked up when they were finished, approximately the exact same time. “Call that one a draw, I suppose.” Rose shrugged. “Come on, let’s get some food before we have to deal with life.”

5 notes · View notes

mdzs-is-rotting-my-brain · 1 year

Text

for @gwyndal

😣😴😌

comfort, fluff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wei Wuxian never thought he would willingly rise before ten in the morning.

When the talismen he set the night before vibrated against his breastbone, he nearly scrunched the thing in his hand and went back to sleep.

Then he remembered what today was and all the practice and preperation he’d done for it.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, he gave it a mintue for them to adjust to the dark Jingshi.

His beautiful, etheral, incredibly-light-sleeper, lay on his side, arms wrapped tight around Wei Wuxian.

Reaching into his sleeve he pulled out his second talisman, putting it on Lan Zhan’s arm, feeding it a bit of qi so it activated quietly. He hated using talismans to keep his husband asleep, it felt.. dishonest, like he was breaking his trust. But the image of coming back to the Jingshi after early morning tea and stroll with Lan Xichan to see his husband…broken down, not crying, but not looking far from it, stuck in his mind. Since then he swore he’d never let Lan Zhan wake up without him there to soothe nightmares or to remind him that their confession, their marriage, their life, was not a dream.

Slipping out of Lan Zhan’s arms, he replaced

his body with a pillow, before easing out of the bed, tiptoeing from their bedroom to the outer rooms.

Since he had gone to bed last, everything he needed was set up, the hearth still burning, warming the room, their robes were laid out, along with thick socks, gloves and a cloak for Wei Wuxian.

He dressed quickly, in his rush he put his boots on the wrong feet, had to stop and switch them around before he was out the door, not quite running down the path, but definitely breaking the ‘walk orderly’ rule.

The Cloud Recesses kitchens were bright and warm when he arrived, the cooks greeting him kindly as he took his prepared food from the night before and laid it all out.

He didn’t bother trying too cook it, despite trying to learn, the only thing he’d manged to get good at in a few months was brewing tea and folding dumplings. He did both, making two whole trays of extra fat ones for Jingyi and Yuan-er, to be delivered to their room with a note inviting them to come by in the afternoon. He knew they had gone down to Caiyi last week in preperation.

The food was ready and packed for him before he realized how much time had passed, but when he heard the cooks getting ready to serve congee he gathered his things and scurried from the kitchens.

In the middle of winter, the sky wouldn’t be light for another few hours, so Wei Wuxian was extra careful on his way back, picking his way around the ornamental gardens, and large stones until he returned to the Jingshi, breakfast secured.

He kicked off his boots, toeing them out of the way so no one tripped on them, threw more wood onto the fire. He light more incense in the burner and spread out the food just as he heard Lan Zhan turning over in his sleep.

Wei Wuxian gathered the robes and ribbon.

Going into their room, he paused at the door for a moment. Admiring the view of his husband, Prestine and beautiful as if he was carved from jade, sure. Yes, he was. But Wei Wuxian had seem him hurt, and angry, and sad, he had seen the way his face got when he was unsure, when he was drunk, or how his ears burned when he was aroused.

The world may have their Jade, so long as Wei Wuxian got the man underneath.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian called to him before he approached. Years away from it they may be, they were both war veterens and one never knew what the other dreamed of, nor how it cling in the first moments in the morning,

He trailed his fingers up Lan Zhan’s leg, feeling him shift under the blankets. Sliding his hand into Lan Zhan’s, he kissed the smooth skin.

“Wei Ying.”

He never got tired of hearing his husbands voice first thing in the morning. Gravely and sleep thick, confused like a child until he blinked it clear, looking at him like he hung the moon.

“Good morning A-Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes darted to the windows, then back, “Is it?”

Wei Wuxian laughed, leaning down to nip at his husbands ear, “Slander, from my own husband on this special day I have planned.”

Lan Zhan hummed, his free hand finding Wei Wuxian’s hair, sliding his fingers through it as Wei Wuxian sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at him.

Lan Zhan was so…soft in the mornings, his face puffy from where he’d lain, he was not yet alert like he was during all hours of the day or night.

Wei Wuxian breathed in the sleep of their room, the thickness of their marriage bed, he was glad he was the only one that got to see Lan Zhan this soft and gentle in the mornings.

He kissed his husband, laughing when teeth sank into his bottom lip, gently grinding before he let Wei Wuxian go.

“There will be time for that later.” He promised, pulling Lan Zhan up by his arms, “Up, up, I want to dress you.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes roamed over Wei Wuxian’s body, darkening at the sight of his exposed wrists and collarbones, “We don’t have too.”

Wei Wuxian was a weak man. Weak of heart and weak of will. No one knew that better than Lan Zhan, and no one knew how to manipulate his weakness better than his husband.

He wrestled with himself for a moment, before shaking his head,

“No, no. I have breakfast, and the ducklings are coming by, and your uncle and Xichen.”

Lan Zhan frowned, pulling Wei Wuxian closer, “So many. Why?”

Wei Wuxian let himself be pulled, struck dumb. Aghast that his husband of all people could forget a day like today.

“Lan Zhan, A-Zhan, my Lan-er-gege.” His cloak slid to the floor, large hands spread across his back, lips descended onto his exposed collarbone, a hum told him Lan Zhan was hearing him, but not listening.

His hands found Lan Zhan’s hair by habit, his breath quicking.

“It’s…it’s your birthday…people are coming…I got breakfast.”

Lan Zhan’s hands were under his outer robe, warm against his chilled skin.

“Did you cook?”

Wei Wuxian laughed, “Slander, maligned! By my own husband.” He caught Lan Zhan’s face tipping it up. His eyes were dark and wide, his lips red and wet. Wei Wuxian slid his thumb across his bottom lip, watching Lan Zhan tremble under his touch.

“No. I just asked the kitchens to make your favorites.”

Lan Zhan smiled at him, sleep-soft and warm, another thing only Wei Wuxian got to see.

With little effort, he tipped Wei Wuxian onto the bed, pinning him there.

“Then it will still be good later.”

Later, in the golden glow of later afternoon, as Yuan-er sat praying for many more years, and refilling his father’s teacup, Wei Wuxian smiled, warm in the comfort of a home, a family, and love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pro tip: don't tease your husband with cute pet names if you want your day to go according to plan.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mirmb writes #mirmb prompts challenge #three emoji prompt #three emoji challenge

11 notes · View notes

ajgrey9647 · 3 months

Note

i'm not letting you sleep on the floor + boom! comics mmpr; Bulk (I am not choosy about which version)

Nothing's What It Appears

The proof is in the pudding, as they say, and when push came to shove, when all the chips were down, Bulk discovered his true greatness. Though others often treated him as ‘stupid’ and ‘lazy’ and ‘obnoxious’, he was anything but those degrading adjectives. In retrospect, his atrocious behavior and commentary did nothing to persuade otherwise.

He could see that now, when such matters were the last thing on anyone’s mind.

Bulk always aspired to greatness or fame or heroism as if they were his birthrights. He wanted to be noticed, to stand out, to be special. Which he’d succeeded in doing, just not the way he envisioned in his fantasies. The bully often stared out the windows in the wide blue yonder, his brain galivanting off on magical quests where he, and he alone, was able to slay the monsters, rescue the fair damsel, and return to a parade of accolades and admiration.

His grades certainly suffered for it, though in actuality, Bulk was quite intelligent. He loved history even if he couldn’t say such a statement out loud. His friends would tease him mercilessly for being ‘nerdy’. Oddly enough, not one would dare make a pithy comment regarding the teen’s larger frame as they might a less terrifying individual.

That was one thing that Farkas was secretly ashamed of, his weight having been a touchy subject most of his life. As a child, he’d always carried a little more ‘cushioning’ as his mom called it and there was not a thing wrong with a squishy, pinchable little boy. His grandmother, when she came to visit on holidays, typically Thanksgiving and Christmas, when one was SUPPOSED to enjoy the abundance of delicious food, would look at her grandson and just shake her head.

“Mae, that child needs to go on a diet! He’s almost as big as a house!” she’d scold, while Bulk sat awkwardly at the table, dinner plate waiting before him. “How’s he ever supposed to…”

The pair would argue loudly, garnering the attention of everyone else present and the embarrassed Farkas would feel their eyes looking at him with disgust before surveying the contents and the amounts on his plate with judgement.

Even if he was absolutely starving, Bulk’s appetite would fly the coop and he’d quietly excuse himself from the table only to disappear to his room to sob in secret.

To his mother, food was love and sure, he loved to eat the food she prepared.

“Just for you, sweetie!” she’d coo.

The growing weight only exacerbated his insecurities, the type that most everyone suffered from in childhood. Even then, Bulk would spend hours pouring over his collection of comics, along with Skull, who couldn’t afford such frivolities. Spiderman, Batman, the Flash, Iron Man, the Hulk… all sporting ripped abs and mountainous biceps.

‘Whoever heard of a fat superhero,’ Farkas glumly realized. ‘There’s no super cool suit to wear unless you’re built like a Greek statue…’

Skull would gamely pat his hand, at such times leaving his cheeky observations and wit on the back burner. He truly meant what he told Bulk and he meant it with reverence as someone of his particular build could be snapped like a twig.

“Don’t worry, Bulky! If any bad guys tried to take over, you’d could just sit on them! Smash ‘em into the dirt!”

That wasn’t the fighting style of his daydreams… and was certainly never depicted in the comics. Or movies.

Just cartoons and just for making fun of a character.

It was bullshit…

He was tired of being referred to as ‘fat ass’, husky, stout, ‘pig’ and a variety of other wounding descriptors.

Perhaps he just wasn’t cut out to be a hero. Maybe he didn’t deserve to stand out or be special…

When Tommy transferred to Angel Grove High, Bulk had attempted to assert his authority and put the surly teen in his place from the jump. Of course, that went over like a brick wall with the new student unleashing a torrent of curses and insults, may of which the bully had never even heard before.

“If you get in my face again, you fat tub of shit, I swear to all fuck that I will butcher you like they do pigs at market,” Oliver whispered, voice eerily growing calm and his eyes pooling creepy flood of black where Bulk had been sure they’d been hazel.

And this was all way before he’d gotten any possessed coin.

The fucking dick only continue to grow worse, a hateful, spiteful, unfeeling demon masquerading as human. Eventually, he’d sunk his fangs gums deep in Jason and his little cluster of dorks. Bulk thought the group of friends to be annoying and enjoyed pestering them, but this shit was off the charts.

Skull was sure that Tommy was a serial killer or would eventually become one, explaining to Bulk and their assorted crew that the other teen was seriously messed up in the head.

“Oliver’s the type to keep his victims locked in his basement until he tires of them,” Eugene whispered, glancing over as said teen stood at his locker, back to them. “And keep body parts as souvenirs. Stay the fuck away from him!”

The Skullovitch’s lived in the same neighborhood as the Oliver’s and the lanky teen shared with his best all the wild, crazy shit that went on over at their house: the abusive, loud alcoholic father, screeching, slutty looking mother, and Tommy giving as good as he got at times and at others blankly giving in to his punishments.

Every goddamn day it was something with that prick though…

Usually, Tommy would be swinging fists and brawling with Jason up and down the hall or he’d decide it was Zack’s turn to be his punching bag. Bulk was sure he was behind the rumor that Kimberly had been seen sucking Jason’s dick in the locker room at the Youth Center, landing both teens in the counselor’s office. He’d heard from Sharkie that Tommy had even tried to plant drugs in their lockers, but fortunately hadn’t been successful.

Even Matthew Cook tried to step in and intervene between this dervish and the other teens and ended up with a black eye, split lip, and a detention to show for it.

Bulk wished he were brave enough to throw Oliver into a locker, toss him in a trash can where he belonged. That was his new fantasy, throwing himself between that asshole and Jase and his pals. He’d bloody Tommy’s face and force him to apologize for his bullshit in front of everyone!

Oh, how he wished!

Then the day came that Skull, scrawny, boney-butt Skull, went one on one with the Green Ranger, saving the Blue Ranger from certain death by shoving the evil monster from the second floor of the mall. It had all been caught on tape and was played on the news for weeks.

Bulk crowed from the rooftops how proud he was of his best friend, and he truly was. He just wished he’d been there, been brave enough to do such a dumbass thing. Skull didn’t seem to like the attention all that much and shied away from the spotlight, something Farkas couldn’t understand.

But little did he know he’d get his chance to be a hero. He’d get more than one as would Eugene…

The time came when he and Skull saved Jason from Tommy’s punk-ass sneak attack at the Youth Center. Sure, they hadn’t went toe to toe with the nutty fuck, but he hadn’t gotten to Jase and that’s what mattered. The dark-haired teen wouldn’t discuss why he and Oliver were at odds and seemed shaken up that he’d been lying in wait for him.

However, it seemed that for no apparent reason Tommy eventually turned his wrath on Skull. And that was just not going down on Bulk’s watch.

Eugene had seemed more distant than usual, though he denied anything was amiss. Farkas had no way of knowing that the smaller boy had discovered the Rangers’ identities and had started a budding relationship with Billy, the Blue Ranger. Of course, Skull wanted to spend more and more time with his boyfriend, the pair meeting in secret and enjoying something that was just theirs.

That all changed when he discovered the bruise to Skull’s shoulder, left when Tommy paid him a visit, viciously shoving the smaller teen down in his own bedroom.

“Where the hell you’d get that battle wound, Ranger Rescuer,” Bulk teased, pointing to the dusky purple marring the pale skin.

“Ehhh… I dunno. Don’t remember.”

He was obviously lying, his grey eyes looking everywhere but his friend’s face. They were sitting in the lunchroom at school, the loud laughing and razzing of other students had nearly drowned out Skull’s lackluster response.

“Bullshit, buddy! Who hurt you? Cause I’m gonna beat the brakes off ‘em!”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Bulky. I’m fine! Can we just drop it?” Eugene whimpered.

But Bulk caught Skull glancing in Oliver’s direction, the venomous asshole seated at a table on the far side of the room, alone of course.

“It was him, wasn’t it! He hurt you! What the fuck is his problem?”

Pushing back from the table, he was on fire now. Skull scrambled to grab Bulk’s leather jacket, trying to pull him back down, pleading for him not to go over there, it wasn’t fucking worth it!

“Nah, this shit has gone on long enough! He’s never putting hands on you again, Skull!”

But before he could make his way over to where Tommy sat, the long-haired teen, with no apparent reason or trigger, shoved away from his lunch, darted across the lunchroom, and began pummeling Jason, grabbing him from behind by his hair and yanking him backward off his stool. Jase hit the floor hard and his head bounced off the tile, leaving a bright red streak to Bulk’s horror.

Laying there, Jason could only attempt defensive techniques as Zack, Billy, Trini, and Kimberly ran around to jump on Tommy’s back.

Then here came Bulk, like a charging bull, steaming issuing from his nostrils as he too grabbed a handful of hair, twisting Tommy’s head and neck painfully and pulling hard. Long strands came away with a sickening ripping sound and the green clad teen shrieked in fury, hands going to his scalp and abandoning Jason’s blood-covered face.

The whole lunchroom erupted, some students screaming in fear, others cheering and whooping at Oliver finally getting a come-uppance. It took several teachers and Mr. Kaplan to put an end to the wild free-for-all and it didn’t escape their notice that ALL the blows were directed at Tommy. Of course, fighting was an automatic detention for everyone involved no matter their role.

Jason ended up going to the nurse’s office and from there his worried and angry parents picked him up and took him to the emergency room to get checked out. Tommy’s parents never even answered their phone, not for the school nor the Scotts, who were discussing pressing charges and getting protective orders.

Not that they had enough time for everything to progress at all.

A short time later, Jason destroyed the Sword of Darkness, Tommy made his vile decision, and monsters roamed the earth in numbers the Rangers were unable to manage. The city nearly emptied, as citizens fled in terror. But things got much, much worse….

Just when they thought they were turning a corner, close to gaining the upper hand, they were brutally disappointed, shocked into near catatonic states at the sight of a bloody, shattered red Tyranno helmet and the hateful asshole bedecked in new colors.

Bulk had been there that day, trying his best to gather everyone he could find, to get them somewhere safe. Skull was at his shoulder, his nimble frame crawling into crumbling buildings and nearly smashed flat vehicles, searching for survivors. Trying to find a place to go, they’d ended up with ringside seats to Ascension Day (Ass-cention Day as Skull dubbed it later). Clearly, they’d taken a wrong turn.

“Rangers!” a voice boomed. “Take a look at what’s become of your precious leader!”

Holding the helmet before them, the others stared in disbelief, unable to defend themselves from a barrage of blows and strikes.

“Geez o’fuck, Bulky! Whoever that is killed the Red Ranger! We’re screwed!”

Bulk didn’t answer, watching this newest Ranger twirl as if on a runway in Milan. That voice was familiar.

“I know that voice, Skull!”

Now the floodgates opened. It didn’t matter anymore…

“It’s fucking Oliver, Bulk! That fucking dick motherfucker was the Green Ranger and now he’s… I don’t even fucking know! But Jason’s dead!” he screamed in anguish.

Neither teen nor anyone else noticed the group of putties carrying a severely injured, unconscious Jason Scott into a large transportation pod. It would be decades before the truth was revealed.

Once the dust had settled and he’d assured himself that all the people in his charge had been properly assessed and fed, did Bulk consider thinking about caring for his own needs. His grimy, tattered shirt clung to the sweat-sticky skin of his back, making him itch, and his was streaked with dark, sooty smudges. Mentally and physically he was drained.

Leaning against the wall in a darkened corridor, illuminated only by a small flashlight, Bulk finally allowed himself to cry. The tears tracked in smeary trickles down his full cheeks and hung suspended from lips and chin.

‘This can’t be happening. It can’t be real!’

The remaining Rangers were nestled in his care, carefully tucked into cots in a large conference room of the abandoned facility. They rarely spoke or even responded, so shocked and traumatized by the unexpected turn of events that they merely behaved like dolls or small frightened toddlers.

Besides Kimberly, who spit fire and venom, all the while still sobbing, threats and curses and promises of vengeance filling the air until she’d finally fallen into an exhausted slumber.

How could he have known the Power Rangers were so close? It all made sense now. Oliver’s vicious and unpredictable temperament, the other teens’ frequent disappearances, and unexplained injuries of the past. No wonder Tommy had been obsessing over Jason; the Green Ranger was out to murder the Red…

During the dangerous trek to safety, Skull confessed every damn thing and pleaded forgiveness. To which Bulk replied that was silly, of course he wasn’t angry or going to hold it against him. None of that meant jack-shit now. And his relationship with Billy wasn’t all that surprising, considering all the clues he’d glossed over in ignorance.

Now, Jason was dead, the Rangers near catatonic and almost without all the power coins, and that fucking dick bitch was hunting them down. How the fuck were they going to avoid him forever? There was no way!

“But he’s not getting the others, not no way, not no how! Or Eugene… He’ll have to go through me!” he hissed through his muffled cries.

‘Like that will be hard for him, doofus! He has two fucking coins and he took Jason out! How are you even the slightest threat to this ‘Lord Drakkon’?’

But he was determined to try.

Footsteps echoing down the hall caught his attention and he quickly ran his hands over his reddened, tear covered face, not caring that the darkness would hide most of the evidence.

“You alright, Bulky?”

Skull gingerly moved toward him, his flashlight bobbing as he walked.

“Why are you hiding out down here?”

Farkas sighed and sucked back a deluge of snot. His friend waited patiently, knowing the other teen needed time to process his scattered thoughts.

“Well, Skull, compared to everyone else, I’m fine. I got lucky, just a few minor cuts and bumps,” he grunted, pulling himself off the wall. “I just needed a minute to think. Like its going to make a damn bit of difference.”

“It might.”

“How? How is it going to change anything that’s happened?” Bulk suddenly yelled, unable to stifle his emotions any longer.

Skull spread his arms, the beam from the flashlight wildly arcing along the paint chipped walls.

“I’ll tell you how, buddy! It might make a difference for them,” he argued, pointing back along the hall towards where the survivors hunkered down. “So far, no one else has had grand ideas or has been capable of making a decision about one goddamn thing! Only you!”

The blonde hung his head as he listened to Eugene’s rant.

“Even the Rangers can’t do any of that right now! YOU gathered all of us, YOU got us around Fuckwad’s goons, YOU decided where we needed to get to and got us here, YOU even triaged and treated injuries, YOU cooked a massive meal, YOU, YOU, YOU!”

Wanting to shake the larger teen in annoyance, Skull hissed through clenched teeth.

“You are so BRAVE!”

At that, Bulk’s cheeks colored for a different reason.

“You really think I’m brave, Skully?” he whispered. “I’m no superhero, I don’t have special powers. I’m just a fat, loud-mouthed, smart-ass punk…”

“All that shit doesn’t matter to a hill of beans! Powers and secret identities and superheroes! Look what happened to our friends, the Rangers!” His voice dropped lest it carry back to the demoralized teens.

“Drakkon TOOK their special powers, he KILLED Jason, the goddamn Red fucking Power Ranger! He’s evil and crazy and he’s not going to stop until he gets all the other Rangers too! We’ve gotta be crazier and smarter than him, Bulk! Or we are all FUCKED!” Skull yelled, gripping Bulk’s shoulders now.

“We NEED someone like you, we’re counting on you!” he continued. “So, let’s go lick our wounds in private, then you and I will work together to get everyone as far from that psycho as possible.”

Stepping back, he noted the slumped shoulders and weary features just visible under the flashlight’s glow.

“But first, you have to get some rest, Bulk, or you’re gonna fall right over,” he decided. “Come on, this way.”

Taking his friend’s elbow, Eugene led the way to another room off the corridor. There was a bed with a small side table, a chest of drawers, and a hospital-style curtain divider.

“This is the last bed open and you’re taking it, pal.”

Bulk blinked, his green eyes scratchy with exhaustion and strain.

“What about you, Skull? I’m not letting you sleep on the floor!”

“Who said I was going to sleep?” Eugene asked, though it wasn’t a question. “Someone’s going to need to keep watch. I’ll grab my 40 winks later. Now get your ass in that bed and don’t sass me.”

“Alright, mom..” Bulk deadpanned, too tired to argue further.

Skull was right. About a lot of things really. And that wasn’t something he could normally claim as fact. Clearly the ramifications of Lord Drakkon’s birth and possession of not one, but two coins tied to this mysterious ‘Grid’ Skull described from he remembered of Billy’s explanation, were going to be vast and far reaching. He couldn’t verbalize it accurately, but Bulk could feel the very atmosphere, the ground beneath his feet, the air circulating the blue and green ball of mud, were twisting and writhing as if in death throes, gasping and grunting as all faded to nothingness.

#lord drakkon #boom! comics power rangers #power rangers #ao3 author #world of the coinless jason #ao3 fanfic #world of the coinless farkas bulkmeier #world of the coinless eugene skullovitch #friendship #don't judge a book by its cover #someone has to take charge here #bravery comes in many forms #growth #empowerment #coming into his own

2 notes · View notes

typing-noises · 1 year

Text

mythological creatures (part 1)

hi guys, this is audrey and I am back :D it’s also me taking over for this week!! hereeee are some cool mythological creatures you could add to your wip…part 1’s focus will be some scandinavian, irish and japanese mythological creatures 🐍🧚🧟

scandinavian

elves: can take the form of dimunitive faerie spirits or tall, ethereal humanoids. associated with early morning mist or twilight specifically in swedish folklore. it’s said they dance in the low-lying mist during dusk or dawn and you can hear birdsong. little mushrooms sprout where their feet have danced.

fossegrimmen (norwegian)/strömkarlen (swedish): a water creature taking the form of a young man who sits naked while playing music on a fiddle underneath waterfalls. can teach humans how to play his music if they steal a piece of meat for him.

huldra (norwegian)/skogsrå (swedish): a forest creature who takes the form of a beautiful woman with an animal tail (often a cow or a fox tail) and a back resembling a hollowed out tree. known for being kind to charcoal burners by watching their kilns while they slept. some tales say that she seduces men by hiding her tail in a knot under her skirt.

kraken: giant, squid-esque monster from nordic folktales that can drown entire ships by wrapping its tentacles around them

lindwyrm/lindworm (danish): a limbless serpent that emits poison. grows fatter over time from the humans it consumes. legends say it likes coiling up around churches to prevent people from going to sermons.

trolls: forest dwellers with grotesque appearances; short limbs, slime-covered skin and fat bellies. known to live in family units inside caves or mountains. intrinsically connected to nature and not particularly aggressive towards humans but can be cunning tricksters.

valkyries: beautiful, female warriors who descend on battlefields to bring fallen warriors to valhalla (heaven promised to vikings)

irish

changelings: faerie babies that are swapped with human babies by faerie parents

banshee: a female figure who wails or shrieks to warn of an incoming death. can take various forms such as an old woman, a woman in white or a shroud, though it’s her wail and red eyes from weeping that can be used to identify her.

dobhar-chú: a half dog-half otter creature that lives in bodies of water and eats human flesh.

dullahan: a faerie that takes the form of a headless rider on a black horse. some folktales say that he uses a human spine as a whip and can foretell deaths – when he calls out your name, your death is imminent.

faeries: one of the most well-known creatures in irish folklore. they are split into two categories: unseelie faeries are known to be more troublesome while seelie faeries are more helpful towards humans.

fear gorta: legend emerged during the great irish famine in the 1940s. symbolises the spirit of starvation and takes the form of an emaciated, old man begging for food. generous passers-by are rewarded with good fortune

leprechaun: a small, humanoid being who loves being mischievous and playing tricks

pooka: a shapeshifter with bright, golden eyes who can transform into any form. it’s able to speak, confuse and terrify.

redcap: a malevolent goblin who can be found in castle ruins. described as taking the form of a short, old man. known for soaking his cap in the blood of unwary travellers who try to seek refuge in his lair.

japanese

tanuki: shapeshifting racoon-dogs known to be tricksters who enjoy playing pranks on and stealing money from passing travellers for fun

tsukumogami: household objects turned into spirits after acquiring a kami (spirit) of their own when living for 100 years. generally considered harmless but can be vengeful to the humans that abandoned them.

kappa: has amphibian and reptilian features – slimy, scaly skin in various shades of green, webbed toes and fingers. all kappa have turtle shells on their backs, beak-like mouths and are said to carry bowls on their heads with liquid inside that is said to be their life force. not necessarily friendly and known to lure humans into their rivers to drown them.

jorogumo: evil spider demons who disguise themselves as women to hunt for human flesh

kitsune: intelligent, mythical foxes with the ability to shapeshift. can be symbols of both good and evil in Japanese folklore. the most powerful kitsune were the nine-tailed foxes who had infinite knowledge. kitsune would grow a new tail for every 100 years they were on earth.

onryō: restless ghosts with long, unkempt hair and blue-tinted skin. driven by the desire to get revenge on people who did them wrong in their human life. reflect perceived wrongs, jealousies and crimes of passion.

that’s all for today! there’s still more that I haven’t covered yet…but part 2 👀 see you next time :)) - audrey

#writing #writeblr #writing resources

14 notes · View notes

m4rloe5 · 1 year

Note

multiples of 9 for charlie! (sorry for Curse Of Do Math sm1 else did it to me so im spreading it around)

lmao don't worry Yasha made me do more math already :')

9. Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Coming right out with the hard questions, huh? But to answer your questions I don’t think it changed. Neither of his his parents was not particularly well off, but both had a higher education and his father has a stable job and could afford to put both his sons through uni. Charlie dropped out though, but his “job” of hacking large corporations and showing them the flaws in their cybersecurity pays well enough to pay the rent of his dank basement and afford him a light drug addiction and multiple burner devices.

18. Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

Charlie sees what ambition brings every day in his work. When he hacks large corporations he sees the fat checks the CEOs get paid while their customers overpay for their services and their workers barely get enough to live on, all for the sake of ambition. That is not something to be admired. Neither is wisdom really, because wisdom alone doesn’t change things. What he admires most of all is kindness.

27. How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

Haha he doesn’t :)

This man is a coward and will turn invisible and run away at the earliest opportunity.

36. How does your character behave around people they dislike?

I've already answered this one here!

45. What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

Well, disregarding the fact that he died already but he’s still around causing trouble, he doesn’t believe in an afterlife. He was raised a protestant, but he never believed in god or the bible because none of that makes Sense. When he dies he will simply decompose and return to the earth, and his molecules will slowly break apart and his atoms will feed his surroundings and he’ll be part of something bigger once again. We are all made of stardust. This belief offers him some comfort, for if his life and death won’t make sense, at least they’ll have a purpose.

#thank you so much!#styxnbones #answered #Ask Box party #VtM Charlie #OC: Charlie

3 notes · View notes

bambooinwind · 2 years

Text

SPY AU.

Summary:You work in the Stables, an escort company operating in the web of lies and eyes of a government service simply known as the Box. A terrible mistake put you in contention with your boss and stuck on the bottom rung of the career ladder. The journey to regaining his trust, and your self-respect, proves an eventful one.

Pairing Min Yoongi x Fem! Reader

Content: Short Black-belly Boss! Suga x Tall Muscle Head! Reader; Wrangler! Jungkook, Honeypot! Jin, EXO Crossover Hoodlum! Chanyeol and ensemble; Bar fights, Hotel fights, Bathcurtain fights; Nookie Snu Snu; Read with caution, abandon morals all ye who enter etc etc... blt...

A/N: L/N mentioned stands for 'last name'. Rhea is reader's code/nickname, three guesses why, winner gets one situation written into subsequent chapters. Author starting to depise the use of Y/N, please suggest alternate names. Later chapters with explicit content will be posted on AO3.

_ _ _ _

You were breaking into a man's house when your earpiece crackled.

"Rhea," Jungkook whispered into your ear. "Rhea, you've got to answer me. Where are you?"

You coughed. "Um, good morning."

"Morning? It's fucking two a.m. Why aren't you in your hotel room?"

"Because the target isn't."

"… What."

You grimaced. "He gave me the slip. We talked about me making him breakfast, something silly like that. Then we went to bed. He did a bunk after he thought I fell asleep."

"Okay, so? He's commitment phobic. Op isn't working, we'll hand him off to the the Dogs. If he blabs to them, it's off to the basement. End of story."

"Not okay, and not end of story," you hissed. "I'm so bloody tired of mooching around hotel rooms and bars and back alleys of clubs. This man has never once invited me to his house. He calls ahead a week before a meetup and he always arrives an hour before we do. "

Static on his end. Bloody typical. "He's used to surveillance. Like he's got something to hide. And that bug we put on his phone is giving us nothing. I'm sure it's a burner. Cookie," you said, "you read the dossier; he associates with known agitators. Why can't we dig deeper ourselves?"

"Because we'd need a juicy fat signature from the big guns before we do anything beyond our job detail." Jungkook hissed back. "Sealed and sanctioned. If that's what'll tick your clock, we'll do that. Bring in Moles, bring in more techies. Find a time he's not at his office and his hou- oh, my god. Please," he swore up a storm and you winced as your eardrums bore the brunt of it. "You're at his house aren't you?"

"Technically," you looked down, "I'm on his drain pipe."

You were clinging to it like a chimpanzee. Wearing all black, sweat had pooled in the hollows of your joints. Your plams were slippery too.

Any more of that and you'd come slipping off it like a soused pole dancer. You'd already wasted enough time with Jungkook.

"I followed the target to this house after several detours. I think it's his real place. He's probably conked out on his bed. I'll be quick, in and out."

"No, you come down from there this instant! Rhea!?"

"It's fine," you gasped. Your arms were beginning to strain. "If he catches me, I'll just pretend to be crazy. Say I fell in love with him, and I was desperate. Apologize for stalking him and jump out of a window."

"You are crazy."

"Sure," you huffed. You started climbing again. You were close to the target's study window on the second floor. Just a stretch of hands and you could start picking the lock.

"Look," Jungkook pleaded, "I can put in a request first thing in the morning, and we'll run this thing tidy as you please. Anyway," he continued, "you kept your earpiece in, and that means you must have wanted me to ping you, right? Right?"

"Uh-huuh." With your tongue between your teeth, you pried open his window with a chisel. Lucky it was a sash type, and lucky you snagged that chisel from Jungkook's emergency toolbox in his van. The lock gave with a quiet pop. You slid the frame up. The opening seemed so sinister, the darkness inside like some gaping wound.

"Listen," you whispered. "I'm going to have to go."

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, Chief Min is going to fucking skin us."

Chief Min? Your heart thumped. Whether it was nerves for what you were about to do, or the thought of Chief Min, his face frozen in displeasure-- you couldn't say. But it was too late for second guesses.

You climbed into the house.

_ _ _ _

The mild susurration of grass accompanied you in dreams. You seemed to feel the green blades on your cheeks, smelling fresh scents of daisies and sandalwood.

… Sandalwood? Now that didn't seem quite right. But the meadow was so comfortable, your back so warm, that you stretched your limbs in bliss and turned on your side.

“L/N.”

“L/N!”

It sounded like a foghorn blaring straight into your skull. You jerked awake. Your boss had wrenched open the door. One hand clenched around the doorknob, the knuckles whitened. The other was perched on his hip.

He eyed you like he would a maggot, and you remembered, that you weren't, in fact, spending a weekend napping on the grass in some Austen-described Derbyshire meadow.

You were in the discreet townhouse building that served as the Stables. You had your bum parked on a cheap plastic chair right outside his office, and you were supposed to be sitting to attention, awaiting his summons.

Well, he'd summoned you now. That susurration were whispers from the other office populace. The shout that woke you up had reduced them to an appalled silence, as if the Chief had just smacked all their mouths with a fly-swat. They were bent over their desks, avidly scanning their computer screens while sneaking peeks at the two of you.

You cast a desperate glance around, but right now, they wouldn't help you if God themself had popped up with an early retirement offer and a lifetime pension.

“And?” Min Yoongi snapped. “Am I supposed to roll out the red carpet, L/N? Or do you need a blanket for that lovely nap you've just had on government pay?”

“No, sir,” you muttered.

You got up. Even in flats, you towered over him. A full head and a half. He had to tilt his neck a full sixty degrees to meet your eyes. One of your colleagues had measured the angle once at a dinner party, while you were trying desperately not to ogle the Chief.

You wondered if that was the moment he'd started hating you in earnest, the way his lack of inches had become the seeming butt of an office joke. Min Yoongi never liked being disadvantaged.

He let you precede him. As you inched past, you heard him scoff, a puff of warmed air between your figures. Then he slammed the door shut, muting the sounds from the outer office.

“I'd invite you to sit,” he said, “but I think you've had enough of that.”

He stalked to his desk, and sat in his chair. They were polished cherry-wood. So lush and expensive looking, mirroring their owner. You approached him, feeling like an ant.

“Oh no, stand over there,” he shooed you away to a foot from his desk, “so I don't have to throw out my neck looking at you. Our bosses advise me to mark that spot with an 'X' just for you, considering how much time you spend in here. Tell me, L/N” he said, “are you some goddess of misfortune disguised, or do you simply enjoy performing so abysmally?”

You grimaced. “I know it looks bad.”

“Looks, she says!” He huffed. “Do tell, how is breaking the arm of the man you were supposed to seduce into giving away information,” Chief Min paused for breath, “part of looking bad? It is bad.”

“That was-- he was resisting--”

“You couldn't extract the intel during your dates, so you followed him home. In the middle of your misbegotten search, he came upon you. He mistook you for a burglar and tackled you. Then he pulled off your fucking sock--”

“--Balaclava,” you corrected miserably.

“--Sock,” Chief Min continued inexorably, “--at which point he refused to listen to your excuses and got aggressive."

Aggressive was putting it lightly. After escaping the house, you called Jungkook. He ran several red lights getting you to the nearest ER.

"So you pulled him into a twist, fracturing his humerus and tearing his rotator cuff in the process, and knocked him unconscious with a flowerpot. After all that…you came away with a USB full of pictures of his cat. And it wasn't even encrypted decently. Two hackers and a cryptanalyst on overtime pay for blurry fucking Maine Coon JPGs. That's what your report said. Quite a read, if I say so myself.”

"It was hidden in a false drawer. I believe I had legitimate reason to suspect it's contents."

Chief Min rubbed his temples. “It could have been hidden in the Queen of England's toilet for the good it did. He won't be so easily fooled again. If he really is the real deal, he might even have done away with incriminating evidence after that late night drama you enacted in his house. And look what he did to your face.”

He gestured at the pattern of black and blue across your cheeks and jaw. But his mention of them irritated you. The target had left more along your sides and back, but the Chief didn't talk about those. He was just looking for something to pick on, and the fact that this was coming from a man's mouth stung.

"If that compromises my value, maybe you could market me as a battered woman for my next op," you said stone-voiced. "Some people find that attractive."

He stared at you like he couldn't believe what you'd just said. He crimsoned at the ears.

"My instructions were to extract that information through whatever means necessary,” you pressed on.

It was bloody career suicide, but god if it didn't sound good.

“Within your capacity!” Chief Min shouted at a volume you'd not heard from him before. "If you want to play bloody word games you can quit this job and join Scrabble competitions for a living! Don't you dare try to out-bureaucratise me!" He was turning purple at the nostrils.

Harsh breathing, deep lungfuls of air. It took you a moment to realise both you and Chief Min were synchronised in agitation.

"You--" he started, then coughed, sharp whipcracks of sound. He paged his secretary.

“Margo, get me some tea, and some antacids. Margo?" He barked.

Radio silence.

“Margo, you old hag, if you're still alive in that cubicle of yours, I want some tea, at least.”

You winced. Old Margo Lam had served a total of five Section Chiefs before Min Yoongi had even been potty-trained. The bosses at the Box didn't know what to do with her, and no one wanted to axe her from the job in case she might die of shock. She was nearly deaf, extremely short-sighted, and took three calcium pills a day to stave off osteoporosis. Any day now you expected to find her expired and shrivelled up in her little anteroom.

A croaky noise that you figured was static issued from the speakers. But the Chief proceeded to have a whole conversation on his end, with garbled interjections from the static- no, Margo.

“Sometime this century would be nice,” he grumbled at last. You supposed his order had finally gone through. He slumped back in his seat, staring a head at the window in the corner. It was a slit in the wall, shuttered. It left his office in the gloom of a constant evening.

What light there was came from a old standing lamp, with a lace doily Margo had probably crocheted forty years ago. It lent his face a sheen akin to a South Side pearl. He had the sort of delicate features that rendered him beautiful, unequivocally. Somedays they filled you with envy. On other days--

Chief Min sighed, and hunched over his desk, looking like a little Vogue-sanctioned dictator. You clenched your fists; ignoring you had the desired effect. You felt incredibly insignificant. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and uncapped a Montblanc. He began scribbling furiously. From your vantage point, you could see the papers were forms.

“Remind me again, L/N, what this place is?” He asked without looking up.

Ah. A weight settled in your gut. “The Stables, sir,” you answered,

“And what are the Stables?”

“An escort service serving as a front for select information gathering, otherwise unattainable through conventional means. We handle outsourced espionage work from the Box-- the um-- the government, sir.”

“That's right.” The Chief looked at you. “You are a honeypot,” he said pleasantly. Mildly. “A sweet flower meant to attract birds and bees.”

A shiver ran up your spine. You eyed the pen he was gripping and shifted on your heels.

“If you wanted to simply beat intel out of persons of interest, I'd recommend you to the basement guys. You know who those are?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, you don't know. You shouldn't know because no one in their right mind would ever want to know about the basement guys. Every morning they go to Intelligence HQ, that huge black tower they call the Box, and then they take the elevator down to floors that don't exist. And they talk to suspects. Milkmen, florists, the auntie you always meet at the bus stop. And if the basement guys aren't happy with what they hear, they'll stop 'talking'. They'll bring those people out of the Box, in bags.” He cracked a smile. Cold-eyed. "The end."

The spit pooling under your tongue felt like glue. Swallowing was painful, and seemed especially loud after his measured narration.

“Do you still know about basement guys?”

“No, sir,” you said.

“Good. Because basement guys are called Butchers. First thing you learn on the job is how to pack up those bags neatly, so you don't get too much blood on the floor. But Butchers," Chief Min said, "do not make up excuses about love and yearning for their targets. When they're in a pinch, they bash brains in."

"So you are not Butcher material, after all."

He signed the last of his forms with a flourish and rummaged in his desk drawers. Holding up his official stamp between two slender fingers, he surveyed you. You surveyed back. He was always like this, eyeing you as if he'd found an outlier he couldn't quite place. A specimen under a microscope.

In contrast, he was always perfectly turned out; shirts and suits starched and ironed. Hair styled like he couldn't put a foot wrong. He radiated competence, informing the world that human failings were for peons, and he was above it all. Like he was a flower stuck upon a dunghill of rejects.

Not for the first time, you wondered why he was here at the Stables. He seemed altogether familiar with the work of Butchers, and the Box men seemed to respect him, if nothing else; their overseers from the Box rather considered the Stables underhanded for even spys. Maybe he was here as a stark reminder that there was, in fact, a sliding scale of human achievement. And he occupied one end of the spectrum, while you and poor Margo Lam rusticated at the other end.

“As of today, you're not even a honeypot,” Chief Min was saying.

“You're a peat bog. No one will want you working P&S jobs for a good while. You've always scraped through your ops, so even though I questioned the validity of having you in the field, I was beginning to have hope you could stick it. That, you can attribute to the team you've got behind you. But you proved me wrong. And I've got one very long meeting ahead of me, trying to explain to the Box why I've been letting imprudency fester in my Stables."

Disappointment dripped out with every word. He sounded like every teacher you'd ever let down, every phone call from your estranged mother. And you shied away from it.

"You evaded your support team, ignored their caution, and attempted a rogue intervention, the results of which provide me with all the answers I need.”

“Sir, I--” What could you say? That you were so tired of feeling like a second rate agent? That the superficial compliments of Box heads, talking about your 'skillset' were nothing compared to a single sharp nod of approval from Chief Min? That you wanted…what was it you wanted?

"Yes, go on?" He said, waving a hand. But shame welled in you. He just watching you struggle with yourself. You hated having these kind of thoughts. They left you feeling pitiful, and gutless. Vulnerability showing on your face like spilled ink. You pulled your lips in, ignoring the sudden urge to cry. Chief Min cleared his throat. "You obviously need more time understanding what those answers are. Since you seem to want a break from escort duty, I'm assigning you to support and wrangling. You can reflect on your actions while bin-diving in your next op."

He stamped the forms. His actions should have sounded deafening for the impact they had on you. It was practically a Hall of Infamy induction. The Box would never let you live this down.

"Dismissed, L/N. I'll show you out." He stood up. You followed him, your head feeling stuffed full of cotton.

"I was trying to help," you said at last, as he was about to open the door. Oh, you were bitter, because harsh as he was, he was right. And he was going to shoulder the blame for your recklessness. Sharp-tongued and a heart made of pudding; a more hardline superior would have done things by the books and sent you to an office in the arse of nowhere filing traffic violations. Or cut you loose, simple as that.

"I was impatient. I just wanted to bring in something by myself. To be proactive, for once," you said to his shoes.

You heard him sigh. And that quiet rustle, which meant he had taken of his scholar's glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You really don't get it, do you?" He said softly. "Nevermind. You'll start fresh next week. In the meantime, go home and get some sleep. Your man had some hard fists. Put some ointment on those bruises."

He sounded almost pitying, and you felt your shoulders rise in defence, remembering the ill-conceived nap earlier. He just had to be painfully observant. Making suppositions all on his own.

"And don't--sleep on you sides like earlier. You'll put pressure on the ones he left there."

'I could really hate you for this', you thought.

You muttered a "Yes,sir," under your breath, in case he was waiting for a response. He let you leave. You hurried out, wanting air, wanting to get away and find a corner to bawl in solitude. Everyone outside, clearly in the middle of gossip, once again fell into a watchful, empty quiet.

"Don't hate me too much," you thought you heard him murmur, the frayed ends of an errant wish. You turned back, but he had shut the door in your face already.

I am open for commissions to cover my expenses. Look me up :)

#suga x reader #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #suga imagine #bts imagines

10 notes · View notes

hangon-silvergirl · 1 year

Note

D (just something you wished for & you almost missed ), F, H, I, M, S?

Hi Ariana! Thanks for the ask. 😊

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with just something you wished for & you almost missed?

Yes! The chapter title is from a bonkers Christmas song by the New Kids on the Block called Funky, Funky Xmas. You can listen to it as part of the playlist @majicmarker and I are curating as the chapters are being posted.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

One of my favorite dialogue scenes I've written is the library scene in Chapter 5 of Marigold. I'm proud of it because I think it does what I intended it to do; it's an inflection point in the story, and it's where it shifts into being a love story, a romance; a slow-burn over the course of what is, honestly, an affair. It's built largely on feelings, especially Chrissy's worry, but the way they talk to each other is fundamental. There are a lot of lines that I really like in that section, but I think that this is my favorite bit: The kiss lingers longer than it should given they’re technically in public and that these sorts of encounters should really be more clandestine considering the nature of the thing between them. Eddie alludes to as much when he pulls away, says, “We-- We should probably set, uh. Some ground rules? I don’t-- I’ve never had… Illicit… Uh, you know. Not in a recurring sense. What do we even… No, wait,” he grins. “Tell me, Chrissy Cunningham, what would you call what we’re doing? Hanky-Panky?” “Eddie,” Chrissy says, almost warningly, but genuinely she’s too amused and too well-kissed to really get indignant about his teasing. “Shush. As opposed to what, anyway? What would Eddie Munson call it? Skullduggery?” “What am I, a Hardy boy? Nah. What about a dalliance?” Chrissy scrunches up her nose. “No? Alright, well fling implies that I’m going to give up without a fight, and fat fucking chance Cunningham, so be warned. Love affair makes me feel like I’m feeling up Lady Chatterley, so that’s out.” He’s rambling now, but she doesn’t interrupt, because he’s too cute to be allowed. She bites her bottom lip. “In being upfront about my affections, madam, I’ll say that I pretty much wanna romance the shit out of you, ya know?” Chrissy sighs, brings a hand up to his face. He leans into her palm. “Can we call this a Maybe, maybe? A Could Be, Should Be?” Chrissy swallows hard. She doesn’t really know how to answer without flipping her life like it’s a table. So she kisses him again. “Maybe,” she cautions breathlessly once she pulls away. “I can work with Maybe,” Eddie replies. He gently moves her hand from his face to his chest, over his heart. “Feel that wild beat? Va va voom,” he says, then he takes a deep breath. “I might be, ah, drunk on post-coital reverie still, or like, recovering from whiplash, but. You rocked my world before you helped me rock my van, sunshine, ya know?”

H: How would you describe your style?

Descriptive, predominantly. I have very clear visuals in my head when I'm setting a scene, and I want it, to the extent that it's possible, to be immersive for the reader.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

For writing it's Modern AUs, and especially romantic comedy. I love writing texting in fics (which is not everyone's cup of tea, I know), and I've definitely leaned into the coffee shop AUs. I also love writing character studies. For reading? A little angst is fine here and there, but I love it when a story makes me laugh. I much prefer funny over serious.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

Aw, man, I've got so many WIPs on the go. I want to finish a couple of more of them before I start exploring other things, but: - I have a rough outline of additional stories for the Last Chance to Run universe (runaway bride), which will more or less flow like a 90s sitcom style - I'd love to explore these HCs further: Pandemic Roommates, Hollywood Celebrities, and Fake Dating Ahem, I also may or may not be plucking away at a one-shot inspired by this post, where OPs mom met her dad by taking out an ad in the newspaper (and they dated for 3 months over the phone)? Because I have no self-control, I guess. 😅

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Idiots in Love. Pining. Soulmates. Self-aware codependency.

From the FanFic Ask Game. Happy to answer more.

#dash games #ask alie #hellcheer fanfic #hellcheer fanfic: jsywfyam #hellcheer fanfic: marigold #alie's hellcheer headcanons #hellcheer fanfic: the scandal of it all #lunasink

3 notes · View notes

elizabethh1125 · 2 years

Text

Springtrap/ William Afton with a chubby reader- (sfw and NSFW)

Hello my stinks!!!!!!! I’m a GRADUATED a WOMAN wOOOOOOOOHOoo!!! And I’m off to collage in the fall! Yay! Anyways yes! That was the huge delay y’all I’ve been on that grind trying to complete this year and get though all that mess but here I am! I’m back! And to celebrate my return I will be posting fang head cannons for a whole week! Yes that means a post every. SINGLE. DAY. y’all!!!! I love you all so much more then you think. And also- quick note: WE HIT OVER 100 FOLLOWERS OMGGGG TY ALLL SO MUCH IM CRYINGGGG ❤️ just with that enjoy an extra 2 more headcannons today and throw some requests in for what y’all want to see! Please it would help lots and lots! (One final thing and I’ll let you go): would you all like me to create a new blog for more of my other works not in the fnaf fandom? I’m in love with Oscar Isaac and have the urge to write a Poe Dameron fic. Anyways love y’all thanks so much and enjoy!!!

-Eli <3

Willam:

Pretty sfw (a few hints):

Fucking loves the shit out of you.

You're so soft and he loves to just hold you from behind.

Will make you be his little housewife (duh because it's Willy) but while you're doing dishes he will come behind and just hug you, kissing up your neck and to your ears and telling you how beautiful you are.

Traces on your skin with his fingers.

Weirdly enough will squish your face

If you decide to have kids he loveees how your soft stomach holds his seed. (COUGH-*)

Will compliment you endlessly, and if you ever say no, or ew, he will tease you and pester you until your forced to agree.

Buys you tons of fancy dresses and outfits to show you off.

Especially likes to buy custom fit funtime clothing (if you know what I mean)

Gets mad if people stare. But he never loses his cool, just makes subtle comments and rants about it later.

Draws you. (That's a headcannon for another time, but I believe William is a hardcore artist as well) and so he draws you all the time.

If you like to eat, he might feed you if you let him. And if you have issues eating he might just feed you if you like it or not.

NSFW:

grips your rolls when he fucks you.

Likes to slap your tummy.

And if you have a big butt (or really any butt at all lol) he will grab that and smack it as well.

Will cum on your stomach.

Praise kink GALORE!!!!!

If you have chubby thighs... The man might just pass out.

He loves thick thighs-

I'm talking thigh high socks.

Rubbing himself in-between them.

Man is rancid.

Overall the guy is head over heels for you no matter how you look. He's a simp.

Springtrap:

Sfw:

loves it but would never tell you.

Secretly sends you nice outfits to wear to work, but you always wear the same stupid uniform.

He tries to hint at you being able to wear normal clothes since it's the night shift but you never listen.

Sometimes you guys sit in the office and you always somehow end up in his lap. It doesn't matter how big you are, the suit is always bigger.

Squishes you so much it annoys you.

And you always tell him but he continues because he knows it bothers you.

Sometimes it is an ass and makes a few mean Comments but only in a teasing way.

Wishes he could be back to his old self so he could wife you up.

Stalks you. Literally he is so creepy.

Got a burner phone just to text you from Fazbear frights.

Feeds you just like William would.

Would break any other worker's arms if he heard them talking about how you look.

Deep down wants to tell you how beautiful you are.

NSFW:

Avid fat girl porn watcher.

Like he loves his bbw

Imagines you spread wide for him.

Can't fuck you cause of the suit, but can lick you with a tounge and can also use his fingers.

Loves to watch your chub jiggle as he fingers you, or eats you out.

Ties you up so he can see your rolls poke between the rope.

Might just let one little comment slip about how hot you look.

Definitely took stalker shower pics of you and masterbates to it later.

18 notes · View notes

sheep33hallow · 1 year

Text

Deluxe Apartment in the Sky: BakuDeku

Summary: Izuku in his old age, was tired of waiting.

__________

Izuku, 50, retired, and one armed with a fat yellow cat, his ex-sidekick, Kacchan gave him when he retired.

The fat cat, currently sitting on his lap while they wait for Kacchan to finish making dinner. Kacchan was 35, and still active in the hero community, but always visited every two weeks. He was Izuku’s first sidekick for three years before moving on to start his own agency with his best friends Denki and Kirishima.

Their agency was moderately small which they liked because they had more free time since they didn’t have a bunch of sidekicks to look after. Along with that free time, Kacchan continuously made appearances at Izuku’s over the years. He would come over to cook, nag or just simply be around his old mentor.

Seeing him was always a beautiful thing, a not so beautiful thing about Kacchan, is that his bratty attitude never went away and it seemed to have gotten worse when Izuku retired. When he first got Kacchan as his sidekick, his coworkers used to tease him when Kacchan would berate him when Izuku wasn’t in his sight. The man was 33, with over a decade of experience, yet this explosive kid would have him feeling guilty for leaving him alone.

It tampered off when he got more responsibilities with his own agency, but when Izuku lost his arm in a horrible battle and was forced into retirement, the bratty Kacchan resurfaced and followed him all throughout his physical therapy sessions.

Deep down, he knew he was a sucker for punishment, because all in all, Kacchan kept his life entertaining. Another entertaining detail is that Izuku had been trying to marry him for the past year. They weren’t dating. Izuku didn’t feel the need to date Kacchan. He wanted marriage and to tie that brat down to his fat cat owning, one arms hero self.

Izuku brought it up everytime they were together.

“I want to marry you.” Sitting on the bar stool in the kitchen, he put Gary on the floor. He put the cat down gently, but it always seemed to flop over with a ugly yowl as if Izuku chucked him over his shoulder. Bratty as it’s buyer.

“And, I want a deluxe apartment in the sky.” Stirring the fried rice in the pan.

“You talk as if you aren’t currently standing in one.”

“You’re on the second floor, grandpa. You need to be on the 10th before I care.”

“Well I was mauled a few years ago, so I still have that insurance money that I haven’t used.” He said. Laughing at himself irked Kacchan at times.

Crouching down to check on the fish in the oven, he lowered the temp before turning the burner under the rice off.

“Why would I want to marry something defective then?” He leaned his hip against the counter. He was currently in one of Izuku’s merchandise hoodies.

“Same reason I want to marry someone as bratty as you.”

“Those aren’t even comparable. Your arguments to marry me used to be better.” He joked.

Izuku smiled. “Well, I don’t know what else to say at this point. I just want you.” He looked down and saw Gary hadn’t moved from the spot he was placed at. He used his foot to scoot him closer to his food dish, so he could stand up.

He walked around the counter space to stand in front of Kacchan.

“How about this?”

Those red eyes staring intently at him. “What?”

“I’ll change my name to Bakugou and you can choose anywhere in the world, we can be buried together at.”

He always imagined Kacchan having his last name, and would make references to it when they were together sometimes, so he knew Izuku was getting desperate here.

Kacchan’s eyes widened a bit, the Deku hoodie ears on his head shifting a bit as he watched his ex-sidekick think.

“I want that, plus three more cats and for us to move out of the city in the next five years.” That was doable. He just hoped the animals weren’t as lazy as Gary.

He raised his hand to shake on his. Kacchan copying his motion, but when he went to take his hand back, Izuku wouldn’t let go.

“The fuck, Deku.”

“Now.”

“Now?” He said. Confused.

“Now. Married now.”

“What?!”

“I know a spot that is 24/7.” Kacchan wouldn’t be leaving his home tonight. He could leave all of his things at the apartment he shared with Kirishima.

“I have friends, my mom would be so fucking mad, if I did this without her.”

“Call her then.” Grip still tight.

Izuku was calling his bluff. His mom didn’t give a fuck.

“Deku….” He whined.

“You can walk out of here with me, or I’ll carry you. I thought you were a man of your word, Kacchan.” He loved agitating the blond.

“I am! You absolute fossil. Fuck!” Feeling his face heat up. He could just see the picture in the paper tomorrow. Him in Deku’s hoodie and Deku in some sweats and black tank top that exposed all of his scars.

He turned the oven off with his other hand. The other, he knew, was probably going to be held hostage for the rest of the evening.

“I want Katsudon after we sign the papers.” Wow, he was really doing this. His heart was doing a thing. Was it excitement?

“Anything.” He said. Pulling Kacchan toward the door. They both slipped their sandals on.

“I want my mom to design our rings.” He demanded. His mother had wonderful taste.

“Of course.” Walking out the door. He locked it behind him. Heading to the elevator.

“Can I say what I want?” Izuku said.

“I am taking you to the bank with this whole shindig, so shoot.” He pressed the button to the bottom level.

Switching to grab Katsuki’s other hand. Izuku pressed close against his back. “I want you to bounce on my cock later.” He whispered in his ear. “You know defective people can only do so much in the bedroom. So watching you try and handle my girth is all I need for the remainder of my days.”

Any bystander walking by, would have only missed a slight glimpse of a person in a Deku hoodie dropping to his knees as the elevator doors closed.

AO3

#bakudeku #dekubaku #fanficiton

2 notes · View notes