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joaofelix70 · 6 months

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MISS DIPLOMAT & MR. CHARMING |

dominik szoboszlai x female reader.

author's note: this handsome man's living rent-free in my head. he's a freaking masterpiece. talented, funny, charismatic, attractive. i watched interviews, tiktok videos made by supporters and much more to understand a little bit of his language, personality and what he does towards friends and loved ones. laughed a lot! i made my homework as a writer, hope you enjoy it! (compliments and any kind of retributions are more than welcomed).

summary: your job is involving the commitment of unify the population and create interrelations to another countries, using the eurocup qualifiers and the hungary national team executions. you just didn't expect to fall in love with the no. 10's captain player.

words and characters: 1,811/11,223. it was three days working too hard on this story. i'm begging for your consideration, lol.

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sports diplomacy: it's the unique power of sport to bring people, nations, and communities closer together via a shared love of physical pursuits. this responsibility is the reason of a transition between strangers to connected individuals, advancing foreign policy goals and augmenting sport for development initiatives. the complex landscape where sport, politics, and diplomacy overlap become clearer, as do the pitfalls of using sport as a tool for overcoming and mediating separation between people, nonstate actors, and states. the power of sport has never been more important. so far, the 21st century has been dominated by disintegration, introspection, and the retreat of the nation-state from the globalization agenda. in such an environment, scholars, students, and practitioners of international relations are beginning to rethink how sport might be used to tackle climate change, gender inequality, and the united nations sustainable development goals, for example. to boost these integrative, positive efforts is to focus on the means as well as the ends, that is, the diplomacy, plural networks, and processes involved in the role sport can play in tackling the monumental traditional and human security challenges of our time. credits: international studies association and oxford university press.

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MLSZ (hungarian football federation) ──

new training ground at telki.

"i can't believe that being in places like this made up my most theoretically utopian childhood dreams. what a progress in front of me!" you still witness exciting moments where you pinch yourself, trying to believe in the reality that surrounds you: visiting the new training center of the players who are just a few meters away from you, getting ready to represent an entire country.

"your presence is our privilege. a voice of the spread of eurocup to our nation, right here…" the technical director gives you deference, obtaining a measure of humbleness and respect by you.

"the honor belongs to me in its entirety. grateful for having me, sir. while the view is immersive and captivating — my fervent congratulations to everyone involved — could we retreat from the pleasant glass-enclosed room and see everything closer, on the outside? please? i will never get used to this atmosphere." you pour politeness and charisma to the staffs around you, being directed to the proximity of the field and saluting the employees who pass through your path.

meet dominik — your szobo — instigates the nostalgic combination of detailed moments in which your thoughts display as photographic retrospectives. you're incapable to oppose the little enthusiastic laughs, fidgeting the rings between your fingers and avoiding possible suspicious glances from others. however, for you, this wouldn't actually work. the lives of you both are correlated, but different.

the training session is finished. clapping your hands and celebrating the performances, you greet the athletes and recognize some familiar people. nevertheless, reality slows down after those dark woody eyes capture through your soul. his arms tattoos are glorified by the sun's rays, the same illuminated smile is offered to you: that one you got during the very first time you saw him — instantly knowing he made you testimony the accuracy of freedom, catharsis and emotional amorous complement. that he'd be the one to introduce you what you never experienced, what you thought you'd never receive or deserve. what love truly is. when you were novices in your actual professions, not even imagining the future gifts of your unreal purposes.

"there you are!" intimately, dominik points at you, being reciprocated by vibrant nods and your old sort of secret — not that mysterious or serious — handshake. "még mindig emlékszel rá? (still remembering it?). you're a real one!"

"hogy tudnám elfelejteni? alábecsülsz engem. (how could i forget it? you're underestimating me)". your defensive actions demonstrate purposeful falseness. masking any sensitive, verbal or figurative communicative fragment from him is a difficulty that makes you give in over time. honestly, you never complain about this. it's like he wants to understand the factors and layers of you.

"a te kézfogás fickó. ne merészelj lecserélni engem. (your handshake man… don't you dare to replace me)". a shameless wink is send to you, butterflies acquiring space in your stomach.

"és hivatalosan is a szavamat adom rá. (and you officially have my word on it)." your gloss is pigmented against your fingers while you raise it up, displaying an oath, wondering if szoboszlai comprehends that his replacement in your life would be blasphemous.

"diplomata kisasszony, (miss diplomat)…" the hungarian fingerprints are shared and you recognize the sign to hold them, ready to perform your typical fashion icon moment. "gorgeous as always. go ahead! you know what to do!".

amusement surrounds you with the nickname's citation. although, you could feel some curious glances, from the outsiders, about the intimacy between you and him. "i appreciate, our top-class national bless…" you move your body in rotations to exclaim the outfit's characteristics, lifting your feet to show off the specificities of your heels. "how is your hair so well-groomed after sweating, though?" your arms cross and you raise an eyebrow in questioning, trying to hide your fascination.

"thank you, my number-one fan, but don't change the subject. finish our inside joke, c'mon!" dominik grabs his water bottle and spreads the cooling liquid on his forehead, wiping the glowing droplets across his face as he lifted his jersey high enough to exhibits his fortified abs.

your attention is directed to any surrounding scenery, throat being piked. szoboszlai pretends he doesn't notice, preventing to embarrass you.

"alright, alright! you've won, bájos úr… (mr. charming)". your final comment escapes as, practically, a whisper. you can't control the shy laughter, coupled with the considerable redness invading your cheeks.

"that's the secret to make my day!" using his tongue to reproduce a sharp noise, he matches your humorous reactions. "would you like me to show you the infrastructure changes? i'm just gonna take a shower!"

"i've already been granted a tour around here, but in case you insist…" during the dialogue, some athletes cross your space, wishing them good luck for the competition. your concentration on the activity is significant, at the point that dominik's silent admiration goes unnoticed.

"i mean, you know me! i'm gonna insist anyway, so…" he reaches your captivity, bringing you jollification.

"i'll rate you as a personal tour guide. now, go there!" jesting each other, you both exchange exaggerated reverences, like a challenge of who makes the most chaotic one.

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walking around the area, various subjects are explored, informations entrusted. you ask and are updated about his ethereal younger sister.

portraits of the generations are framed. you magnifies his presence in celebratory pictures, dedicated to find him in the memories and achievements on that wall. pride shines from you and the hungarian finds it lovely.

"you know i'm a sucker for accents… they're much more than mere verbal characteristics, they're stories: life experiences, marks and scars. identities and cultural integrations." the topic is random. through generalized opinions, you're explaining conceptions and dominik is retaining mental observations. he exalts every scrap of your identity, like a faithful worshiper.

"basically, you're admitting being enchanted by my accent. i can see the stars in your eyes. a win is a win!" szoboszlai and his frequent attribute to physical touch, tickling your ears and playing with them. it doesn't bother you, actually: adoring the affection exuded by you and him. you feel like a little girl dealing with your one and only love.

"it's beautiful, how can you blame me? and hey, i know mine's making you grin too." he holds your arm, shivers running down your spine, the two of you being euphoric in the midst of your own enthusiasm.

"putting me against the wall? okay, hum… what were you saying before?" he's changing the subject and you have a natural wit to boo him. lifting his shoulders as a surrender, the hungarian focuses on the specific loose strands of his simple bracelet, which you get used to help him tie it again, willingly.

"trying to avoid the truth? fine! let me take care of you while i talk about my admiration towards globalization and communication. like, with every fiber of me…" you accept the conversation's direction and utter a 'voilà' towards the accessory's new appearance.

"that's why you're the best person i've ever seen doing this job." dominik compliments you, an act full of honesty.

"thanks a lot, mate. but which job? as your bracelet helper or my real one?" you provide tenderness, looking amused.

"i mean… both of them." szoboszlai chuckles, revealing courtesy by your continuous helpfulness.

"literally? because i know you know a lot of people. you're so young and already is the national team's captain." you nudge him in a form of tease. he's a starboy, it's undeniable.

"flattered! literally, thought. you were born for this, believe me." vulnerability collides to you, as his words are deliberated: emotions embracing you and warming your insides.

"dominik szoboszlai, my dear friend, you're gonna make me cry, right here. i'm sorry, i need to do it…"

innocent satisfaction builds strength over you and executes unthought-of approach to the tangibility of your gratitude — his colony enrapturing your sensitive olfaction — in the most out-of-control way. the sounds reach your hearing: a choir of angels singing hallelujah. he reciprocates the contact, laughing at your juvenile excitement. joining him and doing the same thing, harmonizing the triumph. in the separation of the touch, you both remain close to each other and the hungarian doesn't miss the opportunity to feel the softness of your side face, caressing the skin. appreciation and satisfaction invade your structure, delighting on the palm of his hand.

"just a dear friend? why are we pretending all this time?" dominik's reading you. the intimidation at the sight of him overhanging you is paralyzing. you don't usually back down, but in that instant — superior than your most repressed desires — your gasps are escaped.

"who is putting who against the wall now?" insisting and failing on your witty answers, shyness and uncertainty corrodes you.

"please, look at me! i'm not kidding anymore." his voice is questioning, intrigued — contradictorily vulnerable and calm — your rationality being fragmented, fragile.

"you know i'm not the kind of woman you're surrounding by, domi. i'm not an influencer, bikini model. i'm not a public figure. i don't live for the cameras and gossip platforms. i live to work hard. i didn't achieve any of this with some type of perk. my routine and your routine are based on traveling..." who could deny it? szoboszlai's always been all that you see. it's much more than a mere passion. your attraction to him is magnetic, intense, vivid. consequently, terrifying.

"i'm just asking for a chance, (your nickname). i don't lie when i say i've never met someone like you. i may be surrounded by a crowd and you'll still be the one to steal my attention, because nobody compares to you."

your eyelids are closed and the exhalation of his sigh penetrates your lungs with the numbing breath of life you've never experienced before. it's happening: the rare situation where thinking carefully about the pros and cons is unworthy, dumbness. your decision is made and the privilege's resolution unify your lips. the beginning demonstrates slowness and patience — the intensification through the concluded wait of the longed-for reality, transforming light and magical kisses into open mouths discovering each other and witnessing the endearment that both offer — hairs, necks, shoulders and waists captured.

"you're the first to create a meaningful presence in my mind and heart. i want you to be the last one too. i love you, kincs (my treasure). i'm finally brave enough to demonstrate it with no fears." dominik's forearm covers your upper torso. your back against his chest, noses resting on each others. rejoicing at the miraculous, incomparable circumstance.

"i love you, drágám (my precious). you're finally mine and it was so fucking worth waiting." his whisper: the living proof of celestial existence.

"how blessed we are…" intertwined bodies, coalesced essences. solitary melodies turning into the sweetest and most complete symphony.

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updatingranboo · 10 months

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ranboo tweet... uh

["This was such a good joke and I am appalled by the fact that it has not gone absolutely bonkers viral. I mean is comedy dead? I just dont understand how a regular human being can read the word "Greans" (A combination of green and jeans) followed by an image of, well, green jeans, and not absolutely evacuate themselves in laughter.

I believe this has something to do with the fact that comedy as we know it is dying. It has become too mainstream in todays media and that is the main problem. Gone are the days where silly little guys in their silly little hop hats are able to go "knock knock" and absolutely change the world. Nowadays you have to have so many things that go into a joke for it to remotely even be funny, setup, punchline the whole ordeal. Whatever happened to just a simple Practicality joke? Whatever happened to just being able to slap someone and be the headlining act?

The world is so full of so called "comedians" these days it makes me sick. All these people do is spend hours writing and practicing their act in order to try and sway an audience to have a good time listening to their words. For SHAME! Comedy used to be just two people on a stage just slapping eachother and going "knock knock" for twenty hours. Whatever happened to the good ol days where people just laughed at whatever someone said because their brain hadnt fully developed?

This is why I believe that I am going to start performing my comedy acts to a bunch of babies. An absolute hoard of newborns. I will make my jokes to them and they will laugh for they truly understand what humor should be. I will go to a hospital in that little room they have where it is very easy to switch said babies and cause a bit of a ruckus, but instead of doing that (very funny joke) I will simply perform for them and relish in their cheers and guffaws.

It is sad that one has to turn to performing to just babies in order for the world to understand the complexity of ones said humor, but alas if its what I must do its what I must do. Maybe one day we will revert back to absolute comedy anarchy, where the chicken has not yet crossed the road, but until then I will continue to strive and push forward in this dark age of comedy.

Maybe a complete reset of what we find funny is in order, maybe we have lost what humor once was for us. We obviously have considering my VERY FUNNY TWEET does not have a bazillion likes and has not spun off at least 30 million movie deals. (Please note that this joke is satire, and Ranboo stands in solidarity with the SAG-AFTRA strikes. Support actors and writers. -A message from Ranboo)

I spent time and effort making this tweet, I saw the green jeans in front of my eyes (which are very squishy) and my neurons fired and made this absolute gem of a joke. I was excited to share it with the world, I tweeted it nearly right after I saw it, excited to see what new adventures this tweet could bring me. I went to bed all cozy smiling like a child on christmas eve night, excited for the morning. When I woke I turned to check my phone instantly, my eyes racing to see the like total. What would it be? 500k? A million? I was surprised that my dms hadnt blown up with a personal message from every billionaire going "let me give you all of my money I can never make anything as good as your "Greans" tweet" but It must have been a glitch.

I was appalled to see that my tweet had only 30K??? 30K for the pinnacle of all of human achievement? A slap in the face of innovation is what it felt like. Like when that thomas edison guy ate a stolen lightbulb or something idk what he did really but I remember the person who made that lightbulb which he ate probably felt really sad and I felt really sad so I felt a deep connection with that person.

I quickly fell into a great depression, this is what all of my life had lead up to: one sad tweet. I didnt see the outside for years because of this tweet. I thought to myself "why would they do this?", "Isnt humanity supposed to be kind, supportive, and have a sense of humor when it comes to differently colored jean jokes?" (dcjj as I call them), and "Man I should probably have a burger" (I did) (very yummy) but as I ate my burger all I could taste were my TEARS as I chomped into it from the top down. It felt like I couldnt do anything right. Until thats when it hit me.

Im not the problem, EVERYONE ELSE IS! My humor isnt "bad" or "unfunny" or "makes me want to find a microwave and cause it to malfunction so I either become the hulk or die" (Please do not try this. -Another Ranboo message) It has to be that simply I am so far ahead in the world when it comes to comedy that my time has simply just not yet come! My jokes will be funny to a different generation, which will be frowned upon at first but I will quickly be welcomed with open arms, and told that I am an innovator, a true scholar of all that is funny.

And so I wait for that day. I wait for the day that people look back on my Greans tweet and realize, that without a doubt that it is the funniest thing that they have ever seen. The problem is not with my joke, the problem is with the world, and thats what makes humanity beautiful, is that it evolves, it changes, it doesnt stick to its mindset that a tweet that has the word "Greans" followed by a pair of green jeans doesnt get a BAZILLION LIKES! I wait for that day, and for those of you who are with me, I hope you wait patiently as well. Stay strong."]

#this is how i found out tumblr has a character limit per block #well. have fun reading #i sure did #ranboo #ranboo update #twitter update #ranboosaysstuff tweet

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askdiscordwhooves · 5 months

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Ask Discord Whooves has come to its conclusion, and that means the posts below this point contain major spoilers for the story! This post will also have the author's final comments below a 'read more' to avoid spoilers. In this commentary, I will talk about new details about the story, such as what the future looks like in this universe and clearing up some lore.

If you wish to read from the beginning, you can start from the first page here!

Or, if you were in the middle of reading and wish to start where you left off, go to the table of contents here!

Also for consideration, you can read the prequel blog @lovestruck-derpy and the side blog @askthetimemaster to get more insight on the story. It is recommended you read Lovestruck Derpy first, then Ask The Time Master after you've read Discord Whooves.

Other side blogs involved in the story that can be read after everything else for a little more insight are as follows:

@tantamount-time-turner @torchwoodv @valtavia

Thank you for being interested in the story, I hope you enjoy your read!

!!AUTHOR FINAL COMMENTS BELOW!!

It would be appreciated if people who have read the blog to its end read this post and give their input on the overall story via comment or reblog, or sending the author @jitterbugjive a comment via ask or submission.

Surprise, everyone! Coach is The Doctor's next life!

This was the original plan from the very start of when I made Coach. Look, here's some proof, the plush I had commissioned of him has a cutie mark!

For those who don't know who (Pony) Coach is, you can read a bunch of asks sent to him here and get to know him, and for those who do know him you can re-read with context:

[Coach at The-Character-Lounge]

Now, I know I've moved on and made Coach a human and his own character for my current main project, My Magic Grandpa, but that was because I loved him as a character so much that I couldn't just end him after Discord Whooves.

He and his Granddaughter Suzie have paranormal fantasy adventures in the 90s starting in Oregon. You can read the comic which has been updating for 4 years here: http://www.mymagicgrandpa.com OR http://www.mymagicgrandpa.net for better phone viewing.

If you want more Doctor Whooves content from me, consider following the youtube series "Doctor Whooves and Assistant", where I am the head writer and voice actor for Derpy. It is still active and hopefully will be for quite some time.

I also want people to know about three more of my original projects,”Bedeviled Dotty” ( @bedeviled-dotty), “Once Upon a Calamity” ( @nightmaretales) and “WTF? I’m a Magical Girl’s Familiar?!” (@magicalgirlsfamiliar) Two of which I want to start updating in 2024 and one that's been updating for a few years now.

OUAC has been around for a very long time, it’s a collection of familiar but twisted fairy tales and it has been on hiatus for years because of my other projects taking priority. I'm excited to be bringing it back.

WTF?MGF meanwhile is an adult dark comedy magical girl comic combined with an apocalyptic outbreak scenario. Its pilot will launch in January of 2024 and the comic will begin properly in 2025.

“Bedeviled Dotty” has been going for a few years now, and is a story about a magical anthro rabbit who makes a deal with a kitsune in order to obtain the love of her professor.

I highly encourage people to check them out!

Now about The Doctor version of Coach! When he first regenerated, he was ecstatic to have a small nose!

Not only that but he had a new appreciation for life and took on a life to the fullest attitude. He also cast away the identity of 'The Doctor', letting himself become his own as 'Coach' because he considers himself a referee to the universe and a sort of life coach to whoever he encounters. (Those that can stand him of course) He loves interacting with others, but he can be impatient and snippy at times and quite pushy without meaning to. He also has a hard time reading others' emotions, and can only think in context of how he would feel. This is because in this life he has something akin to ASD that he's unaware of, and it's a huge challenge for him because of how much he wants to help and entertain others.

He likes to use sports words and phrases in his vocabulary, which would be his quirk. He also collects sports equipment and uses them for experiments and inventions, though he doesn't really like sports themselves.

One of the last things Derpy said to him before she died was that she had no regrets, and neither should he. So in his next life, as Coach, he took this very seriously and is always moving forward with no regrets. This can make him seem heartless at times because of how easily he leaves things behind, but he always needs to be on the move and needs to change things up because he's teaming with chaos magic.

That's right, the chaos energy stayed with him, but it manifested in a more controllable form because he became a unicorn. He can't use normal unicorn spells, a lot of his magic has a mind of its own. It will often do as asked, but it will do it in random ways. 'Open a locked door' for example could mean unlocking the door, or turning the door into popcorn. One of his first magic mishaps was transmogrifying his sonic screwdriver into a golf club. It still functions the same, just has a different shape now.

Coach spent about 60 years exploring on his own and taking on temporary companions that he'd keep a distance from so chances of anything bad happening to them would be less. But he eventually longs to see his Grandaughter, Tootsie Flute, and wants to take her on adventures with him, feeling like it would be a good do-over from the old Doctor's life. He fondly calls her Suzie because of reminiscing about the memories of Susan from the 1st Doctor days. While Suzie is often exasperated with him, she is also fascinated with him and the things he shows her. She has to keep their adventures a secret though, because Coach is scared to face his old family again and disappoint them. He doesn't want to see them without being able to understand them any more, it would break his hearts.

In order to take Suzie on adventures with him, they find a rogue changeling to replace her at home.

Speaking of changelings, he keeps in contact with [Tantamount Doctor], who has since started his own hive and is now a Royal. He gets much adored offerings of cheese from Coach.

The Doctor also never really felt like there was a right time to approach The Master’s daughter, Eighth Note. He kept feeling like it would ruin her otherwise good life to introduce her to time and space like that. She grew up to be a nurse in a maternity ward, her beautiful voice soothing babies as she would sing to them. Perhaps she has a little hypnotic influence from her father?

But Coach meanwhile with his no regrets attitude charged right in to take her on as a temporary companion to show her the ropes of being a Time Lord and having a TARDIS of her own. Needless to say, she’s trouble for Coach, as she can be a huge tease and she enjoys flustering the poor guy who just doesn’t want the Master to come back from the grave to kill him. It’s all in good fun for her and never serious, though, so nothing of an intimate nature really happens between them.

Finally, whenever Coach regenerated which wouldn't be for a long time, it would be because the chaos magic would become too unstable and the only way he can stay alive is to regenerate into a draconequus. Which gives us -drumroll-

Pandemonium!

Pandemonium is on the chaotic good alignment and he finds a way to bring back Gallopfrey and allow the true pony Doctor and Master to exist. He playfully antagonizes them and tries to keep them on a good path as best he can.

And that's pretty much how the whole thing ends!

When I started Discord Whooves, I was in a pretty dark place. I was bitter, angry, feeling like I had to fill peoples' expectations without really having anything special of my own. Discord Whooves started as a vent blog because A. The Brony fandom's constant pressure on me as a well known voice actor for Derpy, which made me bitter about her, B. Because I was upset I was getting known more for my voice than my main talent, drawing, on top of feeling dysphoric about my feminine voice, and C. The expectations that were on me reflected on how I acted, and I wanted to do something dark without my old name attached to it to prove I could do something interesting besides PG rated radio plays. I gained a lot more popularity than I thought I ever would, and had so much support, and as JitterbugJive I got to be myself without any expectations. It helped me come out eventually not only as BaldDumboRat, but as a transgender male.

Popularity sadly got to my head, it caused a lot of stress and a lot of outbursts and when I started my mod blog I was a very calm person who brushed things off. But more and more people started to pick fights with me and I felt the need to defend myself. This was also during a time I made another vent blog that was for dealing with the abuse I'd been through in the past, so I was facing a lot of demons at the time and could be triggered easily.

And then I had my bi-polar manic episode that made me literally insane for months, which threw me in to a year long depression that destroyed my art for a good while (It looked really really awful during that time, a lot of people noticed it) but the good thing about it was that it got me in touch with a therapist and got me diagnosed not only bi-polar 1 but PTSD, which was a shock to me but it made a lot of sense. I got a PTSD service dog, anxiety medication, bi-polar medication, and while the year of depression sucked I slowly got to pull myself back together and reflect on who I'd been. With anxiety meds I wasn't getting as angry any more, and therapy was helping me properly cope with the past and with the popularity issues. I wanted to be a better person, and I became one.

I even decided to take on a career path where I could help other people like me and like Discord Doctor, becoming a peer wellness specialist to help those experiencing mental illness and addiction. I use my own experiences to connect with them, give them hope, and show them they are not alone and there are people who do understand what they're going through who will help them. The training I went through ended up changing a lot of aspects of how Discord Whooves was treated moving forward, giving him a more realistic journey and showing people a very true message of hope and recovery. And the only reason I'm where I am now is because of experiencing that first psychotic episode that made me reach out for help.

I had two psychotic episodes in the span of Discord Whooves’ run, and they gave me a first hand experience of what it’s like to completely lose control of your own actions. I hurt people, I caused a lot of damage, and I had to face the consequences of those actions. And because of this, I had personal knowledge of what it’s like to come out of such a horrible state, and all the guilt and fear that comes with it. The Doctor’s journey suddenly became so much more personal to me, because I’d been there. And his journey of recovery is to show that despite everything, there’s still hope. Recovery is possible.

Something else my mania did was lead me to the idea of My Magic Grandpa, because my head came up with so many crazy ideas that I wanted to use and I was looking for a lot of inspiration during my depression that it all started coming together. And thus Coach and Suzie evolved into humans in their own story, because I didn't entirely want Discord Whooves to end where Coach and Suzie only just begins. And now they can continue on in their own way, in my own way, and I can let go of a blog about depression and anger and instead make a story about growth and inspiration.

In a way, it's like I regenerated with The Doctor, and I hope people can appreciate that and continue to support me.

I want to thank all the people who have worked with me on this project, be it for crossover, to contribute guest art, to Warden and Lauren and a handful of other people who helped me write the story and brought fantastic characters into it. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you, and the story would be in a much worse place now if it weren’t for everyone’s help.

Thank you all for staying with me on this 12 year journey. Looking back, I've made some dumb mistakes, but I learned a lot from them and your dedication helped me stick to my guns and end my first large scale project! It hit some bumps but dammit I made it happen and I am so happy I did! Now I hope people will check out my other projects that were linked above. I will still produce pony content on @the-character-lounge on occasion when I have the time and motivation.

I want to continue to bring everyone compelling stories that will tug at their emotions, and I don't plan on disappearing. So if you want to continue this journey with me, to see what Coach and Suzie have evolved into, please give my other works a follow!

Thank you, everyone! Your comments on this post in particular would be greatly appreciated! What did you think of the story as a whole? What do you think of Coach being the Doctor’s new life? Are there things you were expecting or wished would be different? How would you have ended the story? Did you enjoy the finale? Did you have a theory that Coach was The Doctor? Who was your favorite character? Favorite moment? Least favorite moment? I want to know! Please talk about it!

#spoilers #warning #discord whooves #author

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kookies2000 · 11 months

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Because I feel like it.

Yellow sky? Bare footed characters? Mostly a mess? Over exaggerating some of the Hispanic features. I saw the first episode, and it was just poorly written in general. And what mother calls their son "cochinada." Roughly translates to dirty or trash.

What's good Latino/Hispanic representation?

Colombian 🇨🇴

In the Caribbean region of Colombia, they light up candles and lanterns on December 8, before sunrise. So the candle giving them magic was a wonderful detail. Generational trauma is a thing for us Latinos, and this film handled it in a healthy and matuer manner. And I love how they didn't shy away with how Spaniards attacked and colonized latin lands.

Mexicans 🇲🇽

Yes, us Mexicans love death. 🤣 But hey, I was always taught to respect death, La Muerte, and our ancestors. So, it makes sense that many Mexican films talk about death. But I also like that Maya and the Three have Aztec, Mayan, and Incan mythology. Natives to Mexico.

Dominican Puerto Rican 🇩🇴🇵🇷

Luz mom is Dominican, and Luz dad is Puerto Rican. I appreciate a good interracial couple and a mixed child. Luz name also translates to light, and some Latinos are known for doing witch craft. Or at least knowledgeable about witches and demons, and no, we aren't evil. We just know how to handle this stuff. Plus, the owl has many meanings in Latino culture. To some, I believe the owl is a messenger of death and is telling everyone that death/danger is near.

Afro Latino. Puerto Rican 🇵🇷

I am a massive sucker for interracial couples and mixed kids because of this. I was working at a hispanic store as a cashier. This woman walks past me and starts talking to the bagger. The bagger has blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin. The bagger looks at me worried because she doesn't speak English. So brown skin, black hair, me has to tell the bagger that the lady wanted ice in Spanish. I then talked to the lady in English. Her reaction? "YOU SPEAK ENGLISH!" Same for a dark skinned man. So many people skip me and talk to him in English. He's Dominican, and he only spoke Spanish. I appreciate films that show Latinos in different skin types and features. We're not all brown. So yeah, the mass diversity in this film is just beautiful. And I love how they wrote Miles relationship with his parents. Realistic conflict and healthy communication. Not falling into toxic stereotypes.

Spainard Puss 🇪🇸 Mexican Kitty & Perrito 🇲🇽

Spaniards are considered Hispanic but not Latinos like Mexicans. And again, interracial couples for the win. And I love the realism in their romance that heals through healthy therapy. Many people see Mexicans as toxic, so having Perrito as a therapist and the one helping everyone emotionally, it's nice. Not every Mexican is toxic. And I love how you can tell their Spanish and Mexican even though their animals. Puss Spanish accent, Spanish actor, him being a ginger like some Spaniards, flamingo dancing, and gazpacho. Kitty, Mexican accent, Mexican actress, black fur/hair like most Mexicans, quinceañera, and I love how they gave her a luchador mask. Something that originates from Mexico. Also, my brother and I joke how we as Mexiacns can't swim and Kitty nearky drowns in the 1st film. 🤣 Perrito, he's a chihuahua with a Mexican actor. Enough said. I also want to say death is Brazilian because of his actor.

I don't know much about Spanish culture, but someone said the wishing star has a connection to Spanish culture. Is that true? If so, COOL! Because death is connected to Mexican culture. So, Dreamworks finding a way to combine Spanish and Mexican culture in one film is 100% magical.

There are many more, like Beverly Hills Chihuahua 🇲🇽. 🤣 That film is better than Primos. Emperor's New Groove, Peru 🇵🇪, and Rio, Brazil 🇧🇷. Not Hispanic but Latino culture. But this post is getting long. Primos! A huge step down in Latino/Hispanic representation. Especially since we have so many good films and shows that have proper representation.

#primos #encanto #maya and the three #maya and the 3 #coco #book of life #the owl house #toh #owl house #puss in boots #puss in boots the last wish #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: into the spider verse #into the spider verse #spiderman: into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman #spider man across the spider verse #across the spiderverse

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marsbutterfly · 1 year

Text

The Boy Who Cried Your Name

a/n: HI!!!! I'M BACK AFTER SUCH A LONG HIATUS!!!! I MISSED YOU GUYS! This story was based on this postI hope you all enjoy!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: none, just fluff <3

2:07am > manjiro: ok this movie genuinely seems really stupid 2:08am > manjiro: i think i'll watch it and tell you all about it during our date tomorrow. 2:11am > manjiro: oh shit, i've seen this actor somewhere 2:13am > manjiro: i know you're asleep but like 2:13am > manjiro: when you wake up can you help me find out this dude's name? 2:13am > manjiro: *image*

It's a Tuesday night, or at least it was when you first went to sleep. The nonstop vibration of your phone combined with the light that comes from it is enough to disturb your deep slumber.

You grunt, eyes squinting as you try to adjust to the brightness. Your warm hand comes out from its place underneath your pillow, only to be received by a rush of cold air that comes from the AC. Your fingers tremble gently while trying your best to type in your passcode, though your brain isn't fully awake.

Ultimately you decide to simply shine the phone on your face in the hopes that it will recognize your features even in the dark of your room.

Before it can even unlock, another notification.

2:16am > manjiro: i am learning so much from this movie already 2:17am > manjiro: did you fucking know that you can make your own butter if you shake milk for long enough?

You can't help but giggle at the sight, 17+ messages from Mikey. Before the two of you became a real couple, he would hardly ever text first, maybe because he could never remember where he put his phone in the first place or maybe it was because he was actually afraid of getting his feelings hurt, after all, a girl like you was hard to come by.

When the two of you decided to become official, his texts became more and more frequent. Most nights, you were forced to put your phone on Do Not Disturb because you desperately needed a good night's rest and lord knows you wouldn't be able to achieve that goal as long as Mikey was awake.

Your thumbs aren't moving at the speed you would like them to, your vision is still partially blurry and your throat is so dry that it feels like you are swallowing nails. Nevertheless, you open the messages to encounter a great variety of content.

Tired eyes skim through the various paragraphs, some quite lengthy as he declares his endless love for you and everything you have done / do for him on a daily basis, describing how you are the most beautiful person you have ever met and how the light that radiates from you reminds him of a sunset lit inside of your chest. How the color of your hair is his favorite because, whenever he sees it anywhere else, he feels like the universe is sending him a small reminder of how lucky he is. You smile at the sight of his gentle words.

However, you can no longer ignore the rain of incoming texts now that he has noticed the "seen at 2:14am" at the bottom of the page. He feels awful for waking you up but he cannot help himself. Every new thing he learns, every new detail of the movie he thinks you will enjoy knowing, he must share with you.

2:15am > manjiro: THIS DUDE JUST ATE HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW WHOLE? 2:16am > manjiro: IS THAT A FUCKING THING THAT SNAKES DO? EAT PEOPLE WHOLE? 2:16am > manjiro: I HAVE TO GOOGLE THIS HOLD ON 2:17am > manjiro: I have learned that, in fact, they can. I'm actually going to jump, I cannot do this 2:18am > manjiro: oh shit, i didn't mean to wake you up, but now that you are here! 2:19am > manjiro: did you know that drinking too much water can kill you? I read it somewhere, let me find the link. 2:19am > manjiro: Oh and also that when the dinosaurs walked the Earth, days were 23 hours long instead of 24?

You take a deep breath, knowing that he is coming from a place of love and care but you can't help but be a bit annoyed. Not wanting to snap at him, you use your full mental capacity at the moment to type a response to one of his many, many texts.

2:19am > manjiro: typing... 2:19am > you: Mikey, I love you, so so much and I wish for nothing more than for you to be here cuddling with me, than to feel the warmth of your body against mine, but you know I have an exam early in the morning. 2:20am > you: but baby, I am begging you, STOP THIS MADNESS.

His texting ceases and it feels like an eternity, certainly long enough for you to regret the way you spoke to him, even if it wasn't malicious or even purposefully mean. You understand that, other than Draken, Mikey doesn't usually confide in anyone else, especially not in a way that makes him seem weak or "stupid."

A sigh escapes your lips and you blink intensely for a few seconds in the hopes of stopping your eyeballs from burning. Time seems to slip by you and the next time your eyes open, twenty minutes have passed.

You bolt awake for a few seconds, heart beating faster than a race car, an irrational fear that you might have missed a message from him taking over you so the natural course of action is to check your texts. It would be a lie to say you weren't a little disappointed that there were no new messages from Mikey in that short period of time and your heart sinks just slightly.

2:41am > you: Mikey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just nervous about my exam and super tired. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I hope you can forgive me.

Not even thirty seconds go by before the three dots inside of the blue bubble appear at the edge of the page. The full sensation of relief doesn't wash over you until you hear back from him, a simple message, spelled completely wrong because you knew he was keeping an eye out on whatever he was watching on the television.

2:42am > mikey: all gpod bsby, u luv u. (all good baby, i love you)

With a smile on your face, you finally allow yourself to relax and place the phone down underneath your pillow, giving Mikey time for himself as he enjoys his tv time. Now, you are finally going to be able to have a good night's rest before your big exam tomorrow. Eyelids become heavy and your breathing finds its own perfect pattern, your pillow is cold and underneath your covers is warm, everything is simply falling into place.

When you are within seconds of falling asleep, your phone buzzes from beneath your head. You refuse to open your eyes and simply roll over, pushing your body away from the device.

Some time passes and you find yourself in the same peaceful vibe as before, a gentle smile on your face as you fully allow yourself to be submerged in the cold feeling of the ac against your face while the rest of your body is nicely tucked away. The feeling doesn't last long for Mikey, once again, decides to start texting you every few minutes, if not seconds.

You grunt loudly, reaching for the edge of your pillow to pull it over your ear. In moments like these, you truly had to remind yourself of how much you loved him and why because he does, in fact, test what little sanity you have left in you. But you didn't know that all he was doing in that moment was being his usual self: the guy who is deeply and madly in love with you.

3:14am > manjiro: oh yeah 3:14am > manjiro: i forgot to tell you 3:15am > manjiro: good luck on your exam tomorrow, you got this! 3:15am > manjiro: i love you so much <3 3:15am > manjiro: have a great night <3

#mikey brainrot #mikey x reader #mikey x you #manjiro sano x you #manjiro sano x y/n #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro sano #manjiro sano fluff #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n

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darylas · 2 months

Text

Chapter 3 - Ghost of a Chance

John "Bucky" Egan x singer!fem!reader first ♫ previous ♫ next ao3

You go on a double date to distract yourself from thoughts of Bucky, a task made more difficult when he is sitting in the same pub.

4.2k words

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Non-consensual use of drugs, Attempted sexual assault, Mild violence

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

A/N: Please read the warnings! MAJOR tone shift coming in from the north. I promise next chapter will be lighter!

“So, how long have you been in merry old England?”

“Less than a month, though it doesn’t feel that way,” you answered, swiping your thumb across the condensation that had formed quickly on your glass in the humidity of the pub. You were sat across from Lieutenant Tom Foyle, a pilot in the 351st. His dark hair was styled neatly with pomade, his handsome face clean-shaven. Next to you sat Millicent “Millie” Vance, another Red Cross girl who had somehow roped you into being one-fourth of a double date.

“Oh? Does it feel longer or shorter?” Tom asked. He seemed genuinely interested in your answer, as he had with everything you’d said that evening. He had kind, curious green eyes that made you feel like the only person in the room.

You looked down at your glass, half empty. “Both. Neither. To be completely honest I’m not quite sure. The work gets so repetitive that time seems to stand still some days, but other times it feels as though the clock is ticking faster than a runaway train. I suppose there’s nothing like war to make time feel rather short.” You gave Tom a reassuring smile, ending your little monologue before it grew any more depressing and soured the whole evening. “Sorry,” you said, holding up your glass. “It appears that gin makes me a tad melancholy.”

The blond pilot sitting across from Millie spoke up. “That’s funny, it makes me giddy. Of course, that could just be our present company.” He leaned forward, addressing Millie. “I told Tom that you had to be the prettiest girl this side of the ocean.”

Millie grinned and replied, “Glad we’re not on the other side of the ocean, then,” causing the pilot, Dan, to let out a surprised wheeze of laughter.

While Dan continued his boisterous flirting, saying something about Millie having wit as well as looks, Tom leaned toward you, filling your nostrils with the pleasant scent of his aftershave. He smirked and said in a low voice, “I believe his exact words to me were, ‘What a dish!’.”

You chuckled softly, pleasantly surprised that you were actually enjoying yourself. “I suppose we can’t all be Humphrey Bogart.”

“Sure, we can.” Tom cocked his head slightly to the side and spoke with Bogart’s deep and gravelly voice. “We’ll always have Paris.”

You laughed as he sat back in his chair with a smile. “You saw Casablanca?” you asked him.

“Yep, right before flying over. I’d go see movies whenever I could.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Used to think I could be an actor. Wouldn’t that be something? Seeing yourself on the big screen?” He certainly had the looks for it.

“Maybe after the war, you could pursue an acting career. I’m sure Hollywood would snatch you right up.” Tom smiled bashfully at the compliment. “I actually wanted to be in movies myself when I was younger. Particularly musicals. I’m not much of a dancer but hell, neither is Bing Crosby, and he gets away with it.” You took another sip of gin, inwardly wincing. It was stronger than the drinks you normally favored, but Dan had ordered a round for the table. You had never liked when a man ordered food or drink for a woman, but you didn’t want to embarrass Millie by declining.

“I’d see your films over Bing’s any day,” responded Tom, who managed to combine flirtation and authenticity with such ease that you were beginning to feel skeptical. You couldn’t help but glance toward the back of the pub, where Major Egan had been sitting with some of the other men for the past hour. You were surprised to find him looking right back at you. He gave you a small smile and a subtle nod. No wink, no devilish grin. Curious. Reflexively, you smiled back, then looked away.

Much to your annoyance, John Egan had begun to appear in your thoughts almost regularly and uninvited. Ever since that night at the club, he had gotten under your skin like a persistent itch. An egotistical, irritating, handsome, intriguing itch. You kept these thoughts to yourself, as you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his asinine attempt to insult you into a conversation almost worked. By the same token, you were still wary of him, knowing his track record with women.

You knew, not so deep down, that you had agreed to come on this double date to distract yourself and perhaps meet someone else to occupy your thoughts. Someone like Tom, who picked up his glass and said, “To our Tinseltown dreams, then.”

You clinked your glass with his and said, “To Bing Crosby and his two left feet.”

Millie spoke up. “You know, our Red Cross canary here sings an old Bing song just beautifully. The one from that short with Mary Kornman. Anyone who’s ever made coffee and doughnuts with this one in the morning has heard her sing it.”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Anything to distract me from throwing that blasted doughnut machine out the window. I swear, my poor old Zippo is more reliable than that thing.”

“I thought you said your lighter doesn’t work anymore,” said Millie.

“Exactly,” you replied, to the laughter of your companions.

Tom, with laughter still in his voice, looked at you and said, “I’d sure love to hear you sing it sometime. After all, when some bigshot movie producer calls to ask me about your talents, I want to give him an accurate description.”

Dan scoffed. “Why would a movie producer call you about her?”

Tom lightly smacked his friend on the shoulder. “Why would anyone call you about anything?”

Dan’s blond mustache twitched as he smirked. “You’re hilarious. Anybody ever tell you what a gasser you are?”

There was a brief pause, during which your traitorous eyes suddenly flicked back to that table in the back of the pub. Major Egan was not looking at you this time, his attention currently fixed on his friend Lieutenant Curtis Biddick while he seemed to be mimicking various boxing forms. Egan laughed and hollered with the rest of the men at the table. He looked younger when he laughed, less like a commanding officer and more like a carefree young man. You assumed he shouldered a great many cares, and that the weight of them would only increase as the war continued. The humidity of the pub had caused a few curls to come loose over his forehead, the fire behind him giving his skin a warm glow.

“I’m sure the pianist knows it,” said Millie, breaking you out of what you could only describe as a trance before the Major caught you staring.

“Knows what?” you asked, praying to high heaven you weren’t blushing.

“The song! You could sing it here!”

“Oh, Millie, please. Most of these boys hear far too much of my caterwauling back at base. They come here to get away from that. Besides, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m in the middle of a date.” You gestured between yourself and Tom.

Tom smiled. “As much as I’m enjoying said date, I think the one thing it’s missing is a beautiful song sung by a beautiful lady. And I think all the guys in here would agree with me.”

“I don’t think they would-”

“What, you want me to take a poll?” asked Millie, teasingly. “Dan, sweetie, would you mind?”

Alright, maybe she wasn’t teasing. Dan stood up and shouted, “Gentlemen! Who wants to hear our 100th canary sing us a song?” His question was answered with a chorus of affirmative shouts and whistles from around the pub.

Tom looked at you and grinned. “Sounds like you better head over there.”

You grinned back and let out a resigned huff of breath before standing up. “I suppose orders are orders, Lieutenant.”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky heard your laughter from across the pub. His eyes immediately turned towards you as the sound reached him, his instincts taking over before his thoughts could catch up. He’d seen you walk in with one of the pilots in the 351st, decked out and chatting with Millie Vance. You were smiling at that pilot now; not the plastered-on, rehearsed, all-American smile he had grown used to seeing at Thorpe Abbotts. This was the real thing, and it was beautiful. What would he give to be the reason for that smile? To be the one to make you laugh like that?

He would fly through a thousand miles of flak.

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. He might just be the most pathetic man in the entire fucking world.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was so keen on someone. You had to be some sort of siren, luring him out to sea with your alluring voice, only to drag him down, down, down, to the depths of the ocean. He was surprised to find he didn’t mind. With a barely concealed smirk, he realized that being eaten alive by you would not be a terrible way to die.

You had glanced his way once or twice, no doubt feeling his eyes on you. He had tried to look away, to focus on the stories told around the table, but he simply couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept falling back on you. He had never seen you without your Red Cross uniform, and the dress you were wearing had clearly been custom-designed to drive him crazy.

Bucky was grateful for Curt’s loud voice and enthusiasm as he talked about boxing. The distraction was a welcome one, though he supposed that you were the true distraction in this case and not the other way around.

“I can’t believe Buck didn’t come,” said Curt, finishing off his whiskey. “He knows exactly what I’m talkin’ about. The high guard stance ain’t shit in the ring. It’s all about-”

“Gentlemen!” called a voice from across the pub. “Who wants to hear our 100th canary sing us a song?” The place was filled with the sound of whoops and hollers from nearly every table. Bucky watched you grin at your date–Foyle–and stand up before walking to the piano.

Curt didn’t miss a beat before saying, “Uh oh. Look out boys, you might see Bucky cry. The music really gets to’m.”

“Yeah, the music’s lookin’ like a solid sender in that dress,” said Hambone, earning a round of laughter from the table.

Bucky smiled good-naturedly, used to the ribbing at this point. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. Since when is a guy not allowed to appreciate a beautiful dame, huh?”

"Bucky, you've been eyeing her all night," Jack interjected. "You stare at her more than Douglass stares at that photo of Betty Grable he keeps in his pocket." Another round of laughs. Bucky took a long sip of whiskey as Curt patted him on the back with a grin.

He watched you lean down to speak softly to the pianist before standing up straight and clearing your throat. “Don’t you boys hear enough of me as it is? I don’t know what’s gotten into you; well, I suppose I have some idea,” you said, tapping your nail against someone’s glass to make a plinking sound. The crowd laughed, many raising their drinks. “I’m going to sing an old song, but I asked my new friend Alan here to keep it short. I have a drink of my own I’d like to get back to.”

Next to him, Curt laughed before leaning over and saying, “She might be too much of a firecracker for your sorry ass.” Bucky elbowed him in the arm, making him laugh harder. As the pianist started playing a slow, pleasant melody, Curt leaned in again and said, “Or…she just might be perfect for your sorry ass.” Bucky furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at his friend, who smirked and shrugged. “What? I get sappy when I drink.” Bucky didn’t have time to reply before you began to sing.

I need your love so badly

I love you, oh, so madly

But I don't stand a

Ghost of a chance with you

You sauntered between the tables as you sang, the patrons smiling up at you. Bucky preferred when you sang slower songs like this one, the drawn-out notes more sensuous and poignant. As you came within ten feet of his table, you stopped moving. Your eyes met his and lingered for a moment as you continued your song. He was spellbound.

I thought at last I'd found you

But other loves surround you

And I don't stand a

Ghost of a chance with you

You walked back to the piano, leaning elegantly against it as you finished the last line of the song. Applause rang throughout the pub and you nodded graciously before shouting, “How about my new friend, our amazing pianist, Mr. Alan Bennett?” The applause and shouts continued as you said “Thank you; enjoy your evening,” then headed back to your seat.

When Bucky saw you smile once again, genuinely, at Foyle, the spell was broken. No, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of that smile yet, but your shared moment just now gave him a glimpse of hope. You had looked at him differently then, not with contempt or that devastating neutrality from before, but with something else.

Christ, he really was pathetic, knowing that look would be all he thought about for the rest of the night. He deserved the boys’ ragging, as well as another glass of whiskey.

═════ ♫ ═════

You listened to Millie tell an amusing story about an old neighbor back home as you finished your drink. Even though you weren’t currently talking, you noticed Tom stealing frequent glances at you. You smiled encouragingly at him before fanning yourself with a napkin, the heat in the pub somehow having gotten worse.

As Millie continued her story, your thoughts drifted to Major Egan. When your eyes met his grey ones during the song, you were struck by the tenderness and reverence in his gaze. He hadn’t looked at you like a prize, like an object to be used until he grew bored of it. You had held that gaze for longer than you intended; it didn’t change, but you felt like you did.

For that brief moment, no more than five seconds, you were no longer in the pub, but somewhere else entirely. You weren’t sure exactly where you were during this momentary lapse of reality, but you knew you had gotten there through his eyes. You had always heard of getting lost in someone’s eyes, but in that moment, you didn’t feel lost. Instead, you felt as though you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Perhaps you had been too quick to judge him.

Perhaps you should get to know him better.

Perhaps it had just been a man watching a woman while she sang.

All of these confusing thoughts were beginning to give you a headache.

In fact, the noise of the pub seemed to grow louder by the second, and the lights seemed to get brighter. You squinted.

“Honey, are you alright?” asked Millie. You hadn’t realized she’d stopped talking. You gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yes, yes I’m fine. I think the crowded room is getting to me. I might need to step outside for a moment; get some fresh air.” You scooted your chair away from the table.

Both men stood as you did so. Tom pushed in his chair and came around to your side of the table, looking concerned. “Can I accompany you outside? I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Of course. I’d appreciate it, actually.” You looked at Millie. “We’ll be right back.”

As you stood up, you lost your balance and braced your hands on the table, causing the legs to make a loud noise as they shifted. You flushed with embarrassment as multiple patrons looked in your direction, some sniggering to each other. Millie put a delicate hand on your arm. “Are you sure you’re alright? I think we need to head back.”

You waved her off. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine. I just stood up too fast. A few minutes of fresh air and I’ll be good as new. Don’t you dare move; this is your one night out. I’m fine.”

Millie continued to look at you with skepticism and concern, but Tom offered you his arm and you took it, walking toward the front of the pub with slow, deliberate steps.

Suddenly, you were outside the pub, still holding on tight to Tom’s arm. You breathed in the night air, hoping it would clear your head. It didn’t.

“Feel any better?” asked Tom.

You looked at him and were alarmed to see that you were no longer outside the front entrance, but alone with him around the side of the building. You couldn’t remember how you got there, but Tom’s arm was still in your grasp. You continued to cling to it, as your dizziness had gotten worse and you were afraid you might fall flat on your face if you let go.

“No, I….don’t,” you answered, having difficulty forming the words. This sudden ailment was clearly something that needed more than fresh air to fix, and you knew it was time to call it a night. Could you really be this drunk? Yes, the gin had been stronger than what you normally drank, but you only had one glass.

Tom looked at you with concern. “I’m so sorry. Are you feeling well enough for the trip back? It would probably be safer to book you a room for the night.” He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

“I think I’d like to…to go back to base and get in bed.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked softly, brushing the backs of his fingers down your bare arm.

“Nnnn…no.” The pain in your head was worsening, your mind telling you that you needed to leave. Now.

Tom spoke your name, his voice still soft. “I think that you and I go together so well. You’re incredibly witty, charming, and so lovely.” You felt him stroke the side of your face. You went to push his hand away, but it was gone when you lifted your hand to your face. “I’m curious to see if our compatibility goes beyond the conversational level, aren’t you?”

When you looked at him again, your head spinning with the effort, his handsome face still held the same charm and sincerity from before.

“Tom, I want to leave. Right now!” You wrenched yourself free from his grasp and turned toward the street. Your movements had been too sudden and you stumbled forward, haphazardly throwing your hands out to avoid falling on your face. You closed your eyes and braced for the feeling of asphalt on your palms, but it never came. When you opened your eyes, you saw the dark olive drab of a military uniform and felt strong arms around you. Of course Tom had easily caught you. You prepared to scream for help—

“The hell is going on out here?”

The person who’d caught you hadn’t been Tom. It was that major. He stood with you still limp in his arms, Millie close behind him looking panicked.

He looked at you, then at Tom, then back at you, his expression quickly morphing from confusion to alarm. You must have been quite a sight.

With urgency in his voice, he spoke your name. “Are you alright? What’s the matter?”

You stood up, another wave of dizziness crashing over you as Millie rushed to help you. “I think I’m…quite unwell, Mister…sorry, Major…” You looked at him quizzically, his name escaping you. Why couldn’t you think of his name? His face had been in your thoughts constantly over the past few days.

The man reluctantly removed his arms from around you and allowed Millie to support you. “It’s Bucky. But you still only call me Major Egan, remember?” He looked terribly worried, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to address it. Your only concern right now was getting away from Tom and into bed. You were so tired. When you didn’t respond to him, stumbling once more into Millie, his expression changed again to one of fury. He turned toward Tom, who had begun inching his way out of sight.

Bucky moved fast enough to exacerbate your dizziness, grabbing Tom by the lapels of his jacket and shoving him against the wall. “You put somethin’ in her drink? Did you do this to her?” The quiet, menacing calm of his voice was a stark contrast to his violent actions.

Tom had the good sense to look frightened for a moment, before flashing his handsome smile at the seething major. “I was just offering to escort her back to base,” he said. “Clearly the poor thing can’t take her liquor. I didn’t do a damn thing to her drink.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” replied Bucky, before he let go of Tom’s jacket and punched him in the face. Hard. Millie shrieked.

Tom fell to the ground in a graceless heap, his nose bleeding and misshapen. Putting a hand up to his nose, he yelled, “What the hell was-”

“You need to get the fuck out of here right now or your nose won’t be the only thing I break tonight.” Bucky’s fist was clenched, blood on the knuckles. Tom scrambled away and was soon out of sight.

Bucky turned back toward you and Millie. “She needs to see a doctor,” he said to your friend.

Millie let out a sigh and replied with a tired voice. “No, she doesn’t; not right now anyway.”

Bucky gestured furiously at you. “Look at her!” You frowned and looked away.

Millie spoke with a cold gravity you had never heard from her before. “I see her, Bucky, and unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like this. I know how to help, and I’m taking her back to base. Her symptoms should be gone tomorrow, but she needs rest.”

Bucky said nothing for several seconds, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He said quickly, “Alright. Fine. But if anything, anything, seems off, you take her straight to Smokey, understand?”

“I understand. I’ll take her tomorrow, just to make sure everything’s okay.” Millie began leading you toward the front of the building and the street, with Bucky following close behind. Eventually you were back in front of the pub.

Bucky looked at you, began to reach toward you, then put his hand in his pocket. “Let me take you home. Or would a room here be better?”

You stiffened.

“Excuse me?” you said, your head pounding.

Bucky looked taken aback at your sudden tone. “I just wondered if it would be better for you to get a room here for the night so you can rest.”

Son of a bitch.

You pointed a finger at his chest, missing and poking his shoulder. “You. Is this what you wanted?”

Bucky furrowed his brow and shook his head. “What are you talking about? You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I saw you. I saw you looking at us…looking at mm..me. Was this part of your plan?”

Millie, who had her arm looped through yours, put a hand on your shoulder and said, “Honey, I know you’re confused, it’s not your f-”

“Did you think that you would play the knight in shining armor and that...that I would fall into your arms, overcome with- with gratitude? You thought I would g..go to bed with you?” Bucky shook his head vehemently and opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going. “I knew it. I knew that a dance would never just be a dance with you. I knew it.” You swayed, but Millie tightened her hold on you and you stayed upright. “I knew it,” you said to her.

She rubbed your back soothingly. “Okay, honey. Let’s get you in bed, alright?” She turned to Bucky and spoke so quietly you couldn’t hear her over the noise of the music inside. You watched as Bucky nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. He looked back at you, nothing but concern in his eyes. But that’s how Tom had looked.

Fighting the pain at the front of your skull and the increasing urge to vomit in the nearest waste bin, you let go of Millie’s arm and took a wobbly step toward him. He removed his hands from his pockets, ready to catch you again, but you stayed upright. You said to him in a low voice, “I think you’re despicable.” The major said nothing, still watching you with the same worried look on his face. Inside the pub, you heard the pianist start playing “Blue Skies”, followed by at least two shouts of Bucky’s name. “Sounds like you’re missing your ‘signature song,’ Major. Please, don’t let me keep you.”

With that, you allowed Millie to once again wind her arm through yours and lead you away from the pub, hopefully on a path toward your bed. She sighed. “Don’t worry, I told him you didn’t mean a word you said.” You frowned at her, confused. “I’m so sorry; if I had any idea that Tom was such a…” She sighed again. “Never mind. It does no good to apologize to you now when you won’t remember it. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

As you made your way back to your barracks, fighting sleep the whole way, all you could think of was a slow song and two grey eyes staring into yours.

#guys i wasn't kidding about the tone shift but I promise things will get better!#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #mota fic #callum turner #reader insert #fanfiction #Spotify

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denimbex1986 · 11 months

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'If Peaky Blinders made the Irish actor a household name, will Christopher Nolan’s nuclear blockbuster send him into the stratosphere? He talks about extreme weight loss, hating school and why his next character won’t be a smoker.

Cillian Murphy is struggling with what he can and can’t say about his title role in Oppenheimer, the latest Christopher Nolan epic, such is the secrecy surrounding this film. Murphy is under “strict instructions” not to talk about the content. Which is awkward when you’ve flown to his home in Ireland to interview him specifically about playing the physicist who oversaw the creation of the atomic bomb, later detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s not clear who issued these instructions. Nolan? The studio? The US government? All I know is that as well as Murphy being gagged by hefty NDAs, I am not allowed to see it (“bit unfortunate”, he concedes).

So, yes, here we sit in an empty upstairs room of a restaurant near his house in Monkstown, Dublin, working out how to do this. The room is dark, the sun shining through a solitary Velux lighting his features like a Géricault. The only background noise is the low hum of a wine refrigerator. Murphy loathes interviews, looks visibly tortured at points. But he relaxes when I ask if he’s pleased with Oppenheimer. “I am, yeah,” he says. “I don’t like watching myself – it’s like, ‘Oh, fucking hell’ – but it’s an extraordinary piece of work. Very provocative and powerful. It feels sometimes like a biopic, sometimes like a thriller, sometimes like a horror. It’s going to knock people out,” he adds. “What [Nolan] does with film, it fucks you up a little bit.”

Nolan wouldn’t disagree. The director recently told Wired magazine that some of those who’d seen it were left “absolutely devastated … they can’t speak”. Which sounds like a bad thing, but is related perhaps to the thought of the 214,000 Japanese people, overwhelmingly civilians, who lost their lives when the bombs were dropped. Kai Bird, the historian who co-authored American Prometheus, the 2008 biography of J Robert Oppenheimer upon which the film is based, said he was still “emotionally recovering” from seeing the film, clarifying that it was “a stunning artistic achievement”.

Murphy’s portrayal is said to be astonishing (“Oscar-worthy” is the buzz). This is not unbelievable. While Hollywood might not know him as a leading man, this quietly intense actor has long been celebrated in the UK and Ireland, most notably for his nine-year stint as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. When he first appeared on our screens, looking like a renaissance painting of Saint Sebastian – chiselled head contrasting with translucent blue eyes – it was impossible not to be distracted. He appeared first on stage in Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, then the screen adaptation. Then 28 Days Later; Intermission; Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Previous collaborations with Nolan include the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception and Dunkirk, “significant milestones in my career,” he says, adding that Nolan “might be the perfect director”.

It was Nolan’s wife, the producer Emma Thomas, who called Murphy one afternoon at the home he shares with his wife, artist Yvonne McGuinness, and two teenage sons. Nolan doesn’t actually have a telephone, or an email, or computer for that matter: “He’s the most analogue individual you could possibly encounter.” So, Emma said Chris would like a word and passed the receiver, then the director came on the line. “Cillian, I’d love you to play the lead in this new thing,” he said. Murphy tries to recreate his response to this news. “I was lost for words. But thrilled. Like beyond thrilled.” It is characteristic of Murphy that the modulation of his voice barely changes as he expresses this. He was so stunned, he had to sit down. “Your mind explodes.”

In the absence of the three-hour feature, I scrutinise Oppenheimer’s three-minute trailer. It’s a rush of snapshots against the crackling of a Geiger counter. There’s Murphy, short back and sides, lifting 1940s eye goggles; blue and red atoms coming at him fast; orange light; white light; blackout; silence. Massive explosion against the backdrop of space. Overlaid is Murphy’s narration, “We’re in a race against the Nazis / and I know what it means / if the Nazis have a bomb.” There’s Matt Damon looking porky as army general Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project: “They have a 12-month head start.” Murphy, pointing with cigarette: “18.”

He has put back on some of the weight he lost for the part, I’m relieved to see; his skin isn’t quite so taut over his skull and there are freckles over those eagle-wing cheekbones. He was determined to nail the scientist’s silhouette “with the porkpie hat and the pipe”, testing himself to see how little he could eat. “You become competitive with yourself a little bit which is not healthy. I don’t advise it.” He won’t say how many kilograms he lost, or what food the nutritionist told him to cut out. NDA? “Ach, no. I don’t want it to be, ‘Cillian lost x weight for the part’.”

Then again, the hurtling speed at which Nolan worked, crisscrossing the US, made it easy to skip meals. Murphy began to forget about food in the same way he began to forget about sleep. “It’s like you’re on this fucking train that’s just bombing. It’s bang, bang, bang, bang. You sleep for a few hours, get up, bang it again. I was running on crazy energy; I went over a threshold to where I was not worrying about food or anything. I was so in it, a state of hyper …” he gropes for the word, “hyper something. But it was good because the character was like that. He never ate.” Oppenheimer subsisted on little more than Chesterfield cigarettes and double-strength martinis, rims dipped in lime. “Cigarettes and pipes. He would alternate between the two. That’s what did for him in the end,” Murphy adds, a nod to the scientist’s death from cancer in 1967. “I’ve smoked so many fake cigarettes for Peaky and this. My next character will not be a smoker. They can’t be good for you. Even herbal cigarettes have health warnings now.”

I raise method acting and Murphy tilts his head and frowns. “Method acting is a sort of … No,” he says, firm but with a half smile. Oppenheimer had many defining characteristics, not least walking on the balls of his feet and a vocal tic that sounded like nim-nim-nim, but Murphy didn’t want to do an impression. Nolan was obsessed with the Brillo-texture hair, so they spent “a long time working on hair”. And the voice. The real question for Murphy was what combination – ambition, madness, delusion, deep hatred of the Nazi regime? – allowed this theoretical physicist to agree to an experiment he knew could obliterate humankind. “He was dancing between the raindrops morally. He was complex, contradictory, polymathic; incredibly attractive intellectually and charismatic, but,” he decides, “ultimately unknowable.

“Listen, it’s not like a spoiler,” he says, checking himself before he leans in, “but there are incidents in his early life that were quite worrying; very erratic.” They are in the film and the book, he steers. I suspect he is referring to Oppenheimer’s postgrad at Cambridge in 1926, when he placed a poisoned apple on the desk of a tutor towards whom he harboured complicated feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Arguably, this was attempted murder. But Oppenheimer’s rich New York parents rushed in to bundle him into psychoanalysis. He was diagnosed with “dementia praecox”, a term describing symptoms associated with schizophrenia.

Murphy likes these complex characters; they’re his meat. People that don’t necessarily follow the – yawn – traditional transformative arc of storytelling. Not villains, exactly (although he’s played a few, including Scarecrow in Dark Knight and Jackson Rippner in Red Eye): “Villains are good if they’re well written, but if it’s one note or a trope, then they are dull.” He likes a script to stretch leisurely into all corners of the human condition, “all the shades”. At the same time, you have to understand his exceptional ability to portray interiority, physically manifesting intense human emotion without a word, radiating fierce, consuming energy. Which he does today, actually, when I stray off track.

Although Nolan is usually, shall we say, antiseptic in his approach to romance, Oppenheimer represents a significant shift. He told Wired the love story aspect “is as strong as I’ve ever done”. It features prolonged full nudity for Murphy and Florence Pugh, who plays Oppenheimer’s ex-fiancee, as well as sex, and there are complicated scenes with Emily Blunt, who plays his wife, “that were pretty heavy”. Murphy turns coy: “I’m under strict instructions not to give away anything.”

He asks if I’ve heard of chemistry tests. “They put two actors in a room to see if there’s any spark, and have all the producers and director at a table watching. I don’t know what metric they use, and it seems so outrageously silly, but sometimes you get a chemistry and nobody knows why.” This is a roundabout way of saying his scenes with Blunt and Pugh conjure this magic. His established bond with Blunt (they co-starred in A Quiet Place II) meant “the audience gets something for free”, he says. “You can be immediately vulnerable and open, and try stuff. There were moments where I remember saying, ‘I couldn’t have done that if it wasn’t with you.’”

Murphy, 47, grew up the eldest of four in Cork. His father was a civil servant, his mother a French teacher. They were a middle-class family, musical; his father “can pick up any instrument”, his brother played piano, and they regularly got stuck into “traditional Irish sessions”. Bookshelves were stuffed with literature, the radio often on, the “shitty” TV set not so much. Home life was busy but his parents taught him French and Irish, and sent him to an all-boys academic, rugby-playing private school. “I got all the education” he says, drily.

The story of how much he disliked the Presentation Brothers College, the hard-drinking masculine emphasis, how he found solace playing guitar in a band, is much rehearsed and he says today he doesn’t want “to slag the school off. I hear it’s great now.” Something about this experience seems nonetheless unsettling. He had one friend, who is still his best friend, “so I wasn’t, like, an outcast”. He played rugby for the first couple of years, but abandoned it “because everyone was all of a sudden towering over me.” Was it an unhappy time? He shifts. “It was OK. I was a bit of a messer, like I’d get in trouble and say nothing. It wasn’t the ideal school for me.”

He enrolled in and dropped out of a law degree at University College Cork, which created some friction with his parents (when I ask if his own sons will go to university in Dublin, he says, “Whatever they want”). He continued with the band, his first creative love but the one that got away. When they were offered a contract with Acid Jazz records, he turned it down for a number of reasons, he says, crucially that he didn’t feel good enough. He still writes and plays at home but, no, you won’t be hearing any of his recordings, ever, he says.

It’s a funny thing talking to Murphy. He’s at once garrulous (on the craft, or literature, or ideas) and reticent (pretty much anything else). I sense in previous interviews that he skates over issues close to his heart – such as the expression of emotion in Ireland and the need to teach empathy in schools. But when I try to drill in to these topics, get to the root, he clams shut, emitting energy like a nuclear reactor.

Later, in a different context, he will tell me a truth: “I’m stubborn and lacking in confidence, which is a terrible combination. I don’t want to put anything out that I don’t think is excellent.” But he clearly hates the pantomime of publicity, asking why I am returning to certain topics and repeating lines I’ve read elsewhere. I can almost see him at home with its views towards the Irish Sea, complaining to his wife as they tuck into supper: “Another one, asking the same fucking questions.”

If he could get out of going to Cannes, of standing on red carpets, dressed as is his habit for a funeral, hair shellacked, hands in pockets; if he could turn his back on the coloured-foam mics thrust in his face, he would. He really would. No, it dawns on him now, there’s something even worse than the red carpet; there’s the talkshow rounds. The very word “talkshow” comes out of him like a pain from his ribcage, as if the parcelling out of amuse-bouche anecdotes, offering them up to the forced laughter of that false god of show business, the studio audience, is in itself the most cheapening experience known to mankind.

“I do them because you’re contractually obliged to. I just endure them. I’ve always found it difficult. I’ve said this so many, many times.” Then there’s the double wince of realising that, yes, he’s done it again. He’s laid into the industry that feeds him. His hands raise slowly in surrender. “I want to just caveat this by saying, I’m so privileged. I’m so happy to be doing what I love. I’m really lucky. But I don’t enjoy the personality side of being an actor. I don’t understand why I should be entertaining and scintillating on a talkshow. I don’t know why all of a sudden that’s expected of me. Why?”

There’s an awkward silence. I say that he reminds me of Naomi Osaka, the tennis player who refused to talk to journalists after the French Open in 2021. He says he feels “100%” sympathy with her, “because why should she have to perform?” Then he relents. “But I get it. I get it’s a kind of ecosystem where the film feeds the publicity which feeds the talkshows which goes back and feeds the film, so, like, that’s how it works. I suppose I’m just not good at it. At interviews, at this stuff,” he gestures at me. He says after he leaves me today he’ll be going down the stairs thinking of all the things he’s said and worrying it’s come across all wrong. “Do you know what Sam Beckett said? ‘I have no views to inter.’ I love that. That should be the interview.”

We return to his art, the tension falls away and he’s back to his charming self, charged air evaporating. Since Oppenheimer, he’s also wrapped Small Things Like These, an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s brilliant novella set in 1985 in a small Irish town on the edge of which is a convent and “laundry”. Murphy is a huge fan of Keegan. He remembers reading her 2010 novel Foster on a train and having to pull his hoodie over his face because he was crying so hard. Anyway, he’d wanted to work with the Peaky Blinders director Tim Mielants and they were throwing ideas around in his sitting room when Murphy’s wife suggested Small Things. “No, there’s no way,” Murphy said. “That’s going to be gone already.” But when he called the agent, he found it was available. “I went, ‘No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.’” Murphy pitched the idea to Matt Damon, who has set up a studio with Ben Affleck. “From there it all just happened really quickly.”

Murphy plays Bill Furlong who, funnily enough, is a man of few words. Keegan’s light-touch writing is everything he loves in art – the sense that you are not being bashed over the head by an idea. That’s how he tries to act, he adds. “I’m always trying to cut lines in scenes, because I feel like you can transmit it. Like when you see a person on a train thinking, or driving a car, and you are purely observing someone and feeling the energy that is vibrating from them. That’s the sort of acting I love. In a lot of film and television, they want to cut those bits to go to the action. I like films that pose the big questions and then leave it to the audience.” Perhaps this is at the heart of his reticence in interviews? That he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

He still finds it “nuts” that the last of the Magdalene laundries closed in 1996, that it was illegal to buy condoms in Ireland until 1985, that divorce was made legal only in 1996. He remembers vividly thousands of people still going to see moving statues in Cork when he was growing up. “Crazy. But, like, how far the country has come since then, we’re so socially advanced now compared with where we were. But you must look back. And art is a better way of doing that than reading all these reports [into the laundries].” (Afterwards, he emails me: “The nation is actually dealing with an unresolved collective trauma. Who knows how long this will take to heal, but I feel strongly that art, film and literature can help with that process. It’s a kinder and gentler sort of therapy. I hope that our movie can help with that in its own little way.”)

Because he’s a nice man, because he doesn’t want me to feel bad about our encounter, and because he’s generous and hospitable, Murphy finishes by telling me some of the best places to visit in Ireland. He and his family are staying here for the summer. They’ve had it with air travel and his home town of Cork is only a couple of hours away. He supplies me with other recommendations: a great book he’s just read, Brian, by Jeremy Cooper, oh, and there’s the Francis Bacon studio exhibition I should catch on my way out.

But before I go, what has he learned from playing Oppenheimer? Foremost, he says, that scientists think differently. He knew this already from playing physicist Robert Capa in Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and hanging out in Cern, home of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, for research. “I had dinner with all these geniuses. I’ll never understand quantum mechanics, but I was interested in what science does to their perspective.” He sought their opinions on subjects that matter – love, politics, our place in the universe, “infinity, or whatever the fuck. Because they have a completely different way of taking in information than we do. I remember one scientist saying, ‘I don’t believe in love. It’s a biological phenomenon, the exchange of hormones between the female and the male. That’s all. Love is a nonsense.’” Murphy taps the table with his hand. “I couldn’t go along with that, obviously.”

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everythingisround · 6 months

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info dump about raggedy ann and andy, just recently watched the show and i am in love B))

hello!! ive been in the fandom for two and a half years (almost three lol), so i know a bit about raggedy ann and andy.

so raggedy ann and andy were created in the early 20th century, the former sibling coming first with her patent in september 1915. the most popular legend surrounding her creation is that she was based off an old rag doll that belonged to creator johnny gruelle's mother/sister (can't remember exactly), who he then drew a face on and gave to his beloved daughter, marcella, who sadly would pass away months after ann's patent. marcella's inclusion in the raggedy books has been seen by many raggedy historians as johnny working through his grief by immortalizing his daughter's likeness in his stories to remember her in a positive way. andy came around in august 1920 and is said to have been created with johnny's sons, worth and richard, in mind.

the 1977 film is probably where a lot of the younger fans first became interested in raggedy ann (well, that and tadc, and even then gooseworx is a pretty big fan of the film and even specifically based jax's voice on raggedy andy from the film), although the 1986 broadway musical has also been bringing a lot of people in through tumblr and tiktok. the film, despite ultimately flopping at the box office, had the esteemed richard williams at the helm of the animation, even animating the ever so popular "no girl's toy" sequence. of course, richard williams being richard williams, went way overbudget and way past the deadline and ended up being removed from the project just so it could get released. considering the composer of the film, joe raposo, theorized that the film flopping had something to do with the first star wars movie being released around the same time, it's interesting to think about how the raggedy film's fate could've been altered if it had released the year prior for america's bicentennial. the 1986 musical is a whole other can of worms, and im still learning a lot about it from being in the RARE server (which you should definitely check out, wink wink nudge nudge), but to summarize, a combination of a development team constantly at the brink of self-destruction, constant adherence to a family-friendly atmosphere spurred by parental concerns despite the dark themes playwright william gibson intended the story to have, and too much of the budget spent on expensive special effects that nearly killed the actors led to the musical notoriously flopping on broadway and ending its run prematurely never to be seen or heard from again. or so they thought.......

although the 1986 musical is considered a failure in the united states, over in russia, the story has a small cult following amongst childrens and community theatre productions. basically, in 1985, the musical was brought to the USSR as part of a cultural exchange between the two superpowers, and considering that russians had not been familiarized with raggedy ann or her cultural impact up until this point, this led to the rag doll and her friends not being seen as cheap americana, but rather somewhat of a childrens fable (ironic, considering raggedy ann as a character was born from johnny gruelle's stories...). because of this, russian productions of rag dolly (the 1986 musical) are plentiful, with even some very recent productions popping up every now and then. it should be noted that these productions rarely contain the original songs; sometimes the story will just be played straight with no music, while other productions will substitute the lack of musical songs with their own music. this can lead to some..... interesting results lol

i feel it is also important to bring up the various other adaptations of raggedy ann, too! there's the original books, of course, but if you're an animation nerd like me, there's the 1941 fleischer short (which takes some.... interesting creative liberties from the original source material), the two noveltoons shorts, the chuck jones holiday specials from 1978 and 79, the 1980s cartoon (watch at your own risk lol), and the two snowden specials from 1998; one is just a straightforward direct-to-vhs animated special, while the second is a full ice show with animated segments dispersed throughout. you get to see raggedy elvis! who doesnt want to see raggedy elvis?

in this last section ill just toss to you a bunch of links i recommend if you wanna learn more about raggedy ann beyond the movie!

(i should also probably mention now that some books and adaptations of raggedy ann feature racial stereotypes- i know suddenly its spring has a racial caricature in terms of adaptations specifically- likely due to the culture at the time. these depictions are obviously not right, but sadly when we're talking about a franchise that has been around for over a century, it's kind of unavoidable especially in the older books, so just be aware that those depictions will come up occasionally.)

youtube

my pal brooklyn is also working on a more extensive video on raggedy ann history, so be on the lookout for that when it comes out :)

#raggedy ann #raggedy andy #raggedy ann and andy #raggedy ann and andy a musical adventure #rag dolly #rag dolly musical #charlie’s last remaining brain cells fighting for survival

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lev1hei1chou · 8 months

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Fun fluffy animes that I loved

This is basically a list of animes that helps get over or deal with the trauma inflicted by various animes. At the moment, I guess fellow JJK fans might need this, and prolly AOT fans on November 5. Have fun watching

Haikyuu

Short Synopsis: Determined to be like the volleyball championship's star player nicknamed "the small giant", Shoyo joins his school's volleyball club.

Episodes: 85 + 5 OVA

The worst thing that can possibly happen is either the 3rd year students graduating or you being unable to support a specific team (nah cuz bro how do you pick and root for one? I end up being happy for the team that won and depressed for the team that lost)

Two movies are coming up soon

Highschool Babysitters

Synopsis: After the sudden death of their parents on a plane crash, two young brothers named Ryūichi Kashima (a freshman in high school) and his younger brother Kotarō (a preschooler) are left orphaned and having no place to call home. The chairwoman of the prestigious Morinomiya Academy offers to take the boys into her care, giving them a new house and free tuition, on the condition that Ryuichi helps out with the school's daycare center while also attending normal classes during school hours.

Episodes: 12 + 1 OVA

Note: Plane crash seems sad but trust me, its only mentioned in the first episode, and the rest 11 is just fluffy goodness. Nothing can prepare you for the cuteness.

Cells At Work

Synopsis: One newcomer red blood cell just wants to do her job. Between bacteria incursions and meeting a certain white blood cell, she's got a lot to learn.

Episodes: 31 + 7

A good mix of science and entertainment. The episodes dont have to be watched in any specific order.

Mr. Osomatsu

Synopsis: The everyday lives of identical sextuplets who cause mischief.

Episodes: 75 + special eps + movies

Has a good amount of 18+ jokes, but its not too overwhelming. It doesnt necessarily follow a plot, and each episode is usually two different stories combined. So, skipping episodes should be fine. Also, it features very popular voice actors for the sextuplets (Geto's VA, Gojo's VA, Levi's VA, Koro sensei's VA, Erwin's VA and Haku/ Sugawara's VA), Iyami (Obanai Iguro's VA), Totoko (Shoko's VA)

The Vampire Dies in No Time

Synopsis: The story follows the famed vampire hunter, Ronaldo, who receives a job to destroy the supposedly invincible vampire lord Draluc and rescue a human boy he allegedly kidnapped.

Episodes: 24

Note: Its a hit or miss, the running gag is used constantly and gets tiring at times, but the overall anime is a good watch. I personally loved John the Armadillo

Buddy Daddies

Synopsis: Assassins Kazuki Kurusu and Rei Suwa meet Miri, a girl looking for her father on Christmas Day. Kazuki, Rei, and Miri unexpectedly end up living together.

Episodes: 12

May get dark at times, so I wont guarantee that itll be a smooth sail, but we get a wholesome conclusion so you can count on that! Otherwise VERY fluffy

Blue Lock

Synopsis: High school soccer players from across Japan gather for a controversial project designed to create the best and most egoistic striker in the world.

Episodes: 24

Isnt exactly true football, but yeah. The anime is pretty fine. It doesnt exactly go under the fluffy anime like i mentioned in the title, but you can check it out if you want.

Free!!

Synopsis: The story is centered on high school student Haruka Nanase, a gifted swimmer. After encountering his childhood rival, Rin Matsuoka from Samezuka Academy, he and his friends revitalize Iwatobi High School's swim team.

Episodes: 37 + specials and movies

This anime to me, personally is what haikyuu is. A great comfort anime which knows how to make the viewer connect with the characters. I dislike it when the whole anime gets reduced to just fanservice, like guys lets look beyond that and actually enjoy the plot.

Life Lessons With Uramichi Oniisan

Synopsis: From smoking and exercising to nihilistic outbursts, everyone's big brother Uramichi always brings up the not-so-moral side to his life lessons

Episodes: 13

This one is very real and relatable in many levels. Theres a lot of screenshots and panels available online, so you can check a few out before watching!

Obey Me

Synopsis: Brothers Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor are among the most powerful demons in the Devildom, serving as officers on the student council at the Royal Academy of Diavolo (RAD). However, being avatars of the seven deadly sins, their behaviors often tend toward the extreme. Their everyday antics belie their high status and fearsome reputations among others of their kind. When viewed behind the scenes, the members of this family are more lovable—and laughable—than they first seem!

Episodes: 24 + 1

It's based on a popular otome game, and can be watched as it is even if you havent played the game. The basic idea is that theyre based on the 7 sins, so their personalities are really amusing. As for the plot, its pretty wholesome.

Play It Cool Guys

Synopsis: Despite their distinctive personalities, Souma Shiki, Hayate Ichikura, Shun Futami, and Takayuki Mima all have one thing in common: though naturally clumsy, the four disguise their embarrassment from tiny slip-ups by maintaining a composed demeanor. However, it is actually the guys' airheaded natures that makes the girls' hearts throb. No matter what happens in their daily lives, the boys do their best not to lose their cool!

Episodes: 24

Each episode is barely 10-13 minutes, so it just doesnt feel enough lol. Most of their slip ups are relatable and could get a chuckle from the viewer. The art style is a little different but its good. Definitely worth watching, once or even multiple times.

Tanaka Kun is Always Listless

Synopsis: For high school student Tanaka, the act of being listless is a way of life. Known for his inattentiveness and ability to fall asleep anywhere, Tanaka prays that each day will be as uneventful as the last, seeking to preserve his lazy lifestyle however he can by avoiding situations that require him to exert himself. Along with his dependable friend Oota who helps him with tasks he is unable to accomplish, the lethargic teenager constantly deals with events that prevent him from experiencing the quiet and peaceful days he longs for.

Episodes: 13 + specials

Not gonna lie, Ive wanted to act like Tanaka. The characters are lovable and the anime is worth giving a try. An underrated gem. I personally loved the school festival episode.

@satoruukisser hope this helps!

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elionwriter · 1 year

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Sherlock Holmes the Awakened: a Review

(SPOILERS AHEAD)

Sorry, sorry, sorry, but I just NEED to talk about this game! I have been a Frogwares Holmes fan since the very beginning and 'The Awakened' was always among my favourite titles. Not to mention one of the games that had scared the wits out of me. So I have to speak about the Remake now.

First and foremost, I think it needs to be reiterated that this game was made DURING THE FU****G INVASION OF UKRAINE! During such dark times, the team kept working on this. I would have supported this game even just for this reason alone.

Now, let's be honest: Frogwares never had the most marvelous graphics nor the most polished of gameplays and this entry is not an exception. I still feel the map system is a bit difficult to navigate (I may be an idiot, but I had the same issue with Chapter 1) but I really appreciated the added help the game gives you when you're recreating a scene, letting you know which passage you got wrong. Last game I found myself changing everything trying to hit the right combination so I really liked this fix.

This needs to be said: the game doesn't feel under any shape or form a product for a new fan. Everything from dialogues to game mechanics sort of take for granted that you've at least played 'chapter one'. Honestly? I'm ok with this, I hate having to always go through nearly identical tutorial stages for games I know inside out (like Pokémon) and I believe that most of not all people who are going to get this game ARE old fans!

I wasn't originally a big fan of the new Holmes and Watson models when the last game came out but....I dunno, they have grown on me. I find myself liking them now for, I suppose, no other reason than 'they are very expressive' and 'I've gotten used to them'. I think it's gotten to the point that these might be my favourite models of the two to date. Please ignore how fickle I am! (In honesty, just to draw a similar parallel, when Roger Craig Smith was first announced as Sonic's voice I hated it and now he's my fav Sonic v. actor)

This game has something.....compared to its predecessor, that makes it less scary. I can't really put my finger on it, but I distinctly remember the feeling of claustrophobia building in me when I was in the Black Edelweiss. Or the sheer jumpscare I got when the sacrificed American detective on the altar had tentacles coming out of it and severing his head making it roll to the ground. I remember almost not wanting to paddle the rowboat under the tree of hanging men in the Bayou. I remember how viscerally sick I felt at the lighthouse by all the gore and blood depicted. This time round.....I just didn't. I'm honestly not sure why this didn't hit me nearly as hard as its 2006 predecessor did!

And talking about comparisons, one thing I'm a bit disappointed they didn't grab the chance to do in this remake was fix the loose ends that were left hanging in the 2006 version. I mean....they still abandoned completely the search for that one Maori servant, what happened to all the people they managed to rescue? Who hired the private American detective that was killed? Why give out the cheap pendants? I know I'm a bit dumb and need extra explaining than what is necessarily needed but...I can't be the only one right? Sometimes you want to be told just a bit more.

Now, getting into the really good bits, that make all of it worth it!

'Chapter One' acted as a 'de facto' reboot of the Frogwares Holmes series, and I honestly think that was for the best. I don't really see where they could have gone with things after 'Devil's Daughter' and their Holmes had changed too much to be the same guy from 'The Silver Earring'...let alone Watson. But like this? They have a fresh, clean slate to start off from and they can rebuild the two mains' relashionship and lore from the ground up in a more strictly consequential manner. And the way they are doing it? I think it's state of the art!

The fact that they poke fun at themselves on certain points like Watson stating: "What about when you used to roll up only one of your sleeves? Did you get bored halfway through?!" I think the Devs themselves realized this was a cringe design choice and I like that they said so out loud.

The meta-conversation they wrote in towards the end, 'because yes, this HAS Happened before and the story still has the same outcome', is brilliant. I don't think I've ever seen another remake that acknowledges that it is a remake, and in the general madness that is mounting in the narrative this makes perfect sense! It adds one more layer of horror and inexplicable to the tale. The villain's warning 'that the Final Problem is coming and Sherlock will fall in the abyss too' is such a powerful way to use Canon. The prophecy is only made more real and dreadful by the fact that this person is aware of what has already happen in a similar but different scenario!

Also, not them using that one quote from 'The Valley of Fear' novel which happens to be one of my all time favourites!

I say, Watson,’ he whispered, ‘would you be afraid to sleep in the same room as a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?’ ‘Not in the least,’ I answered in astonishment. 'Ah, that’s lucky,’ he said, and not another word would he utter.

I think the thing that has most benefited from the Remake is Watson's character. Compared to the 2006 version, this Watson is a truly compelling character in his own right and this time round he's not just along for the ride. In this version, you simply cannot imagine how Holmes would have done it on his own. Watson was in every way a key component to the solution of the problem and the reason why Holmes didn't drown in madness. That point is driven home by Rochester asking 'How did you defeat me?' and Holmes answering 'I made a friend!'

Much of the narrative in the game was focused on Holmes truly learning to accept Watson's friendship and him as a person when he was still clinging so much to his old imaginary friend. You can see how, at first, Holmes refuses to be honest with the Doctor about what he thinks and feels and it's only as they move forward in the adventure that they both open up to each other. You can see as the adventure progresses that Holmes shifts his desperate cries from 'Jon' to 'Watson' to 'John' and the Doctor goes more and more often from 'Holmes' to 'Sherlock'. Mycroft also points this out when he says that Sherlock 'went from one Jon to another'. But this one, John Watson, is real and there to stay. In the context of a story that happens mostly in the detective's mind, Watson's friendship is really what turns the situation around!

I could add of little tid bits which were so random and on the nose that somehow worked, like the possessed 'Heidi' doll or the fact that you had to actually 'Kill Holmes' with the booby traps instead of avoiding them.

Also, "The director Guygax was randomly killed.....by a doll?!????!?!?! Yeah, let's just walk out of here no questions asked. That's too deep a wormhole even for this f***d up Adventure to go down. I'm sure nobody is gonna ask us questions, suspect or stop us as we go out the main doors!" 😃 -Holmes, probably.

So, yeah, I loved this game despite it not being perfect and my love and support goes to Frogwares more that ever!

#sherlock Holmes the awakened #sherlock holmes chapter one #sherlock holmes #john watson #frogwares holmes #sherlock holmes devil's daughter #holmes x watson #sherlock x john #sherlock and jon #jon #mycroft holmes #chtulhu #eldrich horror #lovecrafian

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hanasnx · 2 years

Text

rain - spider-man / peter parker

summary: sweet sweet spider-loving. MINORS DNI

character(s): spider-man / peter parker x fem!reader (can be any spider-man you imagine like tasm)

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit sex, spidey being very impatient, mask kink mask kink mask kink & suit kink <3, VERY SLIGHT dub con because there was no explicit ask for consent— things were implied, no capitalization i apologize if it bothers u

notes: this is my first smut fic that’s been finished. ive been writing for a long time but this is the first time i’ve put it on anything :) i imagine spider-man from the 2018 insomniac game on ps4 “marvel’s spider-man” his voice actor and his character design is my favorite but you can imagine any spider-man u want, holland, garfield, maguire hehe

the droplets of rain pitter pattered onto peter’s suit and he shivered from the biting cold. the combination of water and fifty two degrees. he sniffed and rubbed his nose. “wish i had read the weather report before i went out.” he thought aloud to himself. early in the game he realized no one could hear him when he was perched on the corner of rooftops. it was safe to let that little voice inside become vocal. everyone had one. everyone talks to themselves. he likes to think it helps him organize. realistically, it’s less lonely.

ah, aloneness. he used to covet it. the isolation. it was quiet and safe, and he knew himself best. he didn’t have to talk to anyone. no one talked to him.

“god, i’m gonna go crazy.” peter aimed and swung away, looking for trouble.

he dialed. he waited. she picked up. “yuri? tell me you have something,”

“uh… no. not right now anyway. you’ve pretty much cleared up the last of the loose ends, spider-man. nice work.” her tone was refreshingly grateful, but his heart sunk with disappointment. he needed some action, itching for it. if he had ever been addicted before, he would recognize this as a need for a fix. something had to get his adrenaline pumping. yuri realized the silence. “what? you only answer to ‘spider-cop’ now?” she taunted. peter didn’t take the bait unusually. “hey, is there something wro—?”

“thanks anyway, yuri. gotta go.”

“um, ok—“

he hung up and landed on an edge. he groaned to the sky, as if he needed to tell it his frustrations. he should be happy to go home, have a night off. but he just felt stuck. and restless. he raised his arms, level to his shoulders, stretching out his chest. “breathe, spidey, breathe.” he closed his eyes. inhale, hold, exhale. he tipped backward, falling. inhale, hold, exhale. in perfect form, he flipped. over and over again. when did i get used to this much g-force? how has my head not been bashed in by a ledge? how many times can i flip before i forget which way is up? inhale, hold, exhale.

you.

peter’s eyes opened. he saw the world familiarly, zipping by him. it was too much. he shut them again. and in the comforting darkness, you returned, like a dream. you were an imprint on his brain.

“peter,” you cooed lovingly, “why don’t you come over, peter? you never visit me anymore.”

he opened his eyes. the ground was growing increasingly nearer, faster than he remembered it could. oh, but he couldn’t let go of you now. not yet. he squeezed them closed, desperately grasping onto the cusp of this new fantasy.

“i’m getting tired of waiting for you, peter~” you growled, disguised as a humble murmur, and you sank deeper into the cushions of the bed. your impatience poisoned him. he wanted to please you.

but you were just so irresistible, pouting or not. he took notice of how he pictured you. wearing a lavender silk nightgown that ended high on your thigh, with dangling strings of bows and dainty mesh.

god her nipples are hard.

your eyebrows raised as if you heard his thoughts and he felt blush heat up his cheeks. embarrassed, until your eyes wandered down his abdomen, landing on his clothed sex. “guess they’re not the only ones that are hard, huh?” you got on her hands and knees, and his pants tightened; frozen in place as you crawled towards him. he knew he’d start stuttering by now if this was real. blubbering as he helplessly watched you undo the buckle of his pants. “but you know what’s even harder, peter?” you asked him in a whisper, raising yourself properly on your knees so you could ghost your lips over his.

he leaned into you, chasing your mouth. “what?” he replied in a murmur, determined to silence you with his kiss.

you lingered a moment, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips. your hand grasped his length and peter’s breath hitched in his throat. “the ground when you don’t pull up.” you lulled. he hesitated, drawing back.

“what?”

your voice rang clear, resounding in his skull like a bell. “pull up, peter. pull up!”

“woah!” he opened his eyes just in time, webbing an edge at the last second before he flattened on the pavement like a real bug. his fingers curled around the ledge and he pulled himself up to sit, breathing hard. he pushed the air from his lungs in a huff, going limp and laying on his back on the rooftop. he picked up his phone.

there was nothing on your snapchat story besides your cat. instagram too. you weren’t busy.

yea, you weren’t busy. not really. you were watching the second princess diaries movie because you felt like getting your heart squeezed by chris pine. however, it wasn’t occupying your thoughts like you hoped it would.

a ding from your phone alerted you to a text from a friend.

i left my dress at your house :,(

you furrowed your eyebrows, responding promptly.

your dress honey? which one?

it’s black. goes down to the thigh i think

you stood up from your lazy boy and took a look around.

where’d you leave it babe?

im guessing bathroom?? it was last saturday. i crashed at your place after My Night Out On The Town™ & borrowed some of your clothes to sleep in

you stepped in and turned the bathroom light on. you didn’t see it.

oh right ! the simpsons tshirt i was wondering where that got off to

i think im gonna keep it

you keep that i keep the dress

fair enough sugar plum. we make the trade at midnight. deal?

deal. i’ll see u at midnight, im sure i’ll find your dress by then

thank you my dear!!

you smiled. she’s sweet. you pocketed your phone and kept an eye out. sure enough, the dress was thrown haphazardly over a chair. you almost didn’t recognize it blending in with your clothes but this was definitely something she’d wear. you held it out in front of you by the straps, examining it for stains when you noticed how cute it looked.

damn. well i’m sure she won’t mind i try it on a second. you thought.

so you peeled off your pajamas and shimmied on that dress. it really was cute. spaghetti straps and a deep v-neck. made your girls pop too. you turned around and stretched the material taut over your ass. “shit, girl, you look good.” you remarked.

a moment passed of admiring yourself. “well, i have to complete the look.” before i have to give it up. your fingers hooked into the bands of your stilettos and you grabbed a shawl with melodramatic potential from your closet. it added but it didn’t complete. so you tapped the palette with your brush and dusted your eyes, “god, forgive me for wasting good makeup on a night in.” you said through a funny, concentrating expression.

it was a worthy sacrifice. you shouldered the shawl and checked yourself out in the mirror. you were nearly there. what was missing? you discarded the shawl, it was no longer working. your eyes trailed from your painted toenails over your shaved legs and good boob day to your hair.

my hair…

so you pulled and twisted and bobby pinned but it just wasn’t right. undoing what you had done, your hair unraveled into accidental perfect little curls. if you kept still, you could keep those perfect little curls around a while longer…

no. better use hairspray.

to get the proper experience, you rushed over to your full length mirror in the living room. safe to assume, you were stunning. you hardly recognized you. “oh, my god. oh, my god!” you strutted, posed. “yes.” you stuck another one. “oh, yes.” and another. “really feel it, babe, look at you!” you twirled, pretending to be your own photographer, praising your modeling.

you tried to sit in your lazy boy in an intimidating, temptress sort of way. claws placed purposefully on the arm rests, your legs crossed over one another. you embodied seductive villainy. you felt hot like one. bad. it felt so… good. “you’re killing it.” you flattered yourself, but it was hard to take yourself seriously when you were sitting in cushioned leather. you needed a real throne. in the meantime, you didn’t think twice about having more fun.

“ah! spider-man, baby, i’ve been expecting you.” you cooed. you pursed your lips in thought; that was way too cliché.

you spun on your heel, “spider-man?” you gasped dramatically, a hand over your chest in shock, the other, pretending to fashion an opera length cigarette holder, “in my living room? get out of town!”

your hand rested on the edge of a table, letting you lean on it for support as you twirled your glass in your hand, mixing it as if it was alcohol like brandy or something villainous like that. it was just sweet tea. “oh, spider-man. you’re here early.” you lulled, and took a seductive sip of your tea. slowly, letting your lips kiss the glass, and the smooth liquid to glide past them. you lowered it, leaving a red stain of lipstick. “care for a drink?”

you couldn’t help but smile as you checked yourself out one last time. your friend should be picking up the dress soon, so it was time to hang up the villain version of you and go back to sweatpants. maybe treat yourself to a little ice cream as a reward for looking so good. as a last hurrah, you winked at your reflection, “baby, you’re so hot i might just fuck you senseless myself.” you joked.

“i think that’s my job tonight.” a voice coming from behind you brutally awakened you from your trance and you yelped in surprise. you spun around and your arms wrapped around yourself on instinct, as if you were nude.

the blue and red of a friendly neighborhood superhero caught your eye. attached to the ceiling, the webhead hung, lightly swaying as he watched you with tempered anticipation. praying for a positive reaction. “hey, (y/n).” he tilted his head. “cute outfit. what’s the occasion? prom?”

“oh, shut up, perv.” you fisted the fabric of a pillow in anger, tossing it at him haphazardly, which he didn’t dodge.

“i deserve that.”

“how long were you watching? how long were you in my house?” you demanded, blush heating your cheeks. it was embarrassing, being caught red headed. you were just messing around, everybody does that. spider-man seemed to take notice of your blush, and crept toward you on the wall, stalking closer in a stance that reminded you of a cat readying to pounce… or more appropriately, a spider.

your skin tingled with anticipation, side eyeing him crawl closer. he faced the floor and picked up his legs keeping his fingers glued to the wall. in a model of peak human condition, he flipped over and skillfully lowered himself onto the floor. you gulped. he was so hot in that suit. he strode towards you but you didn’t back down. instead of stopping to tower over you, establish his dominance, he passed by you, saying, “i thought you liked me watching you.” which somehow made you feel even smaller. you swallowed again, staring at his back. those corded muscles rippling underneath that skin tight suit was enough to make you salivate. he was toying with you.

“that‘s not the point here and you know it.” you started again, feigning strength in your voice but it was failing you. he could hear that. you know he could.

he halted to gaze out of the open window to your balcony. “have you been waiting for me? you left the window open, i assumed it was an invitation.” he glanced over his shoulder. you couldn’t see the smile on his face. you felt the need to explain yourself, sheepish from the interruption of your dress-up game. “and in this outfit too? you didn’t want me to ruin it?” the question was laced with disbelief, as if it wasn’t a ploy you put on in order to lure him.

it was so hard to think when he talked like this. you swallowed thickly and set your drink down, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “it’s not my dress.” come to think of it, your friend was coming at midnight, you should stay vigilant for that. spider-man wasn’t bothered at all, offering a solution as easy as breathing.

“take the dress off then.” heat pooled in between your legs at the statement. when you couldn’t speak, he added something else, “the rest is yours right.” he bowed his head as he generously looked you up and down, “i recognize those heels,” he reminisced knowingly, surfacing the memory within you of wearing these during one of your escapades with him in the past. “the makeup is yours.” as he spoke, he sauntered closer, taking note of how your eyes were glued to the way his hips moved. his gloved hand came up to tangle in your hair, “this hair…” yanking downwards to force you to look up at his towering form. even in your black heels he was taller than you. lengthy, toned, and lean. this suit made you want to lick stuff off of him. “obviously yours. the jewelry— i was there when you picked this choker out.” his hand came up to hook his finger in the necklace, drawing a line underneath it absentmindedly. he resisted the urge to remind her his hands were her favorite choker. “you gonna take the dress off or should i? because baby, i’m getting tired of waiting.”

it had been so long since this scene was played out with you two, where he desired you enough to take the control away from you. it was invigorating, and lit a fire in your chest that drove you to listen. your hand reached behind you to grasp the base of the zipper, dragging it down in order to reach the zip, and tugging it slowly and smoothly, until you were able to push the straps off your shoulders. this has happened so many times, that the look of spider-man no longer bothered you. blank eyes only hid the brown ones underneath that held so much lust for you. it was exciting, not being able to see his face. the dress pooled around your legs, and you stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. because of your lack of planning, you didn’t pick out a cute set of lingerie. you were simply bare. naked and hot. at the sight of you, you heard spider-man exhale sharply. now it was your turn to move things along, “well? what are you waiting for?” it was breathless. vulnerable. a plea. in minutes, the hero had you begging for him all over again.

his hand came up to pinch the hem of his mask, about to lift it up over his lips. your hand halted his, fisting his suit after to get him closer as you told him quickly, “leave the mask on, dear god, leave it on.” without wasting a second, he stooped to pick you up by your thighs, bringing you over to your kitchen table to set your back onto it. one of your chairs was kicked out of the way causing it to skid. the spider was gearing up to eat you out like he’s been thinking about for hours. have you writhing and coming on his tongue over and over— but you were explicit. leave the mask on. his hand squeezed your thigh involuntarily at the thought, his other one running down from your clit over the opening of your sex causing you to whine. being patient was painful, so you curled towards him to guide his movements but he wouldn’t have it. snatching your wrist and pinning it next to your head. in a skilled maneuver he webbed it to the table, trapping that arm above your head. “hey!” you called, but he ignored you, smacking your pussy to cause you to keen. “baby, i need your fingers, i need you, i need something,” you were desperate, surprised at yourself that he could goad such a response from you with nothing but a few words and a dry spell. he granted you friction, circling your clit with his finger.

“oh, you need something, alright,” he told you, alternating giving your clit attention, and plunging a finger inside of you to tease you further. frustrating you was in order, after everything you’ve done to him since the last time you two got together. “all those pictures, and those texts,” he groaned. images of your new bikinis, new bras and panties in red, your perfect tits in candlelight or your toys playing with your wet pussy. “you need a good, hard fuck, don’t you?” he added another finger, and another, feeling you loosen like putty in his hands. you nodded feverishly, filthy sounds pouring from your mouth now that he was curling his fingers inside of you. “oh, c’mon, angel, say it. you’ve been waiting for me so impatiently, now that i’m here, you can’t even tell me you missed me? that you wanted me here?” you cried at this words, unable to open your eyes when they were rolled so far back in your head as he abused that spongy spot inside of you. it was so sudden, no prep, and he was expecting you to have coherent thoughts, and then speak them. it was too much.

you tried. you tried really hard. “yes. yes,” you agreed, “please don’t stop.” his pace didn’t falter, he liked that you were responding, and he loved knowing how hard it was for you to respond. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he eyed yours, parted in sinful pleasure, awaiting a kiss to swallow your moans. this mask thing was so hard, but so enticing. “c’mon, spidey, i wanna come on your fingers.”

“no way.” he told you, enthralled at the idea of denying you for all of your terrible teasings while you two were apart. at the words, you picked your head up to look at him with such a delicious, crestfallen countenance. he wished to savor it a little longer, but he couldn’t pass up another chance to bully you, “i’m gonna edge you like you wouldn’t believe,” you whined in protest, but he was busy, paying attention to your clit, and when you tried to close your legs, his hand pushed your thighs apart harshly, “oh no no no,” he said with a malicious laugh, “don’t give up now, sweetheart, don’t you wanna make me proud?” it was such a mean thing to say, and it made the coil in your belly tighten regardless. he had you where he wanted you, “can you believe this is only two fingers?” he snickered, and your only free hand reached for him lazily. “don’t make me tie down this one too.” his wanting was punctuated by adding another finger inside you, and you cried out at the feverish pace.

“god, peter, please!” there it was. his name. he didn’t even have to tell you to say it this time. he wondered if that sullied the illusion of the spider-man roleplay, but you didn’t seem to mind too much. your back arching off the table. he could feel you clenching around him like a vice, but you were so wet he was able to maintain his cadence.

his voice dripped with false sympathy, “you gonna come, baby? c’mon, angel, are you?” he demands your answer, and you can only nod, your face contorted in rapture. that was his cue to slow down, which made your frustrated noises all the more satisfying, attempting to grab at his wrist in order to fuck yourself. that earned you complete denial, and he slipped his hand out from you, leaving your pussy throbbing, dripping all over your kitchen table.

“you’re being so mean,”

“you like it.” he rounded the table and drew your free arm to him, successfully webbing it down to match your other restraint. like a bitch in heat, you reflexively moved to dip your head over the edge of the table, opening your mouth as you eyed his pants. you were asking to suck him off. the act was so devious, he gave in immediately, hooking his thumb in the hem of his pants and freeing himself, his other hand tangling in your hair to help guide his leaking cock to your mouth. he would never admit how much he loves this position. watching your straining throat, the vibrations of your grateful hum around his cock, your tits bouncing with each of his movements that made him lean over to clutch one of them, earning another one of your moans. he exhaled, finding it much harder to compose himself, “you are so damn good at that,” he crooned as your tongue swirled around him just how you knew he liked. when you gagged he pulled out to let you catch your breath, a string of his precum mixed with your saliva connecting your mouth and his cock. as soon as you reached for him again, he obliged, and to show his appreciation, his fingers returned to your neglected sex, filthy sounds pouring from the both of you. it was music to his ears.

you needed more, and once he noticed your change in pace, he took it as his hint to move on. panting, you looked up at him with such a drunken content face, once perfect makeup smudged, he felt like coming all over it. your tongue came out to lick your lips and he wished he could kiss you. a second he lingered, but got a hold of himself, ripping apart his webbing entrapping your arms like string. his hand at the back of your head aided in helping you up. “i know you said you would edge me more but can we do that after we—“ you started, stepping onto a chair while he circled the table, pulling you up from the surface so you could safely walk down. immediately, you were in his arms again.

“after we fuck? yes.” he finished for you, and by his tone it seems your little ploy of getting his dick in your mouth again worked its endless wonders once more in getting what you wanted. you grinned, and kissed him over his mask to his surprise. he felt your lips mold into his through the thin fabric, and he figured this was good enough, his fingers digging into the plush of your ass in desperation. thinking of everything he could do to you on his day off. out of instinct, he began to part his lips to play your tongue with his but had to stop himself when there was a barrier.

once your lips detached, you were free to say, “where do you want me?” but you already had an idea. it was confirmed when he whipped you around, bending you over the table again. you laughed breathlessly, your tits squished underneath you, feeling the coldness of the wood. it was obvious this was one of his favorites when you wore heels because now your entrance lined up perfectly with his—

“i’ve missed you so fucking much,” he confessed, unable to wait any longer to plunge his aching cock into your silken folds. it was too much to bear, causing you to clutch onto the table in delicious pain. he was so big it hurt in all the right ways, sliding against every inch of the inside of you. you were so wet, it allowed him freedom in his pace, your hole loosening in order to accommodate him. you rocked back into him with his thrusts to meet him, his hands on your hips providing a support. you moaned his name, causing him to reach forward and push your head down onto the table, your cheek resting against it. you whimpered as he continued fucking into you with reckless abandon. clearly, he did miss you. and you missed him so dearly. your fingers weren’t as long as his, your dildo was nothing compared to him. this scene he’s created as been so enjoyably rare, you loved every second of him taking control this time, taking what he wanted.

you couldn’t answer him, instead greedily taking what he was giving you, he praised you, “i love this pussy, baby, you’re taking me so good. i love filling you. you’re so hot bouncing on my cock like this,” it made you work harder, fucking yourself back onto him, and getting more force from him in return. the pace was unimaginable, you were screaming with his thrust. his tip repeatedly kissing your cervix in a way that made your toes curl and your legs shake. that coil in your core was back and worse than ever, making you beg.

“don’t stop, please, whatever you do, peter, don’t stop,” you ordered, tears seeping from your eyes onto the table as you closed in on finishing. he couldn’t help but squeeze one more position out of you before that happened, guiding your back to him by your hair, sending pleasant tingles shooting down your spine as he blew your back out. his hand enclosed itself around your throat as the new angle reinvented your idea of pleasure, a chain of screams emitting from you. everytime he did this to you, he made sure you could never close your mouth.

“you like that, baby? how do i feel?” holding the ability to speak over your head would be cruel, if you couldn’t hear how close he really was in his voice. his movements were becoming more erratic, and he couldn’t keep himself quiet either. the position he had you in gave you a front row seat to his breath on your ear, and gift wrapping his whines in perfect packaging that had you reeling.

“so good, spider-man, you feel so fucking good.” he had such an exploitable kink for his superhero name, keening himself in a way that caused you to moan loudly, “i love hearing you, baby,” he listened to you, letting every sound spill from his lips.

“you close? i can feel you. i can hear your heartbeat, smell you. tell me.” he spoke over the sopping sounds of your pussy and the snapping of his hips against your ass.

“i am, yes i am, i’m gonna come,” you admitted, the last word resounding in a pitchy whimper, making him groan.

“do it, c’mon, baby, come all over me,” his hand attached to the arm around your middle moved down in order to rub circles into your clit that made you tremble in his arms. you didn’t have to be told twice to let go, feeling the warmth of you drip down your thighs. to get him to stop putting too much pressure on your clit, you had to put his hand over his, waiting for him to follow your lead and come inside you. he fucked your wetness back into you with fervor, tensing up and no longer keeping pace. his eyes squeezed shut behind his mask, and you felt his seed flood inside of you as he let it go, moaning in relief. it trailed down your thighs along with your own. his forehead fell onto your shoulder as he moved until he was too sensitive.

“spider-man,” you say in surprise, “you’re so dirty for a super-hero,” he chuckled at that, pulling himself out of you and ripping his mask up off his face, revealing his familiar face and his grin. he was so happy to see you, and when you faced him fully he took you up in his arms. you were at a loss to how he still had energy to pick you up, and you squealed.

“c’mon, let’s go take a shower,” he threw you over his shoulder and you cried out again.

“peter!”

“what? we should really clean up so i can get started on that edging i promised you.” he told you, your hands at the base of his torso to keep yourself up. you eyed the back of his head.

“my friend is going to be here any minute, and i have to return that dress.”

your friend knocked, and after a second, you opened it wearing an oversized t-shirt. “hey, hon!” you greeted, and she took note of your appearance. disheveled hair, frizzy with knots in your curls. black makeup smudged under your eyes, running down your cheeks. if you had thought to fix it before opening the door, you would’ve.

“rough night?” she asked slyly, her meaning shining through with her mischievous glance.

your eyes widened, and you sheepishly muttered, “you could say that.” you handed her the dress. “thanks again.” she handed you your simpson’s t-shirt.

“no problem, sweets.” your friend replied, tossing the dress onto her shoulder like dishrag and waved good-bye. you closed the door, pressing your back against it with a sigh of relief. you heard the shower running, and pete’s voice calling for you.

“you coming?”

“coming!”

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thewritingisconsumingme · 3 months

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dancing

summary: johnny takes bi han out clubbing

warnings: suggestive :)

Bi Han felt his eye twitch as he watched Johnny dig through his closet to find something suitable to wear. Liu Kang had ordered the assassin to bodyguard the actor because there had been some sightings of Shang Tsung across Earthrealm, but that didn’t mean Bi Han was happy about it. The actor was insolent and proud and much too boisterous to even spare Bi Han a moment of peace. Despite the threat that Shang Tsung might appear and try to harm and/or kill Johnny, the actor still wanted to go out and have a night of fun at some VIP club and would not change his stance. Something about maintaining his reputation.

Right now, Bi Han had his arms folded across his chest, a disapproving glare directed toward Johnny and an irritated scowl etched into his face as Johnny finally pulled out an outfit, a purple sleeveless turtleneck and a form-fitting skirt.

“Perfect! Now, I just gotta find something for you to wear.”

“No.” Bi Han somehow had an even deeper scowl on his face as Johnny laid out his own outfit and started to rummage through his clothes to find something for the assassin to wear.

“What do you mean no? You can’t exactly go out wearing that. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb.” Johnny didn’t even glance back, just moving to another part of his closet to find something a bit looser but still form-fitting.

“I am not changing.”

“You’re changing. I have an image to uphold, and your current outfit is just going to look weird in public.” Johnny retorted back, pulling out a shiny blue dress shirt and black dress pants. “Here, change into this. Bathroom’s on the right. Tell me if it’s too tight. Unless you wanna change with me.”

Johnny shot Bi Han a wink, and the assassin snatched the clothes from Johnny and hurried out of the closet into the bathroom to change, hiding the blush on his cheeks. A few moments later, he walked out of the bathroom and found Johnny sitting on the bed, his legs and arms on display. Bi Han had to avert his eyes in case he stared for too long. Despite his annoyances toward Johnny, Bi Han admittedly found the actor attractive. Johnny whistled at the sight of Bi Han.

“Looking good, grandmaster blueberry ice! But, here.” Johnny hopped off the bed and strutted over to the assassin and rolled up the sleeves of Bi Han’s shirt. The grandmaster hadn’t noticed before, but Johnny’s hands were manicured and quite soft against Bi Han’s own rough skin. Bi Han tried not to think of another scenario where Johnny’s hands would be touching him. After the actor had finished, he pat Bi Han’s arm twice before heading toward the bathroom.

“There’s food and alcohol in the kitchen, and the TV has every channel and streaming service. I gotta go and finish up my look. I’m sure you can keep yourself entertained.” Johnny disappeared into the bathroom, and Bi Han wandered around the mansion. It was decadent, overpriced and filled to the brim with objects that Bi Han couldn’t even imagine the price of. Sitting down onto the couch, which was probably worth more than everything in Bi Han’s room combined, the assassin just tried to calm himself. He could not afford to be distracted. Especially by Johnny. However, as he tried to clear his mind, images of Johnny’s slim waist, his soft lips, how he would look debauched, how good he would look with the tears running down his face, how his manicured hands would look wrapped around-

Bi Han growled and suddenly stood up, spotting the alcohol cart by the couch. Uncorking the bottle, Bi Han poured himself a generous amount of the amber liquid and tried to forget his thoughts.

After what felt like ages, Johnny finally made his way down the stairs, the tell-tale sound of heels clicking against the marbled floors. Bi Han had finished his drink by then, trying to nurse it slowly.

“Oh perfect! You’re already pre-gaming!” Johnny smiled, and Bi Han couldn’t stop his heart from lurching. The man had on red lipstick, a dark eyeshadow and perfect eyeliner. His hair was styled to perfection. He looked gorgeous. Bi Han could drop to his knees right now and worship the actor. Fortunately, Bi Han managed to stay upright and just poured a glass for Johnny.

The actor took the drink, downed it, and poked his tongue out to catch the last few drops of whiskey hanging from his lips. Bi Han turned his head away and poured himself and Johnny another glass, trying to beat down the filthy thoughts arising in his mind.

“Alright, let’s get fucked up!” Johnny clinked his glass against Bi Han’s, and they drank. When Johnny finally determined that they were drunk enough, they headed outside to the chauffeur waiting for them and sat in the car. Bi Han sat still in the car, though a red blush had started to creep its way up his neck, and Johnny was a gigging mess on the other side of the seat. After they finally arrived at the club, Johnny hooked his elbow around Bi Han’s, flashed a few pretty smiles to the press, and dragged him inside the club to the bar. There, Johnny ordered and immediately two fruity drinks with small umbrellas slid toward them.

“Let’s have fun!” Johnny handed the drink to Bi Han. While Johnny polished off the drink quickly and ordered a few shots, Bi Han was content to sip on the drink, letting the buzz of the previous alcohol pleasantly settle in his head. The actor sauntered off to the dance floor, and Bi Han couldn’t help himself but let his eyes wander up and down Johnny’s figure. The sleeveless turtleneck emphasized his muscles, and the skirt barely covered Johnny’s ass. His long and tanned legs were on display, and Bi Han couldn’t help himself from ogling the actor.

The assassin just watched for a while as Johnny danced in the club, keeping a close eye on the actor, but he felt something dark curl in his stomach when another man grabbed onto Johnny’s hips and started grinding on him. Even worse, Johnny didn’t seem to mind and simply smiled and laughed. Bi Han scowled and downed his drink, emboldened by the alcohol in his system, and walked onto the dance floor, grabbing Johnny away from the man and pressing himself flush against the actor.

“Oh, feeling jealous, are we?” Johnny wrapped his arms around Bi Han’s neck and pressed his body even closer into the grandmaster.

“Shut up and dance.” Bi Han grinded into Johnny, and the actor flashed a shit-eating grin before reciprocating Bi Han’s movements. For a few songs, they both stayed in each other’s arms, just dancing against each other, but as the alcohol fully settled into Bi Han’s body, he couldn’t help but to admire Johnny. His makeup and hair were done to emphasize his most attractive traits, and the assassin wanted to do nothing more than take the man to bed and ruin his perfect image. Bi Han found his head leaning down until their lips were only a breath apart. Johnny’s pupils were blown out and wide, a slightly dazed look in his eyes. He glanced between Bi Han’s lips and eyes, and that was all the assassin needed.

Bi Han smashed their lips together, teeth clashing painfully as they both groaned into the kiss. Johnny’s hands trailed up into Bi Han’s hair, tugging at the strands, and Bi Han dug his fingers into Johnny’s hips deep enough to leave bruises. They continued to make-out on the dance floor, not really caring that they were taking space from the other people dancing.

“Wanna-wanna get out of here?” Johnny pulled away, cheeks flushed and his lipstick smeared around his face. Bi Han was sure there were some lipstick marks on his face as well. Bi Han just dragged them both off the dance floor, and Johnny called for a cab. By the end of the night, Johnny was most definitely ruined, and Bi Han wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

#fluffuary 2024 #fluff #noodle’s writings #mortal kombat #mk #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #johnny cage #mk1 johnny cage #bi han #bi han sub zero #sub zero #mk1 bi han #mk1 sub zero #johnhan #johnny cage x bi han #bi han x johnny cage

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wibixthecowboy · 1 year

Text

Play the Song: Part 10: Hope

Task Force 141 needs a new sniper and despite their complaints, they're assigned Flash, a joke-making, ABBA-listening, 20-year-old sharpshooter with better aim than the whole team combined. In other words, Ghost is practically handed the love of his life but he needs time to adjust because she's a firecracker.

Warnings/Tags: !graphic depictions of panic attacks!, references to suicide attempts (no descriptions), references to SA (no descriptions), Age gap (20/30-32), gore, descriptions of injury/blood/wounds, justified angst, tooth rotting fluff, slow burn, protective ghost, family dynamic, big brother soap has an attitude problem, father figure Price, wholesome brother Gaz, touch starved Ghost, eventual smut, praise, choking, thigh riding, unprotected (wrap it up people), size kink, oral f receiving, ghost will do anything to get his dick sucked, idk I’m sure it will get dirtier as I go, shifting POV

A/N: Hello!! I am back! Thank you all for being so patient and amazing, I present to you, Chapter 10!

I will be adding warnings/tags as I upload new chapters so do me a huge favor and double check before you read! Nothing too bad YET but just make it a habit! They will always be added at the top of the list.

Words: 6k

Side note: All of these characters are fictional! Please don’t be weird about their real life actors, leave them out of this and be respectful!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Tag list: @urfavsunkissedleo @butskii @abbiesxox @itsasecrets-things @thatonewriterthatnooneknows

★Flash

The knife squelches grotesquely when Ghost pulls it from the man's neck, and it's casually wiped on the waist of his button-up. Red blossoms over the white cotton and despite knowing it's not from him, Flash can't help the small hitch in her breath.

It's presented to her hilt first, just inches from her face, but she's frozen in shock. The man's body lay awkwardly in the gravel, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, blood pouring from the now open wound at his neck. His chest stutters in an effort to pull oxygen into a pair of failing lungs. She can see the glowing reflection of windows in his wide, dark eyes, and moments later, the slow loosening of his facial muscles as he dies.

Ghost is watching her, and she can hear a faint mumble. Her name?

"Flash. We need to go" Ghost's words ring through her head like a bell and she snatches the knife from his hand before sliding it under her dress and into the sheath.

He moves quickly, throwing the limp body over his shoulder with ease before walking to the car and popping the trunk. Flash's eyes are glued to him as he drops the body in. The thud when it lands is deafening. A hot flash washes up her spine and she tries not to think about how casually Ghost closes the trunk and wipes his hands clean on his trousers.

Not quite knowing how to help, Flash walks over to the small patch of blood and kicks at the gravel. It doesn't do much, just creates a dusty sludge that bleeds into the soft velvet of her heels. Not that it matters though, the man's radio is already going off, a muffled and rather irritated voice calling out from inside the trunk.

When she's satisfied with the muddy brown concoction, Flash jogs over to the passenger door and slips inside. The door barely clicks shut before Ghost is speeding out the gates and swerving around a rather annoyed looking valet.

Flash watches over her shoulder for any sign of disturbance but instead notices Ghost's wolf mask tossed haphazardly on the back seat. In all the chaos, she'd missed him swapping them out. His usual balaclava has been pulled back on, hiding the strawberry blonde curls she'd had her hands in just minutes ago.

Flash's head thuds against the seat when she's finally sure no one is coming after them and she sags further down into the plush leather.

"Holy fuck." She breathes out and swallows what could either be vomit or a laugh. "There's a body in the trunk."

"Yes."

"You just killed him."

"I did."

"How did you-"

"Flash?" He interrupts her, eyes not leaving the road as he speaks. "Be quiet."

She glares at him and turns to make an off-hand comment about him being an ass but stops when she sees how rigid he is. Maybe she'd pushed a bit too far tonight. Maybe she hadn't pushed him far enough.

"How do you know he's not innocent?" She speaks softer this time, hoping she could sweet talk him back into the charismatic James she'd spent the night with.

"No one there is innocent Flash." His voice is cold and distant and entirely fed up with her pushing. She's on thin, thin ice.

"You could at least let me know next time. That really wasn't a fair warning."

It's petty. She doesn't need his warning, it's their job. But her mouth seems to be speaking on its own accord.

The ice cracks, echoing through the cavernous silence between them, and right as she's about to slip into the frigid waters, a life raft is thrown her way.

'What's your status?'

Price's static voice stops Ghost's response and he snatches the radio from where Flash had tossed it in the cup holder.

"Heading to the med bay now. Single casualty."

'Got caught up at the end then?'

"Somethin' like that."

The rest of the ride to the med bay is spent in silence. Flash stroking her fingers down the velvet nose of her mask and not thinking about ways to flay Ghost.

_____

The cold concrete of the barricade seeps through the thin silk of Flash's dress and into the marrow of her bones. Despite Las Almas being a sauna during the day, its nights are shockingly cold, and in the middle of the desert with no buildings to block the brutal midnight wind, she is freezing.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Flash speaks into the cupped hollow of her hands. The warmth of her breath does practically nothing to stop the shivering.

Ghost had radioed into the med station a few minutes before their arrival to announce that they'd have a 'drop off' and to call in another car for the two of them to take back to the base. When they'd gotten there, Flash was immediately tugged through the main bay and into a blindingly white room that smelled so strongly of disinfectant, her nose still burned. She was patted over by a female nurse, given a curt nod, and pushed back out the door and towards a waiting Ghost. He'd mumbled something about waiting for a car and then walked them outside to a small retaining wall near the entrance.

"I don't know."

"Can't you just call them?" Flash asks, kicking another piece of gravel across the lot. The kicking had started as an attempt to scrape the congealed dirt and blood off her heel, but it only resulted in a thin layer of dust that covered both their shoes and a small hole.

"Call who Flash?" Ghost sits half hunched on the wall, arms supporting him on either side, legs crossed at the ankles, and looking utterly defeated.

"I don't know? The guy who's bringing the car?" She kicks a particularly large rock and it skitters across the pavement and bounces off a metal barrel, making a satisfying ring, so she does it again.

"I don't have-" His voice cuts off as she kicks another rock. "Jesus fuckin' Christ. Could you stop?"

"Don't be so fuckin' rude." She mumbles, and just to piss him off more, kicks another rock. Hard enough that when it hits the barrel, a small dent is left behind.

Flash watches through her periphery as he heaves a sigh, drops his head into his hands, and roughly rubs at his masked face.

She only lets herself feel guilty for a moment. He was the one ruining it. She'd been having fun at the gala. Despite the less than stimulating conversations, watching Ghost woo the various partygoers of Las Almas had been rather intriguing. Not to mention the dancing. Jesus Christ the dancing.

While the banter with the rest of the team had never gone as far as fucking her for god's sake, they certainly weren't holding church sermons. Price had chided her more than once for distracting the team while they were on the field and she was resting comfortably on the couch, radio in hand.

As soon as the words had left her mouth though, muttered into the silken hollow of his collarbone, she knew they were true. As much as he frustrated her, there was something about his presence that activated something primal inside her. That same primal feeling that had surfaced when she'd had him pinned to the ground and wheezing beneath her. It was addictive and dangerous.

"I'm sorry."

The words are spoken into the palms of his hands and although they sound forced, they seem genuine enough. She breaks from her all consuming thoughts and tugs at the hem of her dress in hopes that it would somehow extend to cover the bare few inches of skin that press into the cold concrete.

"Just don't be so uptight all the time." Flash bumps his shoulder with hers and offers him a small smile. "You'd be surprised how much better your life would be if you stopped all your huffing and puffing."

"You don't know shit about my life." The words are meant to be sharp, to ward her away from prodding further, but he speaks to his dust covered shoes.

"So tell me."

This stops Ghost's fidgeting. Flash thinks for a moment that he'll get up and walk away, leaving her to freeze to death alone. But he eventually drops his hands to his lap and raises his head to stare at the dark horizon.

"It's a lot."

Flash, despite his hunched frame and tired eyes, bumps their shoulders again.

"I don't see the car, and you can see for- I don't know," She peers dramatically down the road, "about ten miles."

"Ask Soap. He's a better storyteller than me." Ghost words are shortening, and Flash can see the wall she'd so carelessly blown through rebuilding. He's evading, and if she doesn't save it in time, who knows how long it will be until he's talking to her again.

"But I don't want to hear from Soap."

"You don't want to hear it from me either."

Flash sighs and then redirects. "What's your biggest fear?"

Ghost stills next to her, but this time she can see the hard set of his eyes softening, reluctance slipping away into indulgence.

"I thought you wanted to know about my life." He comments lightly, and Flash can't help but feel accomplished for recovering what little progress she'd made.

"I think fears tell a lot about a person." She hums, hoping her last-ditch effort at having a conversation sounds at least somewhat inquisitive.

Ghost's head tips up towards the sky, brow furrowed in thought.

"Throwing up."

"That's your biggest fear?" Flash doesn't have to ask to know that he's humoring her.

"What? Did you expect somethin' worse?"

There's a beat of silence, and then Ghost is speaking again.

"What's yours?"

"Dogs."

Silence again.

"Like pugs? Or-"

Flash shoves his shoulder and laughs loudly. "No you asshole. The big ones."

Despite the topic, a whirlwind of butterflies erupts in her stomach and the sound of their fluttering reaches her ears, filling them with a low hum. Then he's laughing. Not the small huffs from their usual teasing, full-stomach laughs. The whirlwind turns into a storm. It ravages her mind, twirling the sound into a song and repeating it over and over.

Flash stares at him, speechless, afraid that if she speaks, the storm brewing inside her will somehow escape and drench the both of them in things she'd rather leave unsaid. She wants to tell him to never stop, to ask exactly what she'd said that was so funny so she could repeat it every day for the rest of their time together. To peel off that damn mask and watch every minuscule movement of his face.

Ghost doesn't seem to mind the lack of response though. When his amusement has faded to a small smile under his mask, his head lolls to his shoulder and he closes his eyes.

They wait the rest of the time in silence. Ghost unmoving and still resting his eyes and Flash unabashedly staring. Even though she knows that the idea is ridiculous, he seems to be warming the space between them. The ice that she'd so carefully tread on before melting away.

He doesn't open his eyes until the car rolls up in front of them and a casually dressed man tosses the keys in his direction. Ghost catches them in his hand and stretches languidly when he stands, revealing a small sliver of skin along his waistline. With his back turned to her, Flash stares at the strip, burning it into her memory.

"You can kick rocks all night," Ghost slips his hands into his pockets and starts a slow, casual walk towards the car, "but you're not going to get what you want."

"And what's that?"

Flash's question is meant to be coy, to push yet another button. But the song left playing in her ears softens her words, they come out quiet and searching.

"A reaction." He punctuates the last word by kicking a rock at the barrel. It hits the small dent that she'd made and ricochets back to land just a few inches from her feet.

"Asshole." She mutters and steps over the rock, ignoring the urge to pick it up and chuck it at his head.

Flash bites her tongue when the thought of teasing him about their dancing comes up. She'd most definitely gotten a reaction out of him then. But she instead follows him and slips into the passenger seat of the small truck.

It's certainly a downgrade from the Porsche. The smell of dust and sweat fills her nose and she debates waiting outside until the med team is done clearing the other car. But Ghost is already buckled and turning the key in the ignition.

"Who's car was that?" Flash asks while pulling a worn seatbelt over her shoulder.

"Alejandro's."

She can't help but laugh at his response. They'd most likely be getting an earful upon their return. It doesn't take a genius to see that he takes care of his car.

The truck, despite running just seconds ago, is just as cold as the air outside. When she jams her finger into the heater button, the vents remain stagnant.

"Shit." She huffs and resorts to shoving her hands under her shivering thighs.

Ghost, seemingly without thinking, tosses her his suit jacket.

"Here, stop whining." He's back to his gruff, nonchalant manner of speaking, but it lacks its usual stiffness.

"You aren't cold?"

"No."

"I guess you are built like a fuckin' polar bear." The words slip out before she can stop them, but Ghost just shakes his head, still sporting the small smile from before.

"Do you ever have any consequences for what comes out of your mouth?" Ghost's question is spoken as a sigh. He props an elbow against the car door and leans his head against it, steering with one hand. The motion is achingly domestic.

"No." Her reply is muffled as she burrows herself into the jacket, warm from being stuffed under Ghost's arm while they waited.

It's true. There's very little that she could say or do that would get her in any sort of trouble. She's a hot commodity, and it didn't take much for people to realize. Ghost just hasn't had a chance to see it yet.

"One of these days, they're going to come back and bite you in the ass."

"Oh, you'll scare them away." She looks up at him through her lashes, but he's focused on the road.

"I'd let them get a few good hits in. Then maybe."

Flash's grin is hidden beneath the coat, but she's sure he can hear it when she speaks next.

"You wouldn't protect me?" Her question is coy. She knows it and he probably does too.

"You don't need me to protect you."

"But if I asked you to?"

There's a pause, and she watches his side profile shift as he clenches his jaw. His fingers tap against the steering wheel. Once, twice.

"Yes."

_____

They're nearly back to the base when she slips back onto the ice and into the freezing water. This time though, there is no life raft.

"I'm dropping you off." Ghost is exacerbated, clenching the wheel with both hands now. "You're not missing out on anything."

"Then why does it matter if I go or not?" Her question is a half yell, quieter than her first complaint, but louder than necessary.

Their easy back and forth, borderline flirting, conversation only lasted a few more minutes before Ghost mentioned he'd be dropping her off at the base before meeting the rest of the team at a local bar to 'celebrate'.

He'd told her, not asked. Told.

The not so quiet rage that had been building over her last few weeks stuck at the base rears its ugly head. Apparently pinning him to a mat didn't make it clear enough. She's tired of decisions being made for her.

"Because you aren't needed there."

Ghost's words bleed through her like a freezing wind. She grapples to hold onto the song in her ears, but the fluttering in her stomach increases and this time it's deafening.

"You know, for how much you mope. You put a shit ton of effort into ruining your friendships."

It's a low blow. But the anger burning hot in her stomach scorches the fluttering and thrums through her veins. She wants to hurt him.

"There's nothing there to be ruined."

The words are empty. A shell of his earlier reprimands. And Flash knows it's a weak strategy to push her far enough away that he can rebuild his wall in peace. But that doesn't stop the words from burrowing deep into the space between her ribs and wrapping around her lungs. It fills them with a cold air and the jacket still wrapped tightly around her shoulders does nothing to fight it.

"Okay." Flash bites back the flurry of emotion driven insults threatening to pry their way out of her mouth. If it were anyone else, she wouldn't hesitate to rip them to shreds, but she knows Ghost is lying.

The rest of the ride to the base is a painful silence. Flash can see his jaw working in her periphery, he wants to say something, but he remains quiet and focused on the road ahead of them. She glares at him and then turns to stare out her window.

When the car whines to a stop in front of the depressingly dark outline of their base, Flash doesn't bother saying goodbye when she slips from the car and drops the suit jacket on her seat. She's just about to shut the door when he finally speaks up.

"Hope."

"What?" Flash's voice is bitter and unrelenting.

"You asked what my biggest fear was." He doesn't look away from his grip on the wheel. "It's hope."

The furrow of her brow softens for a moment and sympathy begins to ebb away at the rejection burning in her stomach. But his words ring through her head 'you aren't needed' and any expressions of comfort beginning to form die on her tongue.

She watches his face for a moment, waiting for him to turn. When he doesn't, she lets the sour words slip from her mouth. Simple but effective.

"I think you're just scared of yourself." She doesn't give him time to respond before shutting the door and walking towards the base, trying her best to ignore the burning behind her eyes.

_____

Flash's next few moments are a whirlwind. Swapping her dress for the sweats and t-shirt flung on the floor that morning, jogging back to the kitchen to look at the grocery list style of numbers on the fridge, and calling Alejandro.

If he was with them at the bar she'd just have to stew in her room until Gaz came back. Although he'd probably be intoxicated and an easy target, she needs some way to dispel the hurt and anger pulsing through her veins.

Much to her surprise, he answers within the first few rings and twenty minutes later he arrives with a bottle of wine in hand and Valeria tow.

"Rude of them to leave you to celebrate your success sober." He had murmured while pulling a container of strawberries from their fridge. Gaz would kill her for eating them, but consequences seemed nonexistent at the moment.

She's leaning against the counter now, watching the way his forearms move while expertly slicing the strawberries. Valeria stands next to her speaking in a low tone.

"So," She starts, turning her chin resting in her hand to face Flash, "how did you end up here?"

Flash shifts to lean her hip into the counter, reluctantly peeling her eyes from Alejandro's smooth movements, and wonders what version of her story she wants to give.

"Same as everyone else. A fucked childhood that left me with no other option."

It was a half truth. Starting a conversation by telling someone she'd won scholarships to nearly every advanced military school in the country by climbing to the top of the performance ranks in less than a year isn't something that people could relate to. Childhood trauma on the other hand is a jackpot.

"Ah." Valeria's smile softens and she turns to look at Alejandro, who's now pouring the wine into three glasses that have seen better days. "We've heard that one plenty of times haven't we Ale."

When he nods his head, Valeria turns back to Flash with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Now tell me the truth."

Flash accepts a glass from Alejandro and stares into the deep maroon of the wine before answering.

"I'm good."

"That's it?" Alejandro's laugh is loud and echoes through the empty room. "You've made it this far by being good?"

"I'm better than good." She offers, still not looking up from her glass.

Warm fingers slip under her chin and bring her gaze up to meet a pair of enveloping brown eyes.

"Don't be shy." Valeria's words are a quiet murmur. "You weren't so quiet earlier, what changed?"

Flash's jaw clenches, who was Ghost to make her feel small? Her gaze holds Valeria's when she speaks next and although her words are quiet, they're more confident than before.

"I'm the best you'll ever meet."

"There's my Pantera."

Valeria drops her chin, scoops up her glass and the bowl of cut strawberries, and slides so gracefully onto the couch that Flash wonders how she's not the one being named after a panther. "Come, sit."

Alejandro leads the way and claims the opposite side of the couch, leaving Flash to sit between them. It's a comfortable arrangement, there's enough room for them to sit and not be crammed together, but the weight of both their gazes makes the space seem impossibly smaller.

"What do you usually talk about while celebrating?" She asks, leaning over to grab a small handful of strawberries from the bowl Valeria left on the coffee table. It's a poor conversation starter, but the silence between them has Flash shifting on her cushion. And from the smile on Alejandro's face, they know.

"Do you really want to know?" He continues lowly when she nods her head. "We debate who we want to take home for the night."

Valeria tuts at him, "Don't be so brash Ale. We talk about other things too."

Flash brings her glass of wine up to her mouth in an attempt to cover her shocked expression but realizes that this means she actually has to drink it. Without giving her brain enough time to overreact, Flash tips a mouthful in and swallows. The taste is horrendous and she doesn't bother hiding it.

Alejandro laughs loudly at her expression and Valeria just shakes her head with a small smile, "It's meant to be sipped, darling. Not swallowed."

Not wanting to embarrass herself further, Flash just sets the glass down on the table and returns to the fruit in her hand.

"You could have said that." She mumbles against a strawberry pressed to her lips. The tart of the berry is a sweet reprieve from the rotten taste of the wine. The two sitting opposite of her seem to have no problem with the taste, leisurely sipping as though it's something to be savored.

"So Flash," Alejandro's eyes dance with dangerous excitement. " Are you a virgin? "

She chokes on a half-chewed berry, "Excuse me?"

"Just general questions. I ask everyone." He gestures behind her. "Right Valeria?"

"Right."

Flash remains silent, rubbing the cool of the strawberry against her lips and willing the blush away from her cheeks.

"Have you ever been kissed before?"

"Yes!" She blurts her answer out and all it does is set off a round of laughter between the two of them.

Her first kiss had been with a- for lack of a better term, boyfriend at the academy, Jake. A twenty three year old recruit who'd got a little too excited when she'd pinned him. He never did more than peck her on the lips though, arguing that anything else would distract him from his work. She broke things off three days later.

"Have you ever had someone's tongue in your mouth?" His blatant question catches her off guard. Although the pink hue of his cheeks show the effects of the wine kicking in. She's spent enough time with Alejandro to know that this is just the way he operates, on a 'better to ask for forgiveness than get permission' basis.

Flash shakes her head lamely, giving up on the stoic, unresponsive act. It clearly wasn't working.

He sets his glass on the coffee table and crooks a finger at her, smiling devilishly.

"Come here, let me show you something."

She sets her handful of strawberries back in the bowl and glances back at Valeria who gives her an encouraging nod. Flash uncrosses her legs and leans forward, expecting him to give her a quick peck.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

She's about to ask him what he means when he brings his hands down to her waist and pulls her up to straddle his lap.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is breathy and light and her stomach rolls with nerves. Although it's not what she expected, she's not one to complain.

"Relax Rubia." His face is just inches from hers, "Do you want me to show you what you're missing out on?"

Nerves race through her veins and the heat of Alejandro's hands on her waist burn straight through her skin and into the heat of her stomach. What's the worst that could happen? Gaz had talked about having sex with other team members, surely a kiss wouldn't hurt. All she can muster is a short nod of her head.

Alejandro is the light at the end of her tunnel of pent-up frustration and by god is he bright.

"Words." He chides.

"Yes."

Although she's given permission, his advance is painfully slow. The hands gripping her waist, guide her to sit back on his thighs, and brush her hair behind her ear in one smooth movement, before resting gently against her cheek.

Warm lips press softly against hers and she practically melts in his hands. He's surprisingly gentle, pressing two light kisses to her lips before nosing at her cheek and placing another over the burning skin.

"She's a Pantera Alejandro. I'm sure she can handle more."

Flash jumps at the sound of Valeria's voice. She's moved to sit next to them, lounging on the cushion and watching with a cocked head. She smirks at Flash's surprise. She didn't even see her move.

"Slow Valeria." He chides. His low voice is spoken into the soft spot below her ear, words caressing her skin and whispering down her spine. "We don't want to spook her."

Lips part against her neck and the hot press of his tongue is followed by a cool stream of air. Flash chokes on her next inhale and swallows down the ragged moan threatening her ego. Nothing Jake ever did felt this good.

"Did you like that Rubia?" Alejandro's voice is light and teasing.

"Yes I-." Before she even finishes her answer, he's doing it again, this time following the lick with a quick nip of teeth. Her response turns into an embarrassingly loud half-whimper.

"You're a tease." She bites out, pausing on the last word as he mouths his way back up to her ear.

"Ah, but you like it. No?"

Flash doesn't have to see his face to know he's smiling. It's taken him less than a minute to turn her into putty, and now he's happily kneading.

When he presses his lips to hers this time, the hot slide of his tongue at her lower lip parts her mouth in a gasp. He wastes no time. Weaving one hand into the hair at the back of her head and the other squeezing at her waist, Alejandro kisses her fervently and without abandon.

The room spins beneath her, weakening her knees. If she wasn't held fast to Alejandro's lap, she'd probably be on the floor. The taste of strawberries and wine fill her senses and twirl her into a daze.

The hands previously resting at her side slide up the muscular length of his arms and into his hair. It's not quite as long as Ghost's but her fingers still easily grip at the soft waves. Ghost. A pang of guilt threatens to pull her from her reverie, but Alejandro quickly snatches her attention back by taking her lower lip between his teeth and biting down.

A defensive flare burns up her chest and she bites back harder. Alejandro groans into her mouth, the sound burns down her chest and settles low in her belly. The hand that was gripping at her waist slides up and to the small of her back, arching her into his chest. She presses close and can feel the hard muscle of his abdomen through the thin cotton of their shirts.

When he breaks the kiss, there's a strand of saliva connecting their mouths. He doesn't hesitate in pulling her back to drag a slow lick up her parted lips. Jesus fucking Christ. Dark eyes watch her closely when he pulls back and Flash is seconds away from begging him to do it again when a warm hand at her waist pulls her attention to an impatient looking Valeria.

"My turn." She murmurs, voice soft and low. "Can I kiss you?"

Flash, despite Alejandro's earlier insistence, can only nod in response.

She is identical to Alejandro in her slow start, dragging a soft hand over Flash's brow bone before swiping her thumb across slick lips. Fingers pinch Flash's chin and pull her forward. Valeria's lips are soft but her kiss is anything but. The hungry lick of her tongue gives Flash little time to adjust, but when she does, a delighted tremor wracks her body.

Warm hands slide beneath her shirt and then Valeria is pulling her down to grind against Alejandro's thigh. A moan is pressed into Valeria's mouth and electricity courses hot through her body.

Alejandro is quick to stop them. Large hands close over Valeria's on her hips and hold them still. She wants to pull them off, to give in to the warm sensation Valeria's hands are creating. He's persistent though.

"Valeria." Alejandro's words are a clear warning but his voice is thick and heady. If she didn't know better, she'd say Alejandro was enjoying this just as much as her.

Much to her disappointment, Valeria listens to his one-worded order. She rolls Flash's bottom lip between her teeth before placing one more kiss against her mouth and settling back.

Flash is left in a daze. Half-lidded eyes watch as Valeria straightens the hair that Flash had been pulling at just moments before.

"Just touching Mi Amor." Her words are breathy and the apples of her cheeks glow a soft pink.

"I was just showing our Rubia here what she's missing out on. I am not looking for a death threat."

Alejandro's words have her turning back to gaze at him in confusion. Although the lustful tint to his eyes is still present, he seems to have pulled himself together a lot quicker than Flash.

"Death threat?" Her voice is wrecked and Alejandro smirks at the sound. Whatever scrap of ego she had left lay tattered on the ground.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed." He caresses the side of her face, proving to be an awfully good distraction from their conversation.

"Noticed what?" She breathes and turns to Valeria for an explanation. The woman just smiles and tilts her head to the side in an artful manner.

"You seem to be haunted by a certain ghost Flash." She tuts at her. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"You mean Ghost?" She rushes, still recuperating from the mind numbing kiss that she'd gotten from two different people.

"Yes, Flash." Alejandro laughs it away like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"That man doesn't care about anyone other than himself." She says and swings her leg back to sit in her spot. Suddenly, sitting on Alejandro's lap isn't as exciting as before, and the once warm feeling in her stomach turns heavy.

"And that's where you're wrong." Valeria swirls a finger along the rim of her glass before gazing up at Flash through dark lashes. "We just had to dip our toes in before you're off the market. God help the bastards that try to trespass."

Flash flinches at her metaphor, "I'm not a piece of property." She glares at the two of them and their shockingly calm demeanor. Speaking as though they didn't just have their tongues in her mouth just minutes before. Her heart still beat wildly in her chest, and the cold taste of the strawberries did little to cool the heat of her cheeks.

"Honey," Valeria reaches out to stroke her calf, "the moment you signed that contract you became a piece of real estate."

She's saved from responding to another cryptic metaphor by the familiar sound of doors slamming shut. Not wanting to be barraged by questions from the rest of the team, Flash grabs the bowl of fruit, mutters a small goodnight to the pair staring at her from the couch, and rushes off to her room.

So much for blowing off some steam.

_____

Flash is sitting cross-legged on her bed cleaning the blood flecked knife with a polishing cloth when a knock sounds through the room.

"Come in!"

She doesn't have to ask who it is. The stumbling and laughing are telling enough.

"Stop." Gaz's giggle sounds easily through the thin wood of the door. "I got it!"

The door swings open to reveal a relatively drunk Gaz and Soap. Hair mussed and cheeks pinkened, both look like they've had an eventful night.

"Hello gorgeous." Gaz drawls. "Wiping away the evidence of your most recent murderous rampage?"

Flash can't say she's not impressed at his coherency. She almost lets him off the hook. Almost.

"Don't make me have to start over." She points the knife at him and then gestures at the door. "Out."

A half hour ago, she would have welcomed the playful banter and taken it as an opportunity to wrestle him to the ground. But the weight of the day has her pinned to her bed.

"Aw, she's so mean." Gaz's head drops to Soap's shoulder and he doesn't shove him off.

Flash thinks back to Gaz's earlier confession and eyes the point of contact before glancing down at the relatively small space between them. Interesting. When she looks at Soap though, his eyes are trained on the knife balanced in her hand.

"Ghost let you borrow one of his knives?" His voice is incredulous and he takes a hesitant step forward.

"What?" She looks down at the silver case in front of her. She hadn't even noticed. The case was nearly identical to the one that was always neatly polished and tucked carefully into his breast pocket. "No, he bought these for me at the market."

"Oh." His mouth tips down and she recognizes the familiar expression of rejection. He's usually pretty good at keeping his emotions in check, she has no doubt it's the alcohol coursing through his blood that's giving them front row seats to his inner turmoil

Gas buts in oblivious to Soap's pouting, "So he's buying you two matching knives? Seems like it's getting pretty serious. Are you sure you're not fucking?"

Flash chokes on her next inhale. She'd have to get better at locking her door if this was going to become a regular occurrence.

"You know." Gaz looks at her with a devilish smile. "Just because Price went dark during your guy's little dance doesn't mean we did."

Oh fuck.

A/N: I’m currently dying (maybe that’s a tad dramatic) in bed with the flu and am in desperate need of entertainment. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them in my ama! <3

#Ghost x reader #Ghost x female oc #simon riley #Cod Fic #simon ghost riley #Alejandro vargas #Valeria #modern warfare 2 #Ghost stories #john soap mactavish #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #john price #gaz garrick

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