#so he screws up the game and gets berated for it

[yuridovewing]

autism scourge tbh

#kinda actually bc the context is that hes confused by a game everyones playing and he didnt know the rules at first glance #so he screws up the game and gets berated for it #even tho the game they were playing doesnt make sense cause the cat CAN grab the feather toy. cricket does it all rhe time. but whatever

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ proglogue

note: can't believe i'm actually writing for ghost, yes he was the reason i got into cod, but i havent thought about him since like january lol. has this trope already been done? yes. am i doing it anyway? also yes.

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 2.2k

no use of y/n readers callsign is 'stingray'

summary: if there's one constant in your life, it's that ghost doesn't like you, so when your house burns down and you have no choice but to move in with him, it feels like your life is on a steady downhill spiral.

warnings: slowburn, some angst, your house burns down, ghost is mean, sort of enemies to friends to lovers

ao3

【next】

it's been almost a year since you'd joined the taskforce. nearly twelve months of gruelling hard work, and not for a single second had lieutenant ghost treated you with a shred of familiarity. at first, you thought he'd get over it, that he'd get past his obvious trust issues and warm up to you eventually, but you quickly gave up on that idea.

clearly, you'd been too optimistic.

which was unfortunate, considering how much you'd come to care for the prickly bastard, no matter how dismissive he was of you. it started slow; when you were first recruited, you held a great deal of respect for him because of his reputation, and you'd naively even looked forward to working with him. when you discovered his less than friendly demeanour, to say you were disheartened would be an understatement. he was withdrawn and stoic, never sparing you so much as a passing glance and a barked order,  whether you were in the field or not.

the other sergeants had assured you that he wasn't as cold as he comes across; soap and gaz both told you how he'd acted the same towards them when they first met – he was a lone wolf, not used to having to look out for teammates.

the more time you spent on missions with him, the more you saw of the person beneath the hard exterior. you saw how he seemed to know everyone's strengths and weaknesses, things you never would've picked up on. he always made sure the team had eaten, disguised as a gruff order to stay on your game. when he got angry, it would be because someone put themselves in danger, not because they screwed up the mission. you saw someone who'd been through hell and come out the other side swinging.

before, you'd respected ghost as a soldier and your superior, but now, after spending so much time with him, your perspective of him has changed. he intrigued you; he's quiet, introverted but not shy, more observant than you could imagine, and so closely guarded you wondered if he'd ever be able to open up. you'd only heard whispers of the things he'd been through in the past, so despite his obvious animosity towards you, you treated him with the respect you thought he deserved – like a person, and you'd hoped that with time, he could see you as more than just a soldier too. though he still didn't like you, you liked to think that the two of you have come to some sort of understanding.

and that leads you to your problem; you wanted to know him. every tiny crack in his facade made you more and more curious about the man behind the mask – about simon, rather than ghost, but from what you could tell, he didn't hold the same sentiment about you. where he would banter back and forth with the others over comms, he'd fall silent whenever you join in. every minute little mistake was amplified to him, you've lost count of the amount of times he's berated you for things he's excused for others. it made your heart ache that you just couldn't win with him, and you feared you'd never understand why.

but now, as you sit shivering with a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, watching the smouldering remains of what was your home in the middle of the night, freezing and exhausted, you'd never felt more hated.

you could hear them, ghost and the captain, talking in hushed voices a little ways down the road from where you sit. they probably think they're being subtle, discussing what to do with you like you're not even there, like every single one of your worldly possessions hadn't just gone up in smoke, but you hear them as if they're standing right in front of you.

"i wouldn't do this if there were any other options, simon."

"there are plenty of other options, just stick 'em in a hotel for god's sake."

"there's no hotels close enough to base – it'll only be temporary, 'till we can find 'em somewhere else."

"fuckin' hell, why cant they go with one of the others?"

"soap and gaz are already flatmates, you live alone and you're the closest to base. this is the only option that makes sense."

"i'm not fuckin' happy about this, price."

their profiles are momentarily illuminated by the blue lights from the fire engine parked nearby, allowing you for a second to see the withering glare ghost is sending your way, and all of a sudden the last couple hours of emotional distress is crashing down on you; his obvious distaste for you combined with the toll of watching your house literally burning down was too much for you all at once. you could feel the tears start to spill over again, but you can’t find the strength to stop them and just bring the shock blanket closer to your face. you’d lost everything, and even now he couldn’t find it in himself to feel an ounce of compassion for you? why can’t he care for you like he does the others? like you do for him?

as your watery gaze drops to the soot and ash covering your pyjamas, a voice sounds from beside you, the opposite direction from price and ghost. you don’t even realise you’re hyperventilating until they lay a hand on your shoulder and rub soothing circles into your back.

“hey– hey, it’s okay,” it’s gaz, you notice in the back of your mind, sitting on the curb next to you. you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the world around you, and gaz brings you closer into his embrace. “you’ll be alright, we’ll get everything sorted, yeah?”

"i– i don't– i can't–" you try to speak, but you can't seem to form a coherent sentence through your sobbing.

"it's alright, just breathe for me." gaz hugs you tighter again, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he consoles you. for a few minutes you stay like that, your breathing eventuslly returning to normal and the tears slowing to a stop.

price and ghost are still arguing, but you can't hear what they're saying anymore; probably for the best, if you had to listen to ghost complain about you for one more second you might really have a breakdown.

soap's voice cuts through the fog in your mind, "managed to find this, thought ya' might want it." you look up to find him crouching in front of you and holding out a slightly singed photo, a weak smile on his face. "frame's broken, but the picture's still mostly fine."

you take it from him, fingers grasping the card gently as you turn it around to look at the picture. it's from a few years ago, you and your friends from your previous unit, smiling into the camera as if you had no worries at all. staring at the ghosts of your friends starts you crying again, clutching the photo to your chest and leaning back into gaz's shoulder. if anything could've survived the blaze, you're grateful it was this. gaz rubs your arm sofly, whispering comforting words to you again.

you hear another set of footsteps approach and look up again to see price now standing in front of you as well. it's not exactly surprising, but ghost is nowhere to be seen.

"ambulance is here," price says, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet when you take it. "i'll follow behind to the hospital, one of you two take their car to simon's."

you nod and retrieve your car keys from your jacket pocket, thankful you'd had the mind to grab it on your way out in your frantic state.

"I've got a bag in the boot, it's got some clothes in it." you mutter, handing the keys to soap, who smiles and gives you a pat on the shoulder.

"no bother, i'll grab it for ya." he says, and jogs off to where your car was parked, thankfully untouched out of reach of the fire. he returns not a minute layer carrying your duffle of emergency supplies, something you never thought would actually come in handy.

before you know it you're waving gaz and soap goodbye, the paramedics are guiding you to the back of the ambulance, and you're leaving what remains of your old home in the rear-view mirror.

✹✹✹

you hated hospitals. it was a fact, and it had been that way since you were a child, everything about them just made your skin crawl. perhaps you inherited the feeling from your mother; she always managed to bring up her distaste for the place whenever the topic arose. or, maybe you only hated them because they scared you.

either way, the relief you felt as you stepped out of the front door into the car park with price trailing behind you was palpable. he falls into step next to you as the two of you make your way over to where he parked, his keys jingling as he fishes them from his pocket.

"we're puttin' you up with simon for the time being, 'till we can get you somewhere else." his words make you wince; you already knew he was going to say that, but it didn't stop the anxiety from bubbling up in your chest.

"i heard." a beat of silence passes before you continue. "how long will that take?" you ask, climbing into the passenger seat and dropping your bag at your feet as price settles into the driver's side.

"i wouldn't get your hopes up. might be quicker to wait for 'em to rebuild your old place." he flashes you a smile, but you can't find it in yourself to return the gesture.

"right."

neither of you say another word as he starts the engine and pulls out of the car park. you turn to look out the window, watching the world go by, the quiet rambling of the radio serving as white noise in the background. it's the early hours of the morning now, the sun would be up in a few hours and you'd have to go back to work already – price did say you could have the day off, but honestly the last thing you wanted was to sit around all day with nothing to do but overthink.

after nearly ten minutes of trying to ignore it, the worry playing at your mind becomes too much to keep to yourself.

"you know he hates me, right?" you utter, half expecting price to ignore your question all together.

he clicks his tongue. "he doesn't hate you," price replies, and his voice sounds reassuring but it doesn't bring you much comfort.

"okay, well, he doesn't like me either." you turn your head to look at him, raising your brows. rolling to a stop at a red light, he meets your eyes and huffs.

"alright, he can be difficult–"

"really?"

"–but i promise you, he doesn't hate you." he says. you give him a disbelieving look, and he sighs, looking back to the road as the light turns green. "give him a chance, alright?"

"is he gonna give me a chance?" 

"he will." price says firmly, sparing you a look as he drives down the quiet road. "and if he doesn't, you'll knock some sense into him, eh?"

"sure…" you mutter, looking back out the window and falling back into silence. its only a few minutes until he's pulling over to the side of the road, outside the house number you know to be ghost's.

"sting," price calls out, stopping you as you reach for the door handle, "he'll come around, alright?"

"it's been a year, cap. i don't think he will." you reply, and before he can say anything else you open the door and step out into the night air, grabbing your bag from your feet before closing the door again. you give price a half-hearted wave as he pulls away again, before turning around and gazing up at your – temporary – new home.

it was nice, all things considered; a standard terrace on the end of the row, but the size has you wondering if there was even room for you to stay here. though it's not as if you have a choice. all the lights were off, which had you hopeful that you wouldn't run into ghost just yet.

you drag yourself to the front door, your eyes stinging from the effort of keeping them open, and twist the handle as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and cringing at the clunk it makes. thankfully ghost didn't hate you enough to lock you out for the night, something you actually wouldn't put past him considering how he feels about you.

there's a small side table in the entryway that catches your attention. on top of it sits your car keys – you make a mental note to thank soap in the morning – a new key, and a note. you pick up the paper, using the torch from your phone to examine the scratchy handwriting.

living room's yours. lock the door. – s

it's more than you expected from him. you sigh to yourself and pick up the other key, locking the door and shuffling into the small living room. the pull-out bed is made up for you, albeit quite messily, and you waste no time in dropping your stuff and laying your head down on the lumpy pillow.

with any luck, this arrangement wouldn't last long, but in the meantime you got the feeling you were in for a bumpy ride.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #roosterr writes #praying that hes not ooc

[kidspawn]

And Now, A Comprehensive Essay I Never Thought I'd Write:

I've seen people upset with Gabe's character in the show thus far. Saying he's too toned down, too "pathetic white trash" as opposed to abusive jerkass. I do understand why people are mad, but a few words in defense of this portrayal - and why it still works.

One: "He's too nice/soft/passive"

Um... absolutely not? This dude had me cringing and tensing up as soon as we meet him. Percy tenses and goes on the defensive, starts shooting comebacks. Gabe, seeing a tense and emotionally drained child, immediately comes at him, berating him for misbehaving.

He snaps at Sally, basically loses his shit at the idea of her leaving the apartment. She has to negotiate with him to leave her own apartment? To use the car? I don't care if she's "standing her ground" more. (Which, she isn't, but that's a whole other topic.) He's still being a douche.

There are aspects of Gabe's book characterization that are lost in media translation. For instance, Percy giving him money. "Whenever I was home, he expected me to provide his gambling funds. He called that our 'guy secret.' Meaning, if I told my mom, he would punch my lights out" (The Lightning Thief, pg. 31) This is Percy's internal monologue. When Percy enters their apartment in the book, Gabe is just a dick. Yes, he's not pestering Percy for money but he's doing everything else. I wouldn't be surprised if this information about Gabe comes to light the further into the story we go. Rick Riordan isn't trying to erase the abuse, but drawing attention to the intricacies and subtleties of abuse.

Two: "Sally is too assertive/fights back/etc"

Please, kindly, screw off with that "perfect victim" line of thinking. Just because Percy and Sally aren't crying, sobbing, etc, doesn't mean they're not being abused? First of all, that would be out of character. No doubt about that.

The only thing different between the scene in the book versus the show is how Sally manipulates/negotiates with Gabe. She has a different tone here, sure, but let's face it - Sally doesn't particularly like Gabe. He is a means to an end. She doesn't care too much about hurting his feelings here. She's placating. She's leveraging what little she has to get something from him. In the books, it was bean dip. In the show, its sandwiches and watching a game together. Sally doesn't care for Gabe, but Gabe obviously has interest in Sally, or spending time with her. She's leveraging her time and her resources to get her kid to Camp Half-Blood. She knows what's going to work because she's been dealing with this for so long.

And don't pretend like Gabe using the word "please" is changing the horrid tone he uses with Sally. Neither Percy or Sally flinch when he yells. This isn't a rare occurrence. Gabe probably yells all the time. But it's been happening long enough they're both desensitized to it.

These aspects aren't that different from the book.

Yes, the abuse is subtle, a few tweaks to appease an admittedly young target audience. But it is there. It's solely disappointing to me that subtext has seemingly been lost.

Three: "He's just average white trash."

Is that not... the point? He's... just a basic mortal? He's so abysmally human, so utterly mundane that he masks Percy's smell. He's crummy, and slimy, and awful. He doesn't strive for more, he doesn't aspire for more. He's a bully. He's awful to Percy, he yells at Sally. The only thing different about him in the show so far is he hasn't hit Sally yet.

(Yet. By the way. There's only two episodes out. We find out he's hitting Sally at the end of the source material. He never hits Percy onscreen, it's stated in internal monologue.)

Details will be lost in translation, of course, but please I cannot stress enough how little of the show we've seen. We don't know how they're going to explore Percy's characterization and reaction to abuse. There will be flashbacks, opportunities to flesh out the relationships and characters. Just because Rick changed aspects to keep people from being triggered doesn't mean he's going to let audiences go on believing this kind of behavior is ok. (At least, I hope he doesn't.)

Gabe Ugliano is still a piece of garbage. He is a horrendous human being. It's baffling to me that no one's believing that based on what we've seen of him. Not once did I think he was "toned down." I had a hard time rewatching that scene. The verbal belittlement, the subtle manipulation and control he's asserting into their lives. He's awful to Percy, he's awful to Sally.

Also, I reiterate: there are only two episodes out. Give the story time to breathe. Give the team time to deal with this storyline and flesh out this aspect of Sally and Percy's relationship.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians (2023) #gabe ugliano #sally jackson #pjo tv #pjo tv spoilers

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

Alastor my favorite, but Vox is not close behind. (Story of Vox afterlife amrite?) I just find this guy intriguing. Mostly his dynamics with the other overlords.

I would like to share some ideas I have on this guy. I only know Vox from the one episode he appeared in. Some of these ideas might have been said by someone else. I haven't been following anything, so as far as I know, these are been unsaid and I figured to share my ideas. I already mention my thoughts about his and Alastor dynamic last week so I won't go on with that in this post.

Vox seems to be the most level headed, patient, mild one (Alastor trigger aside) out of the three Vs that we seen so far. Val is volatile and violent. Velvette is rather level headed but she also a bit hot headed as well. Granted we haven't seen too much about the V's, but Vox seems to be the "nice" one out of the three. We seen the other two yell and berate their employees. Vox, we haven't seen lash out at anyone but Alastor. I'm sure Vox is guilty of cruelty. He did climb up to become an overlord in Hell after all, so he screw over A LOT of people to do so, if not straight out disposed of.But I think he went about it more strategically and intelligently over brute strength or force.

I find his relationship with Val interesting. They are definitely friends with benefits. But Val being...well..Val-volatile and violent. I have no doubt Vox had been a victim during those moods. I'm really curious on the dynamic of that. Val is use to taking his aggressions on weaker demons. So I wonder how it goes with someone own power level. Why Vox just let it keep happening? I do think Val does get Vox hooked up on the same "poison" as Angel Dust but Vox has a greater immunity by being an overlord so the affects are dampen or its just used sparsely on him.

I think Val alive is very similar to how he is in Hell. A abusive pimp and a slew of criminal activity. He just a lot more successful in his after life. It's easy to see why he's in Hell.

Vox on the other hand, I don't think he really committed any crimes. If he did, it was white collared stuff. But he did sin, Either by pride or greed or both. I think Vox lied heavily while alive which may lead in why his motto is "Trust us with..." with whatever service he selling. Sadly, when someone ask you to trust them, its usually someone you shouldn't outside of someone you know well.

I have a few ideas what he may be doing while alive.

We know he died during the 1950s and its life was more likely involved with tv. With his charisma, Vox screams showman or salesman, since he seems most concern about the Vs brand.

My first idea is he a Tv salesman. Think sketchy car salesman but with Tvs. He lies, he bait and switch. He knowingly sells knock offs for brand name prices...etc. The deceiving and the greed can easily land him in Hell.

My 2nd idea is he's a appliance repairman, mainly tvs. His business model is similar to example one but a bit more honest work. But having knowledge to repair items might explain his interested keeping up and ahead on the technology field. I like the idea having a more tech savvy trade job while he alive but in the 1950's I think tech support knowledge was rather limited for common folk.

His death was accidental electrocution fixing a faulty tv.

Now my last idea and one I lean heavily one over the other two is, he was a tv host. Which would add another level to his and Alastor rivery. Both being host of a program on their preferred media.

I'm not entirely sure what played during the 1950s. But from the top of my head, his hosting choices would be news anchor, Talk show or game show (possibly game show announcer). I'm going with, he was a very popular game show host, going by the game winning noise he emitted when Val guessed correctly.

It would fit his showmanship. It would also explain his salesman side as well. Back in that era, game shows was basically huge advertisement.

"Bobby, tell him what he won!"

-"He won a brand new kitchen! Complete with 'brand name here' wood cabinets and mint green appliances! Above is 20 feet of smart modern cabinets of maple covering the full length of the kitchen. Which includes a new 'brand name here' 13 cubic foot refrigerator freezer....etc"

I'm guessing his sins would be lying and stepping on anyone to get to the top to where he is. Maybe he committed some low fraud or embezzlement etc... for his show or his personal life.

He seem youngish/prime of his life 30s to have a natural death. Not that he exempt from that but lowers the possibility. I'm guessing he had a quick random accidental death. I'm still going with electrocution to help explain his powers. I have no idea what the 50's electric grid on stage is like but I'm sure they're not always OSHA approved. Or maybe a stage light fell on him, who knows?

That's all my thoughts and ideas on the Tv man. Hopefully it seems logical and interesting.

#hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino

[spiderymiasma]

🕸 The Chase 🕸 || Miguel x f!Spider

Summary: She was the perfect prey. And he was a natural predator. And Miguel's getting sick of her games...

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Please let me know if I use Spanish incorrect. I"m not a native speaker and appreciate any feedback!

|| My AO3 ||

Like most other days, today quickly started turning to shit for Miguel O'Hara.  Lego Spiderman, one of his best, was recently admitted to the MedBay for Lego related injuries (not funny Lyla).  Morales and his gang of hooligans had botched yet another simple mission.  Peter B. was giving him lip and wouldn't stop droning on about Mayday.  And Hobie…?

Ugh, Miguel didn't even want to think about Hobie. 

And worst yet, his own body was driving him crazy.  His fangs ached so terribly.  The gums around them reddened and tender.  His head was fuzzy, and every fiber in his muscles ached, begging to be let free. 

"I see you're still working well into the early hours of the morning." A soft feminine voice remarked from the shadows.  A lithe Spiderwoman walked up in front of the numerous monitors and screens in front of him. 

Miguel grunted.  Without any windows in headquarters, he hadn't even noticed the hours passing by.  "Hard not to when you have Miles Morales fucking everything up around here."

The Spiderwoman rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.  It was obvious even to those who weren't close with Miguel, that he was starting to lose control of himself.  He'd be driving everyone crazy for nearly a week.  Snapping at the smallest insult, berating the poor new recruit, and worst of all (in Peter B's opinion) refusing to look at the newest reels of Mayday's baby pictures.

In her opinion, Miguel needed to get control of his attitude.  And she knew just the fix.

"Miguel, you are too hard on that poor Morales kid.  He tries his best and means well."

"Yeah?  Well he screws up every single operation I send him out on."  Miguel soldiered on, continue to bury himself in his charts, figures, and a figurative stack of reports. 

The Spiderwoman hummed.  As one of the first ones to be recruited by Miguel into their "Spider society", she's seen Miguel transform from headstrong "One and only" Spiderman to the supreme leader of an elite and deadly Spider Society.  Though it was always hard to tell what that man was thinking, she hoped that he would consider her a friend.

She always hoped that he was never too peeved whenever she called him out on his bullshit. 

"You seem more stressed than usual."  Before Miguel could interrupt her to claim otherwise, she finished.  "How can I help?"

Miguel momentarily paused in his work.  Their eyes connecting for the briefest moments through the transparent screens that separated them.  He faint stress lines on his forehead made the poor man appear older than he deserved.  Several strands stuck out from his perfectly gelled hair, no doubt from the numerous times he ran his fingers through his hair.  It seemed, at least from her view, that he had so much he wanted to say.  Or maybe, it was her heart that yearned for Miguel to finally say what he had been holding back for so long.  His shoulders softened at her smile. 

"Nah, you've done enough work this week."  He averted his eyes away from hers.  "Go get some rest before you get too cranky for tomorrow's meeting."

The corners of her lips dipped down in frustration.  She didn't need Spidey-senses to be able to tell how the waves of stress rolled off of his tight shoulders in waves.

"How about you and I do a training session together tomorrow?"  She asked suddenly.  "It's been a while since you got out of your tall pedestal." 

His fingers paused in their typing as if he was actually considering it for a moment.  The itch under his skin begging to be addressed.

They quickly resumed their work.  Miguel let out a frustrated sigh.  "I just told you that I'm up to my ears in work.  And besides, if it weren't for that Morales kid-"

"I know, I know."  She placated.  "I know you find it hard to believe, but I do listen to what you tell me."

Miguel scoffed, clearly not believing her.

"Well, I think you could use some training tomorrow.  When's the last time you got some fresh air?  Really let those…instincts run while."

They looked at each other in the eyes again, this time without the blue-green screens separating them.

Besides Lyla, she was one of the few Spiderpeople to understand how badly the spider DNA affected Miguel.  She herself was bitten by a particularly nasty spider and often appeared more animal than human.  Miguel tried to pretend otherwise, using temporarily serums and DNA injections to stave off the worst of the symptoms but….

…it was hard hiding that part of himself from someone like her.

Their "training" wasn't…traditional.  It was very private, very secret affair that they told no one with the sole exception of Lyla who was bond by code to secrecy.  Miguel really doubted what they did together to be counted as training at all.  But Miguel and her…were…uniquely biologically disposed in similar enough ways that they could find solace in each other and bond over their more animalistic sides.

Still, didn't make it any less awkward to explain to outsiders.

He was the one to break eye contact first.  Looking away, he again pretended to busy himself with silly work. 

"Can't."  He grunted.  "Like I said, I’m busy."

He couldn't help but notice how her eyes gleamed mischievously.  "Some other time then,"  With a small wave of her hand, she disappeared into the darkness, and Miguel naively thought that they could put the conversation to rest.

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Like most nights, Miguel somehow managed to squeeze in a couple hours of rather fitful sleep.   Sleep was just as difficult as any battle for him.  Between He padded to his workstation ready to start a whole new laundry list of tasks.

"Lyla, what's the docket looking like this morning."  He asked sleepily, rubbing his face with his large palm, careful to not let his claws pierce his eyes.

Only silence responded.

"Lyla?  C'mon I don't have time for your games."

His voice echoed ominously across the empty room. 

Slowly dragging his palm down his face, he finally looked up his screens.

Their automatic sensors were off.  The backlights dim, and all of his work had been completely reshuffled. 

Someone had been here.  Funny enough, he had a pretty good guess as to who.  Amidst all the tedious paperwork, there was an old-fashioned sticky note attached to his desk.

"Heya Mig, hope you slept well.  If you would like Lyla to be up and running again, come and find me for some sparring practice!

-EARTH 45690"

Miguel swore underneath his breath in colorful Spanish.  She knew he hated that nickname.  His fangs were so sore in his gums.  His thoughts felt clouded by a thick fog and moved sluggishly.  He could feel the rush of biological chemicals running through his veins.  He did not have time for this bullshit.

Punching the written number into his watch, he walked through the open portal into whatever dimension she summoned him to.  The sooner he get this over with, the sooner he could go back to work.

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Instantly, he was met with a blast of humid heat that did not feel good against his feverish skin.  Blinking at the stark sunlight, he took stock of his surroundings.  Gigantic prehistoric palm levels, staggering cliffs, and dragonflies the size of German Shepherds.

Great.  Prehistoric New York.  Spider Rex's Earth.  Why on earth would she bring him here?

"Hello Miguel!"

Miguel's neck craned upwards.  The offending spider woman was resting in a cozy little hammock made out of spider webbing as if she had all the time in the word.

She was getting on his nerves.

"I don't have time to play games with you."  He shouted from the ground, hoping she could hear him.  "Get rid of whatever virus you gave Lyla this time, so we can get back to schedule."

She frowned, staring at him from above.  "Hm…wellllll I do have this handy dandy UBS, but I'm afraid you'll have to catch me first to use it."

She hadn't even finished her grand speech before Miguel was already climbing up the rock giving chase.  His talons sunk into the sides of the cliff, tearing apart the earth beneath him every time he climbed forward.

Reaching desperately, he clawed at the UBS drive in her fingers.  Her wrist snapped back.  The thumb drive mere inches away from his reach.  He growled dangerously.  His patience waning. 

Her face split into a grin underneath her mask. 

"You thought it was going to be that easy?"  She teased.  She got up from her homemade hammock.  She made a big show of stretching her loose limbs.  She was calm as if she were a woman warming up before a Pilates class instead of a Spiderwoman about to be hunted down by her very, very pissed boss. 

"Give.  Me.  The. Stick."  Miguel's growled, his tone dangerous. 

"Only if you catch me."  She sang.

Before Miguel could react, she was gone, using the overgrown palm trees above them to sling away. 

He chased after her. 

They did this quite often.  They would meet each other in a throwaway universe, they would spar, Miguel would hunt her down, and they would go back to their lives as normal.  If someone like Peter B were to find out about this "training" of theirs, they would call it flirting. But her and Miguel knew better.  People whose DNAs were laced with spider DNA….there was a part of themselves they tried to suppress, try to hide for the betterment of spider society.

This was one rare moments where they could let out this side of them.

She zipped and zagged through the thick foliage, like an acrobat weaving through fabric.  She danced with the practiced experience of a superhero well-versed in her art.  Miguel was just as deadly, breaking through the heavy trees, leaving a trail of broken twigs and disturbed underbrush in his way.  In his crazed frenzy, he wrecked havoc on the peaceful forest.

The only warning she got was the glint of slitted amber eyes in darkness, before a weight slammed into her in a frenzied blur.  She blocked his arm with one hand.  The other held the prized UBS stick out of Miguel's reach tauntingly.

They sparred for a while, well-practiced in each other's movements and attacks.  Sometimes she would land a well-placed clever blow on him, and other times his claws would come dangerously close to the UBS.  Finally, he managed to pin her lithe form into the forest ground.  Miguel's lips turned up into a snarl that showed off his pointed incisors.

She couldn't help but whimper.

His bulking, threatening form was pressed on top of hers.  With his body so close against her, he could smell her sweet and alluring scent, making something inside him purr with need. Honeysuckle, soft cotton, and the lavender shampoo she always used.

He did his best to ignore it.  This was sparring.  Nothing more.  It would never be anything more.  Don't be creepy to your female subordinate.

"You make this too easy."  He growled.  "Don't lose your edge so fast."

She panted, trying to even her respiratory rate.  His clawed hands were so warm, pressing her arms down onto the ground.  He radiated body heat.  His pinpoint pupils stared her down, pinning her in place.  The moment their gazes met, she couldn't look away, captured by those glowing eyes.

No, no, stop.  Don't go there.  He was her coworker.  Her boss.  Her boss with enough emotional baggage to rival any other Spiderperson.  This…training they had between them was for professional use only.  A way to get the edge off.  Like yoga, or boxing.  No romance involved.

Her spider instincts said otherwise.  It took everything in her to ignore her body that was screaming to get as close to Miguel as possible.

Her voice was raspy with need.  "Don't worry, Miguel, I have still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

And with a flick of her wrist, her web trap sprang to life.  Without any Spidey senses, intricate sticky web ensnared Miguel in place.  She deftly rolled out of his grasp, free again to gloat at another tiny victory.  She hovered closely, the eyes on her mask innocent and curious as she observed him.

He growled.  His muscles straining against the restraints.  "Oh you'll pay for that one, chica." 

She tried to hide her giggles behind her hands.

With a quick flex of biceps, the spiderwebs ripped apart.  His bulging muscles and claws easily shredding through her webbing like paper.  Though he was only caught for a few seconds, it was enough of an opening for her to slip away.  Miguel sprung to life lunging after her with clawed hands.

She dodged easily, already slinging away.

He huffed.  Infuriating woman.  He chased after her retreating form.  His blood was pumping hot in his veins.  "You know, this is only eating away at the time I have available for all my stupid paperwork."  His voice lacked any real heat behind his words.  He tried to swipe at her with his talons, only to find her just out of arms reach.

She languidly dogged his arm as she swung on her webbing.  "Hmmm. Your work?  I did it for you already last night."

Miguel's heart skipped a beat.  He almost lost his footing.  "Y-you…you did?"

She twisted her body back to face him as she swung backwards with ease.  "I did most of the stuff I could do without your explicit approval, with Lyla's help of course."  Miguel managed to grab onto her ankle.  She broke through his grasp with well-practiced dexterity.  "Everything else on your desk is just waiting for your signature."

She didn't have to do his busywork.  In fact, Miguel highly discouraged it.  She was far more useful in the field.  Her competency shouldn't be wasted on tasks that were benefit her.  Still, it didn't stop the warmth blooming in his chest.

They flew through the air, going through the motions of this well-practiced dance they had between them.  Perhaps it was accidental or more likely it was on purpose, but eventually her pace faltered as she momentarily lost her balance running from Miguel. 

It was enough for Miguel. 

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he finally caught her.  He slammed her roughly against the nearest rockwall, perhaps too roughly for anyone else that wasn't a Spider.  The forceful impact cracking the wall behind her.  It shuddered as rubble fell on top of the both of them.  Using his back, Miguel shielded from from most of the debris. 

He removed his mask from his face, starved for as much oxygen as he could get.

"Parece que finalmente gané (Look's like I finally won)."  His voice was rough with exertion.

Pulling off her own mask She gasped for air.  Her hair, sticky with sweat, clung to her face and eyelashes.  Her eyes were blown wide from a mixture of adrenaline and exertion.  She jutted out her chin arrogantly, or maybe invitingly.  "Are you here to collect your prize?" 

With a grin on Miguel's handsome face and darkened eyes, he pinned her arms above her, trapping her against the wall.  There was no doubt in his mind, that if she truly did not want this, she could easily break free from his grasp.  There was a flash of sharp fangs as Miguel loomed over her possessively.  Adrenaline pumping through his veins, minds pulsating with animalistic need, he leaned down to kiss her.  The prized UBS drive now entirely forgotten. 

His lips were so soft and contrasted so nicely against the hard contours of the rest of his body.  She eagerly melted into the kiss, wrapping her legs around Miguel's waist to get closer to him.  He smelled of sweat, musk, and sandalwood.  She struggled not to get drunk off of his scent.   Clawed fingers carefully reached up to cup her face, caressing it so gently. 

His sharp canines accidentally nicked her bottom lip.  Before he could pull away and apologize, she whimpered with need, her tongue darted out, licking at the broken skin.  She looked wild, entirely animalistic, giving into her most base urges.  Miguel was sure he looked the exact same. 

Miguel's fangs latched onto the soft skin of her neck, piercing.  She keened, basking in the pleasure.  Miguel had enough restraint to at least hold back from injecting her with paralytic venom but as her hands roamed over his pectorals greedily, it was getting harder and harder to stop himself from claiming her.

"Miguel, please."  She begged against his skin.  Her throat already bruising with love marks, there was two obvious puncture wounds left by Miguel.

The rational, stressed side of him froze at the sight of her.  She looked like she'd been attacked by…some monster.  What on earth was he thinking?  This was his subordinate, someone he respected.  Someone who sat right next to him during boring conference meetings.  This was wildly inappropriate.  Trapping her and just having his way with her.

He pulled back almost scalded.  He can't believe he let it get this far. 

Seeing his reluctance, she fisted his spidersuit pulling him closer to her.  An animalistic growl came from her throat. Her red eyes were dilated with need.  "Don't you dare fucking stop, Miguel O'Hara."

"Mierda."  What little restrain he had snapped, as he lunged forward to consume her.

Later…much later…he'd ask her again if she would like to spar with him again sometime soon. 

#miguel o'hara #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miles morales #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman #spider verse #into the spider verse #atsv #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel x y/n

[runningfrom2am]

how do you think the trilogy would be affected if ltpf happened? i just have so many takes and really wonder if you thought about it too!

omg yes i also have takes on this bc i have spent a decent amount of time thinking ab this also lol

i think a loathing for the previous head gamemaker would be extremely common in the districts, to start. i think everyone hates her even years after her retirement (and you can bet they had to pry that job from her hands but she really would be burnt out from it after so many years, she loved that job almost as much as she loved her husband for 'giving' it to her.) i think she had some popular and very unpopular ideas that she had implemented over the years that lived on even after she was done.

i also think she would have taken the role of first threatening katniss following her and peeta's win. seriously, she would HATE them for screwing up the perfect system she had built by hand. it was her life's work, and they made a love story out of it. (love coming out of the games was her and coryo's story and theirs alone.) i think from peeta's first interview she had seen how this would go, and she didn't like it one bit. she was the first one to whisper in the presidents ear that they were some kind of threat, from the very beginning. i also think that she got a good laugh at coin bombing the kids, lol.

also i 100% believe she had it out for finnick, he used secrets in a way that she had. to manipulate people- i really don't think that stopped just with her father and highbottom, i think that's a habit she developed since that worked so damn well. and it does work well, which is why she hates him. she kept a very close eye on him (god forbid he finds out what they did to lucy gray and sejanus, which, by the end, he definitely did know about).

OMG AND ON THE TOPIC OF LUCY GRAY BAIRD AND SEJANUS PLINTH,, i think they were the original heads of the rebellion behind the scenes in District Thirteen. i think they played a massive role in that and what it became toward the end. they were old, but they survived all that time and they just adored katniss and peeta bc,, duh. they let coin take the reins, which they would later regret, but their passion absolutely became the rebellion.

i also think they met with r and coriolanus again at the end. in the rose garden they would go and visit them, to ask them why rather than to berate them. they were once friends, after all. i also think that when r saw sejanus again she would cry, and he would hug her anyway. this also would be how she finds out that her beloved and trusted coryo lied about burying lucy gray, but she would forgive him anyway (as she always did). i don't think either of them would apologize, their pride wouldn't allow it, but lucy gray and sejanus would. because they are sorry it had to end this way.

as far as the literal plot of the series, i honestly feel like it wouldn't change all that much other than this stuff. they would get what they deserved, but they would get it together.

also pls pls let me know all your takes on this i would love to know!!

#i have the answers #LTPF <3 #that-veela-girl

[spidereggs888]

Miguel’s new secretary ooh-la-la

(lol /j 💀)

Miguel O’Hara & y/n, any gender or non gender. Very casual writing style. TW Dark humor, dangerous situations, 18+. Y/n are sorta attracted to Miguel (why else would you be here?) but he doesn’t know you lol

This is a loooong read so make sure you have time or something. Also, there’s an illustration in the middle of the chapter! Enjoy

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

MIGUEL & YOU

ACT 1 | ALGORITHMIC LOTTERY

It's the year 2110.

You are maneuvering through traffic in a sputtery fashion, the lifter problem in your engine getting so bad it almost sounds like you got rocks under the hood. The podcast is going on about alligators in Nueva York sewers.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” you mumble, “there’s CROCODILES in the sewers, not alligators.”

You aren’t looking forward to this interview. How the heck did you manage an audition for office secretary to the CEO of Alchemax?!

“I don’t know,” you say aloud to your other self, “but if I get the job, Imma upgrade to a better ride than this heap of Maglev shit…”

But there’s other bitches who want this position. Two of them you are aware of: Syd and Brody. Syd is a real suck up who will say any damn thing to get the position. She out-groveled you and got the lead PR accounting job you wanted. Suck-up Syd is what you call her around your friends. Brody on the other hand is opposite; he thinks he can strong-arm his way into anything and he pretty much has. He’s kicked people down, screwed people over, and there’s a rumor he filed a sexual harassment charge on his friend Ashton just to get the promotion before Ashton could.

These two skanks are gonna be tricky, but that’s the least of why you loathe this whole thing. You also heard that Miguel O’Hara is a hard ass. When he came into power a few years ago, he immediately fired the former secretary for talking about his father in a positive light. Then he proceeded to chew and spit out people who ever had the misfortune of being in that job position.

“Or maybe they just cut their losses after raking in half a billion,” your friend Speshall guessed the last time you seen her, “they prolly couldn’t take the heat for that long so they waited until they were set for life then said something stupid on purpose to get him to let them go. What a retirement plan! To work for the sexiest man of the year then have him berate you on your way out!”

She was always like this.

Anyway, now your car is not being validated in the automated parking center.

“What the HELL?!”

“Sorry, your credit has been declined.”

“Oh fuck me-“

You fumble your lanyard of data sticks. You are looking for the green one, which has a small amount of credit you procured from test playing phone games. You lean out of your car window to bring the green stick drive near the wireless reader.

“Sorry, we cannot accept credit from online gambling. Please use another method of payment.”

“Oh fuck you!”

≋ ≋ ≋ ≋

Now you are walking. You had to park where they don’t give a shit about where your money is from. Alchemax is trying to create a good precedent by not accepting dirty money, but Alchemax, as far as you know, does dirtier stuff for pay. Why the hell is “gambling money” any different?!

Scowling so hard, you almost didn’t notice there’s some douchebag trying to walk close behind you. He probably saw the lanyard of data sticks around your neck, so you fluff your scarf around until they are covered.

“I don’t have any money, muh guy” you say in your heaviest Nueva York accent along with this generations lingo.

“Oh I’m not afta you. I was tryna tell ya there’s this otha weirdo following ya. I’m tryna group up here.”

You know better than to look back. That’s what this fucko wants you to do. He’s probably a flasher, so you walk into traffic.

“Hey that’s dangerous, yo!”

You don’t listen. Cars flying past is not as scary as going up to see the freakin CEO of Alchemax.

No cars hit you, so now you have to face reality. You walk into the Alchemax Business Bureau building (one of hundreds), and wave your ID at the receptionist in the lobby. The receptionist is preoccupied with a lady who has one hand on her hip and the other holding out a holo watch. It’s projecting a screen with a giant hourglass animation flipping over and over.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to get a damn cup of coffee around here, I just don’t!”

“C’mon it’s not necessary to bring security here, ma’am.”

He remains standing behind his desk and grimaces at you. You really need to get him to validate your ID so you won’t be stopped by security, so you pull up your phone and say to the woman, “you want some coffee coupons for Dunkin Donuts?”

“What?”

You open your savings app and hastily air-swipe several coupons to her holo device like someone flicking bills at a stripper. She stops to look at them.

“A regular frap for half off? Oh woooow, how- will they really honor this?” She asks.

“Yeah! It’s good for two more days, so you may wanna hurry over to the kiosk at the west end.”

“Really?”

“They sell all brands of coffee, they’ll honor it.”

“Well, nevermind, then,” she says curtly to the receptionist as she turns her shoulder away, “Didn’t want hours-old coffee anyway.”

She turns on her fancy heel and trots away. You grin stupidly at the receptionist who rolls his eyes and snatches your ID card from you. He swipes it near his card reader then flicks it back without a word.

After a nod, you swiftly leave down the lobby to the elevator area. You round the corner and see an open elevator closing. It's the only one since the other two are under construction. You rush forward as fast as your legs will allow.

"Wait wait WAIT WAIT!"

The doors are closing and you see the face of Suck-up Syd with her smoky eyes and faux fur capelet. She smiles and does nothing as the doors close.

"Shocking typical," you grumble. But you know where the other elevator is. You take off to the other end of the building for the second set of elevators.

You make it onto the elevator with two other people, some white chick and an Indian dude. The lady sees your pass.

"Going for the secretary job?" She asks.

"Yeah."

“Me too. If I don’t get this, I’m going to jump from this building,” the lady jokes.

“If I get this, I WILL jump from this building,” you add.

“Either way, it's gonna be job security for the custodian department,” the Indian guy says. All three of you chuckle politely.

The elevator lets more people in. You check your phone. You are fucking late by 20 minutes, but so is the lady who wants this job or else. You assume it would have taken a while anyway, since there was about 15 people going in for this very same job. Could it be you?! Could you land this job?! What if your mom was wrong?! And what if O’Hara says yes? What if you are set for life?

The final floor of this elevator is reached. You wobble on your way out. The lady doesn’t move.

“Actually, I can’t do this. I’m going home.”

The elevator doors close and she goes back down. You hear a faint byeeeeeeeeeee as the elevator descends to lower levels. You pay no heed and follow the Indian man into the massive hall.

There’s already chaos. One guy is being escorted out of the lobby by his shirt collar, and he's spouting obscenities. Some lady had dropped all her paperwork and she’s too numb to pick it up again. Two ladies near her are sarcastically wishing each other luck, one of them is Suck-up Syd. She looks 10x more desperate today with her tight-fitting outfit and belt buckle the size of a plate. Her overly fake smile gives you no esteem or hope. You almost sit but realize there’s barf on the chair.

Okay, surely everyone is overreacting in here.

“Man I’m not scared at all. There’s a trick to facing down Alpha males,” says a guy who you didn’t ask.

“Ah, cool.” you say through a grin. It’s Brody. You don’t even have to see him to know he’s there with his overwhelming presence of snobbery.

“See, as a Sigma male,” he continues, leaning on the back of the barf chair to talk to you, “I don’t adhere to the Alpha’s orders. That’s how the pack survives! One guy is an outlier so like if the Alpha fails in his role as leader, the Sigma will show by example and the rest of the females and Betas will follow him-“

“BRODY!”

You and Brody see Ashton in the doorway you came from. Ashton beelines across the room with his briefcase raised high. He brings it down on Brody with a loud clunk and they grapple and exchange blows. You go ahead and sit down perfectly still.

"Oh my GOD!" Suck-up Syd muses. She only sees this as two less competitors. You wince as the men start yelling obscenities at each other in their struggle. The guards who took out the last guy come back in and see this happening and they both huff angrily.

"Next!"

"Ah, that's me!" Syd says, “you guys are welcome to leave, I probably got this in the bag.”

She gets up and thrusts her capelet onto the lobby assistant.

.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳ ˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.

Four hours pass. Brody and Ashton were escorted from the building, those bozos didn’t even get an interview, but it was funny watching Brody get dragged down to hell by a demon he wronged.

Suck-up Syd walked out in tears and a forced smile. You felt bad for making fun of her in the past. She’s just kinda desperate and a little pathetic. You assume groveling doesn't work on the boss.

Other people came and went swiftly. The cheerful Indian man from earlier left looking surprised at his failure. The lady who dropped all her crap earlier apparently already had an interview and was reeling from her bad luck. You understand their disappointment since being chosen for this position was like winning the lottery, except you don't know if you won or not.

“Next!”

Your stomach twists but you refuse to be like them. This is just a job. You’ll be answering phones, emails, and possibly even mailing some dry cleaning. No big fuckin deal.

You thank the lobby assistant but she ignores you and walks away. She is just doing her job. She looks very tired of everyone else’s shit and is probably glad it's over. You walk to the elevator where the second to last person is taking baby-steps, talking on his phone with someone nursing his wounded pride. That could be you in a minute.

I'm probably not gonna get it either, you think, but I'm going down with some dignity.

You work yourself up as you step into yet another elevator, this one glass paneled. You stare across Nueva York as you ascend, contemplating your future. So what if you don't make it? You will simply fall back to your job and go about your life. Your mom will say she's right about the invitation being a fluke. You will go back to paying off debts and supplementing your food budget by testing mobile phone games during work hours and before you go to sleep. You see your own reflection, no longer as young as you used to be, and you sigh.

The glass doors open behind you. You walk through another set of foggy glass doors. Despite your self pep talk, you are still not looking forward to this. You've seen pictures of Miguel O'Hara before; over 6 feet tall, wide shoulders that could support an ox yoke, and a presence so large one would think he could go toe to toe with Godzilla. How will the interview go? You imagine fire. You expect a demon sitting behind a black marble desk in the darkness, a horrendous mob boss wearing Scarface attire, spitting fiery facts and passing cruel judgment, his horns ascending at the heavens with searing indifference and contempt for mercy. You expect a fax machine in the corner that will print out your death.

This is not what you see.

There he is, in this meager temp office sitting behind a tiny desk covered in empty water bottles. His shoulders are wider than the desk, but he's scrunching them in to seem normal. He's wearing a regular dress shirt, no tie. No fancy jewelry either, just some off-brand oversized watch on his left wrist. He looks disappointed already, but not at you. He’s squinting down at some of the tiny desks’ interactive holo-projections. You see your name on one of the files he’s peering at through comically large anti glare glasses.

You don’t sit. You are too stressed. He hasn’t noticed you. He picks up one of the water bottles and carefully opens it with his monster hands. They look travel-sized compared to him. He sips it and notices you.

“Hello!” You greet.

He finishes it in two gulps and sets it down slowly, as to not disturb the other bottles.

“Okay I don’t have a lot of time left, so let’s cut through here… you work for the guys in the PR department-“

“Ah yeah, they are a very friendly bunch down there! That is until you get to know them!” You blurt out. He looks up at you with tired eyes and swipes through the files without looking at them.

“Says here you were demoted from vice head PR accounting a while back, but you attached a note saying you have an alibi? Let’s hear it.”

“Uhhh.”

“C’mon I don’t have all day.”

“There was a payment discrepancy, uh, I was given a raise but I noticed my boss didn’t update it for a whole month. He was on vacation and wasn't answering my calls, so... since he left the finances to me I updated it myself… And I got into trouble BUT it was technically not embezzlement, so I was given an ultimatum to either move to a lower department or get fired, so-“

“Self-reliant. Got it. There's a note from your current department head saying she's been notified anonymously that you've been paying for Alchemax home services with gambling money, what do you have to say about that?"

"I- that is a th- thing with SoloGameMedia, ah, they are a parent company to a gambling franchise, therefore every transaction from them is registered as gambling profit- but I test games with- from them directly! It's a side hustle- thing, I- that, I DO NOT playtest games during work hours! Only on-"

"Why do you think I should hire you?”

You are caught off guard by the most basic interview question.

“Hhhhhh WELL… because you need a secretary now?”

He’s already looking back down at the files again. You can see NYPD files, apparently he’s now looking at your small criminal record. You also notice his shirt is unbuttoned on the top. For curiosity's sake, you discreetly raise up on your toes to see down his cleavage. It's deeper than you expected. One mighty flex and that shirt will send buttons flying everywhere. He looks back up as you quickly drop back down on your heels.

“Yeah. Mmm. Ok. So you are way in over your head in college and credit debt, you have been gambling as a means to get by- really don’t care about that, and you did not dispute your boss's ultimatum when you had the chance."

"Wait, what?"

"Four years ago, when your boss gave you the ultimatum to get demoted or get fired. His proposal was ILLEGAL."

Your gut twists.

"That- that was illegal?!"

"You had six months to report him and you didn't. Why?"

"Be- because I just thought he was being fair, I-"

"I'm sorry, but you got screwed."

He looks sincere behind those nerdy lenses with his pout lips. You really want to throw something right now.

“I… oh…”

"Look, the most I can do is re-open your case," he says as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge, "You might get a small settlement out of it, but even that isn't guaranteed."

"So... I'm not getting the job?"

"How do you expect to get hired with such an unexceptional history of white collar crime and a meek attitude that's gotten you nowhere? Hey Lyla? Is this all we have?”

An AI assistant pops up from the interactive desk.

“This is the last one, sir.”

“Okay, cool. Look I’m sure you’re actually great at your job, but I have places to be-“

“Wha- well so do I!”

“Uh huh, nice talking to you,“ he scoots his chair back and hits his knee on the tiny desk, sending empty bottles scattering all over the room. He cringes.

“Well if I’m so unexceptional, why was I accepted for an interview?!”

“I’m gonna guess because of some algorithmic lottery? Probably to do with the amount of experience you have in your department, I dunno,” He guesses as he attempts to gather the bottles by sweeping them under the desk with his shoes, “If you wanna blame someone for the short interview time, thank those other time-wasters who came before you. I gotta go.”

“Now WAIT a… minute”

He stands up from his tiny desk as you say that. He’s towering over you with a tired expression and loose strands of hair about his face.

“What?” He asks, all friendliness gone.

“Can we continue this interview at a different time? You obviously haven’t found a secretary you want, but you still need one, right?! I could be the one you need even if I’m not the one you want!”

It takes every inch of your being to not slap yourself on the forehead. He is scrunching his nose, squinting down at you with mild contempt. You get a good look at his sharp, broad temples and cheekbones, complete with a hardened jaw. His thick dark lips are pulled to one side in annoyance and are accentuated with a pair of jowls that look poised to bite at any time like some kind of deep sea angler fish. His eyes are very dark. They almost look red…

His expression goes blank as he sighs.

“Okay.”

“Great! Ah, when?!”

“Tomorrow, same time.”

“Grabsolutely- Great- fantastic! I won’t let you down!”

“Uh huh.”

He leaves. You assume you should leave too. You awkwardly follow him. He grabs his coat off a nearby chair, and you get a brief display of his amazing body shape as he flips the coat over his shoulders. You avert your attention to the floor, already feeling disrespectful after having looked down his shirt. Now you are both in the elevator. You are doing all in your power not to pass out over your small lucky break.

O’Hara pretends you aren’t there as he looks at his phone and chats with his AI assistant.

“Lyla, push the evening meeting to tomorrow as well, except an hour earlier.”

“Roger that!”

“I need coffee.”

“Roger that also!”

“Please, PLEASE tell them to not add cream. I really hate when they do that.”

You wanna ask him if he’s lactose intolerant but you already pushed your luck today.

Apparently he is exiting the building in the same way you are going, but he's booking it with long ass strides and it's difficult to keep up. You both end up on the same elevator again, this time with other people. He awkwardly acknowledges you with a blank smirk and brow raise, then promptly looks back down at his phone. Everyone else is trying not to bother him.

"Hello, Mister O'Hara, I didn't realize you were here! Hi!" says a lady who is shooting her shot at a social connection (she totally knew he was there.)

"Ah, hey. Miss...?"

"Stacy Brian! We met at the Student Festival earlier this year."

"Oh, right, right! Miss Brian, how are you?"

"Doing well! I didn’t know you wore glasses!"

"Oh- I totally forgot these were on my face," he admits while taking them off and trying to find a place to stash them, "I actually don’t wear glasses, it's- um, I have issues with bright computer screens."

You discreetly watch him in the elevator wall reflection as he quickly swaps the lenses out for a pair of red sunglasses. The elevator doors open and everyone flows out into the foyer. You realize you never got his card.

"Hey one more thing, sir!" You call out to him.

"What?"

"I don't have your number! What if we need to reschedule?!"

"Ah, right. Get your phone out, please."

He turns back around and searches for something on his phone. With a swift flick of his hand, he air drops his ID and number to your device.

"Thank you!"

"¡De nada!"

He swiftly leaves through the front doors and trots down the steps. You watch this huge marvel of nature hail a cab. The automated transporter car is so small that he has to bring his shoulders in tight to fit through the doorway. This seems to have more to do with him not wanting to snag his nice jacket.

A man of this position and wealth... hailing a cab? Must be in THAT much of a hurry. You look down at the data he sent you. His ID photo looks like they took his picture after pulling an all-nighter, and his half-hearted smile reveals his crooked teeth. But somehow he still looks great in an unconventional way.

•°《💀》°•

You drive home, feeling both anxious and also deflated. Miguel O'Hara was a mixed bag of what you expected. Speshall hyped him up as a sexy hunk of the year and Brody felt so intimidated that he went on an unwarranted Alpha Male rant, but the guy was so awkward with his tiny desk and water bottles and weird glasses, and he was whining to his AI helper about his coffee. He’s a large… finicky… lactose-intolerant nerd, but he's also got the moxy to move mountains. What’s more, now ya gotta think of what to say to him in the next interview. What could be expected of a guy like that? What if he cancels the meeting and your chance is lost forever?

Your car makes it home and you sit in it for a moment. Speshall left you a text asking about the interview.

Went weird, you text back.

"Welcome back, tenant 27," the AI apartment valet greets.

You open your car door and notice you've been parked over the grates again. You remember when you last dropped your phone in this spot, the fucking thing went right in between the grate holes and you couldn’t get it back for a week. You have the presence of mind to upload the latest bit of information (O'Hara's phone number) to your data cloud.

You walk through the parking garage. You know all the safe routes. It didn’t matter who you were, Nueva York was never safe at night.

You hear footsteps to your left but it’s just a couple of people walking together, a man and woman trying to huddle. The garage opening is just ahead. You go ahead and march out, not looking back.

You step out into the warm breeze of middle-class Nueva York. The wind is artificial, billowing from the hydro-electric plants that keeps this city running. It took you forever to get here, a lot of cheap-skating, white lies, and debt piling to maintain this life, but you are here! Unapologetic holo screens buzz near you as you walk, begging you to spend money as they light up the way to your apartment. There's no point in tapping their "no" buttons since that just wastes your time. The screens showcased brand-new cars, beautiful clothes, and radiant health. If you had more money, at least some of that could be yours. You hate that people roll around in all the wonderful things this world has to offer while you have to make do with decade old clothing and over-processed food. Where the hell is everyone getting it all from? When the hell will you get yours?

“Hey! Wanna buy a shared data cloud?!”

You are now being bothered by a salesman. You say nothing and keep walking. Even saying no opens more dialogue. He gives up but another comes at you.

“Wanna be a part of the elite task force that edits any and all articles about Thor?! It’s a paying job! $100 an hour!”

As dystopian as it sounds, $100 an hour won’t get you far in Nueva York, not in this era of quadrillionaires.

“Hey, I saw ya on da street earlier! Ya walked into traffic!”

You accidentally glance over at the familiar voice talking about the familiar subject. He’s got you. Your eyes are fixated on a creepypasta face, his irises flashing in a hypnotic pattern. This was way worse than the idea of the guy being just a flasher.

He’s a black market demon. The worst street hawker known to man.

You can’t remember much else besides him taking you by the hand and leading you away.

_________________________________________

Next: ACT 2 | BLACK MARKET DEMONS

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #kinda #not really #more like awkward turtle #MIGUEL & YOU #Spiderman 2099 fanfic #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Joke's On You Part 21

When Fred Weasley carelessly bumps into you into the hallway, you decide to take him a notch down; not by berating him, but by showing him up at his own game of using your charm and intellect to get what you want. And it’s fine if the end result doesn’t leave everyone quite satisfied - in fact, that’s what you want…

[Fred Weasley x Reader.] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Non-Consent.] [Warning: Manipulation.] [Warning: Humiliation.] [Warning: Light Bondage.] [Warning: Slight Voyeurism/Exhibitionism.]

⍟ Click Here for Joke’s On You Home Page (All Chapter Links) ⍟

It was after lunch on Saturday. Fred knocked on your door.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, Fred began loudly, “That last move shouldn’t count because - ” He cut off, however, when he saw how you were lying on the bed, not facing him, but on your knees, with your head down, and your ass and pussy facing the door. You were wearing your little plug, a tight black skirt that Fred had never seen before in his life, and nothing on top.

Giving him kitten eyes, you murmured in a sultry voice, “Hi, sir. I’ve been waiting for you. Practicing for you while you were away. Did you miss me? I missed you.”

“Mer - !” Fred began, and then he promptly choked.

You laughed and sat up. As you did, the black ribbon in your hair, which had a tiny bell on it, jingled brightly. “Aren’t you going to close the door?” you asked him. “Or do you want everyone to see me like this?” Still on the bed, you spread your legs open and toyed with your plug. Pushing it deeper inside of yourself, you moaned and tossed your head back, creating that lovely little arch in your back –

Clunk. Fred quickly shut the door behind him.

You grinned. You then blew a pink bubble, for you were chewing on Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. You picked up your wand from your bedside table and pointed it at the bubble on your lips. It turned into a heart-shaped bubble. You lifted your hand up and blew Fred a kiss. The heart bubble went soaring off, towards Fred, who watched it come towards him with an expression mingling between confusion and disgust. The bubble came right before his eyes and then – splat! – it exploded onto his face in a goopy, pink mess.

You burst out laughing.

Fred, sputtering, pulled out his own wand and waved it at his face. “Scourgify!” The gum vanished. “What the hell was that for?”

Still lounging about on the bed, you shrugged nonchalantly. “I told you, Fred, that next time would be gum.”

“Is this about that detention I got out of?” Fred asked. “Merlin, are you a sore loser.”

You cocked your head at him. “No, it’s about my love for you. It’s as plain and simple as that.”

Fred scoffed, but he softened slightly at your words.

You slid off of the bed. You slipped into a pair of cute pink heels and walked over to Fred. You grabbed Fred by the front of his shirt. You whispered, “Kneel.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t resist you tugging on his shirt until his knees hit the floor.

You smirked. “You look so good from up here.”

Fred raised his eyebrow at you. He said confidently, “Babe, I look good from everywhere.”

Your eyes twinkled brightly as you pretended to sigh. You tapped your fingers against his cheek as you replied, “Mm, hasn’t anyone ever told you, Fred? Humility’s a virtue.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed still more, until he was practically glaring at you. “What’s in that head of yours, hellcat? Come up with another way to screw me over, huh?”

You shook your head and murmured emphatically, “Never.” Then, you pushed him over.

Fred fell back onto the floor. You put your feet on either side of his head and then put your hands on your hips. You looked down – Fred swallowed, for you were completely bare under your skirt – and smirking, you said again, “Hi, sir.”

Fred managed only a, “H-Hi.”

You broke. Laughing, you sat next to Fred and playfully tousled his hair. He could never be a ‘sir,’ you thought fondly. Maybe in bed, but certainly not outside of it. Well, not yet, anyways.

Fred sat up. His hair now messy, he blurted out, “Seriously, what the bloody hell are you going on about?”

“Oh, you know,” you replied, now walking over to your dresser to pull on a proper set of clothes. “I’ve been so focused on trying to catch you in your pranks that I wasn’t able to have my own bit of fun for a while.” You took off your heels and placed them neatly back into your wardrobe.

“You’re just teasing me?” Fred said indignantly, as you proceeded to pull on a boring grey button-up and a frumpy beige jumper. “You’re not even gonna let me fuck you in that?”

You scoffed. “Why would I let you fuck me in that?”

“Well – because - ” Fred paused. Then, he said knowingly, “Because you’d only buy that stuff for me.”

You looked back at him and lifted your eyebrow at him. “You sure? You sure I bought that for you?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve caught on to you, love.”

“Have you?” you said, amused. “And what have you discovered, Detective Fred?”

“Detective Fred, I like that,” Fred mused. He came over to you. Slipping his finger around the band of your skirt, which you still had on, he told you, “What I’ve discovered is that you’re boring when you haven’t got me around to impress. I still remember when I sneaked into your bedroom and turned you into the heart sticker monster. You had on these plain, white panties.” He clucked his tongue at you. “Not very sexy. Not very sexy at all.”

You impatiently slapped his hand away, and you shimmied your skirt off. “Well, this isn’t for you, Fred, so I think you need to work on your deduction skills. After all, you said you didn’t like lingerie, remember? You prefer me naked. So why would I dress up for you, ever?”

“That’s hardly what I - ”

“So the answer is no, I will not let you fuck me in - ” you paused, and let the skirt just catch on your ass as you pulled it down “- this little skirt.”

Fred’s eyes widened and his gaze remained resolutely and shamelessly downwards as he said numbly, “You definitely should, though.”

“Besides, today’s our study date,” you reminded him. After pulling on your school skirt and sneakers, you grabbed your bookbag. “Ready?” 

Fred frowned. “You’re not actually going to make me study.”

“I am.” You made to tug at his hand, when you realized – “Why aren’t you wearing a belt, Fred?”

“What?”

“Where’s your belt?”

Fred shrugged. “I dunno. Didn’t wear one today. Do I always have to look like a grandpa to turn you on?”

Ignoring his comment, you reached over and pulled one of Fred’s belts from your drawers. You shoved it into his hands. “Wear it.”

Fred paused. “How d’you have my belt?”

You sighed. “It’s the one I used to choke you with while I covered you with lipstick kisses and you whimpered and fell to your knees like a stupid little puppy. You were so out of your mind afterwards that you left your belt all crumpled up on my floor. I rescued it and put it away in my drawer. Any more questions?”

Fred put on the belt.

“Come on.” You began to pull him towards the door.

But Fred protested. Digging in his heels, he said, “The last one doesn’t count! You didn’t help Flitwick catch me.”

Turning around, you leaned into Fred and lovingly patted his chest as you reassured him, “Oh, but I did help him catch you.”

Fred looked at you skeptically. “How?”

“I resisted the urge to kill you before he caught you.”

Fred scoffed and pushed you off of him.

You giggled softly as you stepped away. “You know it’s true.”

“You couldn’t have killed me,” Fred insisted. “Not when you were too busy slipping and sliding and screaming as the Canary monster. You didn’t take to feathers well at all, love.”

“Regardless. To the library, Weasley.” You tossed him another bookbag full of books, which you  had prepared by the doorway before Fred arrived. “Oh, I almost forgot - carry this.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You made Fred sit at the table. You opened the Charms textbook and laid it down in front of him. Then, you waved your wand and neatly stacked no less than thirty textbooks all around the desk. “All right!” you said brightly. “Let’s get started, then.”

Fred’s mouth fell open. “We’re not going through all of these. No way.”

You flipped open your own book. “Now, Flitwick said that Cheering Charms are going to be tested extensively on our O.W.L.s, so we’re going to review them.”

Fred groaned. “I can’t believe you’re serious about this.”

“I’m always serious, Fred.” You tapped the textbook before him. “Start reading. I’m going to quiz you in half an hour.” You started to pull a piece of parchment and a quill towards you, when you dropped the quill on the floor. “Oops.” You slid down under the table to get it.

“Godric, this is how you spend your chance to make me do whatever you want?” Fred said grumpily. “This isn’t fun for either of us, so why - ?”

“What are you talking about? This is loads of fun for me,” you said.

Fred paused. “Where’d you go?”

Suddenly, Fred felt two small, warm hands slide up his legs. He jumped.

“Calm down, Fred.”

“Are you crazy? Anyone could see - ”

“Not with the way I’ve stacked the textbooks.”

It was true. You’d stacked the textbooks around the table, shielding yourself from view.

“Now,” you said pleasantly, “if you can’t pass my quiz at the half hour point, you’re going to have me making you cum for an hour, non-stop. If you can’t pass my quiz at the hour point, you’re going to have to cum for me for an hour and a half, non-stop. And if you still can’t pass my quiz, you’re too stupid for school and I won’t ever let you leave. You’ll just be my little pet forever.” As you spoke, you let your hand drift over his cock. “Got it?”

Fred swallowed. If he didn’t know you better, he’d be ecstatic at the possibility of having a woman suck his cock for half an hour. He’d be confident that this was the best thing on earth would happen to him and that he could sit and enjoy the feeling of a warm mouth servicing his cock all afternoon, and he wouldn’t be compelled to read so much as a page of the stupid textbook in front of him. But you, you were the fucking devil in disguise, and you could overstimulate him so fast that he’d be whimpering and unable to help but cum in the middle of a goddamn library, at three in the afternoon on a Saturday, for hours on end.

As it was, Fred’s cock twitched in anticipation. You laughed. “Oh, Fred, already excited? I haven’t even touched you yet, my love.”

You leaned forward and pressed your warm, soft mouth against his cock. Fred could feel your heat through his pants. “Mm,” you moaned softly. “I can’t wait. Can’t wait to make my boyfriend cum.” 

Fred heard a zip, and he felt your greedy little hands dive straight into his briefs. Fred hurriedly grabbed the Charms textbook and started to read, but - “uhn!” – he gasped softly, as you wrapped your slightly cold hands all the way around his cock.

“Oops,” you said softly, “are my hands cold, baby? I’m sorry.”

Fred could hear the wicked little curve in your voice, indicating that you were smiling, and beyond pleased with yourself.

Focus, Fred told himself. All right… The Cheering Charm was invented by Felix Summerbee sometime between the mid-15th century and 1508 – “Ah!”

Glomp, went your sweet little mouth onto Fred’s cock. A second later, you hummed out, “Mmm, so gwood…”

Fred’s hands clenched at the book. Keep going, keep going. It is a charm that makes the t-target f-feel – fuck, she’s already sucking me so well, uhn… - feel… uh… elated. Oh, Gods…

Soft, wet sounds came from under the table, and Fred felt your mouth go up and down his length. He jolted slightly in his seat, at which point you let out a soft giggle.

Um, where was I? Oh, right… Elated… The Cheering Charm may have – Oh, fuck!

You’d slipped your cold hands under the hem of his shirt and were now pressing your hands against his abs while you continued to fervently suck his cock.

Fred shivered in his seat. The Cheering Charm may have – nngh – been connected t-to the – uhn – c-counter-charm for…

You then grabbed Fred’s belt. Sitting up slightly on the floor, you positioned yourself a little higher, took a breath – and then deep-throated Fred’s cock.

!!! Fred accidentally tore a page out of your textbook. At the same time, with his other hand, he accidentally reached down and grabbed your hair hard. An indignant mewl left you, but you kept your focus and kept Fred’s cock tucked away, deep in your pretty throat.

Fred instinctively tried to shove you off, but you yanked at his belt, keeping him in his seat.

This why she made my wear a belt, Fred realized. This scheming little minx – oh, fuck! You’d pushed your head, pushing your mouth right down on his cock. You sucked hard and ran your tongue all over his cock. Fred let out a tiny moan – “uhn” – and then reached down with both hands and shoved your head forward, pushing his cock even deeper down your throat. A strangling sound left you, but you closed your eyes and focused on breathing through your nose – and you were able to take Fred in. You wiggled happily as you felt Fred’s cock sliding in and out of your throat.

Fred’s feet scrambled on the floor for a minute, and then, you heard him slump over the table, bury his head in his hands, and moan softly for a few seconds. He scooted his chair back to stop himself from cumming, but you just yanked him right back and put your mouth right back where it belonged – on his cock. Then, you resolutely grabbed his belt and you got up onto your knees. While bowing your head down as much as you needed to to keep under the table, you continued bobbing your head quite enthusiastically. A very light knocking sound rang out as your head brushed up against the underside of the table repeatedly, but you didn’t care anymore. Want him to feel good, you thought fervently. Want him to feel so good he’ll just have to cum for me. Yes, yes, please!  

Fred whimpered and cursed quietly, but intensely, “Oh, fuck - ” when just then, someone called out, “Fred Weasley, is that you?”

Your eyes widened. You stilled at once, but you kept your mouth on Fred’s cock. You quickly slid your hands down to his knees, out of sight, and hugged his knees to steady yourself.

Whoever it was laughed and said, “It is you! Wow, a rare sight, to see you in the library.”

“Huh? Oh, oh, yeah,” Fred mumbled. “Hi, Alicia.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Uh, yeah, I was.”

“You brought all these books up here just to sleep?”

“Well, the intention was to study, but I guess I dozed off.”

You slowly started to take Fred’s cock deeper in your mouth…

“Merlin!” Fred jumped slightly. You nearly bonked the top of your head against the bottom of the table. You hurriedly pinched his thigh.

Fred cursed – which he quickly changed into a cough.

“What’s wrong?” Alicia said, sounding shocked.

“Nothing!” Fred said quickly. “I just remembered – uh – that – that Charms essay is due Monday, innit?”

“Yes…” Alicia hesitated. “Fred, are you ill?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“But you look… flushed. I mean, are you sweating?”

“Nope.” “You totally are.”

You slowly kissed your way back up Fred’s leg… He reached down and pinched your shoulder.

“Ow,” you mouthed. You stopped kissing him, but you instead bit him hard on his thigh.

“Ow!”

“Fred!”

“Sorry – ouch – splinter,” Fred said, holding up his hand.

Alicia paused. “All right, Fred, I think I get why you don’t come to the library much. It really doesn’t suit you.”

“Yeah, exactly, studying makes me sick,” Fred agreed. “It’s why I have to be a prankster. It’s the only thing that keeps the blood flowing in the right direction.”

Alicia laughed. “All right, well, suit yourself, I suppose.”

“Thanks.”

Alicia walked away.

Fred slid his chair back a little and he bowed his head down to look at you. He hissed, “What in the name of Merlin’s saggy Y fronts do you think you’re doing down there?”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You’re very sensitive. Were you always so sensitive to my… touch?” You reached out and walked two fingers up his thigh. “Or do you just really get off at the thought of being my boyfriend?”

Fred caught your hand. “You are seriously insane.”

You rested your head on his knee and asked him softly, “From what counter-charm did the Cheering Charm come out of?”

Fred frowned. “What?”

“The Cheering Charm was discovered while people were looking for a counter-charm for another spell. What was that counter-charm?”

Fred groaned. “I… I didn’t get that far.”

“It’s the third sentence, Fred.”

Fred blinked. “Was it?”

You lifted your head and shrugged. “Oh, well. Go again. Another half hour on the clock.”

“No, baby, please, you’re going to kill me,” Fred begged.

“Okay, okay,” you said, not wanting Fred to actually get overwhelmed. You put your hands soothingly on his thighs. You came forward and kissed his stomach. “I’ll be still this time, okay? And at any time, you can stop me. Just grab my hand, and I swear I’ll stop.”

Fred stared at you. “Are you actually trying to kill me?”

You shook your head earnestly. Reaching up, you tucked your hair neatly behind your ears. “I just want you to learn, Fred,” you said sincerely. “And to feel good while you’re doing it. That’s all.” You pouted a little. “Are you not feeling good? You don’t want my mouth on you at all?”

“Oh, come on,” Fred groaned, for he was at his wit’s end. “You know I want your mouth on me, but this is – this is torture. I’m not learning Charms.”

“It’s not really about learning Charms,” you clarified. “I mean, sure, Cheering Charms are important, but that’s a tiny topic in the entire field of Charms. What I am teaching you is self-control. Focus. You know, growing up and all.” You wrapped your arms around Fred’s leg and rested your head on his knee again. “I just want you to be a better version of yourself, Fred. Why do you have to fight me so hard when I’m only wanting to help you?”

Fred’s only reply was to sit up and face-palm himself.

“Fred?” you called softly. “Should we stop?”

Fred thought about it, but the more he did, the more he blushed, because as he sat there, he realized that he was sitting in the middle of a library of studious, quiet people – and no one had a clue that you, the perfect little prefect, was sitting between his legs, asking him if you could suck his cock for another half hour. And Fred realized that he did want this very much – he just didn’t want to make a fool of himself in the process, that was all.

Feeling a tad bit defensive about his own desire, Fred answered you merely by scooting his chair back in and picking the book back up. But, sitting under the table, you grinned, because you knew it was an affirmative answer.

True to your word, you were very gentle with him this time. For the next half hour, you simply sat with his cock in your mouth, and you placed your hands on his thighs and kept them there, keeping his lap warm as he read. After ten minutes, your jaw was sore as all hell, but you closed your eyes and focused, because you wanted your boyfriend to feel good and to feel adored.

Finally, a half hour later, you tapped Fred on his stomach.

Fred peered down.

“What counter-charm?” you whispered.

“Siglus. Counter-charm for hiccoughs.”

“Yes, well done.” You smiled.

After checking that no one was around, Fred helped you up.

You slid out from under the table. You started to sit in your own seat, when Fred hugged you and pulled you into his lap.

“Fred,” you said softly, and made to get up at once.

“Oh, sitting in my lap isn’t okay,” Fred said, rolling his eyes, “but secretly suck - ”

“Sh.” You pushed your hand against his mouth none-too-gracefully. “You’re supposed to be quiet in the library.”

Fred growled at you from under your hand, and you grinned at him.

Then, you got up from his lap. Stretching a little, you yawned.

Fred paused. Your hands were high above your head, which lifted your jumper and shirt slightly, which in turn lifted your skirt a bit and –

You looked over your shoulder at him. You whispered, “You said you didn’t like lingerie.” For there you were, without any panties and only wearing your little heart plug.

Fred nearly died right there. And then you killed him by saying, oh-so-innocently, “And I have to study tonight, so we’re not going to have any sex tonight.”

Fred slumped over, face-down into your Charms textbook, and bleated out, “God damn it.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Fred did not leave you that evening until you promised he’d be able to eat you out for at least a half hour while you were wearing that tight skirt and heels that you had put on earlier that day. Finally, with a pacifying, “All right, fine, fine, it turns you on, I know, I’ll wear it,” you were able to get him out of your room.

You shook your head, but you were smiling brightly as you put on your prefect’s robes and went off to meet up with Cedric, who you had been paired up with for patrol today.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Strangely, however, when you approached the meeting spot, you found not only Cedric, but Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson.

“What’s going on?” you said.

Draco nodded at you. “You come with me, Professor Umbridge wants a word with you. Pansy will take over for you for patrol.”

“Professor Umbridge wants a word with me?”

“Yes. Now, come on.”

You looked over at Cedric, but he looked just as confused as you.

Draco sighed impatiently. “You want me to take more points off of you for disobedience?”

You narrowed your eyes at Draco. However, you kept your cool and simply nodded at him, indicating for him to lead the way.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Professor Umbridge was waiting for you. “Please, have a seat.”

You sat down. Draco stayed, standing behind you. You hated how close he was standing next to you, and you shot him a warning glare. He stepped back subtly.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat. “Hem, hem. Well. A report of a most alarming nature has reached me.”

“Professor?”

“I have heard that you, a prefect, are conspiring with some of our school’s most irreverent rulebreakers.” 

You frowned, but you kept silent.

Professor Umbridge stared down at you. “I had my suspicions from the very beginning, when you prevented me from expelling the Weasley twins for their outrageous violations of the school rules. But then, the other day, when I found you in the library after chasing after the Weasley twins, I knew something was terribly wrong with you. As it turns out, Mr. Malfoy reported that he saw you help Fred Weasley out from under the table once I had left. In short, you were hiding him from me.”

“Malfoy’s lying - ”

“I thought you would say that. I therefore took the trouble of confirming his report with Madam Pince, who saw Fred Weasley running after you - ”

“After me, not with me.”

“SILENCE!” Umbridge shouted, and her eyes bulged for a moment.

Behind you, Draco snickered.

“You have a choice: you relinquish your prefect position immediately, or else you serve detention with me for a week.”

You frowned. “Why would I relinquish my prefect position?”

“Because you are a lying little brat, and you don’t deserve to be a prefect,” Umbridge snapped. “But, as I am merciful, I am giving you the option of detention for a week.”

You stared at Umbridge. I don’t understand. Why would detention for a week be the equivalent of no longer being a prefect? And I haven’t done anything that would require me to stop being a prefect. This is a false choice.

You and Umbridge sized each other up. Umbridge then said silkily, “Or, if you truly wish to argue your innocence, perhaps we bring in Mr. Weasley and see what he - ?”

“Fine,” you said. “I’ll do the detentions.”

Umbridge smiled. “Very well. I shall see you here tomorrow night.”

You left, and to your utmost irritation, Draco Malfoy followed you out.

“Told you,” he hissed at you. “I warned you. I see the way you slobber over that dumb Weasley - ”

“Come with me.” You grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him into a nearby corridor.

Draco stiffened, startled by you. “What – What are you…?”

“Draco,” you whispered into his ear, as you pressed yourself up against him.

“H-Huh?”

“Do you notice everything I do?” you asked in a low, alluring voice. “How come you pay so much attention to me, hm? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“N-No…” Draco stuttered out.

“Really? So you’re just a spying, spineless little worm?” you wondered, still in your seductive, whispering voice. “Trying to cover up the fact that you’ll never be worth be a millionth of someone like Fred Weasley?”

It took a moment for your words to hit Draco, and by then you had kneed him in the stomach (“oof!”) and kicked him in the arse (“You – You bitch!”) and walked away. You wondered how long it would take him to find the punching telescope that you’d slipped in his front pocket and open it.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next evening, you went down to Professor Umbridge’s.

Merlin, I haven’t had a detention since first year, and that was only because I put Pansy Parkinson in a garbage can with a bunch of stewed horned slugs because she bullied me for being a Muggle-born. What is this?

You sighed as you sat down at the desk that Umbridge had prepared for you. She put down a quill in front of you. “Lines,” she said sweetly, “that’s what I will have you do today.”

You reached into your bag to pull out ink, but Umbridge said, “No, no ink.”

Your brow furrowed. “Then how will I write?”

“This is a special quill. You’ll see.” Umbridge paused. “Now, what shall I have you write?” She looked up up and down and then said, with a smile, “Ah, yes, I know. You will write for me, ‘I will repent for my irresponsibility.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. That should do the trick.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

An hour later, you were holding back tears as blood trickled down your wrist and the words ‘I will repent for my irresponsibility’ shone bright red on the back of your hand.

Still, you made no sound as you carried on writing. When Umbridge called you over, you handed her the quill and parchment wordlessly. Umbridge grabbed your hand and looked at the back of it.

You tried hard not to blink or otherwise react. Umbridge smiled softly. “Yes, well done. I shall see you tomorrow night.”

You went and picked your bag back up and walked out. The word ‘irresponsible’ kept running through your mind. I thought I was over that insecurity. Or at least doing better… I thought Fred was helping me with it, and I was starting to feel hopeful that I was growing as a person, but maybe not. Godric, how did Umbridge hit upon the one word that I hate so much? And why did she have to brand me with it? It’s not just lines. No, it’s written on the back of my hand, engraved on my own skin. Ugh… I’m not going to cry. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t…

Just then, you heard a shout of laughter from nearby. You looked down the hallway – only to see a canary hopping about. Your mouth dropped open. What in the world - ? Oh, it must be a Canary Cream! Just as you thought that, the feathers moulted off, and you could see that it was none other than Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor who was a year younger than you.

The boys and girls surrounding him burst into laughter and applause. “Good one, Seamus!” “That was awesome!” they cried.

Dean Thomas, another Gryffindor, shouted, “I’ll take five!”

At that moment, someone spotted you. “Oi, it’s that prefect! Run!”

Shouts rang out, and the entire gang ran for it. Parchment and wrappers flew into the air.

You slowly walked over. With a sigh, you took out your wand and murmured, “Scourgify.” The hallway before you cleared of wrappers and parchment.  You started to walk away, when you stepped on a piece of parchment that had somehow fallen behind you. You lifted your foot and absent-mindedly picked it up. But then, the gaudy title caught your eye. In bold, exaggerated font, the parchment stated: Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Order Form. A long list of products and prices followed, including a Canary Cream for 7 Sickles, which was what Seamus must have eaten. However, at the very bottom, there was a small exclamation mark and the following words stated: Physical premises will be opened shortly at 93 Diagon Alley, and Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes will become a full-time business. Please come and visit!

You stared at the words, “93 Diagon Alley.”

Your heart thumped heavily in your chest.

Wow, Fred Weasley, you are really something.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Hey, where were you last night?” Fred asked, tracking you down in the Great Hall.

“Hm?” You looked up at him. You had been sitting with David, preferring his quiet (albeit frantic) studying this morning instead of trading your usual morning notes with Kenneth and Patricia.

“Last night. I went over to see you, but you weren’t there.”

“Oh. I was at the library,” you answered. “Sorry.”

Fred paused. Did she just apologize?

“Well, I’ll be over tonight,” said Fred. “So I expect only your finest pink towels - ”

“I’ve got prefect duties, actually,” you replied.

“Oh. Right.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no problem.” Fred fidgeted slightly.

David lifted his head. “Listen, I don’t want to be a jerk, but I’m a bit nervous about this Potions exam and - ”

“Don’t worry, David.” You stood up. “C’mon, Fred, let’s go to class.” You purposefully put your hand on his shoulder, so that he wouldn’t see the back of your hand.

Fred let you guide him, but once the two of you were out of the Great Hall, he turned around and said, “Everything all right?”

You smiled at him. “Yes, everything’s fine. Just peachy.” You leaned over and pinched Fred’s cheek.

Fred scoffed, and you laughed. “You’re so cute, Fred.”

Fred let you have your fun, but he did ask for a second time, “You sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

You paused. “You know how you told me that you were proud of me?”

“Yeah…”

You looked up at Fred. “Has anyone ever said that they were proud of you?”

Fred shrugged. “Well, no. I mean, George and Lee are in it with me so it’s not like we tell each other that.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Hm.”

“Why?” Fred asked, confused with where you were going with this.

You answered, “Because. I’m proud of you, Fred.”

“Huh?”

You clarified, “Don’t get me wrong. I think you’re downright lousy for most things, and I wouldn’t be you for a kingdom - ”

“ - Okay –”  Fred said wryly.

“But I’m really quite proud of you.”

“Why?” Fred asked, genuinely curious.

Just then, the bell for class rang out.

You smiled at him. “I’ll tell you later, Fred. Come on, let’s go to class.” You walked off first, heading to Charms.

Fred stared after you. Something’s not quite right… But what?

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Three days had passed. The words were etched deeper into your skin than ever. You stared at it in the shower, only to cover it with a bandage and makeup once you were out.

The only glimmer of light during that terrible week was when Draco came down to breakfast with a bandage over his eye. When Pansy tried to kiss his cheek, Draco turned away, only to have the bandage accidentally rip off. There was a moment of silence before the entire table erupted into laughter for there, on Draco’s face, was a pink-purple heart punched onto his eye.

Fred trotted over to you. “Well, well, fancy that, looks like Malfoy’s got a heart on his eye.”

“Looks like it,” you said in a dignified manner, pouring yourself some orange juice.

“How’d he get his hands on that, I wonder?”

“On what?”

“The punching telescope. It was one-of-a-kind. A prototype.”

You paused. Oh, I didn’t know that.

“Only one of it in the world, and yet Malfoy has it. How did that happen?”

“I don’t know.” You made to take a sip of your orange juice, when Fred swiped it from your hand and downed it all in one go. Tossing the goblet back onto the table carelessly, he reached over and grasped your face in his hand. He said, “I didn’t give to Malfoy.”

You looked up, avoiding Fred’s gaze.

Fred squeezed your cheeks for a moment before he let you go. He got up from the table, but before he left, he leaned in, kissed your forehead, and murmured, “Good job, hellcat.”

He walked away, joining George and Lee at another part of the table. But you hugged your textbook to yourself and smiled, feeling lighter and warmer than you had for the last few days.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The week was over. On the last day, not only did you have to serve detention with Umbridge and not only did Umbridge keep you even longer than the other nights, but when you came back, you found Kenneth waiting for you.

He was sitting in front of your door. When you came back, he stood up.

“Kenneth? What are you doing here?”

“Malfoy told me that you had detention. Is that true?”

You hesitated. You knew you were going to disappoint him. But you said honestly, “Yes.”

Kenneth shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”

“Please don’t,” you said quickly. You already felt fragile tonight. You didn’t need this. You really didn’t.

Kenneth paused. “All right,” he said, and his voice was much softer. “Listen, I’m not trying to make you feel worse. But I know you. You’re strong and focused and intelligent – and this… whatever this is that’s going with you right now – dating Weasley, pulling pranks, getting detention – maybe it’s something that you need to do right now, but I’m worried that you’re putting into jeopardy more important things, like your career and your ambitions. You know, you’re a serious person. And you were always responsible, before. Where did that go?”

You blinked. I was always responsible… before.

“Just think about it,” Kenneth said gently. “That’s all. I only want to look out for you.”

“I know,” you said quietly.

Kenneth nodded. Then, he walked away.

You slowly walked into your room and closed the door behind yourself. Responsible. I guess that’s when people like me most. When I’m responsible. I guess I’m not like Fred, and I guess I can’t be like him, either. Everyone loves him even though he’s mischievous and playful and creative. But I guess I’m not as likable…

You slid down your door and sat on the floor. You stared up at the wall, where you’d pinned Fred’s drawing of you as a hellcat, basking in the glory of demonic flames. Your eyes became blurry with tears, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were happy that Fred saw you that way and still cared for you, or if it was because everyone else thought that that was the worst part of you and that you would be better off burying it away forever. Your hands fell into your lap, and in the dim candlelight of the room, you saw the words ‘I will repent for my irresponsibility’ glitter in its half-crusted and half-shimmering scar.

You closed your eyes and the short phrase ‘93 Diagon Alley’ floated into your mind again – if ever it had disappeared from your mind since you first saw it.

Fred’s all set. He’s all grown up. His future isn’t here, at Hogwarts. His future isn’t… His future isn’t with me. You pressed your hands to your eyes, forcing yourself not to cry.

No, you told yourself sternly, don’t cry. Be happy. You’re in love. Just… Just enjoy it. And the shorter this wonderful love lasts, the more brilliant I’ll make it. Because that’s who I am. Or at least, that’s the kind of person I want to be – bright, creative, and a little bit too playful.

You dropped your hands from your face and took a deep breath. Let’s not regret anything.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Fortunately for you, your last detention with Professor Umbridge had been one week into February, which meant that it was nearly your favorite holiday – Valentine’s Day.

Your mood brightened considerably as you dressed in your favorite pink and cream outfits and you dotted your thighs with cute heart stickers – which Fred was half-charmed by and half-disgusted by when he pushed your skirt up that night and sometimes you wore bright pink lipstick just to leave marks on Fred’s cheeks. It became a daily routine for you to try to catch Fred in the Great Hall in the morning so you could smash your lips against his face, and he’d push you off and wipe his face furiously, but there would still be that tiny hint of pink on that one cheek.

You stuck to your resolution to be as bright as ever, and slowly, Fred stopped worrying about you and Kenneth, Patricia, and David all believed that you were returning to yourself.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The day before Valentine’s Day, you paid a visit to Fred – not in the privacy of his own room, but in the hallways, right before Potions class. You were wearing a long pink teddy coat, when you pulled Fred aside into the nearest stairwell.

“Fred, I’ve been waiting and waiting,” you said. “Were you ever planning on asking me out on Valentine’s Day?”

Fred looked at you, befuddled. “Er – why would I need to do that? Isn’t it obvious? You’re my girlfriend, y’know.”

“Where were you planning to take me to?” you asked.

Fred paused. He clearly hadn’t thought about this at all. He shrugged and suggested, “Zonko’s?”

You sighed, disappointed.

“What?” Fred said. “What’s so bad about Zonko’s?”

You put your hands on his shoulders. “Fred. When will you learn? Romance isn’t about the expected. To be romantic, you have to be diligent. And I want romance.”

Fred looked even more puzzled.

“Like this.” You then reached down and unbuttoned your coat and then whipped it open – only to show that you were stark naked underneath.

“Merlin’s sake!” Fred yelped. He grabbed the sides of your coat and hurriedly wrapped you in it, nearly pushing you off the staircase.

“Fred!” you protested, grabbing his wrists. “Don’t just grab me like that - !”

“Shut up!” Fred snapped at you, as he yanked the two sides of the coat together furiously.  

“Well, but I only did it to make my point - ” you began.

“You have lost it!” Fred said, with certainty in his voice. “You have absolutely lost your mind!”

You rolled your eyes. “Not even.”

“We’re in a stairwell, where anybody might walk by - ”

You interjected wryly, “Did you not get from our little session in the library that publicity doesn’t scare me?”

Fred stared hard at you. “You’re naked. You’re completely naked under that coat.”

You nodded. “And it was meant for you. But it seems like you don’t want it.” You sighed, and your chin sank into the fluffy coat. “Well, fine, let’s call Valentine’s Day off. It’s my favorite holiday, but it’s clearly not yours, so - ” You put your hands in your pockets and, dejected, you began walking away, when Fred leapt forward and grabbed your arm.

“Careful where you grab,” you warned. “One wrong tug and it’ll all come apart again.”

Fred looked down, only to see that you were right because you had only done one button. “Godric,” he said, and he buttoned you all back up again.

You smiled at him. So sweet, my boyfriend.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Fred said gruffly, not missing your bright gaze.

“I just think you’re cute,” you said straightforwardly.

Fred merely grunted in reply, but the tips of his ears went pink.

Oh Godric, I love him. You pulled Fred in for a kiss. “Mwah,” you said playfully, as you puckered your lips against his.

Fred gazed at you skeptically.

You paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I know you, and I know that when you’re this happy, it means that you’ve come up with another way to fuck me over.”

You shook your head. “Not fuck you over. Don’t be so crude. No, no. I mean for us to have fun.”

Fred pointed at you. “Those words right there are the magic words. What they really mean is that you’re gonna cast on a spell on me that’s going to outright fuck me over.”

You slapped Fred’s hand down. “Stop being so dramatic. Anyways, none of this would have happened if you had properly prepared and asked me out first.”

“What’s going to happen?” Fred pressed.

“I’m glad you asked,” you said, beaming. You tugged happily at the collar of Fred’s shirt, as you explained to him, “This is what’s going to happen. You and I are going to go on a date in Hogsmeade. I am going to wear what I’m wearing now – my coat, my plug - ”

“You’re wearing your plug? Lemme see - ”

You slapped Fred’s hand down again. “- and absolutely nothing else. You are going to wear whatever you want, except you have to wear those heart-covered boxers I got you last Christmas.”

Fred immediately turned red. He grabbed your wrists and said hotly, “No way! No way am I wearing those!”

You cocked your head at him. “But you did bring them to Hogwarts, right? If not, you’d be saying that you couldn’t wear them, but you’re just saying you won’t.”

Fred froze.

“Right?” you pressed.

“I… er…”

You grinned. “So you can wear them.” You leaned in and kissed Fred’s cheek. “Wear them, baby,” you whispered, “or you won’t be getting any from me tomorrow night. And I’ll just have to parade around you in nothing but my coat all evening and maybe, at night, my coat will even come off - ” Fred’s hands were suddenly vicelike around your wrists “ – and you still won’t have me, unless you’re wearing those boxers.” You leaned into Fred as you whispered lovingly, “Got it?”

“Fine, whatever,” Fred grumbled. “It’ll just be a short walk through the village and back anyways, so - ”

Your smile widened. “Oh no, it won’t.”

“Oh, right, Zonko’s,” Fred sighed. “I forgot I said that. So, we’ll go to Zonko’s and - ”

“No, Fred,” you murmured softly, as you slid your hands out of Fred’s grasp and looped your arms around Fred’s shoulders. “We won’t go to Zonko’s. Not tomorrow. We’ll go another day, any day you like. But tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. It’s my favorite day.”

“So?” Fred questioned.

“So…” You could barely hold back your smile as you knowingly sentenced Fred to his worst nightmare and your own genuine happy place – “We’re going to get the full tea experience at Madam Puddifoot’s - ”

“Madam Puddi – Like hell we are!” Fred sputtered. He threw your arms off of him.

“Seven to nine.” Turning away, you winked at him and said, “Don’t be late.” You blew him a kiss over your shoulder and walked out, leaving Fred in a rather amazing state of panic.

#harry potter imagine #harry potter smut #fanfic #fanfiction #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #joke's on you

[obsidiancreates]

Okay so here's how I would've done Yang 3

Let's say the Inarguable Concepts in the episode are 1) Yin dies, 2) Yang met Shawn when he was young, 3) Yang is the one who gets to kill her dad, and 4) we're drawing clear and explicit parallels between the Ying/Yang family and the Spencer family. All good points to jump off of conceptually.

First of I'm cutting Allison out, she's a strange and ill-fitting addition to this storyline and I get what they were going for... kind of... but I don't think it's Right. So she's gone.

Kick-off is Yin sending a message to the department: This is his last romp, and their last chance to serve him justice before he disappears forever. He hasn't killed anyone yet, he hasn't set up a puzzle- just sent a little notice. Puts everyone on edge.

A lot of the episode is built around a sense of Tension and Unease- they're all on a tightrope, and it's fraying. Yin is leaving little clues on how to find him, but he's escaping every time, and Shawn is getting more and more desperate and feeling more and more pressure the whole time. I think Jules's PTSD moments in the OG episode are great, so let's keep that and have it be one of Shawn's big drives to make sure they catch Yin this time- and also why he's doing most of it without telling anyone but Gus, because he doesn't want Jules having to deal with all of this so soon. Show the protectiveness, the serious side he's been burying even more than he used to since Jules and Abigail got kidnapped the last time, push him to his limits as a detective with the clues Yin gives him. He also finds that picture of him with Yang himself, which puts him into even more of a tailspin because we'll keep the element of him not remembering taking that photo.

And have this conclusion come about- chasing after Yin is never going to work. They need to bring Yin to them. Shawn and Gus visit Yang to get her help with it- and to ask about the picture, which Shawn has been avoiding even thinking about and Gus has been fixated on because Shawn doesn't forget stuff like that. So they come to Yang with an idea. They're going to set up a trap, just like Yin sets up for his victims, to lure him into the open and catch him.

And Yang refuses to help. She sits back and she pouts and she says she can't. Shawn is at a loss, until he has an idea and pulls out the picture and says "For old time's sake?" and her eyes lock onto it, and she finally agrees.

Shawn finally goes to everyone else and tells them he has a plan, they need to get Yang out for it and they need to be fast because the window is closing. They set something up- I'll admit this is all off-the-cuff so I don't have some clever elaborate trap to offer you wonderful readers at the moment, but I'm sure we can all imagine something cool and fitting as individuals. Yang helps, not only with the setup but with how to lure Yin in. I'm thinking they stage an escape for her, but given in the OG episode Yin considers her a traitor maybe not- maybe they pretend Yang has taken Shawn captive to make Yin angry that his game has been interrupted. Yes, that's it, they make Yin think the focus has been taken away from him and put onto his daughter- Yang reveals Yin is her father during the scene where Shawn and Gus convince her to help.

Yin shows up. He's characterized to be closer to Henry in this version, since there was some missed but intentional points of it in the OG episode- he criticizes Yang's work as sloppy, he says he trained her better, he tells her he's always having to come clean up her messes and screw-ups and cover for her. Maybe we use this as a catalyst for Henry- he hears some of his own words in Yin's beratements and realizes he's making the same mistakes over and over and he needs t reevaluate how he interacts with his son. Set up a character arc for Season 6 that makes Santabarbaratown hit even harder because we've just spent a whole season watching Henry and Shawn move past their dysfunctional dynamic into one that's a little healthier, a little clearer, a little better for them both, and then just when things finally don't have this constant underlying tension and resentment BAM! Henry gets shot.

But we've gotten off-topic. While Yang and the gang helped this requires Shawn to be the kind of Main brain behind this trap. Obviously Yang sort of leads him to it, as she does, but he's ultimately the one who comes up with most of this plan. They're beating Yin at his own game.

And Yin shows.

But things go wrong- Yin is able to predict some elements of the trap and he makes sure Lassie, Jules, The Chief, Henry, and whatever other backup can't get to him quite yet. It's Shawn and Gus and Yang alone, and none of them are sure what move to make now.

And Yin looks at Shawn and says "It's terrible for my apprentice, but very good for your first. I knew I saw something in you."

We establish the story behind the picture in this moment of Relative Calm through flashback, with Yin prompting Shawn's memory- Yang dropped the groceries she'd been getting out of the car and called out to ask Shawn for help as he rode by on his bike, and he stopped and helped her and Yin came out and commented on what a rare thing that is these days, a kid being willing to help out a stranger for no reward, could he take a picture of the little hero? It's Shawn, he loves attention and praise, he agrees, and Yin takes the picture and Shawn gets on his bike and then- nothing. Nothing until later when he wakes up on the ground somewhere else a couple hours later being told by a completely different concerned adult that it looks like he wrecked his bike, does he need help getting home?

He correctly concludes that Yang knocked him out, they kidnapped him- but Yang had a change of heart. Maybe Henry went around looking for his son, and Yang realized that for all their similarities (they'd been stalking him of course- Yin had planned to make Henry his next big targeted foe but Shawn proved to be intriguing and he decided to Wait) Shawn's father does love him, unlike hers. So she sneaks him out, stages a bike accident, and lets him be found.

That's why he didn't remember the picture- literal head trauma, maybe a drugging. Ties him and Yang closer together, gives a reason why Yin is also targeting him because that "Yang was obsessed, not me," stuff in the OG doesn't make sense, especially with Allison's lines about Yin praising Shawn to her.

And Yin praises Shawn again, openly, and says he's very impressed and very proud- Shawn really does have the makings of a great puppeteer, why, he barely realized this was a trap until the last minute! And sadly he'll never be able to see Shawn through to his best potential because he has to disappear now, but he'll be satisfied just knowing he put a little Crack in Shawn's life before he killed him.

That is when Yang overcomes her freeze from this confrontation and kills Yin, to protect Shawn- again, drawing parallels between her and him, with a protective rise-to-the-occassion nature. Shawn could have been her- but he had Gus, and for all Henry's faults and his (in my opinion Unforgivable) unintentional abuse he did love his son, and that made a difference.

Ends roughly the same otherwise- Yang is taken back to the care facility where she stays until The Musical, Shawn and Jules have a moment at the end that reveals their relationship to Lassie. Maybe there's an element in there of everyone else having heard Yin's little speech the whole entire time and kind of having to assure Shawn that Yin didn't know what he was talking about, Shawn could never have ended up like him or Yang, but it's clear none of them are blind to the similarities even if they're pretending to be for Shawn's sake.

And like with Mr. Yin Presents it's of course a catalyst for Shawn to disconnect from his intelligence and unpleasant emotions even more, so Season 6 continues in it's increased wackiness as before, but maybe with one or two instances of other characters pointing out that this is not a healthy way to deal with what Yin said about him- and Shawn promptly denying that's what's happening, of course.

What do y'all think? I think it ties everything up more cleanly and makes the themes and elements they were going for clearer.

#psych #psych usa #psychusa #psych 2006 #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #shawn spencer

[3collecurei]

Homestucktober 2023 (1-5)

1) Patron Troll

Seer gang rise up ✊🏽 (I'd done two classpect tests since 2012 and both times I was a Seer, my aspect just changed from Void to Doom which isn't a good sign lol...although the one I just tried from 4chan is telling me I'm a Page of Void now...I mean I'll take it because it's an aspect I've gotten before but I'm not really trying to be Jake or Tavros out here they both got so screwed over lol)

Anyway if she were my actual patron in a game session I'd be fucking terrified because of what she puts John and Dave through but also probably laughing my ass off at her antics and impressed by her intense sensing ability despite the blindness

2) Favorite Beta Kid

Dave Strider is much needed comedic relief in such a tragic tale and his ramblings are often as deeply philosophical as they are deeply ridiculous. I don't even have the right words to describe all this character has done for me. I'm in love with the Time aspect even though it's probably the last aspect I'd be assigned to because I think Time players have to deal with the multiplicity of the self the most out of everyone (except maybe Space players), and what a fucking difficult thing that must be. I will always wonder how he managed to spend IIRC weeks in the game whereas for everyone else it was just 24 hours (and of course Davesprite spending IIRC four months trying to fix his doomed session...my heart)

3) Favorite Beta Troll

(IIRC the beta trolls are technically the dancestors but I just call the original 12 the betas sometimes because they deal with the beta kids and we meet them first. Anyway)

Again I don't have words enough to describe what Karkat has done for me. Karkat rounding up and trying to lead eleven other insane motherfuckers and losing his cool often but almost always asserting, in his way, that it's because he deeply cares. You really see this in Act 6 Post Murderstuck when we find him in Openbound and he's obviously dealing with the weight of having failed at leadership so hard that over half of his teammates are dead. It probably took him a while of raging at how long the meteor trip would be (and upset Sollux didn't stay after "dying" in front of him again) before the sadness set in, but if there's one thing Karkat isn't, it's afraid of emotion. Also the PCG, CCG, FCG conversations remain some of my favorites in the entire canon, especially the one where FCG berates CCG for "wanting [Terezi] in every quadrant like a desperate fool." If there's one thing I can relate to about Karkat it's that I will also always read past me for filth even if it's hard. I use it as a form of self pruning and improvement and eventually I think FCG gets that too.

4) Favorite Alpha Kid

It was Dirk for a long time until maybe the last year or two, but I realized after re-reading the Epilogues that relating to him as much as I do is probably really bad lol, but Roxy was always a close second. Obsessed with the fact that the wild alcoholic, who one might think would be the worst team member because of that, instead sobers up and fully embodies John's role as the "friendleader" which is why I think they end up getting along so well. Despite the obstacles Roxy is full of love for their friends, and with friends like the people who they end up becoming in the Epilogues, you gotta hand it to them for their persistence. Considering that they were in a Void session their positivity throughout was pretty amazing to me, also shout out to them for fully embracing Calliope's skull appearance and finding them beautiful anyway. Alien love wins

5) Favorite Alpha Troll

Okay but can we talk about the fact that she ends up alive??? As a huge stan of hers since we started seeing her I was fucking living my best life lol I can't hate it whatsoever even though it was at John's expense 😭 Meenah's one of the most determined characters in the entire thing fr, she really said "fuck being dead for millions of years after isolating myself on the moon to avoid responsibility, now I want all the responsibility, all of it." Fully meets Karkat again in Candy and is like "lemme reverse what HIC did and use my ancient Queen powers to benefit the mutant," imo an incredible foil to her future self even though they're very much the same troll and speak pretty much exactly the same. Fish puns are hysterical to me most of the time, her unwavering dedication to the shtick 4x as hard as Feferi did it and editing/improving ones she doesn't like in the middle of her sentences 😂 I cosplayed as her at AX 2013 and had a blast, except for that Cronus cosplayer who tried to hit on me in character, I had no idea what to do lmao

#homestuck #homestucktober #terezi pyrope #dave strider #karkat vantas #roxy lalonde #meenah peixes

[coltermorning]

Dominating Love Pt. 1 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You and Arthur Morgan have always butted heads, egos clashing due to your dominating natures. When a score goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences, you turn on each other as usual. Only, this time, you’ve finally had enough of his overbearing ways.

Author’s Notes: Another older fic of mine, this one set during Chapter 2 in game. This is part one of two.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, smut, low honor Arthur Morgan, rough sex, light bondage, spanking, name-calling

AO3 Link

~

Dominating Love

Word count: 5534

Part One

You and Arthur always started this the same way: anger. It was both of your anger boiled over into sexual frustration boiled over into more anger still that had the two of you at each other’s throats time and time again. It was always you screwing up a job or him saying something stupid or the other way around. This time was no different.

The two of you had gone out on a job with Hosea and very nearly gotten him killed by a disgruntled farmer with a hidden sidearm. You had both failed to notice the gun because you had been too busy arguing over who always had to have the last word. Hosea had berated you for it, less than pleased with the threat on his life that could have easily been prevented. He had ridden away after kicking the pair of you out of camp, saying, “And don’t come back until you two have your heads screwed back on straight!”

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It always made you impossibly angrier, being kicked from camp and having to sleep on the cold, hard ground because Arthur couldn’t keep his head. You knew you couldn’t always keep yours either, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that you hated him, despised him, had to be away from him, but the way he acted only drew you in again and again. You hated him for it, but you hated yourself for it more because you always fell for it. You did it to yourself.

“Great. Look what you’ve done,” you said to Arthur, gesturing toward Hosea swiftly riding away.

“Me?” Arthur said with an incredulous look, unbelieving you were blaming this on him.

“Yes, you! You and your smart mouth you can’t seem to keep shut.”

“Oh no, don’t try to pin this on me. I ain’t the one told to keep watch on Hosea-”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one tailing you keeping you from doing your job just because you weren’t done arguing!”

Arthur scoffed and placed his hands on his hips, looking to the dirt below his boots in frustration. “Unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable is right.” You turned on your heel, heading toward your horse hidden in the wood line, sure that your anger was coming off of you in the form of steam by now. “Find your own damn camp tonight and leave me alone.”

“‘Scuse me?” he said, his voice rising an octave. “I don’t think so.” You could hear his spurs clicking quickly behind you, hot on your tail. “You ain’t going out and getting yourself killed on my watch. Dutch and Hosea’ll skin me alive.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you got us into this,” you said, swinging up onto your tall mare.

“I can’t...” He looked away from you and shook his head.

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t stand you! You drive me insane!” He turned his back during his outburst and moved to mount his horse.

That was his biggest mistake yet. “Back atcha cowpoke,” you said, using the same term for him that Micah always used to rub salt in the wound. With a small smirk, you took the opportunity to spur your horse hard, turning to run from Arthur as fast as your race horse would allow.

“Hey! Goddammit,” he yelled behind you, no doubt scrambling to get on his horse and catch up to you. He wouldn’t though, not on his horse that wasn’t bred to fly like yours was.

You let your horse have her head and spurred her on, urging her to go faster and faster until you finally reached a deep wood that you were sure you could lose Arthur in. You turned and twisted her around root and trunk, guiding her as she continued to sprint. You loved her so much in that moment, swelling with pride, especially when you heard Arthur begin to call out from far behind.

“Stop! I said stop!” he yelled, his horse better suited to the uneven footing but still losing ground on you as you urged your horse onward.

You pushed and pushed over wooded hills and through shallow creeks, turning sporadically and only slowing your horse when you were sure you couldn’t hear Arthur anymore. You had gone north, much farther north than you had intended, and had done so without a coat. “Impulsive idiot,” you muttered, knowing that night would fall before you could get back down into mild weather. You would have to find shelter. Luckily, you knew of a place, but it would take a long, winding path to get there around the steep rocks, and it may even be occupied once you arrived. After a few minutes of walking your horse out to cool her down, you decided it was too cold and that you hated the cold anyway, so the small cabin called the loft would have to do for the night.

It took you another hour to get there, but when you finally arrived, it was incredibly worth it. There was a fire outside already lit, like it had been waiting for you. You dismounted and gave your horse a wild carrot and lots of loving, appreciative pats before hitching her. The fireside was just the calming heat you needed as you sat in front of it, sticking your frozen hands out, feeling instant relief. You pulled some food from your satchel and ate for a few minutes before feeling the air biting your skin despite the fire. You would have to go inside and hope that no one was there. As you walked up the steps and approached the door to the loft, you pulled your gun out of its holster. You put your free hand to the door and listened, and when you didn’t hear a sound, pushed the door and leaped inside, ready to unload. You were met by a warm, unoccupied room. “Oh, thank the Lord,” you muttered to the emptiness. You immediately took the chair from the middle of the room and rammed it under the doorknob of the entrance, preventing anyone from disturbing you for the remainder of the night.

Just after taking off your boots and gun belt, settling into the warmth of the small cot in the corner and closing your eyes, your peace was interrupted. “Always check above you, sweetheart,” said a familiar voice that you currently wanted to wipe from existence.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you spat, eyes still closed, still laid back on the cot. You finally opened them to find Arthur climbing down the ladder from the loft. Damn idiot you thought to yourself, amazed you had forgotten to check if anyone was in the loft.

He skipped the last step and jumped down, sporting a shit-eating grin as he sauntered over to you. “Where do you think the best place to look for someone in these parts is?”

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, still refusing to get up. Instead, you rolled over toward the wall with your back facing Arthur. “Leave me alone, Morgan. Let me sleep.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t think so.” These words made your eyes shoot wide open. Before you could react, you felt Arthur’s hands around you as he tore you from the bed and forced you onto your feet. You tried to break away from his grasp, not in the mood to have wild, angry sex like the two of you normally had when you were kicked out of camp. His grip was iron, and he spun you around and crowded your space, making you back into the column in the middle of the room. “Don’t you ever run away from me like that again,” he spat. “Turn around.”

Your anger began to rise. You weren’t a child. “I’m not doing a thing you tell me, you no-good piece of-” Before you could finish your sentence, he spun you around and moved about the column, pulling a length of rope out to tie your hands tight and trap you against the pole. His strength was what you despised the most. The pair of you were nearly equal in every way, and because had such a large, overpowered frame, his strength was all he could wield against you. You hated it, wanted to beat him to the floor for using it. “Let me go! I hate you! Let me go you bastard!” Your head was crushed against the wooden beam you were tied to, so you couldn’t see Arthur when he neglected to answer you. “This get you off, then? Throwing me around like a rag doll?” He still didn’t answer, so you continued, hitting him where you knew it would hurt. “I chose to leave you tonight for a reason, you block-headed bastard. I didn’t want to be with you. I wanted to be rid of you and all your pitiful attempts at being an insufferable know-it-all.” You knew this would cut deep with him, but still, he didn’t respond. You attempted to turn your head to look at him but couldn’t.

“You done?” he said lowly.

“No, I’m not, actually. I- ow!” Arthur had used something to spank you across the back of your upper thighs, and it hurt like hell. You thanked the heavens your legs were still clothed, or he would have drawn blood. What the hell was he using?

“Not so talkative now, are you? You little-” He cut his sentence short and spanked you again, slashing something long and hard across your legs.

“Okay, Arthur! Christ,” you said, wincing and forming a plan as to how you could get out of this, how you could punish him in return. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to mind me. To know that you sure as shit can’t pull a stunt like that. I want you to learn something about consequences.” He hit you a third time, and as the object of his abuse sprung away from your legs and tears pricked at your eyes, you caught a glimpse of what it was. It was the same black leather that dressed Arthur’s saddle.

“Stirrup leathers? You sick fuck- where is your horse, anyway? Why did you already have those on you?” Your back talk earned you a fourth lash from the long strip of leather. And suddenly, through the pain, you had a plan. He wouldn’t keep this up if it wasn’t doing what he wanted it to.

“That filthy little mouth of yours needs cleaning,” Arthur grimaced. “Maybe I’ll fuck those words right out of it.”

“Yeah, right.” This would hurt like hell, but you were sure Arthur’s stubbornness would cause it to work. Sure enough, a fifth lashing popped against your tender legs. You winced again.

“What was that?” he asked, cold amusement lining his voice. He was enjoying this.

“I said, yeah right. You so much as try and put your dick anywhere near my mouth and I’ll-” He popped the leather again, this time harder. The tears in the corners of your eyes spilled over, but you wouldn’t give up that easily. You laughed out loud.

“What, you whore?” he spat. The two of you always name called like this, but while Arthur seemed to think this was just any other night, your words were made genuine through a burning anger and the sweet thought of revenge. You continued laughing which earned you another lick of leather across your legs, but you kept on, louder and louder. This resulted in three more lashings in quick succession. You thought your legs would give, but you kept on, refusing to grant him the slightest satisfaction. You tensed, however, when you heard his sudden approach. “And you think I’m the sick one?” he whispered, finally closing the gap between you and reaching around your waistband to undo the buttons of your pants.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little pain,” you quipped, hoping your words would convince him to choose a different form of punishment. They didn’t, and as you realized what he was doing, panic set in. He shoved your pants down and your undergarments down with them to just above your knees. He was going to whip your bare skin. “Okay, fine. Arthur, please. Please don’t.” This was the first time you remembered begging in a very long time, but you didn’t care anymore. If you were going to get revenge, you had to get your hands free.

“Oh?” he questioned with amusement. “It may be a little too late for that. Your skin is just too tempting.” As he said the last word, he grabbed your ass with his giant paw of a hand. The feeling turned you on—you hated admitting it to yourself since you didn’t want this night to end well for him. Sex would be a reward, something he didn’t deserve. You tried to push the rising feeling of arousal down and waited to see what he would do. “Tell you what,” he said, moving back to where he had spanked you from before. “I get one good lick in just like this, and if you act nice, I’ll get that rope off ya.”

You hesitated, but it was the best offer you were going to get. “Fine.” Seconds after the word escaped your mouth, the most searing pain you had ever felt pierced your skin, and you cried out in agony. You tried to keep your composure, but more tears slid down your face as you heard the sound of the leather whip dropping to the floor and the clicking of Arthur’s spurs at his approach.

“Easy,” he said in a soft voice, moving behind you and laying his calloused hand on your bare skin, rubbing circles where he had hit you to keep your blood flowing and ease the pain. “Please don’t run from me again,” he said with a voice so shot-through with emotion that it made you unsure of how to react. His words were almost loving, something completely unfamiliar to you. You two were far from anything resembling love apart from the next strongest feeling—hate. You chose not to answer him. He stopped what he was doing and moved around to untie your hands. You weren’t sure how you would outsmart him, but you knew your anger toward him and your adrenaline from the pain would get you there. He finished loosening the rope, and it dropped from your hands. He looked up at you as you backed away from the pole. You met his gaze only briefly then looked to the floor, hoping he would think that he had broken you. He never would.

You kicked your pants off completely, attempting to distract him, and moved to lay back down on the cot in defeat. As you moved, he moved with you, and at the last second, you leaped for the abandoned strip of leather on the ground and turned with a huge swing, whipping him wherever it landed. He let out a cry of pain. It had hit him across the jaw. “You bastard,” you said through gritted teeth as he threw his hand up to shield his face. “How does it feel?” you spat as you lunged at him, whipping him again. You hit the front of his thigh particularly close to his manhood, and he recoiled away from the leather, falling to the ground.

He lay there cowering, arms outstretched to prevent anymore damage. It turned you on something awful, knowing you had made him cower like this. He somehow always ended up with the upper hand even though you wanted it more. This time, though, your were going to best him. Your anger burned a smile on your face, and you moved to stand over him in triumph.

The adrenaline had overtaken your ability to reason—you had stepped too close to him. He kicked your leg and knocked you off balance, making you land on the floor beside him with a loud thud. He scrambled to move on top of you before you could strike out at him again. Sure enough, his heavy body overtook yours, and he forced the leather from your hand and threw it across the room. “And to think I felt bad,” he said through gritted teeth while he pinned your arms to the ground.

“That’s your weakness showing,” you spat. “I wouldn’t know about that.” You were so angry that he was on top of you, unable to take the shame you felt over it. You wanted to throw him off but knew you couldn’t. Instead, you spit right in his face, making him let go of one of your arms to wipe it away. You used this to your advantage and did something you had never done—you grabbed his balls through his pants, squeezing hard when he moved to stop you.

“Ow, God, woman! Stop!” he yelled, moving less and less when he saw that earned him a little relief. He was truly trapped. You chuckled at him. He could use all the strength he possessed, but it would only hurt him more. “Evil. You’re evil, you know that? Bustin’ my balls, literally.” He caught your eyes then, a darkened arousal riddling his. Your heart beat fast from the commotion and that look, but you refused to give in to him. He was going to learn a damn lesson about hurting you.

“Tell you what, Morgan. You do what I say and I won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, all resentment.

“Fine.” You squeezed down harder.

“What, dammit, what do you want?” he spat.

“Take off your shirt for me. Give me a little show.” You grinned, knowing how much this was killing him.

He reluctantly moved to unbutton his shirt, and as he rose to his knees to balance himself, his arousal pooling in your hand, you thought you had never seen anything more attractive than this sudden submission. He was yours. More importantly, he knew it.

He slowly pulled his coat, suspenders, and shirt from his broad shoulders, letting you drink in every second of it. You used your free hand to grab his wrist, guiding him to his gun belt. He got the message and began to undo it, dropping it beside the two of you. All that left was his pants and his boots. The thought of fucking him with those spurs on crossed your mind but was gone in a wink. It would be too complicated—he would somehow escape your grip if you asked him to take everything off then put his boots back on. Instead, you guided his hand toward the buttons on his pants. He unbuttoned them, and what you asked of him next drove him straight over the edge in defeat.

You pushed his wrist down so that his hands slid into his pants, your way of asking him to touch himself. He hesitated and locked eyes with you, a deep frustration emanating from him. You gave a tiny squeeze, reminding him why he was obeying so well. He closed his eyes in pain then left them shut from embarrassment. “Ah, ah,” you tisked. “Look at me big boy.”

With an annoyed huff, he opened his eyes and looked down at you, pushing his pants down just a little so that he could get a better grip. He took his half-hard length into his hand, beginning to move his fingers up and down. You sat underneath him, admiring, as his eyes flicked over your half-naked form.

He continued like this for a few minutes until he started panting. The sight of him was so erotic you considered keeping him there, just like that, for the rest of the night. That would be too nice, though. Too forgiving. Humiliating, sure, but you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of an orgasm. “Stop.” His eyes hardened in defiance, but he did as he was told. “Switch with me.”

You continued to hold his balls tight enough that he couldn’t escape your grasp as he moved to roll onto the floor. You replaced him, one hand still gripping between his legs, the other moving down to touch yourself.

When you felt the sudden pleasure focused on the bundle of nerves between your legs, you gripped him a little tighter than intended, making him wince. He began to reach for you but you squeezed him again, making him yell out this time. “No hands.” He grit his teeth in response, like a predator trapped.

You began to rub small circles around your clit, running a long line down your folds every few seconds to keep your wetness on your fingers. You looked down at him as he studied your hand, his length growing even harder at the sight. You flicked your finger back and forth in just the right place, the feeling making your eyes flutter shut. The thought of him below you made you smile, his having to watch your every movement whilst trapped, unable to do a thing about it.

You began to pick up your pace, moving your fingers faster to reach your climax, the sight making him let out a low groan of arousal. Or maybe of protestation. So fast you couldn’t stop him, he moved his hand up and replaced yours, wanting to feel you. It felt sinfully good, the sudden tenderness of his thick finger on you. But you were in control, not him. You wanted to make that perfectly clear. You grabbed his hand and yanked it away.

“Come on,” he begged, letting his head hit the floor in frustration.

“Oh, I can come all right. May sit on that pretty face of yours and come right in your mouth, how’s that?” You looked down at his lustful gaze, knowing he was torn between wanting your body and wanting to defy you. “In fact, I think I will. Move down,” you demanded, rising up off of the closeness of his body with a swift motion that left you missing the feeling of him, making you want him even more.

He didn’t move a muscle. You looked up to see that his lips had tightened into a thin line, his way of showing he had chosen to defy you. It was all he knew how to do—he had never taken orders in his life, always given them. “No.” He knew the word was damning, knew what it would cost him, but it seemed he wasn’t going to allow this to go on any longer. You began to squeeze down, but just as you did, he bucked his hips then shoved you off of him, making your grip falter.

“No,” you breathed with panic, reaching out for him again. It was too late—he knew your trick now. He grabbed your wrist and pulled himself to his feet with you alongside him, turning you in his strong grip to move you to the bed. You fought him with your whole body, wanting some semblance of control back more than anything, but it was useless. He was too strong. He shoved you onto the bed face first.

“Little whore. You’re gonna take this, no questions asked. You got that?” He forced his body weight on top of you, attempting to rip your remaining clothes off as his front pressed hard against your back. You tried to squirm out from under him, to find some way to gain the upper hand, but he weighed you down so much you couldn’t move an inch. The heat of him soaked into your bones. You hated admitting it to yourself, but you wanted him badly, especially after you had watched his fingers run up and down his shaft in subtle pleasure and you had turned yourself on so delightfully. He ran your chemise down your arms and yanked it away, leaving you completely bare for him. You felt him line up with your entrance as, without warning, he reached around your neck and grabbed your throat. He squeezed down, making you reflexively clutch at his hand. “Do as I say or I grip harder,” he growled.

You clenched your jaw defiantly but didn’t argue through a haze of arousal, knowing he was doing the same thing to you that you had just done to him. He ducked his head down and latched his teeth onto your shoulder, biting down hard. “Fuck you,” you spat through a hindered windpipe. “Think you’re so big and strong-” Just as the words escaped your mouth, he slammed into you hard, his cock hitting your insides with so much force that you bucked forward and let out a low moan. He started a brutal pace, one that would surely be your undoing, as your eyes rolled back in your head. You secretly loved this even though you would never give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “Fuck-ing bas-tard,” you said between each thrust, your breasts bouncing to his harsh rhythm. He was everywhere, the heat of him behind you, the pleasure of him wrapping around you, the length of him breaking you apart from within. You gritted your teeth in anger, feeling enough pleasure to know you would come all over his cock, and worse yet, that you would enjoy doing it. He moved his hand off of your throat to pull your hips toward him, to feel more of you. The bundle of fabric that had to be his pants was trapped between you as a result. You smiled, knowing he would want them off. That was promising. “At least move your pants and fuck me like a man, not some inexperienced boy.”

You felt his hands grip you harder to show his discontent with your words. “You’re going to take this...like a good little whore.” He was so engrossed in his own pleasure that his comebacks were getting weak. He suddenly slid out of you, his quickened breaths on your back the only thing you could feel. “Don’t move or I swear,” he muttered as he moved, raising off of the bed to take off his pants and boots. “I’ll fuck that tight little cunt till you’re a pitiful mess beneath me.” His words made your core tighten.

He quickly pulled off his boots and dropped his pants, his pace proving he thought you would try something. And of course, you did. You just had to, tired of being told what to do. You pushed off of the bed while his balance was unstable, spinning around to face him. He reached out and shoved you hard, his sure-footedness taking you by surprise. His now naked form moved back over you, surrounding you, keeping you pinned down. For the second time that night, you hated the threat of his strength. You despised it. “I-”

“I keep my promises,” he growled, pulling you off of the bed, lifting you completely as he turned and slammed you into the wall, your body hitting the wood with such force you grunted in pain. His powerful frame behind you forced you to stay there. You couldn’t move through his muscled arms keeping you pinned between him and the wall. “I’m starting to think this is what you wanted,” he said lowly.

“You disgust me,” you spat, wanting to fight his dominance but also hoping your words would encourage him to fuck you quicker. This only made him laugh. He didn’t see the satisfaction that spread across your face as he shoved himself into you again, using one arm to force your hips down so that you were flush with his body, only able to take his cock and be trapped otherwise.

“Don’t wanna argue now, do you?” he said through panting breaths. “Admit it, you love this. You love taking my cock.”

With these words and more heat sent between your legs, you cursed at him through your pleasure. “Bastard.” It was all you could muster. You were focusing too hard on your body, trying to keep your orgasm at bay, trying to build it higher and higher so that it would hit you like the wall Arthur was fucking you against. Sure enough, he did keep his promise, pounding into you so hard that you started to come undone. A mess, just like he had said. Without warning he pulled your hips back, making your upper body lean against the wall and your back curve for him. His cock slammed into you again, deeper, and you yelled out as he hit a place so tense with pleasure that his name slipped past your lips. You hated it, wanted to take it back. You hated the satisfaction it gave him to hear his name in the form of a moan.

He chuckled, and through your gritted teeth and sudden stiffness due to defiance, he came hard, spilling into your tight heat with a grunt. It was too much—he was taking too much. You hadn’t reached your pleasure yet. He sat there a moment, unmoving, you still and stunned in front of him, before he pulled out and set you on the ground. “What’d I say?” he asked as you heaved in breaths, remaining leaned up against the wall. “Told you you’d be a pitiful mess.”

His last movements had been the biggest mix of pleasure and pain you’d ever felt—pleasure for that place deep within you he had found, and pain for your thighs throbbing from where he had whipped the back of them earlier. As you stood there, anger beginning to boil over into white-hot rage, it was that pain that urged you on. The pleasure was blocked out, didn’t seem to matter anymore. You turned, met his amused face which only made the anger in you burn hotter, and slapped him across the face. Hard. “You satisfied with yourself idiot?” you spat. He just stared, shocked. You shoved past him to get back to your clothes. You had to leave, had to be rid of his haughty presence taking everything from you only to give you nothing in return—truly nothing this time: he hadn’t even let you come. He had beaten you, manhandled you, and fucked you. Given, you were very consenting to all of those things, but you were tired. You were done with being overpowered by him, used by him. You shook your head at the thought as you pulled your clothes back on.

“Y/N…” His voice was soft.

“Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it,” you said, turning to face him only halfway clothed. “I’m tired of this. I’m done with it. You win, okay? You always win, and it’s so goddamn suffocating.” You pulled your blouse back on, buttoning it up.

He stood there in silence for as long as you had ever heard him keep his mouth shut. It didn’t last long besides. “Where’s this coming from? I thought you...I thought you liked this.”

“I do, but I at least like to enjoy myself a little too, Arthur.” Realization dawned on his face. You wouldn’t let him apologize, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, so you spoke first. “I had the upper hand this time for once. It would have just been nice to keep it, just this once. That’s all I’m saying.” You broke your shared gaze and shoved your feet into your boots. Again, he was quiet. As if he was actually considering his words and the effect they had on others for once in his damn life.

He finally spoke. “Y/N, wait. I didn’t mean to be overbearing, I just thought you liked it, honest. I wouldn’t have forced you if I knew you didn’t. And let me help you…finish.”

“Fuck no,” you spat through a bitter laugh. It was like he hated even suggesting it, like he had struggled to let go of an ounce of the power he held over you. You held his gaze a little while longer, but his troubled expression was getting him nowhere. You picked up your gun belt and wrapped it around your hips. “I’m going. Don’t come looking for me this time. I’ll see you back at camp in a few days.” You locked eyes with him so he knew your seriousness.

“I don’t like you being alone,” he said. No apologies, no surprise, just another order to control you. Your blood boiled.

“Just trust me goddammit. For once.” You gave him one last, hard look, hoping it would be enough to convince him. It didn’t matter to you whether it did or not—you were leaving no matter if he didn’t allow it. But, to your surprise, he nodded. You walked over to the chair stuck under the handle and shoved it out of the way, flinging open the door, immediately met with a rush of cold night air. “See you,” you said bitterly, without turning back to look at him. You left Arthur standing there naked and alone, hoping that if his silence and stillness meant anything, it was that he was too busy drowning in his own regret to come after you.

_________

Part two is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

[ridiasfangirlings]

diff people of the cast raging at video games 🫶

Munakata does not rage at video games, he crafts impeccably worded missives to the game companies letting them know about the deficiencies in their products. Munakata generally doesn’t strike me as someone who would rage at video games anyway, he’s actually having fun if he’s losing because then it gives him a chance to craft various strategies in order to win. On the other hand though if there’s like a glitch causing his loss I could see him being displeased and writing angry letters like an old man responding to the newspaper editorial section. Also I feel like he might at least find himself annoyed at online multiplayer games, like he expects everyone to act in the way he’s planned and when some edgy teenager says screw off old man and Leeroy Jenkins their way through a raid Munakata starts huffing irritably and pushing up his glasses.

Yata and Fushimi I think would be opposites in this, Fushimi just quietly stews in his spite while Yata is absolutely yelling at the screen and has probably destroyed more than a few controllers by throwing them into the wall. Like imagine the two of them on multiplayer and getting defeated, Yata’s all red in the face and leaning real close to the TV all you fuckers I’m gonna kick your ass. Someone trash talks him and he’s shouting back and berating teenagers, and if he loses a boss fight because he got caught unaware he almost punches a hole in the wall. Meanwhile Fushimi is just sitting there quietly, muttering under his breath. Yata gives him a look like you okay Saruhiko and then Fushimi gives the most twisted smile as he’s like I’m fine, preparing to utterly destroy anyone who stands in his way because he’s not getting defeated by a video game.

The Homra guys probably occasionally have raging at games moments, I bet Bandou brags about how he’s a professional gamer so he never loses his temper. Akagi’s like oh hey I just beat your score and Bandou’s immediately like the hell you did what the fuck. Imagine one day Totsuka asks to play and it’s some difficult PvP multiplayer online game, the Homra guys are like sure you can try it but just be warned these guys are brutal. The Homra alphabet all go through various stages of yelling and trash talk as they try to survive but Totsuka is just smiling and smiling. In the end it’s just Totsuka and Bandou left and Bandou’s talking about how he’ll take it easy on Totsuka and while he’s talking Totsuka’s player character just casually stabs Bandou’s in the back. Bandou is immediately crushed and Totsuka’s all sparkles and happiness as he’s like this was a fun game, you guys were right.

#k project #Talking K #Munakata wouldn't rage he just gives looks of disapproval #Fushimi also doesn't rage he plots revenge #Yata breaks stuff though he's not allowed to play video games near anything fragile

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person who tells them (and you've never claimed to be) part 2

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none

Pairings: nolan/bishop/hartley, focus on nolan/hartley for this

Word Count: 3892

Nolan Booth is a pain in the fucking ass.

Not that John doesn't tell him that, he does. Daily. Hourly, even, sometimes, when the man's sitting with his feet on the coffee table or leaning up against the wall like he's trying to bring '90s boy bands back or when he's lying upside down on a too-small bed with his hands behind his head like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. No, he tells Booth he's a fucking asshole more often than he says anything else to the man.

If Booth knew what he was getting into, then he'd better be ready to deal with everything that comes with it.

That means squeezing into too-small apartments in the corners of cities that the public would rather pretend didn't exist. That means waking up silently—silently, Booth, that means without the half a dozen quips that aren't even that good anyway—at ass o'clock in the morning to move locations because the person they're renting from might not actually be trustworthy anymore. That means that for better or for worse, the three of them are stuck together until they pull this whole thing off.

For worse. It's definitely for worse.

John's not in the habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt, but he's not one to sell them short either. This score is a good plan. Granted, it's more suited to the talents of a solo daredevil with panache and reckless disregard for his own safety than a three-man team, despite whatever Booth might've said on that boat, but the actual bare bones of it? Pretty solid. It's taken them about half as long—alright, maybe a third as long—to actually get the plan into its moving stages than it would if it were just him and Sarah, not that they'll ever tell Booth that. The man's already strutting about like a proud peacock that he got them to agree to the score in the first place, they don't need to gas him up anymore.

Which, if he were still their mark, would necessitate some form of conversation. In moments of downtime, when Sarah's asleep or out in the living room of their tiny-ass apartment and Booth is sawing logs through the paper-thin walls, he thinks about it.

Why is Booth acting like he's already won? They've just said yes to hearing out his insane plan, they berated him—well, Sarah talked down to him under the guise of being helpful and John just tells him he's an ass over and over—for how stupid his plan actually is, and he has to know that they're planning on screwing him out of his cut at the end. Not seriously, well, they don't actually have a plan for how they're going to do that just yet, but they're all con artists. You don't get in this game because you're interested in fairness or selflessness, you get into it because you're hungry for it.

Or, if Booth is to be believed, what else are you going to do if people believe it of you already?

So no, it doesn't really make sense how Booth's acting right now, but right now, it's not really cause for concern. That doesn't mean John has to like it.

You'd think, perhaps, that knowing exactly what is happening, or why someone is acting like they are, would act as some sort of internal modulator. Not with Nolan Booth, apparently. The man's whole demeanor is a textbook display of someone who is desperately attention-seeking, and it ranges from your insecure patron at a bar to the high school bully who doesn't know any better to the fucking kid that won't stop kicking you the second you look away from him. He's desperate all right. And he's still acting like John's his favorite chew toy. Every time there's an opportunity for a quip or a sarcastic remark, boom, there it is. When he and Sarah are having a disagreement, even when Booth's not a part of it, there he goes, prodding the sore spots he thinks he can see. When they're trying to actually get serious for once, nope, apparently not on Booth's watch. Even when things get a little hairy and they have to be careful, well, if it's for the quip, apparently there's no risk that Booth won't take.

He's gonna get us all killed, he breathes in Sarah's ear one night after Booth's snores wake them up.

Don't worry, Sarah whispers back, we'll still end up on top.

It's like he's a kid still, John realizes one day when Sarah has to cut him down to size for the fifth time in as many hours, a kid in that rebellious stage where he's clawing and scratching at the walls just to see what it gets him. Even though they all know he's going to end up crawling back to them with tears in his eyes when he inevitably breaks a nail.

It's a testament to how well they know each other when Sarah seems to sense that he's just had an epiphany of some sort and turns to look at him. He gives her the smallest glance back before Booth's on it, smirking and leaning back like he wasn't sitting like a scolded puppy two seconds ago.

"What's the matter, big guy," he drawls, stretching out in some poor imitation of seductive, "you want your pound of flesh from me too?"

John just levels a glare at him and it seems to bounce right off as Booth chuckles and waves a hand as if to say enough of that now, like he wasn't the one that fucking started the whole shit-show this conversation turned into in the first place. Sarah keeps looking at him for a moment longer but he shakes his head. It's nothing important. Not that important, anyway.

But it does take him a bit by surprise, if he's examining himself correctly, that he jumped straight to an analogy that has Booth on his knees before them.

They're planning to pick up something for the job. A trinket, really, to them, but something Booth's art guy wants in exchange for helping them with the forgery he's doing. Piddly job, really, something that Sarah scoffs as being below them when Booth first brings it up. But when he shrugs and says sure, he'll do it on his own, they both glare at him and he just laughs.

"Just checking, just checking."

The plan is to sneak into the auction house and have Booth impersonate one of the security people while Sarah and John pose as the wealthy patrons of a black-market auction. The Estate isn't known for its squeaky-clean business, and it isn't unheard of for security personnel to crawl about while events are going on. They just need to get to the back, swap a single crate onto the getaway vehicle, and make good on their exit before someone sniffs them out. Again, child's play.

Which is why he doesn't get why Booth's making such a stink about him.

"You walk like a cop," Booth says, crossing his arms over his chest in a rare moment of total seriousness, "they'll notice."

"What does that even mean, I walk like a cop?"

"You're an expert in behavior and body language and you don't know what walking like a cop looks like?" Booth scoffs. "Yeah, pull the other one, it makes green and yellow lights go off!"

"My walk is fine."

"Your walk says years of training how to deepthroat boots and shoot through all the problems your hard head can't think about," Booth shoots back, grabbing John's shoulder as he turns to leave, "I'm telling you, I've hit this place before. They pull aside anyone they think could be a problem and I don't think you wanna have your stompy-stomps getting us in trouble any more than I do."

"Well, then, maybe you should be more worried about blending in." John grabs his wrist—which he could snap like a toothpick, if Booth calls him a meathead one more time—and wrenches Booth's hand off his shoulder. "And this was your idea."

Booth glowers but he doesn't say anything to that. Instead, he turns to Sarah, who's been watching them interact. "Come on, you're not gonna back me up here?"

She arches an eyebrow. "Why would I back you up?"

"Maybe because John here thinks he can waltz his brick-shit-house self into this black-market auction and no one will pick up what he's putting down?"

"They'll pick up whatever we want them to pick up," she says cooly and Booth throws his arms up.

"And you know this how?"

"Well, it worked for you, didn't it?"

Ooh, nasty hit. John watches it find its mark as something flickers across Booth's expression. He shoves it down quite admirably, all things told, and he's back up a second later. "You were being a cop with me, that doesn't count."

There are about five different things John can think of to say in response to that, but none are quite as cutting as Sarah giving him one last almost-pitying glance before she picks up her coffee and leaves the room. John follows her a second later and Booth's left stewing by himself. He kisses Sarah as the door closes and only surprises himself by how much he doesn't care that Booth can see it.

He can hear Booth groaning when the auction house security stops him as he goes to the bar.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asks, inwardly cursing as he looks around for Sarah. Booth's gone already, vanished into some backroom and he has the fleeting thought that Booth called security on him in the first place.

"Who are you with?"

Play the asshole, play the asshole. "Excuse me?"

"Your client for this evening," the one closest to him asks again, "which of the guests are you working for?"

Shit, shit. He can't see any of them and there's only so long he can stall for before they decide to drag him off.

"I don't have to answer that," he blusters and goes to push through them only to be shoved back. "Hey!"

"You will answer us," says that first guy again as another one moves his hand to his shoulder holster, "and you will do so quickly."

"There you are!"

The three security officers whip their heads around and thank god they do, so they can't see the way John's eyes widen when he sees Booth making his way over to them. He pushes through them and grabs the glass right from John's hand, taking a generous sip and placing himself between him and them.

"If I'd have known you'd take so long, I would've just gotten it myself." He stares down his nose at the closest guard. "Especially if I knew you'd get into trouble the second I turned my back."

The words don't hit him, but they don't bounce off John either.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"We were inquiring as to who he was hired by," another guard says, oil in his voice as the first one still glares at John, "nothing more."

Booth blinks. "I'm sorry, you were what?"

"It is standard procedure to—"

"It's standard procedure to violate the privacy of your patrons?" Booth interrupts. "It's standard procedure to threaten the safety of your guests? Huh, guess the standards of this place really have changed."

"Sir, I—"

"No," Booth says, his voice clipped as he holds out a finger to cut the man off, "no. You can't market an auction as safe and secure when you're out giving every single person in here the fifth degree. What, am I supposed to believe that you won't run every bit of information out to the highest bidder? Is this an auction for you too?"

The ease with which Booth slips into the vaguely menacing rich buyer takes John aback. Though, admittedly, not as much as the security guards, who look like they've bitten into lemons.

"Sir, this is a misunderstanding—"

"Oh, it's a misunderstanding alright," Booth laughs humorlessly, setting the glass down with a loud clunk, "and I think I would be better served by taking my business elsewhere."

"Sir," John tries, playing the other half of Booth's show, "it's alright, really, I—"

"It's not alright!" Booth whirls on him and the rapid shift to clear protectiveness in his gaze staggers John. "What, I'm supposed to be fine with the fact that I can't leave you alone for two minutes?"

"You have our sincerest apologies, Señor," the third guard finally says, pushing the other two back and almost bowing to Booth, "no one will bother you or your companion for the rest of the night. Please, enjoy your evening."

Booth levels the coldest glare John's ever seen from the man and the three of them slink off, their tails between their legs.

The music of the room pounds in their ears, hard enough for John to feel in his chest. Booth drains the glass and puts it back on the counter, adjusting his jacket. He starts walking toward the middle of the floor and John follows him without thinking about it.

They find Sarah, still at the table where he left her, artfully twisting her finger around the tiny umbrella in her drink. She turns and smiles at them and the realization that he almost cost them this job slams into his chest. She notices, because of course she does, and she straightens imperceptibly.

"Everything alright?"

"We're set," Booth says when John can't say anything, "and Hartley here just secured an inconspicuous exit."

Sarah blinks, the only outward show of her surprise, before she smiles again and offers him her arm. He takes it and the three of them move off. The job was saved, he tries to reason as much as possible, don't need to think about it anymore.

He thinks about it. He thinks about it a lot.

So much so that Sarah can tell something's on his mind when they're all back in their cramped apartment, Booth out on the shitty excuse for a balcony with another glass in his hand—water, this time—and Sarah corners him in the bedroom.

"Booth was right," he says without preamble, "about my walk getting us in trouble. They were on me the second I left you."

Sarah's mouth twists slightly but she sits down next to him on the bed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Now we know."

"Now we know."

Now he knows that Booth was perceptive enough to identify something neither of them had thought of, and quick enough on his feet to figure out a solution. Now he knows that he can't afford to not take Booth seriously, even when the man himself doesn't seem to. Now he knows that, like it or not, Booth just saved all of their asses and didn't even gloat about it when they were all out of immediate danger.

Why didn't he gloat about it?

It wasn't like he wasn't entitled to, or like he hadn't done so in the past. His whole twist-ending where he basically blackmailed them into agreeing with this score in the first place. But no, he gave John the credit for securing them an exit. And he hasn't said a word about it since. Sarah even tried to bring it up, see if maybe he was waiting for the opportunity to laud it over them, but he didn't. He just said it was a good thing his art guy had such distinctive taste in bad jewelry that the right one was easy to find so he could be in and out of the back quickly.

He's missing something, and it grates on him.

Sarah is out picking up another supply set and it's just him and Booth in the apartment. Booth is sitting on the sorry excuse for a couch, toying with…something. John watches him for a few minutes, twisting the thing in his hands back and forth, before he makes his decision.

"Show me how not to walk like a cop."

Booth looks up, surprised. John pushes off the wall and walks over to him.

"I can't afford to have the way I move be a liability again," he says, "so show me how to do it right."

Booth eyes him for a moment, as if checking to see if he's joking or not, before he stashes whatever he was fiddling with in his back pocket and stands up. "It's in your shoulders."

"My shoulders?"

"The line of your body, how it moves." Booth goes to the other side of the room, then pushes his shoulders back and walks towards him. "You're walking like you're a tank with an authority problem."

John huffs before he can stop himself because, well, there have been less accurate descriptions. "Okay, so what do I do?"

"Relax."

"Seriously."

"Does this face look unserious to you?" Booth gives himself a shake most theater majors would be proud of, arms swinging all over the place. "You're holding yourself like you're trying to do something. You've got the swagger to pull off a more uptight walk, but it'll be easier for you if you just dial it down. Think gentle giant, less wall of meat."

John tries. Honestly, he does. He walks back and forth across the room trying to relax and move his chest and shoulders out of the cop pose but it's just not happening. After a while, Booth stops calling out little corrections that make him feel like he's a puppet and he scrubs a hand over his face.

"I don't think this is working."

"No, you're just walking like a bad CGI soldier now."

"Real funny."

"I mostly am." Booth leans to the side so his head hits the wall, his fingers drumming on his opposite elbow. "What normally makes you relax?"

"Meditation."

Booth's eyebrows almost reach his hairline. "Seriously?"

"There's nothing more dangerous than a mind you don't know," John says, "if I don't take the time to make sure I know what head's on my shoulders, all hell breaks loose."

"Well, listen to you, a regular guru." There's a note of sarcasm suspiciously absent from his words. "Try it."

John blinks. "Try meditating now?"

"Just a bit. Breathe deeply or whatever it is you do, just—" he waves— "get some of that off you."

"What is 'that?'"

"The part of you that looks two seconds from knocking my teeth in at all times."

Again, lack of sarcasm. Still, John closes his eyes and does what he's told, carefully walking himself through the first few steps of his nightly routine, until he feels like he could fall asleep. When he opens his eyes, he starts walking again, but the shuffling steps make him look more tired at best, lightly intoxicated at worst. Booth's nose wrinkles too.

"Okay, never mind. Go back to looking like you want to punch me."

That's no hardship, he should say, but he hasn't really wanted to punch Booth that much all that recently. Even earlier, when Booth was telling him to raise and drop his shoulders and lean to the side, he was more annoyed at himself for not getting it than he was at Booth.

"Where'd you learn how to dance?"

The question catches him off guard. "Huh?"

"I saw you two at Sotto Voce's party," Booth says, as if he didn't just ask one of the most out-of-left-field questions, "you dance like someone's taught you."

"Picked it up for a job, why?"

"You don't dance like a cop." Booth pushes off the wall. "Try walking like you're dancing."

John narrows his eyes, trying to find the joke, or the thing that's going to end up humiliating him, but when Booth just raises an eyebrow after another minute of him not moving, he shakes his head and tries. His steps grow a little more fluid, his feet hitting lightly instead of the heavy way they normally do. His shoulders automatically drop, his spine lengthening, and he's across the room before he realizes it.

Right in front of Booth.

"Better," Booth says, and his voice is just a touch softer, "go the other way now."

"Why, so you can stare at my ass?"

But instead of making a quip of his own, or even rolling his eyes and saying Hartley wishes, Booth just ducks around him and goes to stand on the other side of the room. John's following before he can register it, his footsteps landing even lighter, until once again, he's in front of Nolan Booth, waiting to hear what he says.

And suddenly he's back in that train car, opening up about his dad. He's lying under Booth's bunk in that cold-as-fuck prison, listening to the man's voice quiver. He's on the beach as Sarah points a gun at him, watching walls slide neatly back into place.

He's holding his hand out before he thinks better of it.

Booth looks down and laughs. "I didn't mean walk like you're about to ask me to dance."

John doesn't laugh. Instead, he steps back and leaves his hand there. Booth's expression twists once, twice, before he's laughing again, but this one isn't because he thinks this is funny.

"You can stop selling me, you know," he says, like they're both in on whatever joke he thinks John's trying to make, "I told you, water under the bridge. I'm the one that asked you guys, remember? Ol' Pooh Bear's already guzzled all the honey in the pot."

John opens his mouth to say something—what, he doesn't know—but then the door's opening and Sarah's back. She takes one look at the picture they've painted and raises an eyebrow. "Am I interrupting something?"

The slap of Nolan's hand against his makes him startle and he looks back to see Nolan's put a small metal ring in his palm.

"Big guy wanted to know what I was messing with," Nolan says easily, "and I'm sure you know what it's like when he sets his sights on something."

He ducks around John like it's nothing, going to go over to Sarah and deal with the rest of the supplies she's just gotten. It's what he should also be doing, not still in that strange interlude where he was seriously asking Nolan Booth if he wanted to dance. He looks down at the simple metal ring, turning it over in his fingers. There's nothing special about it, nothing that would explain why Booth has it, nothing that merits it holding his attention for so long when Sarah just got back and they have a job to do.

But Nolan just lied for him. Again. And he gave up something of his in return.

John likes to think he knows Nolan Booth inside and out. And at one point, maybe that was true. But not anymore.

He turns to look over his shoulder. Sarah's still explaining something, her words precise and fingers sure as they move over the counter. Nolan glances up to see what's taking him so long and his brow quirks once. A silent are you okay? that John recognizes from the auction, that foreign protectiveness behind his eyes once more.

And he knows, then, what he's been denying for too long.

He's stuck with Nolan Booth now, for better or for worse.

#dragonbabbles #red notice #sarah black #john hartley #nolan booth #fic

[reveriecorridor]

[grabs you] luke and ion for the relationships game. the boys. right now

ohhh ohhhhhh my boys i miss them so bad. oh god i actually have to think and stew abt this one for a bit

describe their canon relationship/dynamic

its very lord im trying to figure out how to phrase it bc. luke is. luke. i think thehyre very Siblings honestly. luke would never ever admit to it but he truly values his friendship with ion solely bc ion is one of the few people who, despite everything, always saw the best in him. ion believes theres good in him. he trusts him enough to give up his own life though technically it was more for the sake of the world to help him. luke Wants to live up to that especially after the aforementioned "ion giving his life bc he trusts him enough to keep going".

your ideal/headcanon version of it? how does it differ from how it is in canon & why is this your favorite version? any other alternate versions of it you enjoy?

I THINK MY ONLY IDEAL IS JUST. GOD. I WISH WE GOT MORE. like what little we have of luke and ion interacting together is awesome for me, bc ion is slowly brought out of his formal shell by just. being around luke specifically. in my head they have more interactions of them doing something stupid bc luke convinced ion to and everybody in the main party gets exasperated by this.

what do you like about their relationship, why is it interesting or enjoyable to you?

*freaking smacking my hands on my desk* ion is the first freaking person to not hate luke's guts!!!!!! he;s the first!!!!!!! even when everybody jumps to berating luke or giving up on him completely ion, unconditionally, does not give up on him. like on one hand.... its bc eventually ion Gets It. theyre both replicas so like it comes with the baggage. but even before that. ion only sees the best of luke, even if its buried through him acting like a brat and being the kid he is. when luke screws up bigtime in akzeriuth, ion jumps to try and place the blame on himself, not luke. what if they made me blow up.

what about the individual characters involved? what does this relationship mean to them, what makes it unique among their relationships?

favorite interaction they have in canon

what if i died

favorite interaction they have in your head/a situation you want to put them in

again, i like, god i want them to interact more. i want to see them both interact in scenarios where they kind of. you know. dont have to deal with the whole "we were made as replacements of someone and only live to fill that role" baggage.

#kurutoryuuki #*DYING* i wish i could word this more. succintly? #like i think my boys alot but actually putting that into words is very hard for me fsr

[yusef-clark18]

Here is a remake of my hellsona's backstory along with a drawing of Seph as a human and a demon

When he was little Seph was a kid who always liked watching cartoons, drawing and enjoyed playing video games, sometimes he would always copy what the characters would do onscreen. He's the youngest in the family and unfortunate he was sort of the "punching bag" of his family cause he gets berated for being a bit lazy and doing a half-job (or atleast that's what some people say about him) but despite all of that he loves his family and they love him.

Seph is comes off as dorky,timid but kind not wanting to start problems but when he was getting older he developed an angry side in a way to defend himself of not being talked down by others who think they are always right or better then him cause they have experience or get mad at him for making a simple mistake. And although a bit lazy he was a focused kid at school, listening to the teachers and acting well behaved, Seph is a smart kid and got good grades although sometime he has a hard time getting homework done on time.

When he graduated highschool at 17 he went to college when he was 18 and this is where his adult life began to start. He went to college for video game animation degree since he had a passion for cartoons and video games, but he was struggling with college and didn't make alot of friends cause the only thing on his mind was working.

During one bad day a thought crossed his mind "should i have not come here?" Cause one day he's gonna get a job and gonna have to pay bills 24/7 and there's nothing he can do about it, every adult's life is like that he didn't have a choice but Seph push those thoughts down and tried to think positively. One day was working on his degree and his professor was praisig him a bit which cause Seph to smile cause he was thinking to himself tha his hardwork was finally paying off….only to find out a few days later that someone else was rewarded and Seph was suspended for hardly getting any work done on time even though he tried very hard.

At October 2022, Seph was 19 and unemployed, cause after he worked for went down the drain he just gave up. feeling nothing like a loser and a screw up. He was walking home a long walk in the night around town wearing headphones, he was crying and thinking about his life when he was little where he had so much freedom and had nothing to worry about back then, but now since he was an adult he had to get job or else he thinks his family will think he's a good for nothing who hardly tries. He was so caught up in his thoughts and wearing headphones that he didn't notice or hear a car coming at him full speed ramming him, Seph went tumbling on the ground, couldn't move a muscle and bleeding to death, he could hardly breathe and his vision was getting blurry and dark.

After sometime he wakes up slowly wondering how is he still alive to find out that he's in the middle of a city filled with demon and huge star hovering over it(pentagram city/pride ring)

That's all folks, this is how my hellsona ended up in hell, please tell me your thoughts in the comments

#HazbinHotel #HazbinHotelOC #Hellsona #helluvaboss #toon #Toon oc

[goodthoughts001]

Review: Eric สล็อตเว็บตรงMaking The Final Table

So I finished reading Making The Final Table by Eric Lindgren with special guest star Matt Matros. I give it a C.

Eric comes across as a likable guy, who is sharing some of his thoughts on tournament poker. Notice I say some of his thoughts. It seems very สล็อตเว็บตรง that he withheld alot of information. I think this book could have been so much more if Eric really went in depth into his strategy. Unfortunatly he didnt. I did get a couple of pieces that were usefull, but not much.

The book comes across as a promotional tool for the WPT. The WPT is mentioned so much in this book that it becomes distracting. I understand that they basically published this book, but they didnt have to keep bashing us over the head with WPT references. Speaking of bashing over the head, thats what Eric does with his 2 main themes. Be aggresive. Play to win, not to make the money. Good concepts, but Eric could have given us much more info oh how to do this.

E-dogs material is very easy to digest and you shouldnt have a hard time following the information. I did pick up two things that I will implement into my game. I suppose that in itself should pay for the book, however; you still feel kind of slighted once you finish Erics sections.

After Erics sections, Matt Matros take over for two chapters. Talk about a huge contrast! While you can casually read Erics sections and not really have to think much, Matt is the exact opposite. Matt starts off by saying that he is going to cover basic poker math. Well, maybe its basic if you are a MIT grad. I think Matt would have been better served by dumbing it down just a little bit. By the time I got to the end of Matts second section, I was completely lost and had to reread both his sections very slowly, take carefull notes, and hope that I start to grasp the material better.

So who should buy this book? Well, if you have read most of the poker books out there and need a fix, well then this is for you. If not, then there are many books out there that you should look at before this one.

Who Let The Idiots Out?

So I was reading Jason Kirks blog which can be found here Catching The Antichrist.

In his post titled "Damning The Grind" he talks about losing his love for the game. He attributes part of it online to the way some players interact with others. You know the types, "Nice catch you f'ing fish" and so on down the line.

As I read this, I realized that if I am not carefull, these fellow poker players could do the same thing to me. There is a reason I despise going to the movies, its the idiots in theaters who think we all want to hear their opinions on the movie, or listen to them drone on and on about their lives! I hate these people! If I wanted to hear you, I would have paid you the $9 instead of the theater. I will be the one to go up to them and ask them to keep it down. But it only works for a few minutes, then they start right up again.

If these assclowns can keep me out of theatre, can they also keep me off the poker table? The answer for me is no, but what about the other players? What about the new player that just got interested in poker, comes online, get berated by one of these dumbasses and then never comes back? What about the players that mainly play in the B & M's, decide to get over their fear of the computer? They come online, run into Mr. Assclown, and decide, screw it, I dont need this, back to the B & M.

These idiots are the ones who may dry up the online poker world. What can we do about it? I wish I had the answer. There just seems to be a general lack of respect to one another these days. Its really a sad state of affairs.

As an example outside of the poker world. I ended up getting in a heated debate at an Xbox live forum. A poster commented that he wished Microsoft would more closely monitor the user names because some of them are very vulgar and he didnt like to expose his nine year old daughter to it. (BTW, there is a stated user agreement that this is unacceptable) What was the reponse at that forum? Just about every single poster stated some type of freedom of expression nonsense and that they shouldnt have to worry about other peoples kids. WTF? I posted in agreement with the gentleman that this should not be tolerated. I got blasted for that. You would not believe the insulting comments posted just because I stood up for decency.